Chapter One: Prologue

Three years to seek the dragon, ten years to mark the acupoint. For eleven years, Master Xujing of Xuangguang Temple on Qingcheng Mountain in Sichuan had been searching for the exact spot, yet still could not determine where to lay the coin.

Speaking of Master Xujing, he was quite renowned around Qingcheng. He entered the Dao in childhood and showed promise as a youth. By the age of twenty, his predictions were ironclad and unerringly accurate, earning him a formidable reputation. All should have flourished with the new spring of reform across the land, but this Daoist master was ensnared for eleven years by an utterly ordinary commission.

The dragon veins of the world rise from Kunwu; by the time the Qing dynasty prospered in the Central Plains, the dragon veins of China had been exhausted. It was said no dynasty could rise again. Yet Master Xujing happened to discover an imperial vein.

Eleven years ago, a middle-aged man came to Xuangguang Temple, seeking the finest yin residence—a blessed burial site—for himself, and hoping the temple could assist. He left behind a large sum of money and vanished. As the temple’s foremost geomancer, Xujing was personally chosen by the abbot to accept the task.

Intent on making a name for himself, Xujing abandoned many auspicious sites along the way. He traversed mountains and valleys, journeying throughout the Central Plains, until he happened upon the scene before him.

On the left, verdant mountains rose like a dragon, their undulating ridges unbroken—this was the aspect of the Azure Dragon’s support. On the right, the White Tiger lay lower than the left, its head bowed—a sign of the White Tiger’s submission. In front, green waters wound in nine bends and eighteen turns, gathering wind and collecting energy, encircling the land like a jade belt. Behind, a grand mountain stood as a solid backing, the domain of the Black Tortoise. Was this not the very place where the dragon rises, the dwelling of a dragon vein? Master Xujing was overjoyed and lingered in the valley for ten years. He examined every inch of earth, yet could never confirm where the acupoint lay.

Time slipped by; Master Xujing’s hair turned white in middle age as he continually brushed aside summons from the temple, refusing to abandon his search. Not until news came of the passing of his mentor—teacher and father in one—did he break down and weep. Like a madman, he shouted and cursed the heavens in the upper valley.

As if Heaven took pity, when Xujing climbed a mountainside to continue his tirade, a bolt of lightning struck him down, charring him black. Only then did he cease his curses. Wracked with pain, he clenched a handful of earth. Doubled over, he inadvertently let the mountain wind blow dirt into his mouth. Absentmindedly, he licked it—and suddenly, excitement overtook him. He stuffed the handful of dirt into his mouth, then collapsed to the ground, laughing wildly. His laughter echoed through the valley, fading gradually into silence. Master Xujing had at last found the dragon’s lair—but no one would ever know of his discovery before death.

The green mountains remained silent. Xuangguang Temple buried him where he fell. With mountains and waters for company, a master of geomancy thus met his fitting end.