We didn't leave the provincial capital until around two in the afternoon—time was tight.
Xu Dafa stared at his chipped, outdated phone, checking the time. "This time of year, it doesn't get dark until 8:30. If we hurry, we'll still make it."
Pushed by his urgency, the village chief floored the gas.
The highway wasn't too bad, but once we turned onto the smaller countryside roads, I was a bundle of nerves. The road was narrow and full of potholes, like riding a roller coaster.
I'd wanted to catch a nap, but the constant jolting kept me wide awake.
Then we hit the mountain roads—it got worse. The road carved along the mountainside, just barely wide enough for a single vehicle.
One side was a steep, rockfall-prone slope, and the other side was a sheer cliff that dropped hundreds of meters.
The van barreled along the edge like it had a death wish, and I felt like my soul was chasing behind us in panic.
If we weren't in such a rush, I'd have preferred to get out and walk.
Thankfully, the village chief knew the road well, and we made it through the most dangerous stretch safely.
As the terrain leveled out, we saw scattered farmhouses and rice paddies along the roadside.
The setting sun bathed the fields in golden light—but on closer look, the golden color wasn't a sign of a bountiful harvest. The newly planted seedlings had dried up into straw.
The soil had cracked like broken tofu, and even the air felt oppressively dry.
"When a drought ghoul appears, the land turns to dust"—this old saying was no exaggeration.
Fortunately, the drought ghoul here hadn't fully formed yet, so the affected area was still limited.
I asked Xu Dafa, "Brother Xu, do drought ghouls show up in this area often?"
He'd told me earlier that his crew specialized in exorcising them and always worked in teams of eight.
There's no way they could make a living off the occasional ghoul.
Xu Dafa replied, "Within a dozen or so surrounding villages, one or two show up every year. If it's the off-season, it's manageable. But during busy farming times, three to five days of drought can wipe out the entire crop."
"An old Taoist once came and said the feng shui here was bad—but in the end, he couldn't explain exactly why. If the drought ghoul problem could be solved for good, I'd happily give up this line of work."
He lit a cheap cigarette, and I rolled down the window for some fresh air. Outside, the mountains rolled like waves—but in a peculiar pattern. They weren't jagged ridges, but more like rounded mounds, resembling steamed buns pressed into the earth.
This type of terrain is extremely rare in our province.
Legend has it that such formations are the result of severed dragon veins.
During the Tang Dynasty, Emperor Taizong Li Shimin didn't come to power through proper succession. To ensure his bloodline could rule for generations, he not only ordered the rewriting of historical records but also resolved to cut off all potential dragon veins across the land.
His goal was to eliminate any future threats to the Tang Dynasty in their infancy. To do this, he enlisted the help of two famous geomancers—Yuan Tiangang and Li Chunfeng.
Over several years, Yuan and Li traveled the country and severed eighty-eight dragon veins.
The specific locations are lost to history. Only at the "dragon neck" of Panlong Mountain is there visible evidence of a severed vein—believed to be one of their works.
Another legend says they spared two dragon veins.
One was located between Lüliang Mountain and the Taihang Range in Shanxi—believed to be Wu Zetian's vein. Yuan Tiangang predicted it would usurp the Tang but also extend its lifespan by 202 years, so they left it untouched. Later, Wu Zetian became empress.
The other was in Dangshan, Songzhou. Yuan foresaw this vein would destroy the Tang Dynasty after 200 years. He believed it was heaven's will and should not be altered.
He and Li Chunfeng discussed it and concluded no dynasty lasts over 300 years anyway. Even if someone did overthrow the Tang, it would be at the dynasty's natural end. So, they spared that vein too.
That dragon vein later belonged to Zhu Wen, who overthrew the Tang in 907 and founded Later Liang. The Tang Dynasty lasted 289 years in total.
After Yuan and Li's dragon-severing campaign, the shape of many mountains across the land changed—formerly continuous ranges became fragmented.
If a dragon vein had indeed been severed here, then the presence of a hidden dragon would make sense.
A thousand years ago, it could've gone unnoticed—possibly even by the likes of Yuan and Li—and remained dormant all this time.
I opened my spiritual third-eye to its third layer and scanned the distant mountains. Among the undulating ridges, I saw a dark golden energy in the shape of a dragon lying coiled.
At first, I thought the golden light was a trick of the sunset—like the golden peaks you sometimes see at dusk. But when the car turned and changed direction, I clearly saw the outline of a crouching dragon.
Even more startling—it had raised its head, poised to soar skyward.
And at the location of its head stood a solitary mountain—exactly where we were heading.
I immediately shut my spiritual eye.
Huang Jiu was carsick, sprawled out in the back seat like a starfish, groaning softly.
I had meant to talk to him but let it go. I turned to Xu Dafa and said, "Brother Xu, that hidden dragon seems ready to rise—it's gathering energy. But when the dragon's energy peaks, anything buried at its head will suffer. Who would dare place a grave there?"
Xu Dafa had already mentioned a hidden dragon—meaning the dragon vein was no secret locally.
In rural areas, word spreads fast, and people don't move around much. Knowledge like this is often passed down through generations.
Surely they'd know burying someone at a rising dragon's head is asking for disaster.
Xu Dafa said, "It's the wife of Old Zhao the Crooked. I told him not to do it, but he wouldn't listen. Said he had to bury her there. And now—before fifty days have passed—we've already got a drought ghoul."
The village chief shook his head and cursed, "That damned bastard never listens to anyone. He's dragged the whole village into this mess, and now he just lies at home all day sleeping it off!"
From their tone, it was clear—Zhao the Crooked was the village scoundrel.
Every rural village has someone like that—loud, contrary, never cooperative. If you argue with them, they'll throw tantrums. When something goes wrong, they act like it's none of their business.
These people are a product of their environment. In the old days, when the law wasn't as strict, someone might have dealt with him harshly. But these days, with stronger legal protections, nobody dares risk jail time just to teach a bully a lesson.
From what Xu and the chief said, I learned that Zhao had no children, just a mentally disabled wife who died a month ago. Now he lives alone.
The saying goes, "Barefoot men fear nothing."
He clearly didn't care about consequences.
I suspected Zhao buried his wife on the dragon's head out of spite—jealous of others' good fortune, he intentionally turned himself into a curse for the whole village.