Chapter Twenty: Gu Jing's Villa

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Chapter Twenty: Gu Jing’s Villa

Tantric Buddhism, also known as the Mantra Dharani School, Mantra School, Yoga School, Vajra Peak School, Vairocana School, Kaiyuan School, Secret Vehicle, or Esoteric Vehicle, is a branch of Buddhism originating from the Vajrayana tradition. It arose in the seventh century in eastern India under the Pala dynasty. Esoteric teachings had already reached China by 20 BCE. Tantric Buddhism, commonly called Esoteric Buddhism, claims that its doctrines are the most profound, subtle, and mysterious, hence the name “secret,” in contrast to the “exoteric” teachings. It holds that the teachings of the Dharmakaya Buddha, Mahavairocana, regarding the Vajra Realm and Womb Realm represent the Buddha’s own inner realization, and thus should not be revealed to those who have not received initiation.

In the eighth century, three masters—Shan Wuwei, Vajrabodhi, and Amoghavajra—came to China and were known in history as the “Three Great Sages of Kaiyuan.” Supported by the royal court of the Tang Dynasty, these three founded Chinese Esoteric Buddhism.

Later, Esoteric Buddhism spread to Japan. It was well preserved in Tibetan Buddhism. Today, the main branches are Tibetan Esoteric Buddhism, Eastern Esoteric Buddhism (Mantra School), and Tang Esoteric Buddhism.

I was deeply puzzled that Ma Junfeng knew the mudras of Esoteric Buddhism. Gu Jing was the true heir of the Maoshan Sect. There’s a saying: “If it exists, it must be reasonable.” Though the Maoshan Sect had declined over more than a thousand years and its name was exploited by charlatans for deception, causing people to distrust its disciples, the true inheritors possessed genuine abilities. After all, if the Maoshan Sect had no illustrious qualities, why would those fraudsters flock to its name, and why would people believe in its Taoist arts enough to be deceived?

Yet, a Taoist disciple who could perform Esoteric Buddhist mudras was a surprise to me.

However, when Ma Junfeng used the mudras, he first crushed a yellow talisman before forming the mudra—showing he hadn’t truly mastered it and was relying on the power of Taoist talismans.

In Esoteric Buddhism, mudras are called the “two feathers,” also known as the “full moon.” The two arms are referred to as “wings.” The ten fingers are the “ten perfections,” also called “ten wheels” or “ten peaks.” The right hand is called “Prajna,” also known as “Insight,” “Wisdom,” and so forth. The left hand is “Samadhi,” also known as “Stillness,” “Concentration,” “Blessing,” etc.

From the left little finger upwards: charity, morality, patience, vigor, meditation. From the right little finger upwards: wisdom, method, care, strength, intelligence.

The five wheels are similarly encoded, starting from the left and right little fingers upwards: earth, water, fire, wind, space.

Esoteric Buddhism considers the left hand to represent constant tranquility, hence “the hand of compassion” that saves the dull masses; the right hand represents constant activity, hence “the hand of wisdom” that guides those of sharp faculties—together known as “the dual operation of compassion and wisdom,” saving all beings. Joining the two hands signifies severing the afflictions of “greed, anger, ignorance, doubt, arrogance,” and distancing oneself from the primordial ignorance of body, speech, and mind. The gesture of joining the hands is called a “mudra,” which signifies the cessation of bodily evils like killing, theft, and sexual misconduct. Reciting the Buddha’s name and mantras, while contemplating the dignified forms of the deities, leads to nirvana’s ultimate joy, self, purity, and permanence. (There are many roots and sects of Esoteric Buddhism—if interested, consult relevant literature.)

Watching Ma Junfeng act, I couldn’t discern where he had learned his mudras. It seemed only Gu Jing could resolve my doubts.

Arriving in Guangzhou, I felt much more at ease—soon I would see Tang Xin. My only concern was for her well-being.

On the journey, I asked Ma Junfeng several times about Tang Xin, but he always said he couldn’t say and that I’d have to see for myself. His evasive answers stirred my heart, making me impatient to reach Gu Jing.

At last, the car arrived at Gu Jing’s villa. The villa was located in the area between Wuyang New City and Panyu, near the river along Guangzhou Avenue heading toward Panyu.

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As the car entered the villa, Wang Tingting, exhausted from two days of travel with little rest and now another flight back to Guangzhou, was startled awake. It was no wonder—even a man would have been worn out. When the engine stopped, she woke, saw me watching her, made a silly face and stuck out her tongue, then got out.

This villa was truly special; every time I visited, I felt a sense of coming home. I’d told Gu Jing this several times, and he always laughed, telling me to move in.

But I didn’t want to trouble Gu Jing, so I never agreed.

The villa was a gift from a Guangzhou real estate developer, grateful for Gu Jing’s feng shui services in the development zone. After receiving it, Gu Jing spent two years renovating the structure. From a feng shui perspective, the villa’s location was hardly ideal: the entrance did not face a mountain but opened onto a road’s drainage outlet, with the unpleasant smell of stagnant water wafting in. Though the landscaping was lush, it consisted mostly of locust and willow trees. The road in front of the gate led straight to the highway, but there was a slope and a bend in the middle.

Originally, the villa was a model home for the developer, intended as a “smart villa.” Yet from foundation to completion, several mysterious deaths occurred, unnerving the owner.

After completion, numerous high-tech devices were installed to showcase its “smart” features. The engineers, all highly educated, had to stay overnight to work overtime. On the morning after, they either quit or left in fright. The owner raised their salaries to retain them, but those who stayed ended up ill.

Many strange incidents followed. Fearing for his other properties, the owner instructed his staff to keep quiet. Eventually, Gu Jing helped him with feng shui in the development zone, and to return the favor, the owner gifted the troublesome villa to Gu Jing.

Gu Jing initially did not want the house, but the owner, out of sincere gratitude, personally took him to see it. The location was excellent and the designer talented, but the designer knew nothing about feng shui. If the house went to others, calamity would surely follow. So Gu Jing accepted the gift.

Discussing the villa, Gu Jing often smiled wryly, saying that feng shui is a treasure of the Chinese nation. Its influence from antiquity to today is deep, yet modern people understand nothing of it. No wonder the villa had problems.

The main gate faced east and looked west toward Wuyang New City, where at night one could see lights like a starry sky. A road led to the city, surrounded by many trees; when the breeze blew, the scent of leaves was refreshing, and the nearby river was good for fishing—a fine environment.

But Gu Jing glanced at the villa’s layout and laughed, “Facing west is a house of misfortune. According to feng shui, who would want to go west? The west represents ultimate bliss. And look at the trees—willows and locusts.

Willow wood easily becomes uncanny; the word for locust contains ‘ghost.’ The Huai Xi County Gazette records: ‘A certain Song butcher lived in a locust-wood house, and within half a month, his whole family died in bed, without a mark.’ Locust and willow wood should not be used for furniture—beds, chairs, tables. If you dare make a coffin from locust or willow, the dead may be unable to reincarnate and become a zombie. Planting so many of these trees around the villa accumulates heavy yin energy.

A road leading to the highway is convenient, but the bend and slope block fortune and luck, according to feng shui.”

Gu Jing spoke of many other details. For example, the main beam should never be black or red—red is bad for the male owner, black for the female. If the main door is painted black, expect disaster. Never use bones as building materials; don’t place money above the door; don’t make the ceiling yellow or the floor black; and many more taboos.

After two years of effort, Gu Jing transformed the villa into his paradise, content to spend his days tending flowers, catching crickets, feeding birds, and so forth. The former coffin ground had become a “golden coffin.”

After Wang Tingting got out and saw the villa’s unique charm, her spirits lifted, adding to Ma Junfeng’s pride.

We three entered the eastern living room, where Ma Junfeng poured tea and said with a grin, “Went to the pharmacy—should be back soon. Tang Xin is at the Spirit Hall. Master said he’d bring us over when he returns.”

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Since Gu Jing had given instructions, I couldn’t rush things, so I chatted with Ma Junfeng about home matters. Naturally, I wouldn’t ask him about the Esoteric Buddhist mudras—that was a question for Gu Jing.

Wang Tingting was probably calling her family, speaking softly on her phone, then hanging up after a few words. Occasionally, she whispered to me about Gu Jing. I told her a little about him, which piqued her interest, especially learning that Gu Jing was a direct heir of the Maoshan Sect. As Gu Jing’s disciple, Ma Junfeng’s simple mudra had immobilized two living people, making Wang Tingting exceedingly curious. Now, about to meet Ma Junfeng’s master, she was excited.

Soon, Gu Jing returned, carrying things in his hands.

Seeing me, his stern expression relaxed greatly. Wang Tingting was intensely curious about Gu Jing, scrutinizing him from every angle, while Gu Jing, for his part, secretly observed her—after all, it was his first time meeting a girl in my company. He quipped, “Kid, first time I’ve seen you bring a girl home—good taste!”

He teased me while pretending to be friendly, trying to embarrass me. But I had thick skin, so I just shrugged and let him say what he liked. Sneaking a glance, I saw that Wang Tingting’s cheeks were crimson, as if she wished to burrow into the earth—making me secretly amused.

Don’t mistake Gu Jing’s teasing for malice; he was actually helping me. He was the one person in my life who truly understood me—he knew my thick skin well. Before I went to Guangzhou, I had mentioned Wang Tingting to him, telling him how she kept pestering me. Now, given the chance, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make her squirm. Poor girl, unaware, not knowing what storm might be stirred up later. Still, Gu Jing and I would have to be ready for her to cause a fuss in the future.

Gu Jing’s square face was naturally stern; the two tufts of mustache at his lips were less tidy than before, likely because Tang Xin’s troubles had consumed his energy and left him no time to groom.

After introducing Wang Tingting, Gu Jing instructed Ma Junfeng to handle his errands and then took us to see Tang Xin.

The Spirit Hall was where Gu Jing performed rituals, and it was the highest point of the villa. It covered about two hundred square meters, half of which was open to the sky. I had visited many times and always paid special attention to the ancient cauldron inside.

In the open area stood a very old cauldron. Gu Jing had bought it at great expense from a Japanese collector. The cauldron was peculiar—ordinary ones had three to six legs, but this one had eight. According to Gu Jing, it “stood on eight directions.” On its body were many inscriptions like oracle bone script, incomprehensible at first glance. The cauldron was round, and the sections between each leg bore different inscriptions, as if eight large yellow talismans had been pasted around it. Moreover, its material was neither iron nor copper; in ancient times, cauldrons were made of iron, copper, or ceramics. This one seemed to be carved from a copper-bearing mineral, as it was covered in verdigris but had a texture like stone.

Three large incense sticks burned in the cauldron.

In front of the cauldron stood a rectangular table spread with a yellow canvas printed with a Taiji motif. On the table were a plate of fruit, a jar of glutinous rice, a jar of millet, a peachwood sword, and a bell.

It looked much like the ritual setups seen in ghost movies, except for the jar of rice.

When we entered the Spirit Hall, I noticed it was different from usual. The incense in the cauldron was burning, and the area exposed to sunlight was covered by a large cloth, dividing it into a room.

In the other half, a single bed was placed, and on it lay Tang Xin.

Tang Xin’s dusky purple face was motionless on the bed, her head facing the ancestral tablets of the Spirit Hall.