Whispers of a Curse

　　When Uncle Huzi learned that the bank card held a small fortune of ten thousand yuan, his eyes welled up, this time with tears of relief. 

　　After weeks of scraping by, a reprieve was finally within reach. 

　　 He tossed the bag of leftovers into a nearby trash bin without a second thought. 

　　"Tonight," he declared, "we feast like kings!"

　　His moment of triumph was short-lived, however. 

　　He quickly turned back to me, his brow furrowed with concern. 

　　"Young Master," he began cautiously, "Why did you agree to take on the Zhang family case? Have you forgotten Master's explicit instructions?"

　　"Don't worry, Uncle Huzi," I reassured him. "I confirmed with Zhang Yunyao – the problem lies with their family's ancestral grave, which happens to be located in Yongfeng County, hundreds of kilometers from here.

　　 Master specifically warned against taking on jobs in Yanbei, but Yongfeng County is well outside that boundary. We're not breaking any rules, are we?" 

　　Uncle Hu pondered for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

　　"I suppose you're right… but something still feels off, although I can't quite put my finger on it. 

　　 Every rule Master set forth carries a deeper significance. Breaking even one could have unforeseen consequences, Young Master. Tread carefully."

　　"What do you mean?" I pressed. "What deeper meaning could there possibly be to his first rule– demanding I earn him a million yuan within a year? 

　　 Is he truly trying to recoup eight years' worth of tuition within a single year? It's outright robbery!" 

　　The mere mention of that outrageous stipulation was enough to make my head throb. 

　　 Eight years he spent teaching me the ancient art of Feng Shui, and now he expected me to repay him tenfold within a year? That old fox!

　　Uncle Hu just chuckled awkwardly. 

　　 It was clear he had no explanation. 

　　We headed to the nearest bank to check the balance on the card—ten thousand yuan, just as Zhang Yunyao had promised. 

　　 A wave of relief washed over me. 

　　 Our days of living on a shoestring budget were finally over. 

　　I withdrew the entire sum, handing it to Uncle Huzi. 

　　"Here," I said. "This should be enough to tide us over." 

　　 I kept the card; a small safety net for any unexpected expenses. 

　　Even if we spent frugally, this money would sustain us for months. 

　　As for the million-yuan debt hanging over my head… well, some things were better left untouched.

　　The following morning, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the courtyard, a symbol of the Zhang family's immense wealth. 

　　Zhang Yucheng emerged, his face beaming with a combination of hope and relief as he ushered Uncle Huzi and me into the luxurious car. 

　　"Mr. Wu," he exclaimed, his voice trembling with barely-contained emotion, "Thank you! I knew you'd agree to help! My son is saved!"

　　Zhang Yunyao, seated beside him, puffed out her chest with pride. 

　　"It was all my doing, Father! You can thank me for convincing Mr. Wu to help!"

　　Zhang Yucheng chuckled, showering his daughter with praise. 

　　"Yes, yes, you were a great help, my dear. You're truly a capable young woman! "

　　I simply smiled and kept my silence. 

　　 She might have played a part, but it wasn't her persuasion that tipped the scales.

　　 There was no need to complicate matters. 

　　As we drove, the conversation turned towards the history of the ancestral grave. 

　　 It had been chosen, Zhang Yucheng explained, by a wandering feng shui master in the late Qing Dynasty. 

　　At the time, the Zhang family were ordinary villagers in Yongfeng County, living lives indistinguishable from their neighbors.

　　 What followed was a stroke of fate, pure and simple.

　　The late Qing Dynasty was a turbulent period. 

　　Foreign powers encroached upon their borders, bandits and rogue soldiers roamed the countryside, and natural disasters seemed to strike yearly. 

　　Ordinary people grappled with hunger and uncertainty daily. 

　　The Zhang family, at that time, was no exception. 

　　They struggled to put food on the table, their existence a hand-to-mouth reality. 

　　Hiring a feng shui master was an extravagance beyond their wildest dreams. 

　　One day, the Zhang family patriarch noticed a frail, elderly Daoist collapsed near their doorstep, his ragged robes a testament to his plight. 

　　 The old man was weak, close to starvation. 

　　Driven by compassion, the patriarch took him in, shared their meager meal of steamed buns—the last of their food—and provided him with shelter. 

　　The old Daoist, his strength slowly returning, was overwhelmed with gratitude. 

　　To repay their kindness, he offered to assess their feng shui. 

　　He wandered the hills and valleys surrounding Yongfeng County for days. 

　　Upon his return, he claimed to have discovered an auspicious plot of land – a geomantic treasure.

　　"If you bury your ancestors in this location," he'd instructed, "and follow my instructions precisely, your family will prosper for generations."

　　Despite his act of kindness, the Zhang patriarch hadn't placed much faith in the old priest's abilities. 

　　 However, as the years passed, the Zhang family's fortunes shifted dramatically.

　　During the Republic of China, a descendant of the Zhang family rose to become a prominent businessman whose ventures spanned the country. 

　　They accumulated vast wealth, elevating their standing within society. 

　　Even as times changed and their fortunes dwindled, a portion of their ancestral wealth remained, a safety net against the tides of fate.

　　Zhang Yunyao's grandfather, a shrewd businessman, skillfully utilized their remaining assets to rebuild the family's wealth. 

　　 He laid the foundation for their return to prominence. 

　　 It was under Zhang Yucheng's leadership, however, that the family reached their zenith, establishing the Julong Group and cementing their place among Yanbei's elite. 

　　Their idyllic rise had come to a screeching halt twenty days prior. 

　　The sudden withering of the trees surrounding the ancestral grave, coupled with his son's descent into madness, filled Zhang Yucheng with a sense of dread. 

　　Despite numerous consultations, the feng shui masters had no answers. 

　　Their attempts to relocate the ancestral grave had ended disastrously. 

　　 The sight of blood seeping from the freshly dug earth sent chills down everyone's spines. 

　　Desperate, Zhang Yucheng had placed his hopes on my elusive master. 

　　Had I not inquired about the specifics of Zhang Yunyao's predicament, I, too, would have turned them away, unknowingly dismissing my first true test—and my ticket out of debt!

　　After hours of driving, we finally arrived at the ancestral grave; an unassuming mound of earth nestled amidst rolling hills. 

　　 Zhang Yunliang and a group of weary-looking workers were waiting for us. 

　　As we stepped out of the car, Zhang Yucheng made a sweeping gesture towards his son.. 

　　"Liangzi, this is Master Wu, the expert from Yanbei I told you about. He is the disciple of the King of Feng Shui himself, Li Xuantong! He'll know what to do!"

　　Zhang Yunliang, a young man in his early twenties, regarded me with an indifferent gaze. 

　　He was dressed in the height of fashion, his face pale and drawn, a single earring glinting in the daylight. 

　　 His demeanor was cool, almost bored, as he offered me a curt nod. It was obvious that he doubted my abilities. 

　　I was, in his eyes, an inexperienced child playing at being a master. 

　　But beneath his carefully constructed facade, I detected a faint aura of despair and a flicker of something darker around him. 

　　His life force was weak, flickering like a dying ember. 

　　I had to stifle a gasp.

　　"Mr. Zhang," I asked, my tone serious, "Have you had any… unsettling encounters recently? Anything you can't explain?"

　　Zhang Yunliang snorted. 

　　"Spare me the dramatics. Plenty of feng shui charlatans have graced us with their presence, and none could solve this supposed mystery. Are you just here to try your luck and milk more money from my family?"