To speak of zombies, that history stretches back a long way. Within our trade of tomb raiding, we refer to them as Da Zongzi (Big Coffin Nail), and that name wasn't given lightly. The saying goes: if a person is buried properly and peacefully, they rest well; if they are buried uneasily, they become a Jiangshi (zombie).

A truly auspicious geomantic site for burying the dead not only ensures the deceased sleeps soundly but can also bestow blessings upon future generations, leading to a thriving family, flourishing business, and peace within the household.

However, some locations are unsuitable for burial. If a body is interred in such a place, the deceased will find no rest and may bring calamity upon others—the state of being "uneasily interred" can manifest in two distinct ways.

One scenario involves malevolent mountains and treacherous waters, a chaotic topographical setting utterly unfit for human interment. If an ancestor is buried there, their family is sure to fall into ruin. At best, the women of the household might be led astray into wickedness, and storeshouses consumed by fire; at worst, the women fall ill while the men are imprisoned, leading to the complete extinction of their lineage.

The second scenario does not bring misfortune upon the family's descendants but merely denies the deceased repose. The corpse remains uncorrupted for centuries, becoming a Jiangshi, leaving behind endless disaster. This is not due to superior preservation techniques, of course, but is intrinsically linked to the location and environment of the tomb.

In the study of Feng Shui, the two most critical elements are Xing (Form) and Shi (Energy/Situation). Xing refers to the terrain and mountain shapes where the tomb lies, while Shi refers to the actual state or manifestation presented by that terrain and shape.

When Xing and Shi are in opposition, the flow of the earth’s energy is obstructed, Feng Shui becomes disordered, and phenomena that defy natural law can occur. A corpse buried in the ground that refuses to decay and transforms into a Jiangshi is the most classic manifestation of this.

Fatty chuckled, "That’s quite interesting. It actually seems to have a theoretical basis, sounds plausible enough."

Da Jinya didn't treat these matters as a joke like Fatty did. He was deeply intrigued and asked for details. He sighed, "Truly good Feng Shui locations are incredibly hard to find now. Any spot where the situation (Shi) and reasoning (Liqi) are perfectly auspicious has long been claimed. Five thousand years of Chinese civilization, countless dynasties—if you gathered all the emperors together, you could probably field a reinforced company, plus all their relatives. How many Dragon Veins wouldn't be needed to bury them all?"

I explained to Da Jinya that there are countless Dragon Veins across China, but few are suitable for burial. The Xun Long Jue (Dragon Seeking Incantation) states: The Great Dao of the Dragon flows with truth; its form flickers, both hidden and seen. The Dragon begets nine sons, each different, with unique temperaments, abilities, and appearances.

The Dragon Veins are similar, yet far more complex than the differences among the Dragon’s nine sons. The Kunlun Mountains can be considered the source of all Dragon Veins; all mountain ranges can be seen as branches stemming from Kunlun.

These dividing branches can all be viewed as independent Dragon Veins. The rise and fall of the earth’s energy (Di Mai) is the Dragon; the Dragon refers to the Xing of the mountains. Given the vastness of the world, the number of Dragon Vein patterns is uncountable. However, based on the variations in Xing and Shi, these Dragon Veins differ vastly—some auspicious, some sinister, some benevolent, some malevolent.

From the perspective of Xing, they appear as Dragon Veins, but analyzing them by Shi, they are differentiated into categories such as Sinking Dragon, Dragon, Flying Dragon, Soaring Dragon, Hovering Dragon, Clustered Dragons, Returning Dragon, Ocean-Bound Dragon, Returning Home Dragon, Sleeping Dragon, Dead Dragon, Hidden Dragon, and so on.

Only the leading head of a prosperous vein—one whose Xing resembles a colossal cauldron covering the earth and whose Shi is like massive waves enveloping the heavens—is fit for the burial of a sovereign. A level below that might allow for a burial befitting a ruler with a thousand chariots. The rest, although still Dragon Veins, are less suitable for royal or noble burials, and some malevolent Dragons are even unsuitable for interring common folk.

Da Jinya asked again, "The intricacies here are truly endless. Master Hu, do these Dragon Veins really hold sway? Take Qin Shi Huang, the First Emperor; his Qin Mausoleum must have had superb Feng Shui based on Xing and Shi. Why did the dynasty collapse after only Qin Er Shi?"

I replied, "The state of the Dragon Vein structure is one aspect. From the perspective of nature, it makes perfect sense, but I don't think it applies perfectly to human society. The tide of history is not determined by Feng Shui. If we must use Feng Shui principles to explain it, we can. Doesn't folklore say that Feng Shui turns in rotation? These great mountains and rivers are all products of nature; what comes from nature must follow nature’s course. Constructing massive mausoleums required an immense mobilization of manpower, hacking into mountains and digging through ridges—it was certainly the height of contemporary engineering capability. However, the changes in nature cannot be controlled by human effort. Consider earthquakes, floods, river course changes, landslides, and collapses. These greatly affect the Xing and Shi, potentially subverting the entire original layout. A place might be supremely auspicious now, but who knows what will happen in a few years? A single earthquake could invert the Shi, turning an auspicious site into a perilous one. Fate plays tricks that humans cannot control."

The three of us ate and talked, and several hours slipped by unnoticed. The restaurant gradually filled up. People who come to this kind of place for mutton hot pot seek lively atmosphere, and as the crowd grew, it became somewhat chaotic.

We had nearly finished eating. We agreed to temporarily suspend business at the antique market, take two days off, and then head to Shaanxi together to acquire antiques.

Since this trip would take us to remote county towns and villages—though not deep into old forests—we didn't prepare excessively, keeping our luggage as light as possible. The three of us took a train to Xi'an.

The last time I came with Professor Chen and the others, it was a hurried trip; we left within a day. This time, we had no mission, purely sightseeing, visiting famous historical sites like the Forest of Steles, the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda, and the Bell and Drum Towers.

After lingering aimlessly for three or five days, I had planned to go first to Li Chunlai's hometown. However, we heard news in Xi'an that the rainfall had been exceptionally heavy this year, causing the Yellow River's water level to surge, resulting in flooding—the Yellow Disaster. Many ancient tombs along the south bank near the mausoleums had been exposed by the floodwaters. We conferred and decided to change our plans, heading south across the Yellow River first.

So we took a long-distance bus further south, telling the driver we needed to cross the Yellow River to reach Gutian County. Halfway there, the bus broke down, delaying us four or five hours. After driving a bit further, the driver stopped the vehicle near the Yellow River bank and informed us, "To get to Gutian, you have to cross the river first. The ferry crossing ahead is still far. It’s getting dark now; even if we reach the crossing, there won't be any boats. The water is high this year, and this section of the river is quite narrow. It used to be a small ferry crossing. If you want to cross, you can try your luck here and see if there's any boat left. If you’re lucky, you can cross before dark and find lodging for the night."

I thought that was a good idea; it would save us another day of delay if we reached the forward crossing after nightfall. So Fatty, Da Jinya, and I got off the long-distance bus and sat by the riverbank to wait for a boat.

After the bus drove off, the three of us regretted it a little. This place was too damned desolate; there wasn't a soul on the road. But regret was useless now; we had to find a boat at the river to cross.

Even from a distance from the bank, we could hear the water roaring like thunder. When we got closer, the three of us shuddered. We had only heard that the rainfall was heavy this year, but we hadn't expected this stretch of the river to be so wide, with monstrous, surging waves. The water looked like churning yellow slurry, rolling eastward. I wondered if there had been a ferry landing here before, but even if there was, it must have been submerged by now.

We chose a spot with a wide view to observe the Yellow River scene. Just then, the clouds in the sky swirled, and a light drizzle began to fall. We were thinly dressed. Fatty and I were sturdy enough, but Da Jinya was starting to shiver.

Fatty took out a bottle of white liquor and had Da Jinya take a couple of swigs to ward off the chill before he caught a sickness. Then, I took out some of the dried beef jerky we had bought and we ate while cursing the long-distance bus driver as a scoundrel, sure that he had tricked us into getting off because the three of us were too noisy, not wanting to drive us all the way to the destination. Where the hell was a boat supposed to appear from?

I looked at the surging great river below and couldn't help but worry. When I was serving in the Lanzhou Military Region, I’d seen locals cross using sheepskin rafts, but there wasn't even a shepherd around here, let alone a raft.

All we could do now was wait miserably in the rain. I also downed a couple of large swigs of liquor, and the chill in my body receded slightly. As the hour grew late, the world became obscure and dim. Fine rain drifted around us, blown by the wind into countless slanted lines. I suddenly thought of my old comrades. The river grew more violent and surging, and the more I watched, the more oppressed and restless I felt. Unable to help myself, I drew a deep breath and roared out toward the Yellow River.

I didn't know what I shouted—I just felt a release in my heart from yelling it out.

Fatty and Da Jinya mimicked me, cupping their hands around their mouths and yelling wildly. The three of us found it amusing, and the gloom brought on by the drizzle lessened considerably. Before long, the three of us had finished two bottles of liquor.

Fatty, perhaps a little drunk, seized the opportunity to say, "Old Hu, now that we're by the Yellow River, shouldn't we sing a few mournful Xintianyou folk songs?"

I imitated the local accent and retorted to Fatty, "What do you know, you big lump? You’re clueless. If you don't herd sheep, what kind of mournful songs should you sing? Listen to me roar you a few lines of Qinqiang Opera."

Fatty finally found leverage against me and didn't hesitate to tease, "Old Hu, you know jack squat! What Qinqiang are you singing here? Haven't you heard the saying: drink a mouthful of Yellow River water, sing a Xintianyou? That’s the custom—whatever mountain you’re on, you sing the local tune."

I shot back angrily, "Where did you learn so many foul phrases? What drinking Yellow River water? You dare drink this water? Dammit, I only know, 'I just drank Changsha tap water, and ate Wuchang turtle fish!'"

Da Jinya quickly played the mediator, "Each sing a line, whoever wants to sing what they want. No one’s around here anyway, so it won't count as disturbing the peace."

Fatty declared boisterously, "I'll sing the first two lines of 'Teardrop in the Sandy Nest'; you two brothers listen. If you like it, give your buddy a good word."

I asked, "Are you too drunk?"

Fatty ignored whether anyone wanted to listen, holding the empty liquor bottle up to his mouth like a microphone, about to throw his head back and belt out a tune, when they heard the sound of an engine from a distance—a small boat was coming from upstream.

The three of us quickly stood up and waved our arms on the riverbank, signaling the boatman to pull ashore and stop.

The person on the boat clearly saw us but repeatedly shook their hands, signaling that stopping here was impossible. We had waited a long time for a boat to show up, and how could we let it go? Otherwise, who knew how long we’d wait in the cold rain.

Fatty pulled out a wad of bills and waved the money toward the people on the boat. Sure enough, money can make the devil turn the millstone. Ahead, there was a bend in the river where the water was calmer and less turbulent. The boatman stopped the vessel.

Fatty went over to discuss the price. It turned out their boat was loaded with machine parts; they were heading downstream to repair a large boat. The water was high recently, and if the situation hadn't been urgent, they wouldn't have risked coming out.

Besides the boatman, there was his son, a teenager, on board. We agreed to pay double the fare to be dropped off near Gutian County on the opposite bank.

The cabin was filled with mechanical components, leaving no room. The three of us had no choice but to sit on the deck. At least we had found a boat; once we crossed, we could find an inn, take a satisfying hot bath, eat a bowl of hot buckwheat noodles, and get a good rest. Squatting by the river for two hours had left us quite chilled.

The river current was swift, and we were soon far from the bank. We were daydreaming about how good it would be when suddenly the hull vibrated violently, as if we had struck something enormous in the river. I had been discussing food options with Fatty at the time, and the jolt almost made me bite my tongue.

The light drizzle outside had stopped, replaced by torrential rain pouring down as thunder and lightning flashed overhead. The boatman rushed to the bow to check what they had hit.

In the deepest part of the river, there shouldn't have been any reefs, and they were traveling downstream; striking such a massive object was highly unusual.

The boatman had barely taken one look at the bow when the hull immediately listed sharply to one side. We all gripped the gunwales tightly, terrified of falling into the river. The boat shook continuously, and water splashed over, causing everyone to swallow a mouthful of yellow mud soup.

Having drunk quite a bit of liquor on the bank, I was dizzy and lightheaded. The splash of river water cleared my head somewhat. I quickly spat out the water I had swallowed, feeling intensely nauseous, but when I looked, the boatman had already shrunk into a ball, paralyzed with fright. He was steering the boat, yet he was reduced to this state—what would become of the vessel?

I tried to pull him up, but the boatman refused to stand, his face a mask of terror. I asked him, "What's wrong? What's in the river?"

The boatman, trembling like a sieve, pointed outside the boat: "The River God has manifested! He’s probably here to claim our boat."