I consulted a feng shui master in Hong Kong.

The car slowly drove away from the old dye house, and the shops on both sides of the street gradually passed by.

The chubby guy in the passenger seat stuffed the two empty gift boxes into the back seat, glanced out the window, and finally couldn't help but speak.

"Officer Lu, is it really useful for us to hire a feng shui master like him?"

He had just graduated from police academy and was assigned to the team for his internship; his energy hadn't been completely worn down yet. Lu Qibang taught him a lot, from the methods of investigating cases to the intricacies of office politics, and he listened very attentively.

But today, he really didn't understand it.

The police chief personally visited a young man who ran a Taoist temple, bringing foreign liquor and a gift box.

It sounds awkward.

"The reason Gu Sir solved the case that time was because he just happened to stumble upon a clue. What can we, who usually investigate street cases, possibly find out by asking a feng shui master?" Little Fatty continued in a low voice, "He's not a lawyer, he's not a doctor, he can't see the ledgers, and he can't examine corpses."

Lu Qibang did not answer immediately.

He slowly pulled a cigarette from his pocket, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a lighter. The flame flickered, the cigarette butt glowed, and the dim light shone on his face, making the frost on his skin appear even darker than usual.

He rolled down the car window halfway, letting wisps of smoke drift out, and after a long while, he slowly spoke.

"Twenty years ago, I didn't believe it either."

Little Fatty was taken aback.

Lu Qibang didn't look at him, but stared at the lowered neon lights at the street corner ahead.

"Back then, I was just like you, a new recruit at the police station, a errand boy. There was a case in Wan Chai, involving a family surnamed Lin, a man in his early thirties. He was fine for the first six months, but suddenly disappeared in the second half. First, he had insomnia at night, then he started saying there were people moving around in the house, and then he got sick, became extremely thin, and passed away in less than two months."

"The family was crying and begging, and they called the police to investigate. We investigated for more than half a month, examined the body, questioned the neighbors, checked the accounts, and looked at the people who came and went, but we couldn't find anything. In the end, we could only write 'sudden death from illness' and close the case."

Little Fatty was a little stunned.

Lu Qibang flicked his cigarette.

"Later, an old gentleman they invited came in, walked around the house twice, pointed to the east wing and said, 'That room is uninhabitable. A water pipe has been added to the wall where the bed used to be. The deceased wasn't sick; he was slowly driven to his death by this room.'"

The chubby boy's throat bobbed.

"So... has it been verified?"

"We investigated." Lu Qibang nodded. "When we dismantled the wall, we found that the water pipe had been illegally connected by the neighbor a few months ago, right next to the head of the deceased's bed. The sound of water was constant at night, and the air was cold. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in over half a year. His family later told us that he often woke up in the middle of the night during that period, saying he heard the sound of water, but no one believed him."

Little Fatty didn't say anything.

"That old gentleman ran a Taoist temple," Lu Qibang slowly exhaled a puff of smoke. "Not a grand temple, just a small, dilapidated hut. He didn't talk much, but once he came in, he just glanced at me and pointed out the problem. After that, I had a better understanding of the situation."

He paused, then said:

"Over the years, I've encountered a few more cases. Not every one of them is useful, but there were two or three times when the police couldn't find out, but this kind of person could figure it out after a couple of rounds. So I'll tell you something—"

"It's better to believe something is true than to believe it isn't."

Upon hearing this, the slight indifference on Little Fatty's face gradually faded.

He had initially thought that Lu Qibang's visit to the Sanxuan Temple today was purely out of envy for Gu Chengyue's achievements, and he wanted to quickly find a new patron. But after hearing this story, he understood a little more.

Lu Qibang wasn't simply envious.

He had witnessed this skill firsthand; he had seen things that the police couldn't find, yet could be seen through by the eyes of an unassuming gentleman.

However, these kinds of things shouldn't be said to outsiders easily.

Police stations value evidence, procedures, and documentation. Who would dare to include "what a feng shui master saw" in a report? If word got out, even colleagues would laugh their heads off.

Laughable as it may be, it's still a case.

There are always some cases that the police can't investigate any further, no matter how hard they try.

Lu Qibang stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and said calmly:

"Go back and look through the recent case files."

Little Fatty was taken aback: "What should I look for?"

"The cases from the last six months," Lu Qibang said calmly. "We'll pick those where the leads have gone cold, those where the investigation is stalled halfway through, and those that seem off but we can't quite put our finger on them. Cases involving dead bodies are given priority, as are cases where things happened in old houses, and cases where strange things suddenly happened in a house are also acceptable."

"Gather them all together and make a list."

"This is really a headache. I'll bring it over next time and show it to Master Chen."

Upon hearing this, Little Fatty's expression turned completely serious.

He originally thought that Lu Qibang just wanted to make a connection with Chen Qinghe and do him a favor.

But now it seems they really intend to take those tough nuts to crack in the police station and send them one by one to the old dyehouse.

If Master Chen from the Three Mysteries Temple truly possesses the skills that Gu Sir has described—

Lu Qibang's trip today is not just about "getting to know people".

It's really about treating this person as a path to follow.

Little Fatty silently kept these words in mind, and after a while, he nodded.

"Okay, Officer Lu, I'll take care of it as soon as I get back."

Lu Qibang didn't say anything more, rolled up the car window, closed his eyes again, and leaned back in his seat.

The car drove along the main street towards the police station.

The sun was shining brightly on the street, and shops glided past the car window one after another. But the chubby boy in the passenger seat had lost interest in looking at them. He was staring down at the notebook on his lap, his mind racing as he quickly reviewed the cases he had recently handled.

There were a few cases where he was prepared to wait for the cases to close.

Now it seems—

Perhaps we should really look into it again.

There were some details that Lu Qibang always felt were a bit off.

……

……

By the time the car returned to the police station, the sun was already setting.

As soon as Xiao Pang got off the bus, he went straight to the archives room.

He usually dreaded this kind of work most—stacks of old files piled on wooden shelves, dusty, with small print, giving him a headache. But this time was different. Lu Qibang's words weighed on his mind like a stone, making him, unusually, not go to have a cup of tea and rest first, but instead move a wooden stool and sit down by the filing cabinet to flip through the stacks one by one.

He first picked the ones from the last six months.

Cases involving death or accidents in old houses are given priority, as are cases of strange occurrences in a home.

These criteria seem simple, but actually sifting through the files is more difficult than you might imagine. The police station handles cases big and small all year round, and in the last six months alone, there have been more than a dozen deaths. But most of them are ordinary deaths from illness, accidents, or street fights; only a few of them would likely interest Lu Qibang.

He pulled out a stack of files and began to look at them one by one.

The first case involved a middle-aged man who ran a grocery store in Sai Ying Pun. Six months ago, he fell from the second-floor storeroom and died instantly. His family insisted it was impossible, because he had been climbing stairs for twenty years without ever having an accident. However, after a long investigation, the police found no signs of pushing or shoving, and ultimately closed the case as an accident.

Little Fatty stared at this page for a while, then pulled it out separately.

The second case involves an elderly woman who lived in an old building in Kowloon Tong for thirty years without any illness or disaster. She suddenly passed away from heart palpitations six months ago. Her family initially didn't plan to call the police, but a neighbor felt something was amiss—they said that two months before her death, the old woman started sleeping during the day and sitting motionless on her bed at night, occasionally talking to herself. The police sent someone to check on her, but couldn't find anything wrong, so the case was left unresolved.

Little Fatty also pulled it out.

The third case involved a family surnamed Tao, living on a back street in Yau Ma Tei. Their two children had been sick for three months, without symptoms or a source of infection, and medication was ineffective. The parents took the children to a relative's house, where they recovered completely in less than two weeks. Upon returning to their original house, they fell ill again. The family went to the police station to report a problem with their house and hoped the station would "take care of it." The case file was left unattended in a filing cabinet, barely even acknowledged by the officer in charge.

Little Fatty frowned as he looked at this.

By old standards, this wouldn't even qualify as a case; it wouldn't even be considered a proper record. But now, thinking about it through Lu Qibang's lens, it suddenly seems to make sense.

He took out this one as well.

Then came the fourth pile, the fifth pile...

The more Xiaopang scrolled down, the less his initial doubts faded.

He gradually discovered something.

Over the years, the cases handled by the police station that eventually "couldn't be written down" all had something unusual about them. Either the person's life suddenly changed before their death, or the house had just undergone construction, or a fortune teller had been consulted, modified, or altered in the family. But initially, no one would delve into these details; they might be mentioned casually in the notes when writing the report, and then ignored after that.

He sat on the wooden stool, turning the pages more and more quietly, not even caring that his legs were aching.

The noise from the archives and the police station outside gradually faded away.

By evening, seven or eight separate files had been piled up on the table in front of him.

On the cover of each one, he wrote a few words in small pencil.

"Fell to his death from the warehouse."

"The old lady has lived in the old building for a long time."

"A family of three in Yau Ma Tei is sick."

"Old shops in Causeway Bay are going bankrupt one after another."

"Baby cries at night in an old house in Happy Valley."

"Two tenants died in an old building in Shau Kei Wan."

"A newlywed couple in Kennedy Town suffered two consecutive miscarriages."

"The Wan Chai shop owner lost 30 pounds in six months."

Each one, taken individually, is nothing special.

But when you see them all laid out on the table, it starts to make you feel uneasy.

Little Fatty stared at the stack of files and swallowed hard.

He originally thought he would only find two or three cases at most, but he didn't expect to find so many. And these are only the ones he can think of and remember clearly; if he searches deeper into the filing cabinet, there will definitely be more.

He subconsciously looked up at the clock hanging on the wall.

It was already dark.

One by one, the lights in the corridor outside came on.

Little Fatty carefully and neatly stacked the seven or eight files, then carried them upstairs.

The lights were still on in Lu Qibang's office.

Little Fatty paused at the door for a moment, then knocked.

"Officer Lu, I've retrieved the file."

Lu Qibang was leaning back in his chair smoking when he heard the sound and looked up.

"So fast?"

"I went through the files from the last six months first." The chubby guy put the files on the table. "I picked through them according to the criteria you mentioned, and here they are."

Lu Qibang held the cigarette between his fingers and reached out to look at it.

He flipped through the pages very slowly, looking at one, pausing, and then moving on to the next. With each page he turned, his brow furrowed further.

After flipping through seven or eight files, he didn't speak immediately.

The office was so quiet that the only sound was the soft crackling of cigarette butts burning to ash.

Little Fatty stood by the table and waited for a while before speaking softly, "Officer Lu, what do you think..."

Lu Qibang stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and said slowly:

"More than I thought."

Little Fatty's heart skipped a beat.

"I only picked these from the last six months," he said. "There are definitely more from before that."

Lu Qibang didn't respond to him, and picked up the top one again—the one for the family of three in Yau Ma Tei—and flipped through it again.

"Are you most familiar with this one?"

"Yes," Little Fatty replied immediately. "I was a co-organizer before. That family went to the police station three times, and the last time they left in tears, saying that the police station didn't care whether they lived or died. At the time, the organizer felt that there was no way to investigate, so they suppressed it. Later, I heard that they moved back to their old house, and the child started getting sick again."

Lu Qibang nodded, offering no further comment.

He took that portion out separately and set it aside.

Then, the cases of consecutive bankruptcies in old shops in Causeway Bay, the case of a baby crying at night in an old house in Happy Valley, and the case of two tenants dying in a row in an old building in Shau Kei Wan were also drawn up.

Four portions.

He looked up at the chubby boy.

"Reorganize these four documents. List out everything clearly, including where the person involved lived, the repairs made, the therapists hired, and the details before and after the incident. Give them to me first thing tomorrow morning."

Little Fatty was taken aback, then quickly nodded.

"it is good."

Lu Qibang paused, then added.

"If you have any photos or terrain sketches on hand, please include them as well. The more detailed the better."

Little Fatty nodded again.

"Yes."

Lu Qibang then pushed the four files aside, tapped his fingers lightly on the table twice, and looked more somber than when he was at the Sanxuan Temple during the day.

He originally just wanted to use Chen Qinghe's connection to overshadow Gu Chengyue and gain a couple more opportunities to show his face. But now, looking at the pile of files on the table, he had a different idea in mind.

If Master Chen from the Sanxuan Temple truly possesses such abilities—

There are far more than just these four cases that the police station is holding onto that are "unresolved."

Then this line is no longer just "a line".

He lit a new cigarette, leaned back in his chair, and half-closed his eyes.

"Little Fatty".

"Um?"

"Don't tell anyone about this."

"Yes."

"Especially don't let Gu Chengyue find out."

Little Fatty paused for a moment, then immediately understood and nodded emphatically.

"I see."

Lu Qibang gave a faint "hmm" and said nothing more.

The office lights were still on.

The four separate files on the table sat there quietly.

-

The lights at the police station stayed on until midnight, and the lights at the Sanxuan Temple didn't go out either.

In the old dyehouse, the second main pillar had been erected, and the outline of the front hall began to rise. Chen Qinghe stood in the front yard, watching Deng the carpenter and his men finish up, his expression as calm as ever.

Huang Shouzhou leaned closer and whispered, "Do you think that Inspector Lu will come again next time?"

Chen Qinghe did not answer immediately.

He looked up at the night sky, then at the new beams in the courtyard.

"Will come."

Huang Shouzhou pursed his lips.

"What if you had several cases on your hands back then?"

"Then we'll definitely come."

Chen Qinghe's tone remained indifferent.

But after listening, Huang Shou-chou felt that it wasn't that simple.

Police officers, wealthy merchants, old clues left by their martial uncle, and the seal still hidden in the Xuanlin Society—these things originally went their separate ways, but from some point onwards, they all began to converge on the newly established framework of the Sanxuan Temple.

The old dye house was rebuilt.

The residents of Yau Ma Tei would look up and recite the name of the San Xuan Temple.

The two police sergeants in the police station began to remember this name.

Businessmen like the Huo and He families also did favors behind the scenes.

The brass key he brought back from the secondhand shop in Sai Wan was still pressed against Chen Qinghe's body.

The night breeze blew in from the well in the backyard, sweeping past the newly erected wooden pillars.

Huang Shouzhou couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "This viewpoint is different from before."

Chen Qinghe did not respond.

He merely glanced up at the "Sanxuan Temple" sign hanging at the entrance, still smelling of fresh ink.

A gust of wind blew, and the wooden plank swayed slightly.

It swayed very steadily.