Feng Shui magic

Li Chengfeng couldn't help but feel exasperated. Moments ago, these workers had been boasting about their fearlessness, but now they were trembling so badly they might as well have wet their pants—all because of a few spectral flames conjured by lingering spirits.

The "ghost fires" emerging from the graves were simply manifestations of the ancestral souls buried there. Sensitive to the presence of the living, the spirits had deliberately avoided materializing fully, opting instead for harmless wisps of light to avoid startling the workers. Yet, despite their caution, the men were still reduced to terrified wrecks.

Even Li Chengfeng felt his knees shake at the sight of nearly a hundred eerie green orbs drifting out of the graves. But as a seasoned feng shui master, he couldn't afford to show weakness. He steeled himself, maintaining a composed façade. Liang Daqiang, the foreman, barked at the fleeing workers to regroup. Now humbled, the men returned, their earlier skepticism replaced by awe. To them, Li Chengfeng was no longer a potential fraud but a genuine master of the occult—someone who could command restless spirits with mere words.

Most of the laborers hailed from rural villages, where beliefs in ghosts and deities ran deep. They watched, wide-eyed, as Li Chengfeng addressed the graves in a calm, authoritative tone, instructing the spirits to retreat to a nearby hillside. The ghostly flames obeyed, drifting away like a swarm of fireflies. Murmurs of admiration rippled through the crowd. *This young man really knows his stuff*, they thought.

Once the spirits had settled on the distant hill, Li Chengfeng solemnly recited the *An Tudi Zhou*—the "Peace to the Land" incantation—to appease the earth deities. Then, in a voice that brooked no argument, he declared: *"By the rites of grave-opening and earth-moving, benevolent gods shall withdraw, and malevolent forces shall retreat!"* After a lengthy ceremonial address, he finally signaled Liang Daqiang and the workers to begin digging.

With a crew of strong hands, the ancient grave was leveled in under twenty minutes. The roots of the acacia tree, though the trunk was no thicker than a bowl, sprawled grotesquely beneath the soil. Thick, gnarled tendrils coiled around the coffin like skeletal fingers, some piercing through the rotten wood and burrowing into the burial chamber.

Liang Daqiang and his men froze at the sight. The roots seemed alive, as though strangling the coffin in a death grip. Li Chengfeng sighed heavily. "Roots piercing the coffin, descendants meeting doom," he muttered.

"What does that mean?" Liang Daqiang asked, curiosity overriding his fear.

"Later," Li Chengfeng replied tersely. "We must move the tree before dawn."

As they worked, Li Chengfeng noticed fresh cuts on the roots—evidence that the tree had been deliberately planted here, its growth accelerated by dark feng shui practices. Someone had gone to cruel lengths to curse the Ye family, ensuring their lineage would perish. *What kind of monster would use such forbidden arts?* he wondered. *Do they not fear divine retribution?*

Ordering the roots severed, Li Chengfeng instructed the men to haul the tree away for replanting elsewhere. But the true horror lay inside the coffin. When the lid was pried open, a worker screamed, dropping his flashlight. The beam illuminated a nest of roots writhing through the skeletal remains of Ye Mengyao's great-grandfather. Two fat rats scurried out, fleeing into the night.

Li Chengfeng shone his light into the coffin. Roots had invaded the skull's eye sockets and jaw, coiled around the neck vertebrae, and threaded through the ribcage and right femur. A cold realization struck him: the black miasma he'd seen clinging to Ye Gucheng—around his eyes, throat, chest, and leg—mirrored these very points of entanglement. The patriarch's illness, and the matching afflictions plaguing his descendants, were no coincidence.

"Who'll clear the roots from the coffin?" Li Chengfeng asked. The men recoiled, refusing to touch the cursed remains. Desperate, he upped the offer: "20,000 yuan extra to anyone who helps!"

Greed triumphed over fear. An older worker leaped in, followed by two others, including Liang Daqiang. They tore out the invasive roots, careful not to disturb the bones. Within minutes, the coffin was clean.

After resealing the grave, Li Chengfeng turned to the hillside. "Ancestors of the Ye family," he called, "your rest is restored. Return now." The ghost fires streamed back into their tombs, leaving the workers gaping at Li Chengfeng's power.

But as the final orb—belonging to Ye Mengyao's great-grandfather—hovered before him, Li Chengfeng's composure cracked. The spectral flame lingered, its emerald glow inches from his face. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. *What does it want?*

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