"Feng Shui Nourishes, Yet Kills: The Legacy of the Yin-Yang Master"
The saying "Feng shui nourishes, yet kills" holds true. As a wandering feng shui mystic, I've traversed China's lands, and today I recount a century of spectral tales rooted in the balance of yin and yang…
I inherited this path from my grandfather, Chen Guodong—a feng shui master once mockingly called "Crippled Chen" for his limp. Yet none dared say it to his face.
In his time, the Chen family were wealthy landowners, their fortune spanning generations. Legend claims their prosperity began with an ancestor who rose to high office, thanks to a feng shui master's intervention—a blessing that came at a bloody price.
The Curse of the Dragon's Saddle
In the late Qing Dynasty, the Chens thrived in numbers but lacked talent. When the patriarch died, the eldest son sought a famed feng shui master to choose a burial site. The master offered two options: a grave to "multiply descendants" or one to "breed generals and ministers."
Greed blinded them. They chose the latter—the Qilong Xue (Riding the Dragon Site)—a peak said to harness dragon energy. The master warned: "Great power demands sacrifice." Ignoring this, they buried their patriarch and paid the master 100 taels of silver.
Disaster struck instantly. As the coffin settled, a young Chen man dropped dead miles away. By nightfall, three more perished. Three days later, a storm collapsed their ancestral hall, killing dozens. Deaths continued—men vanished like moths to flame, leaving only a widow and her son.
The feng shui master returned years later, gifting the widow 100 taels to educate her child. Eighteen years later, that boy became a high-ranking Qing official, reviving the Chen lineage. Yet this revival was built on a mountain of kin—a hollow triumph.
The Prodigal Heir
By Chen Guodong's generation, the family had reclaimed their wealth. But instead of scholarly ambition, Chen Guodong abandoned his duties to follow a wandering yin-yang master, infuriating his father.
"A wastrel scatters gold like dust; a wise man treasures dust as gold." True to this, Chen Guodong squandered the family fortune—gambling, selling lands, and drowning in vice. Relatives shunned him; villagers mocked him as the "mad heir." Yet he laughed, claiming the wealth was a curse.
His words proved prophetic. When the Communist land reforms swept China, landlords were purged. The Chens' former tenants turned on them, dragging others to the "ash heaps"—pits of scorched debris used to torture the wealthy. Chen Guodong, now penniless, walked free.
Overnight, the "madman" became a seer. He traded his silk robes for a compass, roaming the land as a feng shui master. Decades later, he returned home—and in the snow, found a dying orphan: Chen Er'gou—me.
The Orphan's Fate
Chen Guodong refused to be called "father." "My sins haunt sons, not grandsons," he declared. Thus, a childless man became a grandfather, naming me Er'gou—"Second Dog"—a humble shield against fate's wrath.