The very structure of Beijing city today is derived from the Yuan Dynasty's Dadu, designed seven hundred years ago by the arcane master Liu Bingzhong. Legend holds that a malevolent dragon-spirit lurked beneath the city site, compelling the construction to assume the shape of the Eight-Armed Nezha, meant to suppress the dragon and secure the royal destiny. The city's layout conceals the imagery of three heads and six arms, a pair of feet, and all five major organs—an elaborate Feng Shui arrangement, where many princes and nobles were buried in the shadows.

The ancestors of Old Master Qiao served in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, later being seconded to compile the Siku Quanshu. Over time, he mastered the Yin-Yang Five Elements, gaining considerable insight into geomancy, celestial astrology, and physiognomy. By the time it reached Old Master Qiao’s generation, leveraging his superficial knowledge of Feng Shui and his ability to discern the colors of earth and traces of soil, he successfully excavated several ancient tombs. When he breached the seal of this particular Yuan Dynasty grave, black miasma erupted toward the heavens. He waited two days for the black fog to dissipate before daring to enter. Before the subterranean palace gate, he found it inlaid entirely with rubies.

Overjoyed, he reached out to pick them, only to have them crumble into fine powder. The red dust seemed to cling and then drift away. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was cinnabar, used centuries ago. Cinnabar in Yuan tombs was not unusual, but his disappointment was profound. He forced the door and entered the chamber: coffins hung suspended by iron chains, the sarcophagi hoisted mid-air by massive iron rings—a precaution against the seepage of rainwater or groundwater soaking the wood.

Yet, the tomb chamber held no standing water. Instead, it displayed numerous intact porcelain jars and vases, complete household furnishings, all crafted from exquisite blue-and-white porcelain. The paintings depicted scenes of cultivating immortality, refining elixirs, and the Purple Qi arriving from the East. Due to his family's history, Old Master Qiao harbored an ineffable affinity for these mysterious matters and was deeply convinced by them. But conviction aside, the business of grave robbing could not be abandoned. He proceeded to open the coffin and lift the lid, only to find layers of burial garments within: purple robes and golden belts as fresh as the day they were made, yet the robes and regalia were utterly empty, devoid of even a human hair or fingernail.

Having been engaged in tomb raiding for years, he naturally understood what an "empty tomb" or a "tomb of clothes" implied. However, based on his experience, this ancient tomb was certainly not that of an absent master. This left only one explanation: this was an auspicious Feng Shui site, and the tomb's occupant had achieved immortal ascension shortly after burial, before decay could set in.

Later, he learned that there had been an ancient Ming Dynasty temple nearby. When the temple was being built, a stone tablet was unearthed bearing the inscription: "Bury here to transform, reside here for prosperity." No one knew which dynasty had buried it there. Old Master Qiao, superstitious about Feng Shui, subsequently schemed to live nearby, unwilling to leave for the rest of his life, even hoping to be interred there after death, to perhaps attain the path of immortality through the fortune of the earth.

It was remarkable; ever since moving to the vicinity, his business had flourished. Even the changing of dynasties did not impede his wealth. Furthermore, since this crumbling building was so inconspicuous, even the Red Guards bypassed it during the Cultural Revolution sweeps, cementing his conviction. Now that this area was slated for demolition to build a park—a force beyond human reversal—he had summoned me to assess if any other auspicious spots remained within the 'Eight-Armed Nezha' configuration where he might relocate.

Hearing this, I chuckled internally at Old Master Qiao’s limitations. In the antique circles of the capital, everyone knew his reputation. While he possessed superior skills in appraising and valuing antiquities, he had barely scratched the surface of the arts of Qingwu Feng Shui and the Five Elements. Though this old man had dabbled in tomb robbing, his abilities hardly compared to the grand mausoleums excavated by the 'Mojin Xiaowei.' Yuan tombs have always been exceedingly difficult to locate, scarcely mentioned even in the Sixteen-Character Secret Arts of Yin-Yang Feng Shui. Logically, Yuan tombs were not as ancient as those of the Qin or Han Dynasties. Even if the body had decayed and dispersed, it shouldn't have vanished so completely within a fine casket, leaving not a trace. Why was there no skeletal remains in the tomb he plundered? I suspected it had little to do with immortal transformation. The ancient tomb site had been leveled many years ago; without evidence, I could not wildly speculate.

But I was counting on Old Master Qiao paying a high price for my 'Qingtou' acquisitions, so I couldn't reveal my doubts. I merely offered a few noncommittal phrases, quickly steering the conversation back to business. Old Master Qiao might be a fool concerning Feng Shui, but when it came to ancient jades and bronzes, he was a true expert, having conducted many major transactions. Since he wished to build rapport this time, he revealed the secrets of jade polishing.

Jade pieces within funerary objects or 'Qingtou' are often eroded by soil and water, acquiring various inclusions. After collection, they require 'polishing' to restore their innate nature. Fine ancient jade is warm, pure, thick, brilliant, and smooth, especially the wonder of its various inclusions, resembling fleeting clouds obscuring the sun, like a soaring crane traversing the sky—possessing infinite, captivating charm that delights the eye.

However, without the polishing process, the inclusions of ancient jade remain hidden; though the subtle color is deeply concealed, the jade's true nature remains like stubborn stone. Since antiquity, jade polishing has been divided into three grades: rapid, slow, and intentional polishing. Rapid polishing requires pairing the jade with a beautiful woman nearby to nurture it with human qi. After several months, when the jade density hardens, it should be wiped with soft, old cloth. Once the jade essence revives, it must be repeatedly wiped with new cloth—specifically coarse white cloth; colored fabrics are strictly forbidden. The more the jade is rubbed, the hotter it becomes; this process must not be interrupted. After several days and nights, the harshness from the water and earth naturally diminishes, and the infused colors naturally coalesce with the jade’s body; the colors contract yet become more vibrant, fully revealing the value of ancient jade glowing with life and fragrance.

Yet, if ancient jade has been submerged in water and earth for too long, the terrestrial and aquatic qi penetrates deep into the jade’s core; without sixty or seventy years of slow, steady attrition, it is difficult to bring out the proper luster. For those who plunder tombs, Qin and Han jades are merely "old jade"; only jades from the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties qualify as truly ancient. Without years of constant handling and rubbing close to the body, the essential luminescence within the jade marrow can hardly be revealed—this is the principle of slow polishing for ancient jade.

The concept of "intentional polishing" borders on the miraculous; it is esoteric, and many cannot comprehend it. Ultimately, it boils down to eight characters: "Sincere effort moves metal and stone." In a quiet chamber, with incense burning, one secludes oneself, cutting off worldly contact, using one's temperament and disposition to polish and transform the jade’s inclusions. Within months, the ancient jade naturally recovers—it is the practice of wall-gazing meditation. In reality, it might involve subtly using private concoctions like 'human oil' or 'human pomade' to temper the jade. Very few understand this craft, yet Old Master Qiao excels at it; it is his hidden specialty, which is why he dares to quote high prices to acquire these 'Qingtou' old jades that look like lime-hardened stones. Once resold, he reaps profits several times over. After all, he is an old business shark; he refuses to engage in losing propositions.

Fatty and I were eager to complete the transaction, and summoning a group of young women to polish the jade, as Big Gold Tooth had suggested, seemed too troublesome and required an investment of three to five years we didn't have. Seeing the price was reasonable, we ceded them to Old Master Qiao.

That day, Old Master Qiao treated Fatty and me to a meal and then produced a copy of the Guo Zimi Diyantushe, a treatise on Feng Shui. This book details the crucial theories of the Jiangxi Form and Structure school of Feng Shui, originating in the Song Dynasty and compiled during the Ming Yongle era. Coincidentally, it contained a diagram of Beijing's Eight-Armed Nezha configuration. Old Master Qiao asked me to point out the auspicious spots within the 'Eight-Armed Nezha' structure of the capital so he could find a suitable residence for the future. But the Yuan Dynasty relics had been altered countless times over the centuries; how could they possibly remain recognizable now? I could only vaguely gesture toward a few places, inventing some intimidating jargon that left Old Master Qiao utterly bewildered.

However, I noticed that this Guo Zimi Diyantushe seemed strangely familiar, as if I had seen it somewhere before. I suddenly recalled when I first encountered Blind Chen at the Shibeidian in Shaanxi; he had tried to sell me this very book, which I had exposed as a modern forgery imitating the antique style. It seemed to be the exact book Old Master Qiao held now. I quickly asked him where he acquired it.

Old Master Qiao explained that some time ago, during a business deal in Tianjin, he acquired an ancient scroll painting. Hearing that a blind fortune-teller in Zhongshan Park gave exceptionally accurate readings, possessing 'divine calculation' abilities, Old Master Qiao—ever the superstitious one—immediately sought him out. The visit was worthwhile; the old gentleman was adept not only at destiny readings but also divination through drawing lots, astronomical consultation, bone reading, and character analysis—there was nothing he wasn't proficient in. Every word was golden advice guiding lost souls.

Old Master Qiao’s keen nose detected a strong earthy scent on the fortune-teller. The fortune-teller claimed that before he lost his sight, he often consulted on Feng Shui and auspicious resting places, hence the soil smell, but clarified he was not a tomb raider. Now blind, he could no longer survey Feng Shui or distinguish Yin and Yang, but he possessed his ancestral Diyantu. Thus, he made a trade with Old Master Qiao: this long-lost classic of Feng Shui in exchange for the ancient painting Old Master Qiao had just acquired in Tianjin.

Hearing this, I understood immediately. Chen must have fled Beijing because he couldn't stay there, ending up in Tianjin—which had saved me the trouble of searching fruitlessly. Today, I finally had a lead. Despite Old Master Qiao being a prominent figure in the antique trade, he had been completely duped by the blind man, Chen. This was partly because Old Master Qiao was excessively superstitious about Feng Shui, blinded by his own obsession, making him prone to believing anything. Secondly, the world holds hidden dragons and crouching tigers; many true masters remain obscure their entire lives, while those who flaunt themselves publicly are often merely famous without real skill.

I was anxious to find Blind Chen. After dinner, I got all the details about his Tianjin dealings and hastily bid farewell to Old Master Qiao. I instructed Fatty to bring all the unsold ancient jades home that afternoon so we could conduct the finalized transaction—money for goods—with Old Master Qiao. Fatty was a major player in Panjiayuan and always drove a hard bargain, never willing to give up an advantage; he inevitably cooked up some excuse and drove a sharp bargain with Old Master Qiao on the price.

I, meanwhile, went first to find Shirley Yang, and we traveled to Tianjin together. Blind Chen was no ordinary man; his physical characteristics and manner of speech were unusual. Following the information provided by Old Master Qiao, a little inquiry was all it took; we didn't exert much effort before finding him at the Shenyang Road Antique Market, having just sold the ancient painting.

Blind Chen was also startled to see me track him down in Tianjin. He spoke to me: "After our hasty departure from Taoranting that day, I was chased fiercely by a pack of wolf-like neighborhood committee wives. Dodging and weaving, I barely managed to escape. I figured it would be impossible to reestablish myself at Taoranting; the moment I showed my face, I’d be arrested. At my age, being dragged into the authorities' office is no small matter. So, I disguised myself as a retired cadre and caught a train to Tianjin. This junction of nine rivers is indeed a place of treasures; I’m happy to enjoy my freedom here and have no intention of returning to the strictly regulated capital. When spring thaws next year, I plan to head south to Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Shanghai. The south must be a place that sustains people. I might even pick up a few ill-gotten gains along the way. I intended to find someone to send you a message, but after calculating it, I divined that you two Mojin Xiaowei, Hu and Yang, would come to meet me. As expected, it’s as if suddenly the path brightens: we meet again."

Seeing that Blind Chen still hadn't cured his habit of acting mysterious, I thought of the saying, "A man six feet tall cannot hide from heaven." Never mind running off to Tianjin; even if he ascended to the heavens, I would find a way to dig him out. For now, I let him boast, as I had crucial matters to inquire about. We found a place for dinner first. In the restaurant, Shirley Yang briefly recounted the recent events to Chen.

Hearing this, Blind Chen chuckled, "In terms of seniority, I am of the same generation as Miss Yang’s maternal grandfather, the Man Mountain Daoist. What a coincidence to encounter the descendant of an old acquaintance! It seems the Mojin Xiaowei are destined for revival, with even a descendant of the Man Mountain Daoists bearing the Mojin Talisman. But the Man Mountain digging tools have long been lost. I shared a long acquaintance with the leader of the Man Mountain Daoists, Partridge Whistle. He earned that nickname because of his superb vocal mimicry, capable of imitating all the world's sounds. This man was incredibly brave and possessed supreme Man Mountain techniques. Unexpectedly, he eventually drifted overseas and died in America. Truly... one should never boast of high skills in this world; even Hegemon Xiang had a dead end. Thinking of it brings forth sighs and melancholy. Those Man Mountain Daoists were not true Daoists at all; they neither cultivated the true path nor sought immortality. They simply roamed about, excavating tombs to find pearls and refine elixirs. To avoid trouble, they often dressed as Daoists, but besides grave robbing, they frequently engaged in deeds like murder on dark nights and arson on windy ones."

Blind Chen rambled on, but Shirley Yang wanted to learn about her family history, so she asked him to elaborate. Chen recounted numerous rare and strange anecdotes about the Man Mountain Daoists.

I, however, was eager to inquire about the exploits of the Xie Ling strongmen when they raided tombs in Xiangxi. Using Old Master Qiao's situation as a lead, I asked if he knew any secrets concerning Yuan Dynasty tombs. Chen nodded, "You must have listened to that old rogue surnamed Qiao to find me in Tianjin. In truth, that Qiao fellow is a low-tier, obscure little thief in the grave-robbing trade. Now he's made a fortune in the capital, prancing around, congratulating himself for occupying a Yuan tomb site, thinking he’s snagged some ridiculous bit of Feng Shui..." He finished with a cold laugh.

I said to Chen, "It seems the Mojin Xiaowei of past eras never truly plundered many large Yuan tombs, primarily because the art of dividing gold and fixing the aperture did not apply to them. Thus, Yuan tombs have always remained relatively mysterious."

Blind Chen, about to boast about his own skills, felt his itch scratched by my question, a look of smugness crossing his face. He raised an eyebrow and declared, "The Yuan tomb that Qiao the fellow robbed was merely a common noble's burial mound, utterly unworthy of mention. The talk of 'water but no fish'—that’s all because they don't understand the profound mechanism of Yuan tombs... If we continue speaking vaguely like this, we won't get to the point. Today, I happen to be free. Life's meetings and partings are uncertain. I'll be heading south soon, a thousand miles away, and may never return. I don't know if I'll have another chance to tell you these old stories. It’s better if I start from the beginning, so you understand the context. In the future, when these tales are passed down, the world will know that apart from your Jin method of splitting gold, there are also the earth-shattering deeds of us in the Man Mountain and Xie Ling factions."