Chapter 79: Fan Wuchang

Uncle Zhang didn't take us directly to see Chen Zheng; instead, he led us to a small mahjong parlor located on the street. He told us that this person's real name is unknown even to him; he only knows the surname is Fan, with the nickname Wuchang.

He is the Eastern Mausoleum's first Red Pole; Red Pole is one of the society's positions, Grass Shoes is the recorder, White Paper Fan is the treasurer, and Red Pole is the chief enforcer.

However, Fan Wuchang's identity is not that simple of an enforcer; he is Chen Zheng's confidant and the Eastern Mausoleum dynasty's top assassin. Wherever he goes, like the Black Wuchang Fan Jiji under the King of Hell in the underworld, he silently reaps enemies' souls souls.

Uncle Zhang respectfully pushed open the mahjong parlor's door and entered; the whole parlor had only one table. Uncle Zhang walked over to a young man in black clothes among them, leaned close to his ear and whispered two words, then gestured to us three: "Come over here."

I, Pangzi, and Yuan Qiu went up and stood before the black-clad youth. He looks about twenty-five or six years old, but his demeanor is very steady, his eyes as deep as an abyss, unfathomable.

"Are these two the feng shui masters you mentioned?" Fan Wuchang spoke, frowning, his voice slightly displeased. Outsiders usually judge us by age; most people think the older one is, the greater the ability, while the younger are merely novices.

Without a doubt, when we first met, Fan Wuchang also without exception fell into this common flaw.

Facing Fan Wuchang's inquiry, Uncle Zhang dared not be careless; he carefully pointed at us and explained: Uncle Zhang said we may be young, but we are all legitimate direct disciples of some orthodox sect, our skills are not inferior to those old-timers in the slightest.

Uncle Zhang's slightly embellished portrayal did not make Fan Wuchang readily believe him; he waved his hand and, casually, pushed a one‑dot tile onto the table.

Yet this simple action made my heart tighten; my first conclusion about Fan Wuchang was that he is an expert, with no alternative.

This seemingly careless push of the mahjong tile landed silently, without a sound. This was not deliberate but a habit formed in daily life.

From this phenomenon, one can analyze that Fan Wuchang is at least an internal martial arts expert; relying solely on his control of this force, not to mention ordinary people, even someone who has trained for decades might not be able to achieve it.

"I don't like empty talk; capable people needn't hide their abilities. Since Old Zhang says you have skills, show me two hands!" Fan Wuchang said while pushing tiles, slowly lighting a cigarette.

I asked him: "How do you want to test?"

He turned his head, his gaze calm as he looked at me, yet I felt like a beast was staring at me, my whole body going numb; the Daoist's spiritual sense told me that Fan Wuchang is a ferocious wolf hiding in sheep's skin, his gaze locking onto you—whether night or day, there is no escape.

Just as my palm was practically sweating, Fan Wuchang shrugged, gave a natural smile, and holding the tiles in both hands said to me: "This is the fourth round; I've lost over ten thousand. If you can make me win today, that will naturally prove yourself. If you can't let me win……"

Pangzi and I felt our hearts tighten, thinking he was about to utter harsh words, but who knew he again gave a shy smile and said: "It's fine if you can't make me win; you were introduced by Old Zhang, I won't make things difficult for you."

I involuntarily sighed in relief; this feeling of first interacting with society members really makes me feel extremely awkward.

I said to him: "First give me your eight characters; you don't need the exact hour, just the year will do."

Fan Wuchang gave me a number; I calculated in my mind using the male fate formula 100 minus birth year divided by nine, and concluded he is an East Four fire destiny.

Looking at today's old lunar calendar, he is undergoing the western metal luck. For him, this is originally not a good day for gambling, and moreover it's a coincidence that he sits in the northern Kan position; north belongs to Kan water. Although water and wood can drain metal, they also suppress fire energy, so he will definitely lose today, but not by too much.

Following my usual practice, I would certainly have him wash his hands and face and change seats. But this method is too old‑fashioned; anyone knows changing rounds and hand luck. Moreover, after switching seats, the other person who was winning steadily would turn into a loser and would not accept it.

So I directly rejected this method; however, besides this simple method, what other way can actually help him?

At that moment, Pangzi also whispered in my ear: "The Li hexagram of Great Excess—fire is overcome by metal; although there is Zhen wood to sustain the body, the wood qi is too weak to dispel metal qi or to boost fire qi."

"What? You wouldn't be trying to get Wuchang ge to change seats and shift his luck, would you? If so, I wouldn't mind giving him my seat," the Pangzi sitting in the eastern position, cigar in mouth, joked.

I lightly laughed, shook my head, and walked out of the mahjong parlor amid their puzzled gazes.

"What is this kid up to? Can't think of a way, so he wants to run away?"

"Who knows? If it were really that easy to make money, masters would be everywhere in this world; the gambling halls Zheng ge looked at would have long been losing money."

Just as I stepped out of the mahjong parlor, I still heard the teasing from inside.

Five minutes later, I turned back amid their astonished gazes; before Fan Wuchang could react, I slipped something into his pocket.

"Is what you stuffed into me useful?" Fan Wuchang asked doubtfully; he is very proud, not asking what I stuffed, nor fearing I would harm him.

I smiled and replied: "Keep playing; when it ends at five o'clock, you will definitely win money!"

"Haha, you little brat, what do you think our Wuchang ge is? Just stuffing something in and you'll win money—who are you trying to fool……"

"Shut up," Fan Wuchang glanced at the thick‑eyebrow Pangzi who was mocking, and calmly said: "Continue playing."

"Hai Sheng, what did you stuff into him—will it work?" Yuan Qiu came over anxiously asking, meanwhile wiping sweat from his forehead, speechlessly looking at Pangzi sitting at the Eight Immortals table, happily eating and drinking.

I patted his shoulder, blinked, and threw out a riddle: "Just watch the show!" After saying that, I also ran over to Pangzi, casually grabbed a char siu bun and stuffed it into my mouth.

"Hai Sheng, try this shrimp dumpling; it tastes the same as the Tao Tao Ju in Xiguan!" Pangzi casually picked up a shrimp dumpling, put it in another bowl, and shoved it toward me.

"En……" Suddenly Fan Wuchang grunted, seeming slightly dissatisfied.

I walked behind him and saw that his hand was terrible—thirteen tiles, characters, bamboos, dots, east south west north all present, lacking sets or pairs; it was practically a worthless hand true to its name.

Even Uncle Zhang, upon seeing this hand, couldn't help but wipe sweat, anxiously asking me: "Hai Sheng, are you really sure this will work?"

"It will work, it's fine!" I comforted; actually my heart is also a bit conflicted now, but I cannot show any timidity, otherwise Yuan Qiu and Uncle Zhang would also be frightened.

Time trickled by; Fan Wuchang, who had received the awful hand, was the first to go out—though it was a "chicken" win, it was still better than nothing.

Opposite Fan Wuchang's seat was a shutter, closed, preventing outside sunlight from entering. At the moment Fan Wuchang went out, Pangzi rose and walked over, opening the shutter to let sunlight pour into the room.

He then walked back to the Eight Immortals table, sat down, exchanged a smile with me, and continued eating shrimp dumplings with his head down.

Over the next few hours, the goddess of fortune seemed to constantly favor Fan Wuchang; the whole table saw only him winning steadily. Although Fan Wuchang remained calm, the exclamations of the three beside him already showed that he had turned from loser to winner.

"All right, no more……that's it!" After only two hours of play, Fan Wuchang pushed the tiles forward, declaring the game over. On his table lay several stacks of Australian dollars, roughly amounting to one hundred thousand.

Fan Wuchang summoned the other three players back, came to me, and took out what I had just slipped into his pocket—it turned out to be four leaves.

He looked dubiously at the four leaves and asked me: "Are these leaves really miraculous?" Then he turned and pointed at the shutter, asking: "What use was there in that little Pangzi opening the window just now?"

Pangzi and I exchanged a smile and slowly explained the purpose of these things to him.

The four leaves are the Xun number of the Eight Trigrams; Xun belongs to wood, and leaves are also wood. He is a fire destiny, today undergoing the Dui metal luck; fire is punished by metal, his seat belongs to Kan water, which though drains metal also suppresses fire. The use of these four leaves, according to the theory of mutual generation and overcoming of the Five Elements, is to borrow wood to aid fire and squeeze out the Dui metal.

This is the foundation of Yi studies, yet also the most rudimentary thing. Any geomancy actually relies on the Five Elements' generation and overcoming, adjusting via yin-yang changes. If one doesn't understand these and recklessly does geomancy for others, blessing will turn into calamity, and viewing feng shui will become harmful.

As for Pangzi, the reason he opened that window is because he has sharp eyes; he instantly recognized that the shutter is the mahjong parlor's Azure Dragon Mouth, and it directly faces Fan Wuchang. Although the Azure Dragon in charge is like a fish in water, earlier the past few hours the dragon was a Golden Dragon, governing power and influence; opening it then would have been useless. At the moment Fan Wuchang went out, the time had just passed that point, the Golden Dragon turned into a Wood Dragon, so Pangzi seized the opportunity and promptly opened the shutter.

This seemingly simple action actually contains great principles. Undoubtedly, Pangzi surpasses me by a notch; in geomancy, besides theory, what matters most is eyesight—a keen-eyed Daoist can, upon arriving at a place, instantly discern its layout orientation, the auspiciousness or inauspiciousness of sand and water; in this regard, I truly fall short of Pangzi.

Just as I finished explaining, Fan Wuchang's stern face flashed a hint of a smile, and he said to me and Pangzi: "I like your frankness."

Then he said to Uncle Zhang: "Old Zhang, you go back first; I'll take care of entertaining these people."

"Sure, then please trouble Wuchang ge to speak a few more good words in front of Zheng ge. Even if the feng shui reading fails, don't make things difficult for these young people." Uncle Zhang lit a cigarette for Fan Wuchang, then gave us a few reminders and walked out of the mahjong parlor.

Fan Wuchang took a puff of cigarette, turned his head, and still in a calm tone said to us: "Let's go; I'll take you to a place."

At that moment, a pale‑faced red‑haired youth rushed into the mahjong parlor; upon seeing Fan Wuchang he panicked and shouted loudly.

"Wuchang ge, something's wrong, there's a ghost, there's a ghost."