Chapter One: My Biological Parents Buried Me Alive

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I was born into a family renowned for their mastery of geomancy, with both my parents being prominent figures in the circle.

My father, Lin Yutang, was versed in the secret arts of yin and yang, making infallible predictions with unshakable confidence. My mother, Liu Ruyin, excelled in fate and divination, discerning fortune and misfortune with the three lines and the Six Ren.

Yet, as their eldest son, I was nailed into a coffin by their own hands at the age of six and buried alive in a mass grave.

All because my birth date and hour were said to bring calamity to my younger brother.

When I was born, I was an unremarkable child, my face dotted with birthmarks.

From that moment, my parents despised me, going so far as to name me Lin the Pockmarked.

When I turned five, my mother became pregnant again, and after ten months, gave birth to another son.

This child was fair and delicate, a beautiful boy carved like jade.

My parents cherished him as the apple of their eye, and by comparison, their contempt for me only deepened.

The turning point came when my brother was one month old. My mother cast his fortune and discovered that his birth chart clashed with mine—we were brothers, yet destined to be at odds, as incompatible as water and fire.

Simply put, there could only be one of us—either him or me.

Faced with this choice, my parents did not hesitate.

They kept my brother and abandoned me.

On my sixth birthday, they crafted a black coffin from locust wood, lined it with the scattered bones of children who had died young, sprinkled a thick layer of fresh spirit money, lulled me to sleep, and placed me inside. They covered me with a goatskin, freshly flayed and soaked in snake’s blood.

They sealed the coffin and buried it in the mass grave.

Thus, both my body and my soul were locked away, erased from the world.

Even in death, I would be denied the six paths of reincarnation, unable to become a vengeful spirit or return to seek revenge on my family.

My heartless parents and their beloved youngest son could then enjoy peace, wealth, and endless pleasure for the rest of their days.

But for all their plotting, they never foresaw that fate would not let me die.

Perhaps their cruelty was too great, the trap too absolute, the yin energy in my coffin too heavy.

That very midnight, a hundred ghosts dug up my grave.

The wandering spirits and monsters of the mass grave, drawn to the intense yin energy in my coffin, clawed me out from three feet under the earth.

When they pried open the coffin lid, I was already unconscious from lack of air, my face mottled blue and purple.

Mistaking me for dead, the vengeful ghosts, eager to possess a fresh body, tried to enter and seize my remains.

Yet a hundred phantoms failed to claim my flesh—instead, their efforts drew me back from the brink. With a gasp, I opened my eyes and returned to the living.

I was only six, but years of neglect had forced me to grow up fast.

I knew it was my parents who had sealed me in that coffin and buried me alive, and I understood their reasons.

In that moment, grief overwhelmed me, and I howled in anguish.

I felt that death would have been a relief.

My cries only attracted more wandering ghosts.

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They circled me, cackling eerily, baring their fangs and claws.

They asked, “Little one, this graveyard is crawling with ghosts. Aren’t you afraid, sitting here at midnight?”

I wiped my tears and shook my head at the shifting shadows around me.

“Ghosts aren’t frightening. It’s people who are truly terrifying.”

At these words, a deep, ancient voice echoed from the darkness, “Well said! For those words alone, child, I’ll spare your life.”

Though I no longer wished to live, the voice, for all its chill, carried a note of kindness, warmer than anything I’d ever heard from my own parents. I couldn’t help but look toward it, yearning to see who—or what—had brought a touch of warmth to my desolate existence.

And what I saw was a bird.

A night owl perched atop a tombstone.

Its eyes glinted as it cocked its head, sizing me up, and then, to my astonishment, it spoke, “Little one, from now on, you’ll live here in the mass grave. Don’t worry, with me watching over you, no one will dare lay a finger on you.”

True to its word, the night owl took me under its wing from that day onward.

It roosted in the trees; I slept beneath them.

It nested in the branches; I lay in my coffin.

Not only that, it took me as its disciple, teaching me its skills.

To my surprise, even without introductions, it knew all about my family, and why my parents had buried me alive.

“Lin Yutang and Liu Ruyin, those two fools—proud of their geomancy, yet blind as bats! For the sake of a useless pillow, they nearly lost a prodigy!”

“In five hundred years, the Lin family has never seen such talent as yours. And yet your parents sealed you away in a graveyard. I look forward to the day, twenty years hence, when you emerge and astonish the world. I wonder what your blind parents and that weakling brother will think then!”

At first, I thought it was merely comforting me, but later I realized it spoke the truth.

The night owl never lied—I truly was gifted.

The mass grave was teeming with spirits from all walks of life.

The night owl mingled freely with them and often invited wandering souls to teach me their arts.

Taoist priests from Maoshan, tantric monks, corpse herders from Xiangxi, snake catchers from Liuzhou, and shamans from the northeast—my education was broad and unorthodox.

Though the knowledge was eclectic and lacked a unified system, I mastered whatever I was taught.

Every mentor, after teaching me, would give a thumbs-up and exclaim, “This child is destined for greatness.”

And so I spent my days learning from ghosts and spirits.

In the blink of an eye, twenty years passed, and I turned twenty-six.

The night owl, once bright-feathered and sharp-eyed, had grown old and frail.

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Its feathers had all but fallen out, its once sharp talons nearly gone.

At dawn one day, it fluttered into my coffin, perched on my shoulder, and sighed, “Little Pockmarked, how long has it been since you came to this mass grave?”

“Not more, not less—exactly twenty years,” I replied.

The night owl chuckled, “Twenty years—every ghost and spirit in this graveyard has taught you all they know. What they couldn’t teach, you’ve figured out yourself. You’ve mastered the secret arts of every tradition!”

“There’s no need for you to stay here any longer. A small creek is good for sheltering from storms, but the sea is the dragon’s true home.”

I knew I couldn’t spend my whole life in the graveyard. Besides, it was time to settle the score for being buried alive all those years ago.

But I couldn’t bear to leave the night owl behind.

“Old man, come with me,” I whispered.

Twenty years together had made us as close as father and son. The care and warmth this night owl gave me was something my own father never had.

But it shook its head with a gentle smile, “I’m old and can’t fly anymore. I won’t go with you. But don’t worry, the day will come when we meet again.”

Hearing this, my nose stung, but I did not insist.

All good things must end.

At first light, I climbed out of my coffin and left the mass grave.

I followed the winding mountain paths back to the town I had not seen in so long.

After twenty years living like a wild creature, returning to modern society was a shock.

I couldn’t even make sense of the traffic lights and nearly got run over by a Mercedes G-Class.

Fortunately, I was quick enough to leap aside.

“Are you tired of living?” the driver cursed as he got out—a man a few years younger than me.

But as soon as we laid eyes on each other, we both froze.

Though it had been twenty years, we recognized one another at once.

Blood ties between brothers run deep.

The driver was none other than my own younger brother—Lin Yulang.