The Secret Records of the Green Crow

The Rainy Season in Jianghuai In the Jianghuai region, July is the season of lingering plum rains. Bead-sized raindrops pelted the blue-tiled roof densely, splashing tiny sprays of water that then trickled down the eaves to form streams. Like writhing gray serpents, these streams meandered along the base of the walls, pooling into shallow puddles on the flagstones below. The night was as dark as ink. Only an old incandescent lamp at the alley entrance swayed in the wind and rain, casting a dim, dappled glow that barely illuminated the wooden plaque bearing the three characters: *Qingwu Tang* (Hall of Green Crow). Inside the hall, Shen Yan sat at a pearwood table by the window, twisting a warm white jade pendant between his fingertips. The pendant was shaped like a willow leaf, carved with intricate cloud patterns, and inlaid with a tiny turquoise core at its center—glinting faintly in the dim light. This was the *Qingwu Pei*, the heirloom talisman of the Shen family’s feng shui craft, and the only relic his grandfather had entrusted to him on his deathbed. Spread out on the table was a yellowed thread-bound ancient book—the *Secret Records of Qingwu*, passed down through generations of the Shen clan. Its pages, frayed at the edges, were filled with meticulous notes and case studies on feng shui and geomancy, interspersed with annotations added later by his grandfather. Shen Yan’s gaze fixed on a line in the book: *“On the banks of the Luo River, yin fiends converge, trapping the dragon in shallow waters—bloodshed is inevitable.”* His brows furrowed slightly. At twenty-seven, he had been running *Qingwu Tang* alone ever since his grandfather passed away. On ordinary days, he helped neighbors with feng shui consultations, selected burial sites, and occasionally dispelled minor fiendish disturbances, leading a quiet, uneventful life. That peace was shattered three days ago by a phone call from Luocheng. The caller was Li Jianguo, captain of the Criminal Investigation Detachment of the Luocheng Public Security Bureau—a middle-aged man with a hoarse, urgent voice. Over the phone, Li reported three bizarre deaths in an old mansion in Luocheng’s historic district. All the victims were tenants of the mansion, their causes of death unknown. No external injuries were found on their bodies, and forensic tests detected no signs of poisoning. The only common thread? Every victim had died at midnight, their faces contorted in terror as if they had witnessed something unspeakably horrifying. Even more eerily, during their investigation, the police discovered that the mansion’s layout was permeated with strangeness. Hidden in the corners, under the roof beams, and beneath the door sills were black cloth strips tied with red string and broken wooden puppets—arranged like components of some sinister ritual array. Initially, the police treated the case as a serial murder, deploying extensive manpower, but made no progress. It was not until a veteran officer mentioned that the mansion had long been rumored to be a *haunted house* in Luocheng. Decades ago, people had died mysteriously there too, and the mansion had been abandoned for years—until half a year ago, when the landlord renovated it and rented it out again. Desperate, Li Jianguo recalled an elderly feng shui master he had encountered while handling an artifact smuggling case years ago—a master skilled in breaking evil feng shui arrays. That master was none other than Shen Yan’s grandfather. After much inquiry, Li finally obtained Shen Yan’s contact information, hoping he would travel to Luocheng to investigate the haunted mansion. Shen Yan had originally been reluctant to take the case. On his deathbed, his grandfather had warned him: *“Those who practice feng shui peer into the secrets of heaven and meddle with karmic fate—this inherently erodes one’s virtue. Avoid such matters whenever possible, especially places tainted by fiendish energy that claim human lives; they are fraught with extreme danger.”* Yet one detail Li mentioned in the call changed his mind: beneath the old pagoda tree in the mansion’s backyard, a flagstone carved with a triangular symbol was buried. Shen Yan had seen this symbol before—in his grandfather’s notes, labeled as *“the mark of a yin fiend array’s eye”*, a signature used by an evil sorcerer his grandfather had hunted for half his life. The notes recorded that this sorcerer specialized in laying yin fiend arrays to siphon the yang energy of the living for dark cultivation. He had been active in the Luocheng area years ago, then vanished without a trace, eluding capture despite his grandfather’s lifelong pursuit. *“Perhaps this is my chance to fulfill grandfather’s unfulfilled wish,”* Shen Yan murmured, gently caressing the *Qingwu Pei*. The warmth of the jade seeped through his fingertips, calming his turbulent thoughts. He closed the *Secret Records of Qingwu*, carefully tucking it into a dark brown leather backpack along with his grandfather’s notes. From the drawer under the table, he retrieved a peachwood sword—three feet long, its blade etched with dense talismans for suppressing fiends, a magic weapon handcrafted by his grandfather. He also added several stacks of cinnabar-drawn talismans, a small vial of glutinous rice, and a bronze mirror—essential tools for a feng shui master to dispel yin fiends, each item meticulously arranged in his bag. Packing up, Shen Yan rose and pushed open the heavy wooden door. A cold, damp gust of wind rushed in, making him shiver involuntarily. The rain was falling harder now, and the gale threatened to extinguish the incandescent lamp at the alley entrance. He opened a black oil-paper umbrella, locked the door of *Qingwu Tang*, and tucked the key carefully into his pocket. Then, stepping through the puddles on the flagstones, he headed toward the bus stop at the alley mouth. The high-speed train to Luocheng departed at 1:00 a.m. It would take an hour to reach the railway station by night bus. The bus stop was deserted in the rain, with only Shen Yan standing there. Water dripped continuously from the edge of his umbrella, forming a small puddle at his feet. The glow of the streetlamp filtered through the rain curtain, stretching his shadow long and lonesome. As he waited, Shen Yan’s gaze drifted upward. The sky was covered with dark clouds, not a single star visible. The entire night sky felt like a heavy black cloth, oppressive and suffocating. He activated the qi-observing technique his grandfather had taught him, focusing his senses. The air was thick with murky currents—black fiendish energy intertwined with gray dampness, twisting into swirling streams converging toward Luocheng. *“The yin fiend energy is so intense… it seems the problem with that haunted mansion is far more severe than Li Jianguo described,”* Shen Yan thought to himself, a growing sense of unease settling in his heart. About ten minutes later, an old night bus trundled over, its headlights cutting through the rain as it pulled to a stop at the platform. The door slid open, releasing a stale mix of gasoline fumes and mildew. Shen Yan folded his umbrella, bent down to board, dropped two coins into the fare box, and took a seat by the window. The bus was nearly empty; a handful of passengers dozed in their seats, the only sounds the rumble of the engine and the patter of rain against the windows. Leaning against the window, Shen Yan watched the streetscape blur past. The city felt strangely alien in the rain—familiar buildings obscured by the dim light, like silent shadows. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the files Li Jianguo had sent: photos of the haunted mansion, basic information about the victims, and the crime scene investigation report. The mansion was a typical Luocheng courtyard house—blue bricks and gray tiles, facing south with its back to the north. Yet the photos clearly showed that the main gate opened westward, contradicting the conventional *“face south, back north”* layout. This created a *yin gate* configuration, prone to attracting evil spirits. In the backyard stood a lush old pagoda tree—pagoda trees are inherently associated with yin energy, and its placement in the mansion’s kun position (southwest) amplified the fiendish aura even further. There were three victims, all in their twenties—two men and one woman, migrant workers renting rooms in the mansion. The first victim was found half a month ago in his bedroom, the door and windows locked from the inside, ruling out forced entry. The second died in the mansion’s corridor, his body contorted, hands clutching his throat as if he had been strangled by an invisible force. The third victim was discovered beneath the old pagoda tree in the backyard, leaning against the trunk, eyes wide open and mouth agape in terror. In all three photos, the victims’ faces bore an indescribable fear that sent a chill down one’s spine. The more Shen Yan read, the more uneasy he felt. Though seemingly unrelated, the three deaths corresponded precisely to three key positions in the mansion: the bedroom (kan position, north), the corridor (central palace), and the backyard pagoda tree (kun position, southwest)—the exact nodes of a complete yin fiend array. *“It seems someone has laid a full yin fiend array in the mansion. These three people were likely killed when the array siphoned their yang energy,”* Shen Yan concluded, growing increasingly curious. Who had set up this array? Was it the evil sorcerer his grandfather had hunted, or his successor? After nearly an hour, the bus finally reached the railway station. Shen Yan pocketed his phone, grabbed his backpack and umbrella, and got off. The station was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the rainy night outside. He walked into the waiting hall, found a seat, placed his backpack on his lap, closed his eyes, and began practicing the breathing technique his grandfather had taught him. The closer he got to Luocheng, the heavier the yin fiend energy in the air became. He needed to conserve his strength and stay sharp to face the challenges ahead. Before long, the announcement for boarding echoed through the hall. Shen Yan opened his eyes, stood up, and joined the crowd heading for the ticket barrier. The high-speed train pulled out of the station, cutting through the rain as it raced toward Luocheng. Shen Yan sat by the window, watching the night scenery flash by, his mind filled with thoughts—of his grandfather’s final words, of the warnings in the *Secret Records of Qingwu*, of the perilous haunted mansion waiting for him in Luocheng. *“Grandfather, rest assured,”* he whispered to himself, his fingertips brushing the *Qingwu Pei* in his pocket. The jade felt warmer than before, as if responding to his resolve. *“This trip to Luocheng, I will not only break the yin fiend array in the haunted mansion but also uncover the sorcerer’s whereabouts, fulfilling your last wish.”* At 3:30 a.m., the train arrived at Luocheng Station. As Shen Yan stepped outside, a damp chill heavier than that of Jianghuai enveloped him, tinged with a faint, bone-deep coldness. The rain still fell relentlessly, the night sky over Luocheng as cloud-covered and starless as before. Li Jianguo was already waiting for him at the station entrance, as promised. “Mr. Shen?” A tall middle-aged man in a black jacket approached. His face looked tired, but his eyes were sharp. He held out his hand. “I’m Li Jianguo, from the Luocheng Criminal Investigation Detachment. Thank you for making the trip at this hour—it can’t have been easy.” Shen Yan shook his hand. Li’s palm was rough and calloused, the marks of years spent holding a gun. “Captain Li, no need for thanks. This is my duty,” Shen Yan replied calmly. “Shall we head to the haunted mansion now?” “No hurry,” Li said. “Let’s go to the bureau first to rest, have a cup of hot tea, and I’ll fill you in on the details. We’ve posted officers to guard the mansion—no one is allowed near it. It’s the wee hours of the morning now, when yin energy is at its peak. Investigating would be too dangerous. We’ll go at dawn—it’ll be safer then.” Shen Yan nodded, understanding Li’s reasoning. Feng shui investigations relied on timing; with yin energy surging at midnight, the array’s power would be at its strongest, and getting close risked being afflicted by fiendish qi. “Very well. Let’s go to the bureau first.” Li Jianguo led Shen Yan to a black SUV. The vehicle pulled away from the station, heading toward the public security bureau. Luocheng’s rainy night was eerily quiet—hardly any pedestrians on the streets, only the glow of streetlights and car headlights weaving through the rain. Leaning against the passenger seat, Shen Yan watched the scenery pass by, his eyes instinctively analyzing the surrounding feng shui. Luocheng was built along the Luo River, with terrain sloping from west to east—a geomantic layout that should have gathered positive energy and prosperity. Yet for some reason, the river’s life-giving aura seemed to have been blocked, replaced by a dense concentration of yin fiend energy. The aura was particularly thick toward the historic district, like an impenetrable fog of malice. “Mr. Shen—have you noticed something?” Li Jianguo asked, noticing his intense gaze. “There’s something wrong with Luocheng’s feng shui,” Shen Yan said bluntly. “The Luo River should act like a jade belt encircling the city, drawing in good fortune. But its positive energy has been blocked, and instead, it’s become a vortex for yin fiends. The historic district is the epicenter of this energy. I’m afraid the haunted mansion isn’t the only problem here.” Li Jianguo’s expression darkened. “Now that you mention it… over the past six months, there have been several other strange incidents in the historic district besides the three deaths. A few people have gone missing, and we still haven’t found them. We thought they were just coincidences before, but now it seems they might all be linked to this yin fiend energy you’re talking about?” “Highly likely,” Shen Yan nodded. “Places saturated with yin fiend energy breed evil spirits and are prone to bizarre occurrences. If we don’t dispel this energy soon, more lives will be lost.” After about half an hour, the SUV arrived at the Luocheng Public Security Bureau. Li Jianguo led Shen Yan into the Criminal Investigation Detachment office and handed him a cup of hot tea. Several officers were working overtime, their faces weary. When they saw Li bringing Shen Yan in, they all glanced over curiously. “This is Mr. Shen Yan—a feng shui master I’ve specially invited to help with the haunted mansion case,” Li introduced him to the team, then pulled Shen Yan to sit on the sofa. “Mr. Shen, have some tea to warm up. I’ll tell you everything we’ve found so far.” Shen Yan took a sip of the hot tea. The warmth spread down his throat into his stomach, chasing away some of the chill. He set the cup down and listened intently to Li’s account, asking questions from time to time. As Li spoke, the full picture of the haunted mansion emerged, and the conspiracy lurking behind it began to take shape. Shen Yan knew then that this trip to Luocheng would be far more complicated than he had anticipated. A battle against the yin fiend array and the evil sorcerer had already begun quietly. And as the heir to the Shen family’s feng shui legacy, he had no choice but to forge ahead—to uncover the truth and put an end to the storm.