After Nurhaci moved the capital to Shenyang, a legend spread: Qianshan, Longgang Mountain, and Jilin Hada Ridge all originated from Changbai Mountain, with Shenyang at the midpoint of their dragon veins. Convinced by feng shui, Nurhaci built Niangniang Temple southwest of Dongjing City, Mituo Temple inside the east gate, and Qianfo Temple at the foot of Fengling Mountain—three temples intended to suppress the dragon's spirit and secure the dynasty's qi.
But the temples only (restrained) the dragon's head, claws, and tail; its spine remained free. When the dragon arched to fly north across the Hun River, Nurhaci believed it was a divine mandate to build a new city there, naming it "Fengtian" ("Following Heaven's Will").
The tombs of Dongling and Beiling—Ascending Dragon Tomb and Cloud Dragon Tomb—were royal sites meant to stabilize the Qing dynasty. Had yin not overtaken yang, the dynasty might not have fallen so tragically. My parents were buried on the dragon's back, a "Dragon-Riding Spot." Shenyang's dragon vein thrived on water, while willows embodied yin energy. The suppressed dragon vein created a barrier at the tomb site, shielding my parents' souls from "yang fire" until they were ready for retrieval by hell officials.
Listening to Grandpa, I felt like I'd glimpsed another world. But we still had to face reality. The hit-and-run case was closed: the driver had been driving a (scrap vehicle), had no insurance, and died at the scene. He was divorced, orphaned, and penniless—a "three-no" person who'd stolen my parents' lives. There was nothing we could do but accept it. Our landlord reclaimed the house, and Grandpa and I struggled to make ends meet. As time passed, my grief faded, replaced by curiosity about feng shui. I pestered Grandpa to teach me about the heavenly stems and earthly branches.
To support me, Grandpa resumed his work as a fortune-teller. As the saying goes, "Dragons beget dragons, phoenixes beget phoenixes." Being his descendant, I grasped the craft quickly. In two years, I witnessed countless supernatural events, deepening my fascination. But Grandpa insisted, "It's just the way of things. Study hard—it's the only path."
In my sophomore year of high school, while Grandpa was out on a job, a visitor arrived.
The man who knocked was short, with a large nose—features Grandpa said indicated profound ancestral blessings and wealth. Yet his paper-thin lips and gaunt cheeks gave him a mean, miserly look.
"Young master," he said politely, "is your grandfather home? I traveled from Liaozhong on his reputation. My father wants to relocate his grave, and I hope your grandfather can select a site."
"Sorry, sir. He's out working, should be back by dark."
But the man was insistent. Learning Grandpa was away, he demanded I go in his place. Any feng shui practitioner knows, "Three years to trace the dragon, ten years to spot the tomb"—proof of how difficult site selection is. I was barely an amateur; how could I risk choosing a site? One mistake could be disastrous. As Grandpa always said, "Three chi higher, a prime minister; three chi lower, a vagabond"—precision was crucial.
I urged him to wait, but he was desperate. He pulled out 3,000 yuan. "I hear you've studied with your grandfather for years. This site isn't tricky—I already had someone scout it, but they left unexpectedly. Liaozhong is full of frauds. A friend told me your grandfather is a master. Don't make me travel all this way for nothing. Just come to Liaozhong and point somewhere. 3,000 yuan plus expenses."
Three thousand yuan! High school was expensive, and Grandpa struggled to pay for my tutoring. This money could ease our lives. But something felt off—this miserly man being so generous?
"Seriously? Just point anywhere for 3,000?" I asked again.
"Of course. Take the money now if you like." He stuffed the cash into my hand.
I gritted my teeth. Liaozhong wasn't far. Tempted by the money, I agreed. Little did I know, this greed would nearly cost me my life.