I inherited a tattered scroll, the Sixteen-Character Secret Arts of Feng Shui and Yin-Yang penned by an ancestor who was a Tomb Raider of the Mojin Xiaowei. This book contained sixteen cryptic phrases detailing the methods for locating dragon veins. The "Feng Shui Secret Arts" is but one branch of the broader category known as Shushu (Archaic Arts). But what truly constitutes Shushu? The prominence of Shushu largely arose after the Qin and Han dynasties, with the I Ching serving as its ultimate foundation. Its core essence cannot stray from Yin and Yang, the Five Elements, and the cycles of generation and restraint—all of which are merely offshoots of the I Ching, embellished with supplementary theories.

When objects manifest forms, those forms generate numbers. To calculate, deduce, and elaborate upon these principles, striving to exhaust the source of creation—that is what we call mathematics.

Celestial bodies, the earth, clouds, and phenomena used for prognostication and clarifying mysteries are recorded in the Classics. In later generations, this tradition became contaminated by fraudulent nonsense, gradually losing its true meaning, yet one cannot claim the ancients possessed no such doctrine.

Beyond these, the lower streams are hopelessly muddled and beyond exhaustive naming; the official histories (Shi) and biographical records (Zhi) bundle them collectively under the banner of "The Five Elements."

Relying solely on this singular, strange volume, I began my career as a Tomb Raider, a Mojin Xiaowei. So much transpired during those years, and so many people crossed my path. These past few years, I can only sum up as: "Though I faced death countless times in the desolate South, I hold no regret; this journey was the most remarkable of my entire life."

Looking back at the road taken, it was fraught with blood and sharp winds. Fortunately, I have trod upon countless green mountains and am not yet old. Now, as I prepare to bid farewell to the profession of the Mojin Xiaowei and depart for America, I sorted through my belongings and unearthed an old photo album. Flipping through it casually, I found a group shot of myself and several companions nestled among countless other old pictures. The backdrop was the vast grassland of Inner Mongolia. Among the faces was me and Fatty. Some memories time cannot kill. I still clearly recall that this picture was taken just before I enlisted in the army. Back then, we all wore our hats cocked and our military packs slung sideways—a look that seems somewhat ridiculous by today’s standards, but I certainly didn't feel that way at the time; in fact, I thought the image was rather dashing. After taking that commemorative photograph, my comrades in the picture and I ventured deep into the great steppe. I remember distinctly that we were heading to the northern deserts in search of a black, demonic dragon…