The Book of Burial

Your servants respectfully note: The Book of Burial, one fascicle, originally attributed to Guo Pu of Jin. Pu also annotated the Erya, already recorded in the catalogue. The theory of selecting burial sites has origins unknown. The Rites of Zhou mentions the offices of Tomb Keeper and Cemetery Grandee, who arranged burials by clan — clear proof that before the Three Dynasties, burial sites were not deliberately chosen. The Hanshu Treatise on Arts and Letters lists texts on palatial and residential landforms alongside works on physiognomy and object-reading, showing that the numerological art became known from Han times onward, though it did not yet specifically address burial methods. The Hou Hanshu biography of Yuan An records that when An's father died, An sought a burial site and encountered three scholars on the road who pointed to a spot, saying future generations would become Grand Ministers; An followed their advice, and his descendants were indeed eminent for generations. The art thus became widely transmitted from the Eastern Han onward, and among those who made their name by it, Guo Pu is the most prominent. Examining Pu's biography: he received nine fascicles from the green-silk pouch of Master Guo of Hedong, thereby mastering the arts of astronomy, Five Phases, and divination. Pu's disciple Zhao Zai once stole the green-silk texts, which were then destroyed by fire. There is no record of Pu ever writing a Book of Burial. In the late Tang, there existed a one-fascicle Book of Burial and Treatise on Earth-Veins and a one-fascicle Book of Burial on Five Yin Principles, neither attributed to Pu. Only the Song dynastic bibliography records a one-fascicle Book of Burial by Pu, so the text first appeared in the Song. Afterward, specialists in the technical arts competed to embellish it until it swelled to twenty chapters. Cai Yuanding, troubled by its disorder, deleted twelve chapters, keeping eight. Wu Cheng further refined Cai's selection, choosing the purest material as the Inner Chapter, passages half refined and half coarse as the Outer Chapter, and coarse material worth provisional retention as the Miscellaneous Chapter. Liu Zezhang of Xinyu personally received this recension from Wu and annotated it. The present edition's division into Inner, Outer, and Miscellaneous chapters follows Wu's original arrangement. Whether the commentary derives from Liu cannot be verified. The Song bibliography originally titled it 'Book of Burial'; later practitioners who honored its teachings renamed it 'Classic of Burial.' Mao Jin's Jiguge printing also perpetuated this error, a considerable lapse in scholarship. We now restore the original title to follow the earliest designation. Respectfully submitted for imperial review, tenth month of the forty-sixth year of Qianlong.

Burial means riding the vital breath (生氣). The vital breath is the one primordial circulating force. In heaven it flows through the six voids; on earth it gives rise to the myriad things. Without it, heaven has nothing to nourish with; without it, earth has nothing to bear form upon. It pervades the great transformation and penetrates all categories of being — there is no place it does not exist and no moment it does not move. Tao Kan said: 'It long endures before heaven and earth, and persists solidly after them' — he too was pointing to this. The vital breath is concealed within the earth and invisible to humans. Only by following the principles of the land can one seek it out and know where it resides. When the burier can know its location and allow dry bones to ride it, then the work of geomancy (地理) is complete. The five breaths move within the earth, and emerging, give birth to the myriad things. The five breaths are the qi of the five phases (五行) — another name for the vital breath. The one qi divides into yin and yang, and further differentiates into the five phases. Though they circulate in heaven, they actually originate from the earth. When they move, the myriad things come to life; when they gather, mountains and rivers fuse and crystallize. This fusion is the marvel of the essences of yin-yang and the five phases congealing together. A person receives their body from their parents. When the original bones obtain qi, the descendants receive its blessing. The skeletal remains of parents are the root of their descendants; the physical bodies of descendants are the branches of their parents. The one qi provides shade from root to branch. Therefore Master Cheng said: 'To divine a burial site is to divine the quality of the land. If the land is fine, the spirits rest peacefully and descendants flourish — like nourishing a root so that branches and leaves thrive. This principle is self-evident.' If the land is poor, the reverse holds. Cai Jitong said: 'Though life and death are different paths, emotional qi resonates between them and naturally communicates in silence.' If you find exposed bones and test them with a living person's blood — if the blood soaks in, those are the bones of a blood relative; if it does not, they are not. The resonance between kindred qi is like this. Knowing this, one understands that when dry bones receive the blessing, living descendants receive fortune — the principle is self-evident and need not await a sage to recognize it. Some object that adopted children are not of the original body, and that monks and Daoists who continue a lineage differ from natural offspring — how can they receive the blessing? But they do not understand that the human heart communicates through qi. The heart is the master of qi: when emotional bonds are connected, qi also connects; when moral obligation is severed, the blessing is also severed. Therefore a stepmother can provide shade for the former wife's children, and a former wife can benefit the stepmother's children. Among creatures, the analogy is the parasitic wasp adopting the caterpillar. What doubt can remain?

The Classic says: 'When qi resonates and responds, the spirits' fortune extends to the living.' Parents and descendants are fundamentally of one qi, mutually summoning and responding to each other as if receiving fortune from the spirits. Thus there are famous tombs everywhere under heaven. A true dragon (真龍) sets out from afar — a hundred or several dozen li — and crystallizes into a single acupoint (穴). When one arrives before the acupoint, peaks and ridges rise up in assembly, many waters circle round, layered mountain barriers present their wonders behind, the dragon vein embraces and guards, sand and water converge and gather. Once the form and acupoint are established, the spiritual beauty of mountains and rivers, the quintessence of creation, has congealed and fused within. If one captures this quintessence and conceals the ancestral bones in this place of fusion, then the hearts of the descendants are entrusted there. Because of where the heart is placed, it can resonate and communicate, bringing fortune to the future. Thus we know: the human heart communicates through qi, and qi communicates with heaven. When the human spirit aligns with the spirit of mountains and rivers, divine power descends and excellence gestates, concentrated at the source of birth and life. Wealth, nobility, poverty, baseness, longevity, early death, wisdom, foolishness — none fail to be connected to this. Even the beauty or ugliness of physical appearance mirrors the beauty or ugliness of the landscape. Thus Mount Song gave birth to Shen, and the Hill of Ni nurtured Confucius — was this mere coincidence? Alas — it is not bones that are buried, but the human heart. It is not the mountains and rivers that are spiritually efficacious, but the human heart itself. There are cases in the world where remains are abandoned to water or fire with no resulting fortune or misfortune — this is because the heart has separated from them. Thus when the Copper Mountain collapsed in the west, the spirit-bell resonated in the east. One day in the Han dynasty's Weiyang Palace, a bell rang spontaneously for no apparent reason. Dongfang Shuo said: 'This must signify the collapse of a copper mountain.' Before long, western Shu indeed reported a copper mountain collapse. Checking the date, it was the very day the Weiyang bell rang. The emperor asked Shuo how he knew. He replied: 'Copper comes from the mountain; their qi resonates mutually — just as a person receives their body from their parents.' The emperor sighed: 'If even objects are like this, how much more so for humans!' Trees blossom in spring; chestnuts sprout in the storeroom. This too illustrates the summoning power of the one qi. When country folk store chestnuts and spring arrives, the chestnut trees blossom — and the stored chestnuts also sprout. Though the fruit has long been separated from the tree, the original nature remains. When it receives the seasonal qi, they resonate and respond. This is analogous to how ancestral bones buried in vital breath cause descendants to flourish.

The Classic says: 'Qi disperses when it rides the wind; it stops when it meets water.' This means that the vital breath flows along the ridge (壠) and branch (支) formations. It streams onward ceaselessly — nothing but a water boundary can halt it. And when it does halt, there must be a complete enclosure like city walls, with surrounding protection on all sides, front and back. Only then can wind be contained without danger of the qi being scattered. The Classic says: 'Guard the water in the bright hall as you would guard blood; avoid wind in the acupoint as you would avoid a thief.' How can one not be careful! The ancients gathered it so it would not scatter, and channeled it so it would have a stopping point. This is why it is called 'wind and water' (風水). In high ridge terrain, heavenly yin descends from above, and the vital breath is exposed and floating — most vulnerable to cold wind and easily scattered. It is like a person dwelling deep in a sealed room: the slightest crack admitting a draft against the shoulders and back can cause illness. Therefore one must seek complete and solid city-wall enclosure, so that qi gathers. In level branch terrain, earthly yang rises from below, and the vital breath sinks deep and hides — it does not fear wind. [...] Even out in open wilderness with no shelter on eight sides, one does not notice the deficiency. When the acupoint enjoys clear, sunny skies, its warm and gentle qi remains undisturbed. Therefore open expanses are not objectionable — one need only obtain a transverse water-course to halt the qi's flow. This illustrates how the methods for branch and ridge formations differ. In the art of feng shui, obtaining water is paramount; containing wind is secondary. Both branch and ridge formations require water. In high ridge land, even if the formation descends from the waist without a great river to intercept it, there must be ponds to halt the internal qi. Otherwise, the water is slightly distant and the accompanying 'goldfish waters' (flanking streams) must not be absent. If the goldfish waters do not form a boundary, this is called 'male and female losing their classic,' and even if wind is contained, the site cannot be used. In level branch land, though it seems unprotected, if a transverse water-course intercepts the qi, open space is no objection. Therefore in both cases, obtaining water is paramount.

The bones of mounds and ridges, the branches of hills and knolls — qi follows them. Mounds and ridges are yin; hills and knolls are yang. 'Mound' speaks of height; 'bone' refers to mountains that carry stone. A ridge cannot stand tall on its own — it must rely on stone carrying earth before it can rise. 'Hill' means a trace; an earth-mound is a knoll. To say a branch has a 'fur-ridge' is like saying a ridge has a 'bone' — where qi follows and flows, it is easy to see. Branches lack stone, so one must observe the fur-ridge to distinguish them. Yet there are ridges that are earthy and branches that are stony, ridges that are concealed and branches that are prominent — telling them apart depends entirely on the cleverness of one's mind and eye. The Classic says: 'External qi gives form horizontally; internal qi halts to give life.' This is precisely what it means. Water flowing outside the earth is called external qi; qi concealed within the earth is called internal qi. One must obtain the horizontal form of external qi, and the internal vital breath will naturally halt. This cites the Classic to conclude the above point about obtaining water being paramount. How is this so? When qi is abundant, though it flows, the remainder still halts. Though it scatters, what lies deep still gathers. In high ridge terrain, the descending power is either male or female, either departing or halting [...] Fine dragons often descend from the waist, distributing branches and tendrils across dozens of li — forming city-wall enclosures, audience peaks, officer stars, raptor and ghost peaks, gate-guards, ornamental columns, net-stars, and the like, all carried on the dragon's own body. One cannot say that because the rest flows onward, nothing halts — one must seek the gathering-place and prevent scattering. Therefore what is stored in dry, arid ground should be buried deep; what is stored in flat, level ground should be buried shallow. The first phrase refers to ridges; the second to branches. High ridge terrain is the symbol of yin — the qi within is strong, rigid, and sinks downward, so dry ground calls for deep burial. Level branch terrain is the symbol of yang — the qi outside is weak, soft, and floats upward, so level ground calls for shallow burial. The Classic says: 'When depth is properly achieved, feng shui naturally succeeds.'

The qi of yin and yang: when exhaled it becomes wind, when rising it becomes clouds, when descending it becomes rain, and when moving through the earth it becomes vital breath. The qi of yin and yang is precisely the vital breath within the earth. It exhales as wind, rises as clouds, descends as rain. Everything that establishes heaven and earth and nurtures the myriad things — what is it if not this qi? Earth is the body of qi; where there is earth, there is qi. Qi is the mother of water; where there is qi, there is water. Qi inherently has no body — it borrows earth as its body, and through earth we know that qi exists. Water inherently has no mother — it borrows qi as its mother, and through qi we know that water exists. In the five phases, 'heaven's first number generates water' — but where does water come from? What generates water is metal; what generates metal is earth. Earth's belly conceals metal — without substance but possessing qi. The Creative (乾) is hidden within the Receptive (坤), concealed and not yet visible. When water is generated, the first sign emerges. The Classic says: 'Where earth takes form and qi takes form, living things are thereby born.' The vital breath attaches to form and depends on earth to move. The myriad things likewise [...]. This cites the Classic to conclude the point that where there is earth, there is qi. In burial, trace its origin and ride its resting-point. A skilled burier must trace its origin to observe the overall momentum, and ride its resting-point to set the acupoint. Wherever one speaks of a 'resting-point,' this is the place where mountains and rivers have fused and crystallized in rare beauty — without a discerning eye, none can recognize it. The momentum of terrain follows the vein; the momentum of mountain follows the bone. Winding east and west, or turning north and south. Level ground is mostly earth; steep terrain is mostly stone. In branch formations, one must recognize the earth-ridge as the vein. In ridge formations, one must seek the stone-ridge as the bone. The momentum of their course winds and bends, changing a thousand ways with no fixed pattern. A thousand feet constitutes momentum; a hundred feet constitutes form. 'A thousand feet' describes what is distant — the incoming momentum of a mountain branch. 'A hundred feet' describes what is near — the completed form of a single acupoint. When momentum arrives and form halts, this is called 'complete qi.' At a site of complete qi, one should bury at the resting-point.

Winding and returning upon itself, circling and recurring again and again. 'Winding and returning' describes the momentum — whether going forward or turning back — the meaning of 'serpentine east and west, or turning north and south.' 'Circling and recurring' describes the form — layered arching and repeated encirclement, like 'rivers flowing to the sea, stars revolving around the pole.' This is how a site of complete qi manifests its fusion. As if crouching in wait. As if grasping with abundance. Like a person crouching motionless, yet with an air of expectancy. Like a noble seated in dignity with all furnishings arrayed — grasping them and still having more than enough. Seeming to advance yet holding back; seeming to stop yet running deep. The first phrase says the protective mountains must approach with reverence and bow in audience — they should not presumptuously press, collide, or refuse to yield. The second phrase says the collected waters must halt, gather, and pool deeply — they should not rush away, turn their backs, or show no feeling. What arrives accumulates; where it halts, it gathers. Yang is harmonized and yin is balanced. The incoming mountains crystallize, their qi accumulating without scattering. The halting waters converge, their feeling gathering without flowing away. This is yin and yang complementing each other, mountains and water in harmonious balance. Earth is high, water is deep; lush grasses, flourishing forest. When water runs deep, the soil is high and thick. When qi is harmonious, trees and grasses thrive. Master Cheng said: 'What constitutes fine land? Bright, lustrous soil color and thriving vegetation — these are the verification.' Noble as a lord with a thousand chariots; rich as ten thousand pieces of gold. The qi-image is dignified and majestic, like the nobility of a lord with a thousand chariots. The gathered abundance is like the wealth of ten thousand pieces of gold. The Classic says: 'Where form halts and qi stores, it transforms and gives birth to all things — this is premier land.' When the hall-enclosure is complete and sealed, and the form-acupoint halts and gathers, then vital breath is stored within. A skilled burier rides this gathering-point and can thus bring fortune to the present and prosperity to future descendants. Just as the myriad things achieve the work of transformation and nurture through this qi — hence it is called premier land.

There are five kinds of mountains unfit for burial. Qi is born of harmony, so a bald mountain (童山) cannot be used for burial. Bright, lustrous soil and thriving vegetation indicate fine land. A bald mountain is coarse and stubborn, its earth-veins withered and barren, devoid of harmonious vital breath — therefore it cannot be used. Qi follows form to arrive, so a severed mountain (斷山) cannot be used for burial. Earth is the body of qi; where there is earth, there is qi. If a mountain has been cut through, the vital breath is isolated and severed, no longer continuous — therefore it cannot be used. Qi moves through earth, so a stone mountain (石山) cannot be used for burial. In high ridge terrain, what is not stone? As the saying goes, 'mountain momentum follows bone' — bone is stone. There is nothing wrong with a stone mountain's course of travel. Only at the point of fusion should there be no stone. The stone to be avoided is: scorched, rough, and obstinate; pockmarked, dry, and crumbling; or resistant to digging, with flames leaping up, killing-qi carrying smoke and tinged with black — this is inauspicious. Qi halts according to momentum, so a passing mountain (過山) cannot be used for burial. This describes a horizontal dragon that rushes onward endlessly, impossible to restrain. The slight descents on either side are merely oar-strokes. When qi has not halted according to momentum and form has not settled, the passing mountain shows no feeling — therefore it cannot be used. Qi gathers through the convergence of dragons, so an isolated mountain (獨山) cannot be used for burial. When branch dragons travel, brothers complete each other, male and female emerge in pairs. When they halt, the city-wall enclosure is complete and sealed, and many mountains converge — only then does an auspicious acupoint form. A single mountain, a solitary dragon, exposed and without feeling — therefore it cannot be used. The Classic says: 'Bald, severed, stone, passing, and isolated — these generate fresh misfortune and consume existing blessings.'

When layered ridges and piled hills, clustered formations and massed branches present themselves, one must select the exceptional. As the sage stands among common people, as the qilin stands among beasts, as the phoenix stands among birds — the same principle of distinction applies. When overlapping ridges emerge in parallel and clustered hills press together, one must select the one whose bone and fur are rare and splendid, whose spirit and bearing are elegant and distinguished beyond the rest. Among large things, the special one is small. Among small things, the special one is large. Where all mountains are small, choose the large one. Where all mountains are large, choose the small one. Mixed forms and jumbled momentum, where host and guest share the same character — such places are unfit for burial. 'Mixed forms and jumbled momentum' means true and false cannot be distinguished. 'Host and guest sharing the same character' means yours and mine cannot be told apart. Branches seek to lie hidden in the earth; ridges seek to stand tall above the earth. 'Hidden' means concealed and submerged; 'standing tall' means prominent and towering. This describes the difference in the traveling form of branch and ridge formations. Where branch and ridge halt, the surface is level as a palm. Though the burial methods for branch and ridge differ, both halt at a place that is level as a palm. Therefore branch-burials go at the summit; ridge-burials go at the base. Burying a branch at the summit turns the gentle into the acute. Burying a ridge at the base turns the acute into the gentle. The Golden Ox says: 'At gentle places, do not hesitate to set the acupoint at the very peak; in urgent terrain, do not fear burying in deep mud.' Divining a branch is like the head; divining a ridge is like the feet. 'Like the head, like the feet' means the same as summit and base — one seeks to achieve the head or the feet as appropriate. When form-qi departs from the norm, the qi escapes as if in flight. Burial of branch and ridge must follow their respective forms — each has its regular standard. To depart from the norm means to violate the standard. If one buries a ridge at the summit or a branch at the base, the vital breath escapes and scatters as if galloping away.

In burial, the left is the Azure Dragon (青龍); the right is the White Tiger (白虎); the front is the Vermilion Bird (朱雀); the back is the Dark Warrior (玄武). The Dark Warrior bows its head. 'Bowing its head' means the main peak gradually descends, as if willing to receive a burial. The Vermilion Bird soars and dances. The fronting mountain rises prominently, distinctive and animated, beautiful and elegant, paying respectful audience with feeling. The Azure Dragon coils sinuously. The left mountain is supple and soft, wide and clean, spreading its palm with tender and yielding feeling. If instead it bristles, protrudes stubbornly, juts rigidly and stiffly — that is not what 'coiling sinuously' means. The White Tiger crouches tamely. 'Tame and good-natured' — like a household dog, docile and gentle, posing no danger of biting its master. If the configuration is the reverse of this, the burial inevitably brings destruction and death. Each of the four beasts has its proper form and bearing. The reverse of these is inauspicious. Thus a crouching tiger is called 'seizing the corpse.' The right mountain crouches with its head raised, gazing at the acupoint as if about to snatch and devour the corpse within the tomb. A squatting dragon is called 'resenting the master.' The left mountain squats in a posture of defiance, turning its head to glare sideways, as if filled with jealousy. A Dark Warrior that does not bow is 'rejecting the corpse.' The main mountain holds its head high and haughty, unwilling to bow down, as if refusing to accept the burial. A Vermilion Bird that does not dance is 'taking flight.' The fronting mountain turns its back without feeling — proper above, slanting below — following the water's flow, twisting away, unwilling to circle back and face the acupoint, as if about to fly away.

In the art of reading mountains, assessing momentum is the most difficult; form comes next; compass direction is third. A thousand feet constitutes momentum; a hundred feet constitutes form. Momentum speaks of the broad and distant; form speaks of the shallow and near. Momentum like ten thousand horses descending from heaven — such a burial produces kings. Momentum like giant waves, with layered ridges and stacked barriers — a burial worthy of a lord with a thousand chariots. Peaks and ridges stepping down in tiers like great waves surging forward — this should produce the nobility of a thousand chariots. Momentum like a descending dragon, with water circling and clouds attending — ranks and titles of the Three Dukes. Starry peaks prop up the Milky Way, stepping and linking downward like a descending dragon. Where it comes to rest, mountains gather like clouds and water coils like a sash — how could this not produce nobility? Momentum like stacked buildings, with lush grass and tall trees — founding fiefs and establishing states. The true dragon descends in layers upon layers, stepping down like a multi-storied house — this is why it produces nobility. Momentum like a startled snake, twisting and sluggishly slanting — destruction of families and states. Swerving laterally and lunging straight, the mountain's course is timid and cramped, not smooth and flowing; rigid and dead, not winding sinuously. Burial here brings family ruin and national destruction. Momentum like a spear or halberd — death in battle, imprisonment. Sharp as a spear-point, rigid and straight as a lance-shaft — descendants will mostly die by violence or unnatural causes. Momentum like flowing water — the living become ghosts. Pouring straight downhill without any halt or retention — this is a wandering, aimless dragon. Those who bury here will suffer premature death and the death of guests.

Shaped like sitting with back against a screen, with a ridge standing central — bury at its resting-point; princes and marquises shall arise. Shaped like a swallow's nest — bury at its curve; land grants and fiefs shall follow. Swallow's nests are mostly found at the mountain's waist, with dragon and tiger wrapping around to form their own configuration. Entering the acupoint, one sees no exposure — hence its value. Shaped like a tilted fortress, with the rear ridge coming from afar and the front answering with curves — Nine Thorns and Three Pagoda-trees. The acupoint form leans like a tilted fortress wall. The Dark Warrior comes from above; front and back respond in winding circles. The method is to set the acupoint at the fortress opening — this produces the nobility of Three Dukes and Nine Ministers. Shaped like an overturned cauldron — the ridge brings wealth. Shaped like a planted cap — eternal prosperity and joy. Shaped like scattered counting-rods — all affairs in chaos. The mountain form is like counting-rods thrown in disorder, horizontal and vertical — hence inauspicious. Shaped like rumpled clothing — jealous women and unfaithful wives. Shaped like an ash-bag — houses destroyed, granaries burned. Shaped like an overturned boat — women fall ill, men are imprisoned. A horizontal ridge without a vein, collapsing on all four sides of the center — no acupoint can be set. Burial here harms both men and women. Shaped like a horizontal table — sons cut off, grandsons perish. Shaped like a reclining sword — execution and usurpation. Shaped like an upturned blade — disaster, calamity, flight. Ox reclining, horse galloping, phoenix dancing, simurgh flying. Each achieves its natural character, and the form-response is true. Flying serpent winding sinuously. Winding sinuously means a living serpent — auspicious. Rigid and straight means dead — inauspicious. Soft-shell turtle, alligator, fish, terrapin — distinguish them by water. All four are aquatic creatures, so their forms are verified by proximity to water. Ox brings wealth; phoenix brings nobility. The ox derives from the Earth Star (土星), hence wealth. The phoenix derives from the Wood Star (木星), hence nobility. Flying serpent brings danger. The serpent's heart is treacherous and venomous, hence mostly inauspicious.

The Classic says: 'The land has four momentum-directions; qi comes from eight quarters. Yin, Shen, Si, Hai are the four momentum-directions. Zhen, Li, Kan, Dui, Qian, Kun, Gen, Xun are the eight quarters.' Therefore the mountains of the four momentum-directions give birth to the dragons of the eight quarters. The four directions propel the dragon; the eight quarters bestow life. When one obtains the proper site, there is auspicious celebration, glory, and nobility. The four momentum-directions are what Chen Shibi called 'the ground of five-phase vital breath.' The eight quarters are the eight trigram directions. The eight dragons cannot generate themselves — they must obtain the five-phase vital breath of Yin, Shen, Si, and Hai before they can bestow life. The acupoint has three blessings; burial has six calamities. Heaven's light descends from above; earth's virtue bears from below. Concealing the spirit in accord with the proper date — spirits welcome, demons withdraw: this is the first blessing. Yin and yang harmoniously merged, five-colored earth with four phases present: this is the second blessing. Clever eye, skillful craft — pursuing completeness, avoiding deficiency, raising the low, filling the weak: this is the third blessing. Yin-yang misaligned: the first calamity. Season and timing adverse: the second calamity. Ambition outstripping capacity: the third calamity. Presuming on existing fortune and relying on current power: the fourth calamity. Overreaching above, pressing below: the fifth calamity. Strange omens and abnormal phenomena: the sixth calamity. The Classic says: 'An auspicious acupoint with an inauspicious burial is no different from abandoning a corpse.'