Chapter Twenty-Two: Spring Noodles

“I have a superficial understanding of geomancy,” Jiang Pingchuan said, his tone carrying a hint of doubt as he studied the layout of the elder’s house. “But I must admit, the arrangement here puzzles me. This kind of complex feng shui can be dangerous—if we aren’t careful, neither of us may wake up after this night’s sleep.”

Jiang Pingchuan watched as the old man gestured at the house before them. Standing inside, he could feel a faint, chilling draft. With his grasp of the Ten Thousand Arts, he instinctively sensed that the feng shui here was far from ideal.

It was as if the room itself had been built to resemble a massive coffin: narrow at the front and wide at the back, the front courtyard raised high while the rear sloped downward. The only difference was that this house had its opening at the rear, rising from low to high, whereas a coffin was open at the front to prevent the deceased’s spirit from being suppressed and turning into a fierce ghost, doomed to wander the world.

The old man chuckled. “I’ve lived here for many years with no trouble. This house, like all the others in the village, was designed by a renowned feng shui master many years ago.” As he spoke, he set his jade cane against the wall.

“Tonight you take the bed; I’ll sleep on the floor.” The elder reached out as if to pat Jiang Pingchuan’s shoulder, but his hand paused when he saw the fish-shaped jade pendant at Jiang’s waist, a subtle, knowing smile playing at his lips.

“That won’t do, sir. You should take the bed. I’m young and sturdy, sleeping on the floor is no trouble.” Glancing at the narrow bed, barely large enough for one, Jiang shook his head and refused.

The old man only smiled, saying no more. He fetched a straw mat from the corner and laid it on the floor. Then, from the wardrobe, he produced a large white tiger pelt and spread it atop the mat. After extinguishing the candle, he slowly made his way to the bed, lay down, and turned his face to the wall.

Jiang Pingchuan wrapped his robe tightly around himself, lying down on the tiger skin and pondering the day’s events. Scenes of the deadly, sinister aura at Maoshan kept flashing through his mind, making sleep elusive. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting shadows on the ground—the window’s pattern projected the image of a tiger, and he couldn’t help but note how thin, almost emaciated the beast appeared.

Turning, Jiang gazed at the elder lying in bed. He could hear nothing—not the snores typical of the old, not even the faintest sound of heavy breathing. The man’s body seemed more huddled and frail than ever, almost like a desiccated corpse. As Jiang watched, a wave of fatigue overcame him, and he soon drifted into a deep, unsettled sleep.

He had no idea how long he slept before a pressing need to relieve himself woke him. Rising, he glanced at the bed and noticed that the elder’s quilt had slipped to the floor. He picked it up and gently covered the old man again before cautiously opening the door and stepping outside.

A dense thicket of woods loomed ahead. Jiang chose a tree at random to relieve himself, yawned, and headed back toward the house.

But when he returned, something was amiss—he couldn’t find the door.

He was certain he hadn’t wandered far, and he’d walked straight out and back, so it was impossible to have lost his way. Troubled, Jiang circled the building, searching for the entrance, but found nothing. Resigned, he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and soon drifted off again.

“Young man… young man…”

Half-asleep, Jiang heard the old man calling his name. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw the elder bending over him, smiling kindly. Jiang stifled a yawn.

“You’re awake, sir,” he mumbled, still groggy.

“Take this. Dawn is breaking, and it’s time for me to go.” The old man nodded, sitting beside Jiang and pressing an ornate jade medallion inlaid with gold into his hand. He patted Jiang’s shoulder, then rose and walked into the dim forest.

“Wait, sir…!” Jiang called out and hurried after him, but the elder didn’t slow down and soon vanished among the trees. Jiang stared at the medallion in his hand, baffled by how quickly the old man had disappeared despite his slow pace.

A rooster’s crow pierced the morning stillness. Jiang looked up—the sky was already lightening in the east. Stretching, he stepped back and suddenly realized he was standing on a gently sloping hill.

Impossible. The village roads had been level when he’d arrived the night before. Turning, he looked behind him.

There, overgrown with wild grass, was a burial mound. Surveying his surroundings, Jiang saw that the village was gone; in its place were countless mounds and graves, arranged in the pattern of a coiled dragon. He stood at the very head of the dragon formation.

Chanting a calming incantation twice, Jiang’s memory snapped into place—at last, he understood what he’d encountered the previous night. He fumbled for the jade medallion the old man had given him; it was real, solid in his grasp.

He cursed his own foolishness as he gazed at the mound where he’d slept. Who but a necromancer or a sorcerer raising ghosts would build a house in a dragon formation? He had, in fact, spent the night in a coffin.

Pocketing the medallion, Jiang knelt by the mound and began pulling out the wild grass. Soon, he uncovered a dusty stone tablet. Using a handful of grass, he gently wiped away the dirt until the inscription appeared:

“Ten thousand rivers wind around a thousand mountains; must a chance meeting require prior acquaintance?”

Jiang tossed the grass aside, bowed three times to the inscription, then turned and set off down a narrow path choked with wild grass. Before long, the outline of a village emerged from the mist.

The morning was foggy. On either side of the road, lush green fields stretched into the distance, the rectangular plots closely packed together. He could make out a few figures slowly moving among the crops.

Jiang pressed on and soon reached a market town, the storefronts bustling with activity. His stomach rumbled—he hadn’t noticed his hunger until now.

He entered a noodle shop and sat down. But as he glanced around, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling clinging to him—perhaps the lingering yin energy from the grave village, or something else. Even sitting quietly, he sensed a faint chill in the air.

“Sir, what can I get for you?” A young attendant in a blue-grey jacket and a white cloth headband was busily wiping the oily table in front of Jiang.

“I’ll have a bowl of noodles,” Jiang replied after glancing at the food on the neighboring tables.

“Right away, please wait a moment…” the attendant called as he hurried off toward the kitchen. Jiang took a deep breath, unsettled by the strangeness that still seemed to cling to him.