Feng Shui magic

The underwater camera feed flickered on the rescue team's monitors. Two divers, their floodlights cutting through the murk, tracked the sinking gourds. Onboard, seasoned search-and-rescue veterans gripped their seats, faces pale. Captain Zhang Junjie stared at his phone screen, watching the live transmission.

"This… this defies physics," he muttered. The gourds sank steadily, untouched by currents, until they settled in the silt 20 meters below. Yet no bodies were visible.

Zhang thrust the phone at Li Chengfeng. "Where are the boys?!"

Li Chengfeng ignored the screen, his gaze fixed on the water's surface. A sickly **green phosphorescence** pulsed beneath the waves—something ancient and hungry lurked here.

Suddenly, Zhang screamed. His phone clattered to the ground as the camera feed showed a small head **emerging from the sludge**. On the boat, a rescuer fainted.

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**Underwater Horror**

The divers steadied their lights. Mud cascaded off a bloated face—**Wang Xiaoming**, eyes wide and crusted with silt, his mouth frozen in a silent scream. Behind him, the second boy clawed at Xiaoming's wrist, their fingers fused in death.

As the gourds began to rise, the corpses followed, dragged upward as if by invisible threads. The divers' breath hitched in their regulators. One later confessed: "Their eyes… they *tracked* us."

Twenty agonizing minutes later, the gourds breached the surface—and **shattered**. The boys' bodies floated face-up, their skin waxen under the twilight sky.

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**Aftermath**

Zhang staggered to Li Chengfeng, voice trembling. "Master Li… I… I apologize for doubting you."

Li Chengfeng gestured to the dead roosters. "Bury them. And never return to this reservoir." He glanced at the water, where the green glow still writhed. "What dwells here… it's grown fond of offerings."

As Li Chengfeng turned to leave, Zhang bowed deeply. "Your contact number—please! If we ever need—"

"I read earth and wind, not water."

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**Twilight Confrontation**

Back in Qingzhou's old district, Li Chengfeng slurped his last 10-yuan noodle soup. Outside the Hall of Serendipity, two figures materialized—**Ye Wushuang** and **Ye Mengyao**, their designer heels clacking on cracked concrete.

Ye Wushuang jabbed a manicured finger at his chest. "Where the hell have you been, you grubby little conman? We've waited hours!"

Li Chengfeng brushed past her. "Did I invite you?"

"How *dare* you!" She seized his collar, ruby nails digging in. "Apologize now, or I'll—"

He met her glare calmly. "Or what? Break my legs? Your father's time grows short, *Ye-gūniang*. Best save your threats."

Ye Mengyao gasped. "You *knew*? Then why didn't—"

"Three days," Li Chengfeng cut in, unlocking the shop. "His neck, leg, lungs—all rotting from within. Come begging then… if you can swallow your pride."

The door slammed.

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