I consulted a feng shui master in Hong Kong.

Hong Kong, 1980.

Sixth Wharf, outside the old warehouse wall.

The neon lights flashed on and off, illuminating the sea with a cold, elegant red glow.

A small wooden boat sailed out from the depths of the night and silently docked. In the distance, cargo ships sounded their horns, and cranes stood like black iron arms in the night. Further away, high-rise buildings pressed down one after another, their lights forming a continuous stretch, as if someone had melted gold and poured it into the sea breeze.

"Hey buddy, we've arrived."

The man at the bow lowered his voice, jumped ashore first, and secured the mooring rope. The others on the boat didn't move immediately; they all turned to look at the last boy.

The boy was eighteen or nineteen years old, thin and slender, wearing a faded blue cloth jacket, carrying a worn-out snakeskin bag on his shoulder, and his face still retained the cleanliness of a mountain dweller. But his eyes were steady, and he stood firmly on the swaying boat deck, as if his feet were rooted to the ground.

"Brother Chen, are you really not going to wait any longer?" someone couldn't help but ask. "Hong Kong is just ahead. You don't know any of the roads or the rules."

Chen Qinghe shook his head: "We've already arrived, waiting any longer won't change anything."

The man in the lead pulled out a roll of Hong Kong dollars from his pocket and stuffed it into his hand: "Take this, you need money to stay somewhere."

Chen Qinghe tried to push the man away, but the man held his hand down: "Don't be so polite. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been able to get into port at all."

Upon hearing this, everyone on the boat nodded in agreement.

Two weeks ago, Chen Qinghe was making a living by telling fortunes around the Shenzhen docks. This group of people initially thought he was just a charlatan Taoist priest, until Chen Qinghe glanced at the leader and said that he should not go out to sea that night, and that if he insisted on taking the eastern waterway, there would be bloodshed on the ship.

The man initially didn't believe it, but Chen Qinghe pointed out that another man had an old injury on his leg, saying that the injury wasn't due to a wound that hadn't healed properly, but rather because it had been tainted with bad luck. If left untreated, it could lead to a limp or even permanent leg injury.

These words stunned everyone.

The injured man immediately lifted his trouser leg, revealing that the old wound was still red and swollen. Chen Qinghe didn't put on any airs; he simply had someone bring him salt water, mugwort, and an iron nail to expel the stagnant evil energy trapped in his muscles and bones. That night, the man broke out in a sweat, and the next day he walked much more easily.

Later, following Chen Qinghe's advice, they changed the time and route. Sure enough, trouble broke out on the waterway they usually took; several boats were blocked by the water police, and one struck a reef, resulting in fatalities. But their trip, taking a longer route, went smoothly without encountering any patrols.

From that time on, the boatmen regarded Chen Qinghe as a benefactor.

"Brother Chen," the man sighed, looking at the lights on the shore, "Hong Kong is not like Shenzhen, much less like your hometown. Here, the buildings are tall, there are many people, the roads are narrow, money comes quickly, but life is fragile. If you have talent, don't show it off too easily."

"And another thing," the skinny young man beside him chimed in, "we come here again on the third day of every month. If you can't stay here any longer, come find us, and we'll send you back."

Chen Qinghe carefully put the money away, cupped his hands in a respectful gesture, and said, "I've got it."

He picked up the snakeskin bag and jumped onto the dock.

Only when the soles of his shoes landed on the bluestone did he have a moment to look up at the city of Hong Kong.

The sea breeze was hot, carrying the smells of diesel, dampness, and rust. There was also an indescribable restlessness in the wind, as if the whole city hadn't slept, and was waiting for someone to come in. Cars came and went on the dock, and workers pushed their carts quickly through the crowd. In the distance, neon signs lit up one after another, English, traditional Chinese characters, dance hall signs, and jewelry store signs overlapping each other, almost pressing the night into a thin layer.

Chen Qinghe glanced back and saw that the small wooden boat had already been untied.

"Take care." Someone on the boat waved to him.

"Take care," Chen Qinghe replied.

The boat quickly retreated into darkness, leaving him alone on the shore.

He reached into his robe and pulled out the brocade pouch that his master had given him before his death.

The blue cloth pouch was small, with fine stitches, and the edges were worn soft.

Chen Qinghe bent down and untied the rope. Inside were only three things: a folded piece of paper, an old copper key, and a very light sachet.

The address is on the paper.

"No. 7, Fuk On Lane, Sham Shui Po, Kowloon".

Below is another line of text, written in the master's handwriting:

"If you see your uncle, follow his instructions; if you don't, stay at the old place."

Chen Qinghe read the line of text twice, his gaze slowly settling on the three characters "Sham Shui Po".

My master passed away half a year ago. Before his death, he only asked me to do two things: first, to preserve the tradition of the Sanxuan Temple and carry it forward as much as possible.

Secondly, it was to have Chen Qinghe find a way to sever his worldly ties and return to the Great Dao.

"If we cultivate the Dao without experiencing the trials of the mortal world, we will never be able to attain the Dao in this lifetime... Foolish child, go and experience it."

Chen Qinghe had met that martial uncle a few times when he was a child.

That person was unruly and completely different from his master. He would take him to the river to catch fish, to the trees to pick dates, and he would also steal fruit from the offering table and stuff it into his hand.

Later, my uncle had a big fight with my master and left the Sanxuan Temple, where he stayed for more than ten years.

Two years ago, he sent a letter from Hong Kong saying that he had established a business here and wanted to invite his master and himself to come and enjoy a peaceful retirement.

The master didn't come, but he sent him instead.

Chen Qinghe folded the paper, put it back in the brocade pouch, and looked up at the sea of ​​lights in the distance.

These scenes, which were not commonly seen in the mountains and forests of Hunan Province, did not move Chen Qinghe. He did not like the atmosphere of gold, wealth, and desire mixed together in the streets.

He shouldered the snakeskin bag and walked out along the dock.

He hadn't walked far when he bought a map from a roadside vendor.

The stall owner was a dozing old man. He glanced at my clothes, asked nothing, took the money, and handed me the map.

Chen Qinghe squatted under the streetlight and unfolded the map, first looking for Kowloon, then for Sham Shui Po.

The streets are as dense as a spider web.

Fortunately, he had a map with him, so finding his way wasn't too difficult for Chen Qinghe.

He remembered the general direction and then walked forward.

Once he left the dock, he had a deeper understanding of the word "prosperity".

Hong Kong has a completely different style from Hunan Province. Even Changsha and Shenzhen cannot compare with this bustling metropolis.

Chen Qinghe walked and looked around.

As the only Feng Shui inheritor of the Sanxuan Temple, this is a habit he has long cultivated. Whenever he arrives at a new place, he often needs to check the Feng Shui landscape of that place.

Observe the wind blowing from the street corner, the height of the buildings, and the turns of the road...

These seemingly ordinary arrangements have completely different symbolic meanings in Feng Shui.

The feng shui of a city is often hidden within its atmosphere.

Hong Kong is situated by the sea, a place where water brings wealth and prosperity, making it an excellent location. However, the construction here has been rushed, the roads have been built too aggressively, and people's hearts are too restless. While wealth has indeed gathered, negative energy has also been unleashed. Many buildings appear grand on the surface, but their fronts are actually obstructed by the road; many shops are brightly lit, but their entrances are not properly positioned; and around many intersections, the wind blows like knives, slicing straight at the storefronts opposite.

Chen Qinghe frowned slightly.

As he walked past a street corner, Chen Qinghe paused slightly.

Across the street is a newly built commercial building with a glass curtain wall, a wide facade, and two money trees in front of it.

To outsiders, it only looks grand, but Chen Qinghe immediately noticed something was wrong: the driveway leads straight to the gate, the side building has sharp angles like knives, and there is an overpass overhead. These minor problems combined make it a clear case of financial loss.

It's not obvious now, but problems will inevitably arise sooner or later once the business really takes off.

Chen Qinghe glanced at it only once and didn't stop.

He was new to the area and didn't want to get involved in other people's business.

"Let's find our martial uncle first."

The sound of cars ahead was like a surging tide, and the city lights seemed to press down on it.

Chen Qinghe put the map into his pocket, looked down to check the direction, and walked towards Sham Shui Po.

He walked down the unfamiliar street, his pace slow but steady.