Feng Shui can kill—silently, extinguishing lineages and claiming lives.
Feng Shui can nurture—propelling ordinary souls to wealth, power, and prosperity.
Feng Shui can even preserve corpses, entombed in sacred grounds to ascend as immortals, transcending mortal flesh.
You may scoff at fate and dismiss Feng Shui.
Yet for millennia, emperors and nobles across China's dynasties have obsessed over its mysteries. If you toil tirelessly yet remain destitute...
If you're handsome, privileged, yet reach thirty still unwed...
If misfortune clings to you like a shadow, your luck perpetually sour...
It's not your "fate" at fault. It's your Feng Shui.
Li Chengfeng's great-grandmaster, Li Jinshan, once served as the Qing dynasty's Chief Imperial Feng Shui Master. His grandfather, Li Tiancheng, was a renowned local geomancer, versed in Yin-Yang arts, Qimen Dunjia divination, Plum Blossom Numerology, and esoteric folk rituals.
Raised by his grandfather, Li Chengfeng absorbed these arcane arts from childhood. At 22, he'd already mastered his grandfather's legacy—profound in Feng Shui, divination, and occult secrets.
In Qingzhou's coastal city, Grandfather Li ran *Suiyuantang*—a humble shop where he interpreted dreams, named newborns, charted fates, cured strange ailments, and mended broken fortunes. His reputation drew crowds: lovelorn youths, anxious officials, desperate parents. But two years prior, crippled by age and a missing leg and eye—"heaven's punishment for tampering with fate"—he retired to a seaside village.
Meanwhile, Li Chengfeng stumbled through life. Job rejections piled up. His girlfriend abandoned him for a rich heir. One desolate evening, after yet another failed interview, he returned to Grandfather's cottage with cheap liquor and sliced pork.
"Grandfather," he ventured, liquor burning his throat, "I want to reopen *Suiyuantang*."
"**No.**" The old man's single eye hardened. "Look at me—a broken relic. This path leads only to ruin."
But as wine loosened tongues, Grandfather unraveled their family's hidden past...
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**The Tale of Li Jinshan**
In the Qing dynasty's twilight, Li Jinshan—Chief Astronomer of the Imperial Qin Tian Jian—read the heavens. The Purple Forbidden Star (Emperor's astral symbol) waned westward. The dynasty's doom was sealed. Fleeing Beijing disguised as a Daoist, he wandered famine-stricken lands, starving until collapsing in Qīnzhōu.
Rescued by wealthy merchant Chen Tinghai, Li Jinshan lived lavishly for months, baffled by his host's generosity. Until one drunken night, Chen lamented: "I'm rich, yet childless at forty. **Why?**"
Studying Chen's face, Li Jinshan frowned. The man's physiognomy hinted at *three children* and *poverty*. Yet here he stood—wealthy but heirless.
"Brother Chen," Li Jinshan mused, "your ancestral tombs... let me see them."
At the family gravesite, Li Jinshan's breath caught. "A *Pillow Under Gold* Feng Shui layout?"
"Exactly!" Chen grinned. "For wealth."
But Li Jinshan sensed deeper rot. A geomantic ploy to trade progeny for riches? The truth, he feared, would unravel a darker pact...