Chapter Thirty: Ancient Tree Spirit Orchid

Early Saturday morning, Old Chen came looking for him. He hurriedly ate his breakfast, asking if Old Chen had eaten yet. Old Chen replied that he had.

He noticed Old Chen was carrying a bag and, while chewing, asked, “Are you going to survey someone’s land again?” He knew Old Chen always brought that bag when helping others with land readings, so he’d bought a similar one himself, now that he had his own tools for feng shui.

Old Chen answered, “Yes, yesterday afternoon, He Tianming from Camphor Village invited me. He wants to exhume bones and rebury them, asked me to help choose the spot.”

“Oh, I’ve never been to the He family in Camphor Village.” He hastily swallowed the last of his noodles and said, “I’m ready,” then dashed inside to pack his things in another bag. “Let’s go, Old Chen.”

He wheeled his motorcycle to the gate and called to his grandfather in the courtyard, “Grandpa, I’m heading to the He family in Camphor Village with Old Chen. Take care, don’t work too hard.”

His grandfather’s white beard quivered as his small mouth moved, “Got it, grandson. You two stay safe.”

Old Chen climbed onto the back. He Zhixing started the engine with a roar, and soon the motorcycle sped down the road.

They passed through the town market, slowing a little to weave among the sparse crowd, their figures receding behind them as the bike pressed onward.

Turning onto a deserted country lane, he honked the horn—“beep”—and accelerated, the wind whistling past their ears.

As they neared the He family home in Camphor Village, He Tianming was already waiting in the ancestral hall. He led them inside, where the house was packed with people gathered around a table, sipping tea. To He Zhixing’s surprise, he recognized a familiar face—a girl named He Yufang. He hurried over and took her hand, “Hey, is this your home?”

He Yufang’s cheeks flushed, “Yes, this is my uncle’s house. My own home is nearby.”

He Zhixing quickly let go of her hand. He Yufang pointed to the others, introducing, “This is my grandmother, my uncle, my aunt, my cousin brother, and my cousin sister.” He Zhixing greeted each of them in turn.

Grandmother was especially warm, giving He Zhixing a few extra glances. As he shook her hand, she asked, “Dear, is this your classmate? Same grade?”

“Yes, he is.”

Then, her uncle brought He Zhixing and Old Chen to He Yufang’s own home. Her parents were gone; eight years ago, when the dam was opened, both were killed in an explosion. Now she lived with her grandmother, who was still healthy and strong, able to do housework and a bit of farm labor without issue.

Since her parents’ passing, it was her grandmother who had cared for her. Her uncle’s family also helped when they could, being her father’s brother and sharing the same grandmother.

He Yufang was diligent and hardworking, always among the top ten students, and at home she was quick to help with farm chores—a filial girl.

This time, they’d invited Old Chen and He Zhixing to select a new feng shui site for her parents’ reburial. When her father was alive, he’d chosen several good spots, marking them with false graves; every year at Qingming, they would burn incense and paper offerings.

Now, her uncle and she were bringing Old Chen and He Zhixing to survey two places her father had favored—one far, one near. The farther required a hike through hills, about an hour’s walk. They decided to visit the far site first, then the near.

Before going, they went with Old Chen and He Zhixing to the hillside behind the house, where her parents were buried. This was Old Chen’s request—to first record the orientation, timing, and features like wind and water, to decide when to break ground.

He Zhixing examined the burial site. It was indeed poor—bad feng shui, the water flow in front unclear, the dragon vein unfavorable, the sand distribution wrong. No wonder they wished to relocate.

He Zhixing took out his feng shui compass. “Hmm, that’s strange,” he murmured.

The compass needle pointed toward the sloping hillside behind the grave. He Zhixing looked left and upwards, climbed across terraced vegetable plots, and not far above found a towering tree, so large five or six people couldn’t encircle it.

The compass needle pointed right there. He Zhixing turned to He Yufang behind him, “What kind of tree is that huge ancient one?”

He Yufang replied, “It’s a camphor tree, hundreds of years old. Our village is named Camphor Village because of it.”

He Zhixing climbed up through the terraced fields to the ancient tree, and He Yufang followed. He circled the tree, examining it closely, hoping to find something.

He Yufang whispered beside him, “What are you looking for? Is it something on the tree? It’s so big that hardly anyone in the village can climb it. I only went up once as a child with my father, to collect a beehive. It took all his strength—he used the longest wooden ladder, set it on the lowest branch, then tied a rope around another branch and climbed step by step. It was terrifying!”

“I remember finding an orchid growing in a large curved branch. I picked a few tiny red fruits, about the size of rice grains, and ate them. They were sweet and fragrant.”

He Zhixing grabbed her hand excitedly, “You said there’s an orchid up there, and red fruits?” He Yufang frowned, “You’re hurting me!”

He Zhixing hurriedly let go, blowing gently on her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, so sorry!”

At that moment, Old Chen called out, “Xiao He, what are you doing up there? Don’t dawdle…” With that, He Tianming led the way down the mountain.

“Alright, coming!” He Zhixing and He Yufang hurried after the group, descending the hillside together.