**Chapter 33: The Three Origins Sect and the Dragon Gate Eight Formations**
The old man tapped his pipe against the ground, emptying the ash. He pinched a clump of tobacco from a cloth pouch, packed it into the bowl, and lit it with a match. Thick smoke curled from his lips as he began, his voice rasping with age and reverence.
"This tale's been passed down for generations. Two hundred years back, our village wasn't called Shiniu—'Stone Ox'—but Xiahe, 'Lower River.' Back then, we were poorer than dirt. Crops withered, livestock died. No girl from neighboring villages would marry into our misery."
Li Chengfeng's eyebrows lifted at the mention of the **Three Origins Sect's Dragon Gate Eight Formations**—a fabled Tang Dynasty feng shui lineage said to have served emperors. The old man continued, unaware of the young man's recognition.
"Then a feng shui master came. Claimed our village sat on a **Dixing Wei**—a 'Earth Punishment Site.' Told us to move or face calamity."
Wang Bin leaned in, skepticism warring with fascination. "But no one listened, right?"
"Aye. Who'd abandon homes their ancestors built? The master warned a flood would cleanse the land in three days. Folks laughed… until the rains came."
The old man's eyes glazed, as if seeing the deluge anew. "Three nights of torrents. The river swallowed Xiahe whole. That master—bless his soul—ran through the storm, banging pots to wake us. We fled to high ground, watching our huts wash away like straw."
Rebuilding on higher land, the feng shui master ordered twin stone oxen carved and placed east of the new village. A phoenix tree—*wutong*—was planted beside them. "**Shuāng Niú Huàn Gēng**," the master called it: *Twin Oxen Summoning the Plow*. 'When the time ripens,' he said, 'this array will bless your harvests.' Then he left."
For years, the oxen sat silent. Until one bitter winter, a beggar woman and child froze to death at their base.
"Next dawn," the old man whispered, "the stones *bellowed*. Every morning after, their cries rang out—no bullock in sight. Folk thought demons possessed the carvings… till someone remembered the master's words."
Miracles followed. Droughts parched neighboring lands, yet Shiniu's fields stayed green. Sons became scholars; daughters married wealthy. The village renamed itself in the oxen's honor.
"I heard their calls as a boy," the old man murmured, nostalgia tinged with sorrow. "Low and deep, like thunder underfoot. But decades now… silence."
Li Chengfeng's hand brushed the larger ox's weathered flank. A faint vibration hummed beneath his palm—**sha qi** oozing from its parted stone jaws. "They're screaming now. In pain."
The farmer stiffened. "You… you hear them?"
"Yes. And your village's curse? This array's been poisoned."
Wang Bin scoffed, then hesitated. "Two weeks back… Japanese men came. Offered to buy the oxen. Mayor refused."
The old man's pipe clattered to the ground.
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