Chapter 120: Simple Answer

The old man's voice was clear, with a Changsha accent, and coupled with what he said, it piqued my curiosity.

I secretly sized up the old man. His face was unfamiliar, about seventy-something, skinny and short, with a hint of gloom between his brows. He wore a wrinkled old cotton jacket and reading glasses as thick as beer bottle bottoms—probably half-blind with them on. Dressed like that, he didn't look like a regular customer here. But Second Uncle's teahouse had many capable people, so the waitstaff wasn't surprised. These days, all kinds of people show up.

I kept my composure and watched his actions. He picked up that book, walked back to his seat with his hands behind his back, his spine straight and his steps brisk. If he wasn't a martial arts practitioner, he must have been a soldier before.

There were several other people at his table, all elderly, chatting. When they saw the old man return, they all showed respectful expressions—clearly, this guy was the leader.

I quietly moved my tea over and sat at a seat behind them, perking up my ears to hear what the old man would say.

At first, the old men chatted about stocks for a while, which didn't sit well with me. Half an hour later, the old man remembered he had the magazine. I heard him say, "Oh, right, come come come, let me show you something interesting."

With that, he opened the magazine and flipped to the page I had burned. When I heard that, I thought, "This is promising—this guy might actually know something." I hardly dared to breathe. I heard the old man add, "Come take a look, what's special about this map? Let me test you."

The old men looked it over, chattering away. What could be so special about a map with a cigarette burn hole? But those old guys really could stretch it—some even rambled on about a tripod situation. The leading old man shook his head, saying none of it was right. I was itching with curiosity, hoping he'd reveal the answer quickly. I'd surrender already, wouldn't that be fine?

Seeing that no one could get it, the old man chuckled and suddenly lowered his voice, saying something I couldn't understand. The others immediately got excited and all tried to grab the magazine.

I was suddenly frustrated—why did he have to speak a dialect? Was I fated not to know about this? The old men looked for a long time, all letting out sounds of sudden realization. I was burning with anxiety, hoping they would discuss it so I could pick up some details. With my ability, knowing a bit should let me deduce the general picture.

Unexpectedly, from then on, all their conversations switched to that strange language. I listened carefully for a long time but could only confirm it wasn't a Chinese dialect. Where the hell were those old men from?

After listening for a long time, I couldn't take it anymore. My mind got heated, and I thought, "You won't let me understand, huh? Fine, I'll just go ask you myself. What can you do about it?" Steeling myself, I stood up, walked over to their side, and, pretending to be an eager young learner, asked, "Where are you gentlemen from? Why does this speech sound so strange to me?"

This was very abrupt in Hangzhou—unlike in Beijing, where people in teahouses and courtyard homes might know each other. As soon as I said it, I regretted it, thinking they might give me a dirty look.

Unexpectedly, the old men were taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing. The one who had taken the magazine said, "Little frog, it's normal you don't understand. This is Old Miao speech. In the whole country, no more than a thousand people can speak it."

I asked in surprise, "So you're all Miao? But you don't look it."

The old men laughed again in unison, not answering me. Seeing that they were talkative and not from around here, I thought I might be able to get something out of them. So I followed up, "Don't laugh, gentlemen. I just heard this elder say something about a feng shui arrangement. This map was burned by me—could it be that the burn actually made something interesting?"

The leading old man looked me over and said, "Young man, you're interested in feng shui too? This field of study—you probably can't understand it."

"I can! I can!" I was almost ready to lick his feet to make him spill it quickly. "Why don't you tell me about it, so I can broaden my horizons?"

The old man exchanged glances with the others and smiled, then said, "Actually, it's nothing much. Look, the three points you burned are all in very special positions. Connect them, then look at it sideways—what do you see?"

I picked up the magazine and looked. Suddenly, a chill ran through my body. "This is—!" I gaped.

So it turned out that the Western Zhou tomb in the Qi-Meng Mountains, the floating pagoda underground palace at Wolfo Hill in Guangxi, and the underwater tomb in Xisha—the places where the three bronze fish had been unearthed—when connected by a curve hugging China's coastline, formed a very familiar shape. On closer look, it was unmistakably a faintly visible dragon-shaped vein!

I wanted to slap myself. I thought, "Wu Xie, how could you be so stupid! You never thought to sketch it on the map—you only focused on the different dynasties of these places, never considering the geographical relationship." Seeing my shock, the old man knew I had caught on. With a hint of approval, he said, "It's a not-so-obvious 'Water-Emerging Dragon.' Put nicely, it's called 'Hidden Dragon Emerging from the Sea.' But this layout is missing something—the dragon's head is absent." As he spoke, he took his own cigarette and pressed it onto the magazine, right on the location of the Changbai Mountains.

The magazine sizzled as it burned, but I couldn't react at all. After a moment of daze, I hurriedly asked him, "Th-this, Master, what is the purpose of this layout?"

The old man chuckled. "You see, this is like 'a range from the side, a peak from the front.' Look at these points: they connect the Changbai Mountains, the Qinling Mountains, the Qi-Meng Mountains, and where the Kunlun Mountains enter the ground. This is called 'Thousand Dragons Pressing the Tail.' China's dragon veins are all connected underground. When you look at the feng shui as a whole, there are naturally countless places along this line where qi gathers and wind hides. The points you hit are all crucial treasure eyes. Because one end of this line is in water and the other on land, it's called 'Water-Emerging Dragon.'"

"But this kind of grand feng shui isn't practical. The dragon veins discerned through this method are relatively abstract. We call them 'Grand Dragon.' In ancient times, it was used for divination to read the world's fortunes. The location of Beijing city was determined by this. But for selecting an emperor's burial site, this feng shui is too broad. I only know the basics. If you want a true master, it would be Wang Zanghai from the early Ming dynasty—grand-scale feng shui was his specialty."

At this point, my vision blurred, and I felt as if all seven apertures were opened. All the things I couldn't understand came flooding into my mind: Why did the hexagonal bells from the corpse cave at Five Graves Ridge outside the Lu King's Palace appear in the underwater tomb? Why was there such an intricate labyrinth box in a Western Zhou tomb? Why did the Buddhist relics in the Guangxi floating pagoda's "Mirror Palace" turn into snake-browed bronze fish? The reason was too simple—Wang Zanghai had been to all these places.

The treasure eyes of a Water-Emerging Dragon are usually the places where a dragon vein hides wind and gathers qi. Buildings or tombs are typically already constructed there. Although I still didn't know the purpose of placing the bronze fish at these treasure eyes, according to general feng shui practice, this feng shui line of the Grand Dragon was set up for the dragon's head on Changbai Mountain.

All these arrangements were for the Cloud Summit Palace. No wonder he was so obsessed—he had poured such immense effort into it.

Then who was buried in the palace beneath the snow layer? The old man saw me lost in thought, probably not knowing what I was thinking, so he called to the others to get up, stuffed the magazine into my hand, and waved for the bill.

I was still thinking and didn't react immediately. By the time I remembered to ask for his contact information, he had already walked out of the teahouse. I chased after him and saw him take off his glasses. When I saw the contours of his eyes and face, my heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help but stop.

I saw a horrific scar starting from the corner of his eye, crossing his nose, and reaching the other corner of his eye. There was a dent in his nasal bridge, as if cut by some sharp weapon.

I saw his eyes, was startled again, forgot to give chase, and in the end, they all got into the car and left.

I thought about it again, feeling that this old man spoke with extraordinary grace and had a strong voice; he was very likely the Chenpi A'si Old Hai had mentioned today! We had just talked about him over dinner, and now I run into him at the teahouse—what a coincidence.

I thought it over, and suddenly felt that Old Hai's coming to Hangzhou for no apparent reason to tell me a story was a bit abrupt; could it be that this old man and Old Hai had some shady dealings? Setting up such a trap to lure me in?

This old man looks a bit cunning; I need to be on guard.

I cursed inwardly, not knowing what kind of game this was; suspicion arose in my heart. Recalling Old Hai's account, wasn't this old man already blind? How could he still see? And he spoke with such a strong voice, not like a ninety-year-old.

But after figuring out the "Big Head Hidden Dragon" trick, I felt much more at ease, and that gloomy feeling vanished completely. I went back to settle the bill, then went home and slept soundly and solidly.

I woke up the next day at noon. When I looked at the invitation, dammit, it was already over. I called Old Hai, and he didn't have much to say, only that no one had bid on that fish. I was overjoyed inside—only an idiot would buy that thing. I said a few more things, but it sounded like Old Hai was very busy, apparently having bought quite a lot of stuff, so I didn't bother him further.

In the afternoon, I didn't feel like going to the shop; I wanted to go to the teahouse to wait for that man again, but the shop from Third Uncle's side called, saying someone was looking for me.

I thought to myself, could it be Lao Yang again? Anxiously, I drove over. When I walked into the shop, I saw a person sitting on the guest sofa. My eyes almost stung and tears nearly fell; I immediately shouted, "Panzi!"