I consulted a feng shui master in Hong Kong.

No. 7, Fu'an Lane.

A photo of a beautiful female celebrity is pasted on a mottled wall at the alley entrance, half of it wrinkled by rainwater. Neon lights shine obliquely from the mahjong parlor across the street, making the smiling face appear pale.

Chen Qinghe stood under the signboard, glanced at the folded piece of paper in his hand, and then looked up into the depths of the alley.

The address left by the master is correct.

is here.

The alley was very narrow, with buildings on both sides so crowded that only a sliver of sky could be seen.

The surroundings were noisy, with occasional whispers from residents. Clothes were hanging out to dry upstairs, dripping water. In the corner were piles of coal briquettes, rotten planks, and two broken bamboo baskets. The air was filled with dampness, the smell of incense, and the fumes from the neighboring restaurant.

Walk another dozen or so steps and you'll see the crooked old wooden sign.

【Three Mysteries】

The lettering is still there, but the paint has mostly peeled off. The storefront is narrow, the door frame is old, and the door gods that were once pasted on the door have long been blown away by the wind, leaving only half of them.

If it weren't for that sign, no one would guess that this place is a Taoist temple.

Chen Qinghe stood in front of the door, his heart sinking.

The scene before him was not quite the same as what he had initially imagined.

He met his uncle when he was a child.

My uncle's name is Li Zhengfeng. True to his name, he loves the limelight and grand gestures.

Even when staying in a temple in the mountains, they can still polish the incense table until it shines and keep an old vat in the courtyard looking presentable.

Two years ago, he sent a letter back home, saying that he had established a business in Hong Kong and was waiting to bring his master over to enjoy the good life.

But this place is not even a safe haven, let alone a base of business.

Although the Sanxuan Temple in Hunan Province is not particularly popular, its rooms are quite spacious, making it far superior to this small place.

He stepped inside, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, his brow furrowed slightly.

The threshold is missing a corner.

It didn't crack naturally due to disrepair; it was knocked off by someone later.

The gap is located in the lower right corner, and the break happens to be at the point where the energy is collected.

The threshold is for guarding the door; if a corner is missing, the energy cannot be contained, and people living inside will either lose their wealth or become restless.

If someone knows what they're doing, even if they're too poor to repair a new threshold, they'll patch it with wood or use a copper weight; they would never leave it empty like that.

Chen Qinghe took two more steps inside, his gaze falling on the incense table in the main hall.

The incense table was also tilted to one side.

The old incense table, about three feet long, should have been facing the central door, signifying welcoming good fortune.

Now it has been moved half a foot to the west, and a blue brick has been haphazardly placed under the base of the desk.

It's not noticeable from a distance, but a closer look reveals that it was casually moved by someone.

The incense burner is placed in the center of the table, but the candlesticks on the left and right are of different heights. The incense ash is blackened, indicating that the incense is not usually burned, but it is not completely burned.

The most dangerous thing is that there is a round mirror behind the statue, with the opening facing outwards, directly reflecting the central gate.

Chen Qinghe glanced at it and already knew what was going on.

Someone had heard a little about the saying that "mirrors can ward off evil spirits," and thought they were being clever by hanging a mirror here. But the entrance to the Sanxuan Temple is small and its energy is already shallow. The mirror not only failed to block the outside evil spirits, but also turned back the already limited incense offerings and vital energy.

People who can put up something like this have heard a few technical terms, but they don't understand the bigger picture at all.

Looking further into the courtyard, there was indeed a third place.

The courtyard was pitifully small, with several households' clotheslines hanging up in the distance, but a green water vat was placed right in the center of the courtyard, right on the center line.

The jar wasn't full of water, with a few withered leaves floating on top, and a stone was pressing down on the rim.

The Sanxuan Temple emphasizes the importance of sheltering from the wind and obtaining water. Water can nourish energy, but it should be placed to the side to borrow vital energy, not to block the way.

Now that the water vat is standing in the center of the courtyard, it's as if it's completely blocking an already narrow passage for air, preventing the air from entering the main hall and leaving the backyard.

People who live here will not only have a difficult life, but over time they will also become irritable and frustrated, always falling short of expectations or luck.

Chen Qinghe stopped in the courtyard and slowly exhaled.

It seems that my uncle's life in Hong Kong was not as comfortable as he wrote to his master.

This isn't a guess; it's a fact that's obvious the moment you walk in.

The temple is small, located in a remote area, with few worshippers, and its layout has been altered beyond recognition.

If my uncle had truly established himself in Hong Kong as he said in the letter, he wouldn't be stuck in such a dilapidated place, much less let the storefront deteriorate to this extent.

A soft slurring sound came from inside the hall, like a chair leg scraping against the floor.

Who is it?

As soon as the voice fell, the curtain was lifted, and a man in his thirties peeked out from the side room.

The man was wearing a gray short shirt with a Taoist robe haphazardly draped over it, the hem of which was frayed. His hair was slicked back and shiny. He initially looked impatient, but when he saw that the person standing in front of the door was a strange young man, his expression clearly froze.

Who are you looking for?

Chen Qinghe turned around, glanced at his face, and then cupped his hands in a respectful gesture.

"Chen Qinghe of the Sanxuan Temple, whose Taoist name is Qingxuanzi."

The man seemed frozen in place by those words, standing there for a long time before he came to his senses.

Two breaths later, he suddenly realized what was happening, and his expression changed several times. First, he was shocked, then, as if he remembered something, a trace of guilt flashed across his eyes.

"You, you're... from the temple?"

"Hunan Province, Sanxuan Temple," Chen Qinghe said. "My master told me to come to Hong Kong to find my master's uncle before he passed away."

As soon as the words "my master" were uttered, the man's eyes became even more uneasy. He quickly straightened his Taoist robe and forced a smile: "So it's my junior brother. Come in, come in quickly. I heard my master mention years ago that there was a junior brother in the temple, but I didn't expect you to come so soon."

He took two steps forward as if trying to appear more friendly, but as soon as he stepped next to the incense table, he subconsciously avoided the blue brick that supported the table leg. His movements were quick, as if he was afraid that Chen Qinghe would see him.

Chen Qinghe felt even more reassured.

This person is probably not a senior disciple, and the senior master never mentioned in his letter that he had taken on any disciples in Hong Kong.

He seemed more like someone left behind by his master to guard the temple; he knew some of the rules, but not much. Chen Qinghe suppressed his thoughts and didn't voice them.

"How should I address you, senior brother?" Chen Qinghe asked.

"Huang Shouzhuo." The man chuckled dryly. "My master named me that back then, saying that I am 'stubborn and unassuming.' Good, good."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Chen Qinghe's gaze passed over Huang Shouzhuo and landed on the small offering table at the very back of the main hall.

There is a memorial tablet there.

The black wooden plaque, with white characters, bears the name of my martial uncle.

There was only half a stick of incense burning on the table, and the ash was half cold. The offerings were also not fresh, indicating that the person had indeed been dead for some time and had not just passed away.

Chen Qinghe looked at the memorial tablet, his chest sinking slightly. His earlier guess when he entered the room had finally come true.

No wonder, no wonder the feng shui of this house is so chaotic and completely messed up.

Chen Qinghe felt a little sad.

My uncle is really dead.

He stared blankly at the memorial tablet in front of him.

【Uncle-Master, that's not what you said in your letter.】

The person who took him to steal fruit and catch fish when he was a child, the person who dared to laugh and talk back even when scolded by his master, died quietly in Hong Kong.