Chapter 2: The Cursed Ridge

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The next morning dawned under a sky the color of ash. Thick clouds blanketed the heavens, and a cold wind slashed through the foothills like blades. The scent of dry leaves and unsettled earth filled the air.

Panlong Ridge loomed ahead—a long, coiled stretch of earth rising and twisting like a sleeping beast. Jagged rocks jutted from the hillsides. The mountains embraced a shallow basin, and in its heart rose a small mound of earth, shaped like a crouching rabbit.

But to Chen Songnian, it was no rabbit.
It was bait.
A trap.

He stood still, his threadbare cloak fluttering around him, face pale as the mist. In his hand, he clutched the family’s jade compass—its surface cold, its center needle quivering wildly.

Behind him came the clatter of boots and snorting horses. Li Wancai arrived, wrapped in luxurious furs, followed by a team of bodyguards and laborers. His butler trailed behind, silent as a shadow.

Li Wancai took one look at the ridge and let out a pleased laugh.
“Magnificent! Dragon coils and tiger crouches! Look at that rise in the center—dragon’s head! That’s the spot!”

He pointed to the central mound—the exact spot Chen feared most.

“Master Chen,” he barked. “We bury my father right there. Mark it!”

Chen’s fingers tightened on the compass. The needle was no longer merely quivering—it thrashed, twitching violently, striking repeatedly at the “death” and “curse” quadrants. A thin humming noise escaped from it, barely audible, but full of dread. It was as if the compass was trying to scream.

“Master Li…” Chen’s voice cracked. “This place is cursed. That mound, shaped like a rabbit, is being strangled by those blood-colored ridges. This is a ‘Snake Strangles the Rabbit’ formation. It may look auspicious… but the qi is twisted. The energy here is violent. To bury your father here would be a disaster.”

Li Wancai’s smile turned to stone.
“Disaster?” he sneered. “Looks like dragon and pearl to me. Great wealth in that rise.”

He stepped forward, his large frame looming.

“You’re a geomancer, not a storyteller. Just mark the damn spot!”

He jabbed a finger toward the earth. “That mound. The center. Make it the grave.”

Chen Songnian backed away, heart pounding. His skin prickled with cold sweat. He looked at the jade compass—the needle spun, now glowing faintly green.

He had never seen it behave this way.

“Master Li, please…” he tried once more. “This is a grave misfortune. At best, it will drain your family’s luck. At worst…”

He trailed off.

At worst, it would bring death.

Li Wancai’s face twisted with rage.
“You dare threaten me with ghosts and riddles?”
He stepped forward, grabbed Chen by the collar, and lifted him off the ground.
“You’ll mark that spot, old man. Or I’ll bury you with him!”

Behind him, several guards smirked, their hands resting on blades.

The jade compass in Chen’s sleeve shuddered so violently it nearly jumped from his grasp. His body went limp.

“…Fine.”

The word dropped like a stone into the void.

Chen staggered forward, steps numb, soul hollow. He walked to the mound—the mound where dark veins of stone coiled like dead snakes around its base. He raised a trembling hand and pointed to its center.

“Here,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Mark it here.”

Li Wancai roared in triumph. “Ha! Excellent! This is the dragon’s mouth! A land of kings!”

He turned to his butler. “Stake it. Tomorrow we bury my father!”

Workers drove a thick wooden stake into the earth. With each strike of the hammer, a dull thud echoed through the mountains like a funeral drum.

Chen Songnian stood still, the cold wind clawing at his robes. The compass needle stilled… and then began to spin, slowly, in endless circles—like a snake eating its own tail.