Chapter Eleven: The Pixiu Spits Wealth (Part Two)

Yue Leiting looked helplessly at the simple farmhouse behind us, utterly bewildered. He turned to me and asked, “This rundown house doesn’t look special at all—how could it possibly be… how could it turn into a Pixiu Devours Wealth formation?”

In truth, at first I hadn’t realized it was a Pixiu Devours Wealth formation. I had underestimated Zhong Weiguo—indeed, if it hadn’t been for his mistake, I might still be in the dark about his true abilities. He was a master of esoteric arts, but with a twisted heart. To arrange such a sinister feng shui trap not only harms others, but also damages his own karmic merit. No one would set such a vicious formation unless driven by deep enmity.

Yue Leiting had been in the underworld for years, and likely had more enemies than he could count, but after thinking it over, he couldn’t recall any grudge with someone like Zhong Weiguo. He told me, surprised, that today was his first time meeting Zhong Weiguo—no grievances between them at all. The bastard tried to swindle him with a house full of fakes; Yue Leiting hadn’t even had a chance to settle the score, and yet Zhong Weiguo was already out for his life.

The reason I underestimated Zhong Weiguo was precisely because of that room full of fakes—a cunning misdirection. He kept his true abilities hidden, using the forgeries to distract me. I thought he was just a greedy conman. I nearly fell into his trap.

To be able to arrange a Pixiu Devours Wealth formation, Zhong Weiguo was no ordinary man. Judging by his method today, I suddenly recalled the King of Hell's Son-in-Law formation at Yue Leiting’s birthday banquet—the similarities were unmistakable. If I wasn’t mistaken, that formation was also Zhong Weiguo’s work.

Yue Leiting was stunned, his brow furrowed in shock.

“So it was Zhong Weiguo, too, who tried to kill me at my birthday… That bastard, I swear I’ll skin him alive.”

“I knew I didn’t like the look of that Zhong fellow. Just thinking of him wearing sunglasses on a gloomy day made me want to slap him—turns out he’s truly no good,” Xiao Lianshan spat, seething with indignation.

Still shaken, I said, “Today we really owe Lianshan—if it weren’t for him, who knows if you’d still be alive, Brother Ting.”

“Me? I… I didn’t do anything,” Xiao Lianshan looked at me, confused.

I told him I’d been curious the whole time—why Zhong Weiguo wore sunglasses even indoors. If Lianshan hadn’t smashed those fakes in Zhong Weiguo’s basement and truly enraged him, Zhong Weiguo wouldn’t have taken off his sunglasses in anger, and I wouldn’t have understood until then.

Yue Leiting was puzzled. “What’s the secret behind those sunglasses?”

“One of his eyes is noticeably smaller than the other—a trait called androgynous visage in physiognomy. He wore sunglasses to hide it from me,” I replied.

“And why did he want to hide that from you?” Xiao Lianshan asked, intrigued.

I surmised it was because I had broken his King of Hell's Son-in-Law formation by smashing Yue Leiting’s car that night. He realized I understood physiognomy; if I saw his face, I would know what kind of person he truly was.

“One eye bigger, one smaller?” Yue Leiting scratched his cropped hair, perplexed. “What’s so terrible about that? Why care so much?”

I explained, “An androgynous visage—one eye large, one small—signals a person who is cunning, deceitful, and treacherous. Though they may possess wealth, they are merciless in their pursuit of it. Anyone dealing with them is courting disaster.”

“With that bastard’s looks, he's wealthy?”

I told Yue Leiting that this was exactly where Zhong Weiguo’s cunning lay. That room full of fakes made us think he was a nobody, yet the burl wood teapot he had—smashed by Yue Leiting—was a true rarity, a genuine treasure seldom seen on the market. He didn’t even blink when it was shattered, which meant money was no concern for him.

Yue Leiting still couldn’t make sense of it. He thought hard, and finally asked me, half in hope, “I’ve never dug up Zhong Weiguo’s ancestors’ graves, never killed his parents—today was the first time we met. Why go to such lengths to kill me? Is it possible he’s mistaken me for someone else?”

I shook my head, thinking carefully. Zhong Weiguo had peculiar features: small ears with broken contours, hidden by those sunglasses. In physiognomy, tiger ears signal cunning—those with such ears are treacherous, but capable and dignified. His skill in feng shui proved his talent. But his eyebrows were pale and thin, with a furrow in the middle—sign of estranged brothers or bloodshed. The bridge of his nose bore three lines—a mark of fratricide.

I asked Yue Leiting if he had ever had any run-ins with Zhong Weiguo’s brothers. Judging by Zhong’s demeanor, his brother must have met a grim fate—so perhaps he was seeking revenge for him.

“His brother?” Yue Leiting thought for a moment, then shook his head firmly. “Sure, I’ve been in the underworld, but I still try to live by principle. Huo Qian always told me to win people over with virtue. For years, my hands have been clean—I’m practically a monk. I left the underworld business to Liu Hao and Huo Qian. If anything happened, I wouldn’t know.”

“Brother, just from reading Zhong Weiguo’s face, you figured out he wanted Ting’s life?” Xiao Lianshan asked.

I nodded. “A crooked heart leads to crooked deeds. If he had nothing to hide, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths. He knew I understand feng shui and physiognomy, but wouldn’t let me see his face—clearly concealing something. At first, I was so focused on the antiques that I didn’t pay much attention, but after seeing his face, I realized something was wrong. If it was just a transaction, why refuse to let Ting bring more people? Why choose such a remote place? Even before entering, I felt his house’s arrangement was odd, but only understood the reason after a careful look—it was all for that feng shui trap.”

We reached the edge of the village, where two roads led in and out. Xiao Lianshan started toward where we parked, dragging Yue Leiting along, but I stopped them. Though driving away would be quickest, that road was forbidden.

Lianshan asked why. I told him that, in the courtyard, I had performed a divination using a bloodstained coin belonging to Ting, and drew the Kun hexagram. Its judgment reads: “Supreme success. The perseverance of a mare is advantageous. If the superior man undertakes something, he is led astray but finds a master. Good fortune: Friends are found in the southwest, lost in the northeast. Peace and perseverance bring good luck.”

The hexagram’s meaning, according to the Book of Changes, was that perseverance was needed, like a mare, and that we should act. The northeast was inauspicious, the southwest favorable. Our car was parked northeast—we could not go that way. We had to take the other path.

They trusted me implicitly and turned onto the muddy southwest path. The rain-soaked mountain road was slick, our steps slow and stumbling. After half a mile, Yue Leiting was gasping, unable to go on. He wanted to stop and rest, but I shook my head—perseverance was the key to escaping danger. We couldn’t stop now.

With no choice, Yue Leiting gritted his teeth and pressed on. Seeing him struggling, Xiao Lianshan walked ahead, then without a word hoisted Yue Leiting onto his back. Yue Leiting protested, but Lianshan cut him off.

“Quit whining. Look how old you are. If you keep walking, you’ll fall apart before we get out. If you drop dead here, that bastard Zhong will have the last laugh,” Lianshan said, marching forward without looking back.

Yue Leiting wanted to object but couldn’t bring himself to. I saw his hand clap Lianshan’s shoulder and give it a grateful squeeze.

Lianshan carried Yue Leiting like it was nothing, and even turned to ask how I’d figured out Zhong Weiguo had set a Pixiu Devours Wealth formation.

“He used dried bamboo to make a fence all around the house, forming the belly of the Pixiu. Dried bamboo is yellowish—a color of misfortune and disaster. He meant to create a fierce, violent Pixiu. Bamboo is hollow, and a Pixiu takes in but never lets out. With its belly empty, it will devour everything in its path,” I explained.

“Didn’t you call it a Pixiu Spits Wealth formation? Why would Zhong make a Pixiu with an empty belly—what would it have to spit out?” Yue Leiting asked, puzzled.

“This is usually a formation to attract wealth, but Zhong Weiguo twisted it. He put Daqingshan in front of the house, and the Pixiu’s mouth faced the mountain. With stone blocking its mouth, the Pixiu can’t devour anything, and its nature turns savage from hunger,” I said.

“So what if it gets savage? Is a starving Pixiu supposed to crawl out and bite me?” Lianshan scoffed.

I knew it was impossible to make them grasp the subtleties of mysticism all at once, so I tried to explain in simple terms.

“Feng shui is an ancient secret of China, vast and profound. It’s not as trivial as you think. It’s also called the art of geomancy or kan yu. Used well, it can avert misfortune, bring wealth or success as easily as turning a hand. But it can also bring calamity, ruin, even extinction of a family line. All things in this world—personal affairs, collective affairs, even matters of state—can be influenced by it. To a true master of fate, taking a life with feng shui is nothing. Some have even altered a nation’s destiny or ascended to the throne by these arts.”

“I just want to know—how could a few little tricks scare you so much?” Lianshan persisted.

“Remember Zhong Weiguo’s basement?” I asked.

“Of course—a room full of fakes.”

“At first, I didn’t pay attention. But later, I realized the basement wasn't just for hiding forgeries.”

“Then what was it for?”

“To feed the Pixiu he’d set.”

Yue Leiting was taken aback. “What in that house could feed a Pixiu?”

“Pixiu is a beast that attracts and devours wealth—it absorbs the aura of riches. With Daqingshan blocking the mouth, the Pixiu can’t swallow anything. So Zhong dug a basement beneath the Pixiu’s head, filled it with antiques. Even if they’re fakes, they still lure wealth in. Just like today, we brought money inside; the Pixiu could immediately feast. Zhong Weiguo is a master—he knows that a trap like this is dangerous, so he left it as a dead formation, not yet triggered.”

“A dead formation?” Yue Leiting looked even more confused. “If he hasn’t triggered it, why were you so on edge?”

“Because Zhong Weiguo was waiting for someone to set it off. According to the eight trigrams, there’s host and guest. Zhong invited you—he’s the host, you’re the guest. If the formation is triggered, the host is doomed. But Pixiu can turn misfortune aside—if you, Brother Ting, triggered the formation, you’d become the host, reversing the roles. Zhong Weiguo arranged everything to wait for you to trigger the Pixiu formation.”

“Me?” Yue Leiting frowned in astonishment. “I don’t know a thing about feng shui—how could I possibly trigger such a trap?”

I took a deep breath, shook my head, and told him, “If you hadn’t triggered the formation, I’d have had no reason to be so alarmed.”