In these times, officials ask about punishment, the wealthy about misfortune, and commoners about wealth. My words made the middle-aged woman and her "brother" grab my hand. "Master, it's too crowded here. Let's talk elsewhere."
"Fine." I nodded. I wasn't a monk bound by vows or a Maoshan Taoist forced to live in rags. I was just a 22-year-old feng shui master who wanted a big house and luxury car—desires sparked by seeing Zhao Zhiyong's opulence. Fame and fortune tempt all; I almost strayed from the path.
"Zhang Dabao!"
A voice called from the crowd. I turned to see Jiang Shiyu, our high school monitor, waving. She squeezed through, eyes wide. "I thought I was mistaken! So you're...?" She pointed at me and the woman, confused.
I gestured to my fortune-telling stall. Her eyes popped. "You're a fortune-teller? Who knew our class had such talent! You got into a top university—why didn't you go?"
Avoiding the topic, I changed the subject. The woman urged me, so I gestured to leave. Jiang Shiyu grabbed my arm. "Take my number. We're having a reunion. Call me—you sounded amazing. Maybe you can read my fortune sometime."
"Of course, classmate." Her words pulled me back to classroom laughter and her slender figure. I still kept the notes we passed, remembering her message before the college entrance exam: "Youth is perfect—see you on campus." Four years of studying feng shui in seclusion had passed.
Sighing, I parted with Jiang Shiyu and followed the woman to her car. She complained that Old Wang had tricked her with psychological tricks, tarnishing real feng shui.
Let's call her Madam Dong. The 40-year-old wife of a Shenyang official, she married her husband Li, now a director, after he inspected her Shanxi village at 19. Though once happy, Li had risen rapidly, keeping three mistresses—all top university graduates. Last week, he embezzled funds to buy an Audi for his fourth mistress, got reported, and had been questioned by disciplinary officials for a week.
"Master, after all these years, I never thought he'd treat me like this," she sobbed. "He won't give me a penny of his bribes, just drains our savings. I want a divorce, but I can't let him go to jail."
Her "brother"—actually a driver—interrupted. I'd seen through her birth chart: she was an only child. Three parts divination, seven parts observation—I knew better than to trust her.
"I'll check your home first. I'll do what I can, but no guarantees."
"Fine," she sighed hopelessly.
Arriving at her four-bedroom apartment in Ma Lu Wan, I circled the place. "Yin sites need dragon veins; yang sites need auspicious orientations."
"See anything?" she asked.
"Construction on your left is 'White Tiger Rising'—inauspicious. Your husband, born in the Year of the Snake (12 years older), faces Tai Sui conflict this Dinghai year. I can try to neutralize it, but no promises."
"Just try. What's the fee?"
Her "brother" protested: "Pay first? Prove it works!"
I frowned. "3,000 yuan if you get the materials, 5,000 if I do. Half upfront, half after."