When the rays of morning light finally pierced through the cloud cover, Chen Yao was fitfully napping at his apartment desk.
He had a brief, sharp dream: he stood upon a vast, black sea. The water was viscous like oil, its surface perfectly flat, unbroken by any waves. Beneath his feet was a tiny wooden plank, its edges slowly dissolving into the dark liquid. He looked down and saw countless blurred faces drifting beneath the surface, their mouths opening and closing in a silent, collective whisper.
The sharp vibration of his phone yanked him back to reality. It was Boss Zhou.
"Mr. Chen!" Zhou Zhenghua's voice carried a vitality that was missing yesterday. "The workers all came back this morning. They say the site... feels different. Quiet. And that worker with the fever? He's been discharged from the hospital! The doctors said it was just a common cold, nothing to worry about."
Chen Yao sat up straight, rubbing his throbbing temples. Outside, the day was bright, and sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting parallel bars of gold across his desk.
"What about the northeast corner?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I checked it myself. The area around the septic tank is clean—no leaks. The night security guard said it was peaceful all night; not a single strange sound." Zhou paused for a moment. "Mr. Chen, did you... do something last night?"
Chen Yao looked at his right hand. The palm was empty, the skin patterns clear. There was no physical mark, but that marrow-deep chill seemed to linger in his muscle memory.
"It's only a temporary stabilization," he said. "The root cause hasn't been addressed. It could relapse at any time."
"Then... could you perform a formal treatment?" Zhou asked tentatively. "Using Old Mr. Chen's methods? Whatever hardware or materials you need, just say the word."
Chen Yao fell silent. Last night's attempt was a hurried patch, driven by instinct. A "formal treatment" meant he had to truly understand and execute the protocols his grandfather had left behind.
It was no longer an emergency fix; it was the Inheritance.
"Let me think about it," he said. "I'll give you an answer this afternoon."
After hanging up, Chen Yao showered. As the hot water washed over his body, he felt a wave of emptiness—not fatigue, but a depletion of internal energy. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was pale, with faint dark circles under his eyes.
Over breakfast of black coffee and toast, which he ate without tasting, he opened his grandfather's ledger again. He found the detailed records on the treatment of "Sedimentation Pools." The handwriting was precise and restrained:
"Treating a Sedimentation Pool focuses on 'Purification' rather than 'Expulsion.' Its nature is accumulated information (Resentment, Disease, Death); it is non-physical. It cannot be killed or destroyed. It can only be guided, transformed, or diluted."
Step 1: The Synchronization Window. One must select a day of 'Removal,' 'Settlement,' 'Opening,' or 'Success.' Avoid days of 'Destruction' or 'Closure.' The hour should be High Noon (Maximum Yang) or the Hour of Zi (Maximum Yin), depending on the nature of the data. Use Noon for resentment; use Zi for disease-Qi.
Step 2: Cleansing the Site. Mix cinnabar, realgar, mugwort, and calamus into a powder. Scatter it at the four corners and the center of the plot. This is not for exorcism, but to establish 'Coordinates' for the upcoming guidance.
Step 3: Hardware Deployment. Bury 'Qi-Guiding Stakes' according to the Four Directions. Material requirements: Peach wood (East/Azure Dragon), Locust wood (West/White Tiger), Willow wood (North/Black Tortoise), and Date wood (South/Vermilion Bird). Length: 3.3 feet. Thickness: 3 inches. Carve the corresponding constellation symbols on the heads and bury seven copper coins (the Number of the Big Dipper) at the base.
Step 4: Guidance. Once the array is set, the practitioner must stand at the center, acting as the 'Hub.' Guide the stagnant Qi to flow along the array's paths to be slowly vented. This is the most dangerous step; the practitioner will directly face the information stream and must remain resolute. The duration depends on the scale—ranging from the time it takes an incense stick to burn to three full days and nights.
Step 5: Cleanup. Once vented, offer incense to the earth. Remove the stakes, wash them in clean running water, and expose them to sunlight for three days before reuse. The land must remain fallow for three months to allow natural recovery.
Chen Yao read every word, his heart heavy. The complexity far exceeded his imagination. The "Hub" step was similar to his instinctive attempt last night, but far more systematic and perilous.
He flipped further and found a record from 2006 involving a site that was once an execution ground. His grandfather had spent two days and nights "Bridging" the system, witnessing hallucinations of blood and hearing cries. He was bedridden for half a month afterward, coughing up blood.
Coughing up blood. That was the price. His grandfather had exchanged half a month of illness for the purification of that land.
What about Boss Zhou's site? What price would it require?
He needed more information. About the site itself, and exactly what his grandfather had done three years ago.
Chen Yao sent a message to Zhou, requesting the site's detailed floor plans, the archaeological summary of the tomb, and—if possible—any records left by his grandfather from three years ago.
While waiting, he opened his computer and searched for modern studies on "Sedimentation Pools." Unsurprisingly, the term didn't exist in academic literature. However, some fringe research on "Place Memory" and "Environmental Trauma Psychology" discussed why certain locations caused persistent psychological or physiological discomfort. One paper cited Marcel Mauss's General Theory of Magic, suggesting that "anomalies" in certain places might be the projection and solidification of collective psychology.
But that couldn't explain the hammering and the dark red liquid. Unless those, too, were hallucinations created by collective psychology—and Chen Yao didn't believe his experience last night was a hallucination.
At 2:00 PM, Zhou's materials arrived.
The site map was clear: an irregular rectangle with the ancient tomb in the southwest center. The buried positions of the Four Directions copper boxes were marked with red circles at the corners. The septic tank was in the northeast.
The archaeology report revealed that the tomb belonged to a fifth-rank official from the mid-Ming Dynasty. It was well-preserved and unlooted. The owner had a clean record, yet the epitaph contained a startling sentence: "This land holds much malice; I use my own body as a suppressor (以身为镇), hoping future generations do not disturb it."
I use my own body as a suppressor.
Chen Yao's heart skipped. What did this mean? The tomb owner knew he was buried on a "malicious" land and intentionally used his burial to suppress it?
He read further. The report mentioned "anomalous geological structures" three meters beneath the burial chamber—ruins of artificial structures from an even earlier period, possibly Song or Yuan. They hadn't excavated further to protect the tomb.
It was a multi-layered sedimentation.
Chen Yao leaned back and closed his eyes. A picture formed: In the Song or Yuan dynasties, something happened here to create the original "Sedimentation." A Ming official discovered the anomaly and built his family tomb over it to "Suppress it with his body." Centuries later, the tomb was disturbed. His grandfather stabilized it with the Four Directions Suppression. Three years after that, a septic tank accidentally broke the balance.
It was like geological strata of causality.
He received another photo from Zhou—a page from an old notebook. The handwriting was his grandfather's:
"Year of Geng-Zi (2020), 3rd Lunar Month: Handled Zhou's site. Contains Ming tomb over ancient ruins. Deep sedimentation, especially 'Disease-Qi' and 'Stagnant Resentment.' Used Four Directions Suppression for a five-year term. Placed Kangxi coins (300 years of human-Qi circulation) as anchors. Warning: No excavation for five years, especially in the Northeast."
On the next page, there was more: "Zhou's Bazi: Jia-Yin (Year of Wood Tiger), Ding-Mao (Month of Fire Rabbit), Geng-Shen (Day of Metal Monkey), Ren-Wu (Hour of Water Horse). Carrying '驛馬' (Traveling Star) and '劫煞' (Robbing Sha); destined for a life of toil and conflict. Yet Wealth stars are prominent. If this succeeds, his wealth will grow, but..."
The following words were blurred by water damage. Chen Yao zoomed in, deciphering only a few fragments: "...but... price... Already Received (已收)..."
Already Received. The term chilled him. In his grandfather's ledger, "Already Received" appeared next to Zhou's Bazi. His grandfather had foreseen it: treating the site would boost Zhou's wealth, but the price was... "Already Received." What was received? And from whom?
He remembered the paired records in the ledger: Helping A, while B suffers. It was a Transfer.
Was Zhou's "Wealth boost" built upon the loss of an unknown third party? A loss that had already been "Received" three years ago?
Chen Yao paced the room. He stood at a crossroads: to refuse and return to a normal life, or to dive in and uncover the truth—including the dark side of his own family.
The phone rang. It was Boss Zhou.
"Mr. Chen," he pleaded. "The workers say the site feels 'fresh' today. They're motivated. I know it's temporary, but... could you please handle it formally? Set your price; I just want it solved."
Chen Yao gripped the phone. He remembered the chill on his palm, the whispers, and the worker's face. He also remembered the cold words in the ledger: "Already Received."
"Mr. Zhou," he said slowly. "I can try. But I need to make a few things clear."
"Anything!"
"First, I cannot guarantee a total solution. I will only follow my grandfather's methods, but I don't know how effective they will be."
"I understand."
"Second, I need your cooperation—temporary work stoppage and specific materials."
"I'll have the list ready."
"Third," Chen Yao paused. "When it's over, regardless of the outcome, you must tell me what my grandfather said and did three years ago. Especially regarding the 'Price'."
There was silence on the other end.
"Mr. Zhou?"
"...Fine," Zhou whispered. "I promise."
Chen Yao began the list. According to the records, he needed:
Peach, Locust, Willow, and Date wood stakes: 3.3 feet long, 3 inches thick. Cinnabar, realgar, mugwort, and calamus powder. A new brush and yellow paper. Forty-nine copper coins, preferably from the Qing Dynasty. Incense burner and sticks. Three clean porcelain bowls and fresh water.
He consulted the Tome of Harmonizing the Seasons. Today was the 9th day of the 10th lunar month, a day of "Heavenly Virtue," but "Earthmoving" was prohibited. Not ideal.
Three days later was a Wu-Xu day, under the "Golden Vault" star—suitable for construction and burials. Wu-Xu was the same as his own Day Pillar; it would enhance the resonance.
He decided on High Noon. Not because he was sure "Resentment" was the primary issue, but because he didn't dare stay at the site late at night again.
He sent the list to Zhou. Zhou replied instantly: "Items will be ready in three days. I'll keep the site closed."
For the next three days, Chen Yao prepared. He re-read the ledger, practiced "Guidance" in his apartment—visualizing himself at the center of a field, sensing the invisible flow. It was difficult; his mind wandered to rent and work. But occasionally, in deep stillness, he felt a faint "Flow"—not wind, but something subtle, like an atmospheric convection caused by temperature, yet different. It responded slightly to his intent.
Finally, he cast a hexagram for the upcoming ritual: "What will be the outcome of the treatment in three days?"
The coins settled: Upper Trigram Gen (Mountain), Lower Trigram Kan (Water). Hexagram: Meng (Youthful Folly).
The judgment read: "Meng. Success. It is not I who seek the young fool; the young fool seeks me. At the first oracle I inform him. If he asks two or three times, it is importunity. If he importunes, I give no information. Perseverance furthers."
Meng meant ignorance, enlightenment, and the need for guidance. It was a neutral hexagram. It suggested he was still in the "Folly" stage, needing to learn. But who was the "young fool"? Him? Or Zhou?
He put away the coins. He understood: the hexagram had given enough information. To ask again would be "importunity." He needed to prepare, learn, and then realize it through practice.
On the fourth morning, Chen Yao arrived at the site. Zhou was waiting, anxious but hopeful. The lot was empty and clean.
"Everything is here, exactly as requested," Zhou said.
Chen Yao verified the items. The Peach wood had a faint scent; the Date wood was heavy. The powders were fine. The coins were Qianlong Tongbao in good condition.
"Good. Mr. Zhou, leave now. I start at Noon. No interruptions for two hours."
Chen Yao purified his hands three times. He drew the Four Direction Talismans. The cinnabar flowed onto the yellow paper, every stroke heavy with concentration. By the time he finished four, his forehead was beaded with sweat.
At 10:55 AM, he stepped out. The noon sun was blinding. Following the protocol, he began with "Cleansing," walking clockwise from the center, scattering the powder. The air filled with the scent of sulfur, bitter mugwort, and calamus.
Next came the hardware. He buried the stakes: Peach in the Southeast (Azure Dragon), Locust in the Southwest (White Tiger), Willow in the Northwest (Black Tortoise), and Date in the Northeast (Vermilion Bird). At the base of each, he placed seven coins in the shape of the Big Dipper.
Finally, he returned to the center, standing within a three-foot lime circle he had drawn.
At 11:30 AM, the array was complete.
Chen Yao stood in the center and took a deep breath. Suddenly, the wind died. The bright sun remained, but the scent of the herbs seemed to freeze in the air.
He closed his eyes and began the Guidance.
He imagined himself as the hub, with the four stakes as terminals connected by invisible lines. He used his intent to "Push" the negative information stored in the soil, forcing it to flow along the lines toward him, then venting it upward into the sky.
Resistance hit him like a wall. It was a psychological heaviness, like walking through deep water. Fragmented images flashed: blurred silhouettes, dark rooms, painful groans.
He steadied his mind and "Pushed." The images sharpened: a man in ancient clothing lying on the ground with an arrow in his chest; crowds in cramped spaces coughing with fever; an official sighing over a map before writing "I use my own body as a suppressor."
They were mixed, from different eras, but they shared one thing: Agony.
Chen Yao's chest tightened. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them. He didn't dare move. He felt like a pump, drawing up sewage from the depths. The "sewage" passed through his body, turning into invisible steam before rising.
Then, he heard voices. Clearer now. "...Cold..." "...Hungry..." "...Why do this to us..." "...No escape..."
They overlapped like a choir of discord. Chen Yao grit his teeth. His grandfather's warning echoed: "Remain resolute. Do not be disturbed." He didn't respond or analyze the words. He only focused on the flow.
His body began to vibrate—not with fear, but with Overload. A chill rose from his feet, turning his muscles to stone. He opened his eyes to check the surroundings.
Above the site, at a height of fifteen meters, a pale grey mist had appeared. It wasn't smoke; it was a cluster of blurred, slowly rotating vapor. Four transparent streams rose from the stakes, converging toward the center and merging into the mist.
It was working.
But the stream from the Northeast Date stake was darker, tinged with a sickly dark red. It was unstable.
Chen Yao refocused, extending a mental "arm" toward the northeast to help stabilize the output. The reaction was immediate. The voices in his head turned into screams: "LET ME OUT!" "IT HURTS!" "WHY ME?!" "YOU WON'T ESCAPE EITHER!"
The chill exploded. Chen Yao felt his blood freezing. His vision darkened. He was about to break.
Then, a line from the ledger surfaced: "Guidance is not resistance, but compliance. Like water leading water, or wind drawing wind."
Resistance? Compliance? He had been "Pushing" and "Extracting"—that was resistance.
He shifted strategy. He stopped "Pushing" and began "Inviting." He imagined he was opening a door, inviting the stagnant information to leave the land and go where it belonged. He stopped forcing; he gave permission.
The change was miraculous.
The screams turned to whimpers, then to sighs. The chill stopped freezing him and simply flowed through him like water. The grey mist above rotated faster, its color fading from grey to transparent.
When the "Overload" finally vanished, he opened his eyes. The mist was gone. The sun shone clearly.
It was 12:40 PM. The process had taken seventy minutes.
He stumbled out of the circle, his legs nearly giving way. He gripped a piece of scaffolding, gasping. His shirt was soaked and cold. But the site... felt light. The sweet rot was gone.
Half an hour later, Zhou returned. He and the foremen looked around in amazement. "Boss, it's so... fresh." "The air is different."
Zhou bowed deeply. "Mr. Chen, I cannot thank you enough. The fee—"
"Not yet," Chen Yao interrupted. "Mr. Zhou, your promise."
Zhou's expression turned somber. "I'll tell you. Three years ago, your grandfather was exhausted. He only said one thing: 'The causality has been redirected. You are safe for three years. But... someone is going to suffer.'"
"Who?"
"He wouldn't say. But I looked into it later. A local doctor in the west of the city—a good man named Wu—suffered a massive stroke and was paralyzed right after your grandfather finished here."
Chen Yao's heart sank. "His address?"
"17 Liu Lin Lane."
Chen Yao nodded. He packed his things. He looked back at the site one last time. The machines were starting up, everything was returning to "normal."
But he knew this "normalcy" was bought with the paralysis of an old man. This was "Already Received."
Back in his apartment, Chen Yao opened the ledger to the page of Zhou's Bazi. In the margin, he wrote: "Year of Geng-Zi, 3rd Lunar Month: Zhou Site Case. Method: Four Directions Suppression. Substitution: Dr. Wu, paralyzed by stroke."
He stared at the words for a long time. The city lights were beginning to glow outside. The heavy, cold core of the family business was finally in his hands. The debt is always paid. The only question is: Who receives the bill?