Feng crouched before the locust tree's root pit, tactical gloves slick with fetid mud. Copper coins extracted from the well cat's eye sockets glowed cyan under UV light.

"Wrong alloy ratio for Guangxu Tongbao." He scraped patina into test tubes. "Excessive zinc—post-1914 mint formula." His phone displayed metallurgical data graphs matching the results.

Microscopic examination revealed "Zhang Qizong" engravings composed of nested sigils—exactly the missing text from Annals of Folk Mysteries. Feng's waterproof notebook captured the patterns until his pen autonomously sketched an inverted Bagua.

Stones clattered in the well.

Feng dipped well water to draw sigils on ritual paper. Vermillion permeated fibers with sizzling sounds. Precise sextant alignment was crucial: Tian Shu position buried with Guangxu coins to channel sha, Yao Guang position anchoring with broken characters—installing a pacemaker for earth veins.

If the Annals were accurate, geomagnetic deflection would exceed 12°—physical manifestation of the live-buried soul's struggle.

He buried the coin chain in Jiugang formation. The final coin pinned a "破" (break) character drawn with well water and vermillion.

As coins submerged, drones detected geomagnetic anomalies—15° deflection within 10-meter radius, fulfilling the Annals prophecy: "Sha-devouring array activated, earth veins rerouted."

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Next morning, excavator claws pierced the well as Feng analyzed water with a gas chromatograph. The screen flashed lethal hydrogen sulfide levels—23× threshold.

"Halt!" His flare stick waved. Diesel engines died as metal scrapes echoed below. Foreman Chen peered in—his safety rope suddenly yanked taut.

Feng secured Chen's belt with climbing ropes. Five workers strained futilely. When Feng inverted the mirror over the well, frost coated its surface. The rope snapped, leaving bloody nail fragments.

"Use the basket." He mounted a GoPro on the mechanical arm. "I need real-time footage at 10-meter depth."

The monitor showed claw marks intensifying downward. As the bucket touched silt, the camera shook. Murky water revealed a blood-seeping "囍" on wedding fabric.

"Retrieve it!" Feng barked into the radio.

Winches groaned. Workers recoiled as the bucket surfaced—a corroded cage held bones matching "Lin's well death" in records. The skeleton clutched Feng's coin chain.

Coins had turned blood-brown. Under sunlight, microscopic sigils writhed like iron filings toward the bones.

Feng bagged the remains under bone-chilling cold. Lab tests confirmed late-Qing female remains with pelvic fractures—consistent with live burial struggles per Annals: "Foreign lineage suppression requires living souls."

Three days later, Feng watched workers inter silk-wrapped bones on a sunlit slope. Drone thermals showed the grave 2.3°C warmer—matching Annals "yang tomb suppression" criteria.

"The Zhangs' ritual was fraud." He reviewed reconstructed sigils. "Spirit marriages nourished yin veins with victims' resentment." His phone buzzed—workers reported a stone tunnel at 3-meter depth, three men missing.

As the coffin was sealed, the mirror burned. Feng glimpsed a fading chiffon-clad figure—her coin chain dissolving into smoke.

The photo gallery auto-purged paranormal images, leaving only a crew photo. A blurred figure wore Lao Chen's vintage Shanghai Watch—gone with the foreman.

Locust tree's paper coins crumbled to dust.