mousepad-d2 Chapter 9: The Eight-Armed Nezha
Chapter 9: The Eight-Armed Nezha
The last time Cheng Xiaojin saw Zhou Banxian was last year during the Qingming Festival at the entrance of Baiyun Temple.
The old man squatted by the roadside on a straw mat with a bronze compass and a stack of yellow paper on it. He would pull up his sleeves and tell everyone he met that he was the 108th generation descendant of King Wen of Zhou and that he could tell fortunes, predict destiny, and read feng shui.
He didn't manage to attract a single customer that day, but he did manage to infuriate the old lady selling incense at the entrance of Baiyun Temple.
Zhou Banxian lived in a dead-end alley behind the Drum Tower with no name. His house number was missing half of its original number. His courtyard was half the size of Master Ma's, but his house was piled with three times more things.
Cheng Xiaojin knocked on the door for a long time but no one answered. Just as he was about to make a phone call, the door creaked open from the inside.
A strong smell of alcohol hit me.
"Who is it? I don't buy insurance or subscribe to broadband."
Zhou Banxian huddled behind the door, wearing a cotton-padded jacket with only two buttons fastened, his hair sticking up in several tufts, his face wrinkled and twisted, and clutching a half-empty bottle of Niulanshan liquor in his hand.
The old man, around seventy years old, was as thin as a bamboo pole, with the flesh on his face drooping down. His only notable feature was his pair of bright eyes, which remained incredibly bright even after drinking so much.
"Master Zhou, I am Cheng Xiaojin, the son of Cheng Shouyi."
Zhou Banxian squinted at him for a while, then slammed the wine bottle against the door frame.
"Cheng Shouyi's son? You're Xiao Jinzi?"
"I'm already twenty-six and you still call me Little Goldie."
"Twenty-six? You were this old when your father disappeared."
Zhou Banxian gestured with his hand to indicate waist height and shook the wine bottle.
"Come in, don't stand at the door, or the neighbors will think I owe you money."
Cheng Xiaojin followed him into the house and almost tripped over a stack of thread-bound books behind the threshold.
The room was small, with an eight-immortal table taking up most of the space. On the table were three bronze compasses, large, medium and small, arranged in order. Scattered around them were a pile of yellowed handwritten books and half-pencil stubs.
Dozens of thread-bound ancient books were piled up in the corner, some bound with rubber bands, some wrapped in newspaper, and an empty wine bottle was placed on top as a paperweight.
On the wall opposite the octagonal table was a huge hand-drawn map. The paper was yellowed and brittle, and the edges were pinned to the wall with thumbtacks. It was covered with dense lines and markings.
Cheng Xiaojin took a closer look. It was a map of Beijing, but it was quite different from modern maps. The direction and layout of the streets were more like those of ancient times.
"Your house is messier than I imagined."
"Chaos? This is called ordered chaos. When King Wen of Zhou was deducing the Eight Trigrams, there were yarrow stalks all over the ground. It was much more chaotic than what I have here."
Zhou Banxian sat down in a chair, put the wine bottle on the table, and gestured with his chin towards Cheng Xiaojin.
"Did Ma Wenchang send you?"
Cheng Xiaojin didn't hide it from him and nodded.
"He asked you for a favor."
"What kind of help do you need? Tell me."
Cheng Xiaojin sat down across the table and recounted the whole story from the beginning.
It all started with the old farmer's iron lump in Hebei, then Ma Ye concluded that it was related to the iron chain of the Locked Dragon Well, then Sun Pangzi set his sights on him, then Tieguai Li was making counterfeit goods, and finally he needed a story that people could believe to help him set up a scheme.
When Zhou Banxian heard "iron lump," he didn't react much. When he heard the words "locked dragon well," he stopped drinking from the bottle. When he heard "setting up a trap," he put the bottle down.
"You mean, you want me to make up a story to convince Sun Bingde's buyer that the fake iron is a genuine Zhenhai iron?"
"It can't be a made-up story; I need a truthful account that people can believe."
Cheng Xiaojin leaned forward.
"Master Zhou, you are well-known in the circle for your knowledge of feng shui. You know exactly what is buried under Beijing and what it is used to suppress. I need you to explain the origin of the Zhenhai Iron in detail, the more detailed the better, preferably back to the time when Beijing was being built during the Yongle era."
"To deceive someone, you first need a story that makes them believe it. The more believable the story, the faster the fish will take the bait."
Zhou Banxian stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed, revealing a mouthful of uneven, yellow teeth.
"You're just like your father, always starting with the soft approach."
"Alright, I can tell you the story, but I have one condition."
"Please speak."
"I need to take a look at the real one in your hand after this is all over."
Cheng Xiaojin thought for a moment.
"Okay, I'll take you to see Master Ma later."
Zhou Banxian nodded in satisfaction, took a big gulp of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor), wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaned back in his chair and squinted.
"Do you know what happened with that well at Beixinqiao?"
"I've heard a legend that when Liu Bowen was building Beijing, he locked a dragon in a well."
Zhou Banxian scoffed.
"Legends are just for fooling the common people; the real things are far more bizarre than the legends."
He reached out and rummaged around on the table for a while, then pulled out a thin booklet from a pile of handwritten copies. The cover had three characters written in calligraphy. Cheng Xiaojin tilted his head and studied them for a long time before realizing it was the "Record of Town Things".
"In the fourth year of the Yongle reign, Zhu Di moved the capital to Beijing. Do you know who oversaw the city's urban planning?"
"Yao Guangxiao".
"Yes, the black-robed prime minister Yao Guangxiao, that old monk knows a lot of things, he is proficient in astronomy, geography, divination and numerology. After he surveyed the geomantic veins of Beijing, he discovered a big problem."
Zhou Banxian stretched out his finger and drew a winding line on the table.
"There is an underground river beneath Beijing, which originates from the Western Hills, passes through Yuquan Mountain, flows through the city, and all the way to Tongzhou. The ancients called this underground river 'Earth Dragon,' but it has nothing to do with the dragons in mythology; it is an underground flowing water vein."
What is the relationship between water veins and feng shui?
"It's a big deal."
Zhou Banxian slammed the thin booklet on the table with a loud bang.
"Feng shui, feng shui, water comes first and wind comes later, water is the blood of the dragon vein. This underground river is too strong, Yao Guangxiao was afraid that it would change in the future, so he buried talismans at several key points and used ironware to lock the air vents of the water vein."
"The well at Beixinqiao is one of the key points. The iron chain at the bottom of the well has nothing to do with the legend of locking the dragon. Its function is to lock the underground water veins. The accurate name is the Sea-Suppressing Iron Chain."
Cheng Xiaojin interjected when he heard this.
"How did the common people come to believe it was a dragon being locked up?"
"What do ordinary people know? When the water veins change and springs gush forth from the ground, those who don't know any better might think there's a dragon causing trouble underground. As the story spread, it became known as 'locking up the dragon.'"
Zhou Banxian opened the thin booklet and pointed to a page filled with densely packed small characters.
"Yao Guangxiao placed nine protective objects in Beijing. The nine objects combined to form a complete feng shui formation, firmly anchoring the entire earth's vein. The iron chain at Beixinqiao was the largest one. The other eight were scattered in various corners of the city, some under the city gates, some in the foundations of temples, and some at the bottom of the moat of the imperial palace."
"These talismans are all made of the same material, refined iron made during the Yongle period. It has a very low carbon content and almost no pores inside, and it can produce a special sound when struck."
Cheng Xiaojin's finger unconsciously flicked across the table.
Dragon's Roar.
Zhou Banxian glanced at him.
"What are you playing? I haven't finished speaking yet."
"Please continue, please continue."
"You can tell the story of Zhenhai Iron, but there's one thing you must remember."
Zhou Banxian suddenly lowered his voice, and the smell of alcohol hit Cheng Xiaojin's face.
"These nine protective objects have been disturbed by people over the past six hundred years. Some were dug up when roads were being built, and some were demolished when buildings were being constructed. To this day, no more than three remain intact."
"The less of a talisman atop the formation, the weaker the feng shui becomes, and the more active the earth's energy becomes."
Zhou Banxian didn't answer. He picked up the bottle and took the last swig. He casually put the empty bottle on the windowsill, where it joined a row of seven or eight other empty bottles.
"Are there enough stories for you?"
"That's enough, that's more than enough."
Cheng Xiaojin stood up and quickly went through the information he had just heard in his mind.
Yongle refined iron, nine places to suppress evil spirits, a feng shui formation, and the sea-suppressing iron chain.
This pitch, delivered to Fatty Sun's buyer, coupled with the counterfeit goods made by Tieguai Li and his own live demonstration of his craftsmanship, was enough to lure the buyer in.
He walked to the door and was about to push it open when Zhou Banxian spoke up from behind him.
Do you know why Beijing is called the City of Eight-Armed Nezha?
Cheng Xiaojin turned to look at him.
"have no idea."
Zhou Banxian slumped in his chair, his eyes half-closed. The expression on his face didn't look like he was drunk; rather, it looked like he was too sober.
"You'll find out sooner or later."