Chapter 456: Observing Sand and Water

I lay prone beneath the stage, snoring away, sleeping with a cumin-like flavor, even forgetting the passage of time.

Until… around noon, when the sun slanted in, this scene unfolded on the stage.

"Brother, let's have a contest to see who can pee the farthest!"

"But… this is the stage for putting on big operas."

"Don't be scared, we'll all pee together—I'll go first!"

As I lay prone, cheek to the loam, I suddenly heard the patter of raindrops in my deep sleep, followed by a gentle trickle seeping from the stage's cracks onto my head.

After feeling that dampness on my face, I was startled awake, thinking a downpour had struck. But when I wiped the droplets from my body, held them to my nose and sniffed, then… inexplicably licked them.

"Damn it, you little brats, must you be so depraved?" I spat out a mouthful of old blood in frustration and yelled upward.

Besides the urine stench, my body reeked of a strong odor like cockroach droppings; I figured the snakes, bugs, and rats under the stage had crawled over me while I slept.

Anciently Liu Guozhong ate feces; now I, Chen Hai Sheng, have licked a bit of boy's urine… This life need not be so dramatic.

I wanted to cry but had no tears as I heard those brats' hip‑hop laughter fade overhead; I patted my shoulder and could only silently admit my misfortune.

As I crawled prone to the edge of the stage, a big face lunged at me upside down; our eyes met and we all startled, stepping back in unison.

With a bang, the back of my head struck the stage's edge, and I cried out in pain.

"I say, Brother Hai, what are you doing sneaking under the stage?" The person who nearly bumped into me was Song Lin.

After getting up, I brushed off the dust, and when Liu Guozhong asked, I could only stammer: "This…"

Of course I couldn't tell the truth, otherwise it would reach Liu Guozhong's ears and he'd curse Pangzi again. But… why did I crawl under the stage?

Suddenly, inspiration struck, and I blurted: "Brother Song Lin, I actually crept under the stage to cultivate—yes, that's right, I did it for cultivation."

Song Lin scratched the back of his head: "You crept under the stage to cultivate?"

I took a deep breath and said seriously: "Exactly, it's for cultivation. You know I'm a Daoist of the Yin Mountain Sect; the sect values the Yin, so cultivation naturally means finding a secluded, deserted spot."

I furrowed my brow, solemn and earnest, and gave Song Lin a lecture.

Song Lin suddenly understood: "Oh, so the Yin Mountain Sect needs a remote, dark place to cultivate."

"Exactly, that's the fact!" I leaned close to Song Lin's ear, mysteriously urging: "This is our sect's secret; I hope you won't spread it, Brother Song Lin."

After Brother Song Lin nodded vigorously in agreement, I glanced around and asked doubtfully: "By the way, Brother Song Lin, have you seen Pangzi?"

Song Lin didn't hesitate, pointing to the stage's northwest: "Brother Qiang seems to have run that way! He's got a compass and keeps wandering nearby."

"Alright, I'll go find him now. Remember, today's matter must never be spoken of—especially not to Class Monitor Liu, and certainly not let it reach his ears." I brushed off the dust, turned sharply, and ran toward the direction Song Lin had indicated.

After I had walked a considerable distance, a loud shout came from behind—Song Lin's voice.

"Brother Sheng, next time… when you guys ** want to find a place to cultivate, do let me know; I'll prepare a good spot, absolutely secluded and quiet."

"Bang……"

I lost my balance and toppled over so suddenly, the pose was perfect. Standing up, I saw Song Lin's honest smile; I could only twitch the corner of my mouth, put on a mournful face, and return a smile that had been fiercely moved.

Kids raised in the countryside are indeed overly simple… The problem is, no matter how simple, it doesn't justify this reduction.

……………………

Running in the direction Song Lin pointed, I found Wang Pangzi holding a compass, solemnly prowling about.

This Wang Pangzi held the compass in one hand, the other constantly calculating; his face flickered between astonishment and frown, muttering solemnly: "Not good, very not good, extremely not good."

That damned fatso is increasingly showing the potential of a charlatan. I cursed him inwardly and sprinted over.

"How's it going, any findings?" I stretched, yawned, and asked.

"The feng shui here is problematic…" Upon seeing me arrive, Pangzi handed over his compass.

"Try, taking the stage as center, to discern the Twenty‑Four Mountains' sand and water—what do you see?" Pangzi gestured at the surroundings and asked.

I examined carefully and said: "Nothing much—just sand and water, trees and a pond; not ideal, but that's it."

The so‑called Twenty‑Four Mountains are twenty‑four directions, based on the Twelve Earthly Branches, further subdivided.

When the compass was first invented it had only north and south poles; after east and west were added, we roughly had the four cardinal directions. Finally, adding eight directions gave twelve.

Of course, those versed in the art don't just split east‑south‑west‑north. If one holds a compass, one can clearly see that directions are not indicated by those four; instead, starting from north, we use the ancient Chinese sexagenary cycle's Twelve Earthly Branches: "Zi, Chou, Yin, Mao, Chen, Si, Wu, Wei, Shen, You, Xu, Hai" to represent them.

Therefore, when practicing the art, we must first utterly forget the four words east‑south‑west‑north, and memorize by heart Zi, Wu, Mao, You—Zi for north, Wu for south, Mao for east, You for west. These Twelve Earthly Branches stand for the twelve directions.

For example, on a compass, Xu earth is the central palace; outside the central palace lie the Eight Trigrams, and beyond them the Twenty‑Four Mountains, which are a fine subdivision of the Twelve Earthly Branches.

Each trigram represents three mountains; Kan trigram stands for 【Ren, Zi, Gui】 (true north) three mountains; Gen trigram stands for 【Chou, Gen, Yin】 (northeast) three mountains; and so on, giving eight trigrams and twenty‑four mountains. Hence, if a house faces north‑south, we do not speak of east‑south‑west‑north but simply call it Zi (north) mountain facing Wu (south).

Sand and water, plainly put, are static and dynamic entities. Taking the house as the central palace, we discern which of the Twenty‑Four Directions holds sand or water, whether it's harmful sand, auspicious sand, harmful water, or auspicious water.

Of course, the meaning of sand and water is not literal dust and liquid. Outdoors, utility poles, hills, etc., though static, exert strong influence on the magnetic field—these count as sand. Mountain gullies, ponds—dynamic entities—are water. Indoors, paintings, furniture are sand; toilets are water.

Discerning sand and water is crucial for improving feng shui, because these static‑dynamic entities are energies that can affect a dwelling's magnetic field—for instance, a building with utility poles haphazardly arrayed in the Yin direction; when the Three Yuan Nine Clouds activate and the occupant enters a metal luck phase, they are easily disturbed by the harmful sand's magnetic field from those poles, inviting lawsuits and disputes.

In feng shui studies, whether examining form or qi, we must align the central palace with the Twenty‑Four Mountains to mitigate clashes and harms, thereby judging good or bad feng shui, and then harmonize with the Three Yuan Nine Fortunes and the occupant's natal hexagram to improve feng shui.

Pangzi had me look at the sand and water around the stage's perimeter; after staring a while I could only discern that the stage leans against a barren mountain, in the Hai direction, Qian trigram, possessing both sand and water—though there are some afflictions, the issue isn't serious. (Note: Hai, Xu, Qian are all northwest directions, belonging to the Qian Six White trigram of the Eight Trigrams.)

"The crux of the problem lies right here!" Pangzi pointed at the surroundings and said: "Do you still remember what the Jingjue classic said? 'Six White united sand brings ruin to the household in youth and middle age; the father loses his will, acts in chaos; after passing Chen, Xun, Si, apricot and wild peach blossoms, the son's wife bears few or no children—it is definitely oblique flying sand.'"

The meaning of that classic is: if a house belongs to the Six White Qian trigram and its mountain orientation is entirely harmful sand, then the eldest and third sons born therein will surely be wastrels that ruin the family; the father, enraged, will lose his six spirits and vomit blood, and will also struggle to manage the household and control his children.

If, moreover, the Chen, Xun, Si directions also harbor water from mountain gullies or ponds, then the household's daughter‑in‑law will certainly stray—** unbearable.

But… although the Qian direction is said to be a mess of chaotic wires and bald hills, isn't there water too? Well, isn't the highway itself water?

At that moment, Pangzi gave me a hard thump on the head from behind and snapped: "You idiot, who told you a highway is water?"

"Damn it, isn't it? I recall last time we followed Uncle to survey feng shui, he pointed to the road in front of a shop and told us that road belongs to water." I likewise offered an example, unwilling to yield.

"I really give up on you, you fool, completely forgetting that feng shui is adaptable." Pangzi rubbed his forehead, weakly retorting: "In feng shui, a road can be either sand or water. If it's in a place of heavy traffic and constant flow, with people stirring the earth's qi, then the road counts as water. Conversely, if the road is barren and no grass grows, it counts as sand. The way of feng shui speaks of the changes in qi flow—otherwise where would the saying 'wind and water rise' come from?"

Pangzi clutched his chest, gazing at me with eyes that wished to forge steel from iron…

I: "……" Really is it like that?