I learned from Old Blind Chen’s tales that this old fellow had once been the chief of the Xieling thieves—a towering figure in the lands between the Xiang and Yangtze rivers. If I hadn’t heard whispers of it from Old Sheepskin a decade ago and then confirmed it in person, I never would have believed the Blind Man had ever held the rank of Dao Kui.

I was about to set sail for the distant shores to pursue my American Dream; thereafter, we would be separated by ten thousand miles, and who knew when I would return to the homeland. Though Old Sheepskin and Ding Sitian had been dead for many years, the events of fifteen years prior in the Hundred-Eyed Cave remained a persistent ache in my heart. I wasn't interested in hearing about the time Blind Chen led the Xieling forces against the Corpse King of Western Hunan; I only wanted to glean what information he possessed about Old Sheepskin—what sort of man he truly was, and why his body was ultimately consumed by fire and lightning after his death.

Back then, Old Sheepskin was just an insignificant underling serving under Chen; the Blind Man didn't have a strong impression of him. So, I recounted my experiences on the Inner Mongolian grasslands to him.

I spoke right up to recent times, when I read news reports stating that the exhibition hall documenting the Japanese invaders' atrocities in Hailar now displayed several artifacts of germ warfare research—the only ones remaining in the world. In addition to a complete set of a Danik gas chamber facility, there was a German-made Oszm-Weiss incinerator. The black ash-removal door of that furnace seemed hauntingly familiar. The moment I saw the photograph of that incinerator, I thought: Isn’t that the very black furnace I nearly scrambled out of through the chimney? It seemed the relics, both modern and ancient, within the Hundred-Eyed Cave had all been unearthed, yet the information was tightly sealed, never made public.

I told Chen everything, word for word. The Blind Man listened, his face turning ashen. He stroked his goatee and pondered for a long time before finally recalling Old Sheepskin and Yang Erdan. He then described the demeanor and bearing of these two men in their youth.

The primary method for locating ancient tombs and burial mounds relied on gathering intelligence, or jian she lou, from the common folk. Thus, whether one was a Mojin Xiaowei or a Xieling Lishi, they inevitably had to adopt disguises while traveling through villages and towns. The most common masks were those of a feng shui master or a fortune-teller. Chen, having had extensive experience in his early years, was also proficient in a hundred different folk arts, especially physiognomy and divination by casting lots or characters. That’s why, even now, though he only tells fortunes for a meager living, his readings of bone structure and face are coherent and leave no trace of deception.

In truth, reading faces and bones is largely illusory; a person’s physiognomy is formed innately. To claim it is closely linked to fate and character is stretching the point. However, an old Jianghu hand like Chen possesses his own accumulated experience in reading people. But how does one truly ascertain a person’s moral character and conduct?

It is undeniably true that people fall into different strata, but this is not about judging worth based on rank or status. The world holds both gentlemen and petty villains. The art of reading a person lies entirely in discerning the scope and proximity of their ambitions and the depth and breadth of their spirit.

A person’s level of aspiration and capacity cannot be judged by the same measure. Some are short-sighted, obsessed with immediate gain—like a sparrow, constantly concerned only with the food beneath its claws; once its belly is full, it has consumed no more than a hundred grains. Its call rarely carries beyond a few acres—that is the sparrow’s capacity.

Others are the complete opposite; they possess foresight, ambitions like a Luan or a Phoenix. Once they spread their wings, they aim to soar a thousand li. They will not roost on any tree but the Wutong; they only call out at the sight of the rising sun. Those blessed with wings that can cleave the heavens will never consent to be lodged in a wicker fence or a low wall. A person’s depth and breadth of spirit are half born of nature and half formed by nurture, and the difference between them is vast.

The Xieling Lishi, being half-bandit and half-thief, belonged to the Greenwood society. Their standard for judging character was: better to encounter a gentleman thief than a villainous official. By observing speech and demeanor, and noting daily conduct, they determined whether a person was fit to join their ranks. In this, they could not afford to be careless, lest they admit someone who might incite internal strife or deliver a treacherous blow from behind.

In Blind Chen’s memory, Old Sheepskin and his brother Yang Erdan were both men of extremely shallow ambition and narrow outlook. To put it plainly, the two brothers were born for servitude, fit only to be humble retainers. Yang Erdan, especially, though outwardly appearing to be a simple and honest shepherd boy, his appearance belied his heart; his mind was riddled with crooked schemes, yet his capacity was insufficient. Submitting to his own cunning, he might plot mischief, but he lacked the requisite courage and intellect. Such a person possesses the inclination and the nerve for thievery, but lacks the backbone; he is unlikely to achieve anything great and is destined to be subservient to others, ending badly.

What Blind Chen said was indeed the truth. Yang Erdan was first led down a wicked path to become a bandit, and later surrendered to the Japanese as a collaborator. Those who play with fire are ultimately consumed; he met a truly tragic end. It turns out that one’s daily actions can reveal a flawed heart. However, this ability to read a person’s character requires extremely seasoned experience and exposure, perhaps even more difficult than reading feng shui, for while painting a dragon or a tiger is possible, painting the bones is not; one can see a face but not a heart.

Blind Chen recounted what the Old Sheepskin brothers did while following him, but he knew nothing of the Hundred-Eyed Cave incident. I told him about Old Sheepskin’s last wishes: to be buried eight feet deep, naked, and head-down, only to have his corpse charred by lightning and fire, burned beyond recognition in the pit alongside a massive yellow weasel. I have never encountered anything similar in all these years, and the memory still leaves me utterly bewildered, unable to grasp the reason.

Since heading south to Yunnan, Chen Blind Man had not seen the Old Sheepskin brothers again. All subsequent incidents I relayed to him entirely secondhand. Hearing of the strange occurrences following Old Sheepskin’s death, the Blind Man became pensive. He seemed to know something of the Yuan Cult and finally snorted coldly: “Man’s calculations are ultimately no match for Heaven’s will…”

I asked Chen what he meant, wondering if Old Sheepskin’s final arrangements held some hidden implication.

Chen said: “Lord Hu, you are also an expert in tomb raiding. From grand mausoleums to desolate graves, you must have seen countless burials. Have you ever heard of a custom where the corpse is buried naked and upside down? Of course not, because that is fundamentally not a method of interment. That scoundrel Old Sheepskin likely had ulterior motives.”

Chen Blind Man had previously considered raiding the Yellow Weasel’s tomb but had always missed the opportunity due to unforeseen circumstances. Yang Erdan’s success in finding the buried Yellow Great Immortal Temple was precisely due to certain key clues he had gleaned from Chen over the years.

The Yuan Cult, which worships the Yellow Great Immortal, originated from Little Bole Mountain in the Great Khingan Range. When these yellow weasels live for a great many years, their fur turns from yellow to white. Legend claimed there was an entirely white old weasel on Little Bole Mountain, dog-sized, capable of spitting red cinnabar. This cinnabar was accumulated essence from long life, similar to ox gallstones or lu bao. Certain charlatans and shamans exploited this old weasel to deceive people, gather wealth, and manipulate the populace with dark arts.

Later, this sect gradually infiltrated more remote and desolate regions, gathering a host of ignorant followers. Eventually, due to aspirations of rebellion, they were suppressed by the authorities. Those weasels that had supposedly achieved sentience could enthrall the human mind, but they most feared the Lamas’ curses. The imperial army, with the assistance of the Grand Lama of Tashilun Monastery, carried out a massacre. Most of the Yuan Cult bandits were annihilated, and the survivors carried the remains of the Yellow Great Immortal back to the deep mountain forest where they originated. In a place inaccessible to men, they constructed a Yellow Great Immortal Temple—a temple above, but in reality, a tomb below, housing the coffin for the Great Immortal’s spirit.

By some strange coincidence, this Yellow Great Immortal Temple was built directly over a gold vein. The miners and mountain dwellers working for gold believed in the Yellow Great Immortal until they later dug through the earth’s arteries, causing the mountain to collapse and burying the entire temple underground. Chen Blind Man once wanted to lead his men to excavate the Yellow Great Immortal Temple to steal the inner elixir from the spirit-summoning coffin, but it was said the bronze coffin was protected by wards, claiming the life of whoever dared open it. Chen, unaware of the full truth, dared not act rashly. Perhaps it was because his words inadvertently let slip some information that Yang Erdan pieced together some of the puzzle.

This account from Chen largely matched what Old Sheepskin had told me in the Hundred-Eyed Cave over a decade ago. However, for what happened afterward, Chen could only speculate based on his experience. He surmised that Old Sheepskin might have discovered some evil art of the Yuan Cult in the Hundred-Eyed Cave and developed an inordinate ambition to seize the secret of creating life from heaven and earth. For the Yuan Cult always spoke of “Transforming into a Dragon”: if a person was buried naked, head down, in a place where dragon energy converged after death, in seven days they could sprout scales and claws, transforming into a flower dragon and ascending. The head was placed downward because the head is the apex of the five organs and the root of all bodies, the source of the human body’s four dimensions. This dark method allegedly borrowed the dragon energy from the earth vein, blessing generations of descendants. But Old Sheepskin had not accumulated that virtue, yet he sought to defy Heaven after death. In the end, man’s plans are no match for Heaven’s. Although the technique was sophisticated, it ultimately came to nothing: first, he was bound by silk cloth by his son and could not break free; second, he was dug up and struck down by heavenly lightning, unable to escape his calamity.

Blind Chen said this supposed art of “Transforming into a Dragon” was ultimately a vain delusion, but during his grave robbing days, he had indeed seen corpses interred strangely that underwent changes underground—it wasn't strange for scales to grow on a corpse. It was one thing for others to believe such things, but tomb robbers should not become overly superstitious. Besides this possibility, there was another: Old Sheepskin might have snuck into the Turtle Bone Cave alone, uncovered the Golden Well, and become unconscious. Since the water dragon energy of the Hundred-Eyed Cave had been entirely broken by outsiders, some malevolent spirit hiding within the cave might have possessed Old Sheepskin, intending to use him for the 'dragon transformation' burial. If it wasn't Old Sheepskin seeking transformation, it must have been the evil spirit possessing him. Yet, by some unseen providence, he was dug up in less than seven days. All living things, just like feng shui acupuncture points, must have a beginning and an end. If something exists for too long, violating the law that all that is born must perish, calamity will inevitably force its reckoning. It seemed the destiny of those weasels on Little Bole Mountain had run its course, and there was no escaping it.

I felt the latter possibility Chen described was more likely. After returning from the Hundred-Eyed Cave, Old Sheepskin’s behavior suddenly became erratic, completely out of character. Thinking back, it was indeed strange. I had assumed it was due to extreme mental exhaustion and had only been concerned with getting him immediate medical attention, never considering that he might have been possessed by a yellow weasel.

The thought that even after death a person could be used by a yellow weasel jolted me awake. Perhaps neither of Chen’s possibilities was correct. Old Sheepskin truly intended to be buried in that feng shui locus to benefit his descendants, but how could there be a feng shui nexus point in that Mongolian yurt? Could the bronze dragon talisman Old Sheepskin secretly retrieved from the Yellow Great Immortal’s bronze coffin be an ancient feng shui secret artifact? That object had rested in the old weasel’s coffin for centuries and must still carry the residual corpse-qi of the Yellow Great Immortal, impossible to fully cleanse. The talisman was eventually found among the charred remains, meaning Old Sheepskin must have swallowed it before death. The weasels recognized their ancestor’s scent, which is why only one weasel burrowed into the corpse, intending to retrieve the dragon talisman. As for theories about spirits escaping calamity or dodging lightning, I was skeptical. But since the Way of Feng Shui can connect heaven and earth, could the talisman’s placement in the earth have actually triggered the thunderstorm?

I previously thought the dragon talisman was merely an mingqi buried with the Yellow Great Immortal as an accompaniment for the afterlife. But after a long discussion with Chen, examining the matter from a different angle, the more I pondered, the more I felt that talisman was of extraordinary significance. Regrettably, Ding Sitian had thrown it into the overgrown weeds. Those experiences are long past, feeling like a grand dream. These conjectures are mere speculation between Fatty and me, catching only a glimpse of the dragon through a tube—it may not be comprehensive. Unless the deceased could be resurrected, we would never know the truth. I dwell on it ceaselessly only to give myself an answer. Thinking of the dragon talisman, I casually asked Chen if he knew what that emerald-green bronze dragon object was.

That bronze, eyeless dragon shape possessed an ancient and peculiar form, likely an artifact thousands of years old. It was inscribed with faint, indecipherable glyphs. I believe it was a dragon-shaped bronze talisman, and the ancient script etched upon it was a tool used to communicate with the spirit world via secret language. In earlier times, such talismans were made of bronze, jade, or stone; bronze talismans were relatively common, but the one in the Hundred-Eyed Cave was rare. Legend claimed the dragon talisman was brought from the sea by the colossal tortoise buried in a tortoise-sleep ground. However, as my knowledge of esoteric feng shui arts increased, I realized some so-called tortoise-sleep grounds were man-made, created by trapping and burying giant turtles or old soft-shelled turtles to borrow the spiritual energy from their bones and shells—an artificially constructed feng shui locus.

Hearing my description of the talisman, Chen Blind Man exclaimed, “A fu is a gateway of protection. An eyeless dragon talisman? What use is it? To paint a dragon, one must dot the eyes…” But then he seemed to recall something, his expression suddenly turning solemn: “Brought from the sea? The sea? Then… it is not eyeless… but unseen. Could this be the Sixteen-Character Heavenly Divination of ancient times?” Saying this, he held up four thin fingers to me, making the gesture for four.

I grew even more curious upon hearing this connection to the divination deduced by the Duke of Zhou. Just as I was about to ask Chen to meticulously explain the context and origin, the Blind Man suddenly withdrew his hand, his expression changing drastically. He sniffed the air in the direction the wind blew, as if catching a signal of danger, sprang to his feet, and cried out, “This is bad! Old Man must leave!”

With that, he used his bamboo staff to feel his way, fumbling his way into a pine grove within Taoran Ting Park and vanishing from sight. I wondered why the Blind Man would leave so abruptly and started to chase after him, but when I looked around, I saw a group of people aggressively entering the park—all neighborhood committee aunties wearing red armbands. They were pointing and jabbering at the pavilion where I stood, saying the fortune-telling fraud in sunglasses was right there. They had seen him from afar, but now he was gone! They needed to split up and pursue him; if they caught him, they would hand him over to the police station. Such feudal superstition corroded people’s souls; if everyone believed this nonsense, how could they achieve the Four Modernizations? The group of women chorused their demands ①, preparing to split up and hunt for Chen Blind Man.

Seeing this, I grasped the situation almost immediately. Chen’s act of telling fortunes for money must have been exposed. But how was the old man’s nose so keen? He truly deserved the title of Xieling Chief; his art of hearing the earth and sensing the wind was unparalleled. To cover his safe escape, I immediately pretended to be an enthusiastic eyewitness, pointed in the direction opposite to where the Blind Man fled, and told the committee ladies: “I just saw the old swindler doing that feudal superstitious activity running over there!”

Those red-armbanded old ladies believed me and chased after Chen Blind Man in the direction I pointed. Fearing I would be questioned and held accountable by the committee for lying, I certainly dared not linger in Taoran Ting Park. I also hurried through the pine grove and left, searching everywhere for the fortune-teller who had fled earlier. But there was no sign of him inside or outside the park. I searched until nightfall, looking through all his known residences and haunts, yet he remained completely untraceable.

① Qun Ci Yu Yu (), originally described birds singing harmoniously together, later used to describe a large, noisy crowd of women present. From Han Yu of the Tang Dynasty’s Qin Cao: Zhi Nan Fei: “Turning east when facing the east, flying when pecking, pecking when following the peck, the females chirp in chorus.”

Volume One: The Yellow Weasel’s Grave (End)