As the saying goes, when one is in a good mood, everything looks pleasing to the eye. Even the rainy day that had previously drawn torrents of scorn from Young Master Liu now seemed rather poetic, even acquiring a touch of bourgeois sentimentality. (A classic show-off.)

The tiny raindrops pattered incessantly against the windowpane. Young Master Liu had drifted off in his chair all afternoon. It wasn't until a sudden thirst drove him to grope blindly on the desk for his large tea mug that he realized the time was already shēn hour (3 PM to 5 PM).

Straightening his suit jacket, he fumbled with the rusted drawer, rummaging around inside for a good while before finally locating three incense sticks of varying lengths beneath a few basketball magazines. He turned towards the small shrine behind him. The shrine wasn't large, but its decoration was exquisitely unique, crafted entirely from fine, lacquered red wood. Even the large censer gleamed with gold, presenting quite an imposing sight.

On either side of the shrine, two candlelight flames flickered unstably, sending up wisps of pale smoke. Strangely, the statue placed here was not of any deity or Buddha, but a pencil-drawn cartoon portrait of an old Daoist priest's bust. However, the artist's skill was truly beyond appraisal; not a single line in the entire drawing was straight. It was twisted and chaotic, resembling nothing more than a three-year-old's scribble. One could barely make out that the old Daoist was probably a male animal, and he had a beard; anything more remained obscured...

Beneath the cartoon drawing lay a memorial tablet. In sweeping, dragon-like calligraphy, it read: "Spirit Tablet of Zhang Enpu, 63rd Generation Successor of the Celestial Master Dao, Head of the Lineage."

That inscription contained quite a few characters, and the reading was cumbersome, but since incense was being offered here, he must have had some inextricable connection to the main character.

What? You want to know why a cartoon sketch rests upon such a solemn spirit tablet? Fine, let me inquire for you.

Our Young Master Liu explained that when his cheap master passed away, there were no cameras in the countryside, let alone photography. As a result, he couldn't even produce a proper posthumous portrait now, so he could only sketch a likeness based on his own memories to make do. Isn't that what they mean by 'self-reliance brings prosperity'? What? You say these words weren't spoken by a person? Don't you realize Young Master Liu studied abstract art? Yes, yes, the Picasso kind.

Lighting the incense sticks against the candle flames, Young Master Liu perfunctorily bowed toward the central tablet: "Master, it's time to eat. The market is sluggish these days, so eat a little less. When I get back from opening up tomorrow, I’ll immediately buy you a pound of braised duck wings from the Soy Sauce Duck shop."

"Squeak, squeak..." Mentioning those duck wings immediately roused the gluttonous bug in Young Master Liu's stomach. He rubbed his two greedy hands together, nearly drooling. Speaking of that newly opened soy sauce duck shop next door, when paired with wine, it was truly the absolute best! Even immortals would find their feet stuck, and the Jade Emperor himself would descend to sample a bite if he caught the scent, let alone a fence-sitter like himself.

"Heh heh, when the time comes, the old routine: I eat the dishes, you inhale the fragrance."

"Besides, at your age, eating too much won't digest well anyway."

With that, Young Master Liu chattered incessantly as he stuck the incense into the censer, pocketing the last apple from the offering table as he turned away.

A faint mist seemed to rise from Zhang Enpu's spirit tablet, as if he were weeping...

The Chinese nation boasts a long history and a profoundly deep cultural tradition, among which the myriad of professions is perhaps the most extensive. If one were to conduct a meticulous census, the number of trades might stretch into tens of thousands.

And since ancient times, professions have never been divided by status, upholding the saying: in the three hundred and sixty trades, every line produces a top scholar.

It’s likely that since childhood, everyone has watched those endless entrepreneurial tales broadcast on every channel—tales of someone who started from nothing in the countryside to build the largest ecological plantation in China; someone who became the CEO of the National Meat Processing Plant by selling pork; someone who manipulated real estate to achieve a successful listing in the United States; or someone who became a globally renowned magnate based on a family-secret beverage formula...

Of course, compared to these successful "someones," Young Master Liu is merely an insignificant nobody, a practitioner in a highly specialized field, nothing more.

Speaking of this, you should know by now what he does, right?

What? A servant in a brothel?

Who said specialized professions are limited to that kind of work? Drag him out and beat him with a club!

Ahem, back to the main topic. Although our Young Master Liu is incapable of literary eloquence (Zhi Hu Ze Ye) and unable to save the nation through martial might, with barely two ounces of ink in his belly and three pounds of paste in his brain, he is, nonetheless, engaged in a legitimate business. Do you see that plaque in his shop? Yes, right there—a genuine business license issued by the Administration for Industry and Commerce. Fushun City Taoist Association, Feng Shui Consulting Center.

What's wrong? Think it's small? He still had to treat the big brothers from the AIC to eight tables of drinks to secure that. Use a magnifying glass and make do with what you see!

Hey, what now? What? You can't read? Never mind then, pretend I said nothing.

Actually, when discussing Young Master Liu's profession, it’s complex yet simple. The four characters Yin-Yang Xiānshēng (Master of Yin and Yang) encapsulate his entire life. Therefore, he is humble and unnoticed, yet simultaneously fulfilled and proud, because those simple four characters have brought Young Master Liu a life rich with incredible experiences and a destiny fraught with mixed sorrows and joys.

As the saying goes, in this vast world, there are countless oddities, many things we do not understand, and many that science cannot yet resolve. Examples include succumbing to spiritual misfortune, attracting the 'Faceless Ones' (in folklore, ghosts are also called 'Faceless Ones,' or Smoke Souls, or Foul Things), body-snatching, reincarnation, and demonic possession—all things science cannot explain.

These things beyond the reach of science, however, can often be logically accounted for using traditional folk customs. Consequently, since ancient times, a specific group of people emerged to deal with these bizarre events. People have referred to them by various titles: spirit dancers, fortune-tellers, physiognomists, spirit mediums, Old Immortals, Great Immortals, Half-Immortals, shamanesses, healers of spiritual ailments. Abroad, they are known as Onmyōji, exorcists, and so on. The names differ, but their methods share uncanny similarities. This is because most of them shuttle between the realms of Yin and Yang, walking the path of impermanence. They might deliver a message for a departed relative or resolve grievances between the living and the dead.

Certainly, among them, some genuinely possess true learning, being reclusive masters imbued with immortal aura and Daoist bearing. Others merely spout nonsense, skilled only in swindling and cheating, prone to slyly touching some neighbor’s young wife. Our Young Master Liu, however, falls somewhere between these two extremes. If you call him a fraud, he still possesses some genuine capability—otherwise, why is it that as soon as he opened his shop, all the fortune-tellers within a radius of tens of miles tearfully packed up and sought livelihoods elsewhere? It's because compared to the highly competent Young Master Liu, they couldn't make ends meet! But if you say he’s not a fraud, our Young Master Chen only has one or two hidden trump cards; he's a typical Chen Yaojin with his three-strike routine—once those are used up, he's done, ultimately relying on trickery. Thus, he occupies the middle ground: a full bottle of water sits heavy, but a half-full bottle sloshes back and forth.

In this day and age, progression is key. The traditional trade of the Yin-Yang Xiānshēng is no longer lucrative. After all, there aren't that many ghosts and monsters cluttering the streets anymore; once you've captured them all, they are gone, and dealing with fierce specters carries a risk to one's life. As for fortune-telling and physiognomy, these fall under feudal superstition. For Young Master Liu, who would rather visit the King of Hell than cross paths with the Urban Management team, this is something he absolutely wishes to avoid. With those two eliminated, Young Master Liu must deploy his ultimate weapon: Feng Shui consultation!

Speaking of Feng Shui, don't dismiss this belief so easily; it is, after all, a body of knowledge inherited from the ancestors! Take, for instance, choosing a residence for a newly married couple.

The first rule is: 'Excessive wind is unsuitable.' Feng Shui places the highest importance on 'trapping the wind and gathering the qi'; consequently, a place with strong gusts of wind certainly won't be an auspicious location. The most ideal living environment is one where a gentle, soft breeze blows slowly, bringing refreshment—this aligns with the Dao of Feng Shui.

The second rule is: 'Straight avenues leading directly to the entrance are unsuitable.' Feng Shui 'prefers meandering flow and avoids direct confrontation,' because something approaching directly is aggressive. If a dwelling stands right in its path, the harm is immense, and one must be extremely cautious! For example, if the main door of a house directly faces a long, straight road, the longer the road, the greater the danger; the more roads intersecting, the more calamities. Hence, some call this a 'Tiger's Mouth House,' implying it is difficult to settle down there safely.

The third rule is: 'A street that curves outward in a bow shape is unsuitable.' This 'reverse bow' refers to a street curving in front of the house, where the outer corner of the bend directly targets the door. Feng Shui calls this the 'Sickle Cutting the Waist.' Such a house is not advisable to purchase; avoiding it is auspicious. The Essentials of Yang Dwellings states: If the street in front of the gate forms a reverse bow, the household often suffers casualties, fires, or stubborn illnesses.

Since ancient times, there have been countless anecdotes concerning Feng Shui. Here is a small story just for amusement.

In ancient times, a family worked diligently day in and day out, saved up some money, and decided to rebuild their house. They bought the materials, invited neighbors to help—since they lived in the poor quarter, there was every type of craftsman around, including tilers, carpenters, and painters. Workers were gathered without much effort, and they hired a few laborers to start the construction.

The homeowner was generous, honest, treated the workers well with good food, drink, and compensation, and the work was done quickly and well. Among the neighbors hired, one carpenter grew intensely jealous. He thought: For so many years, I have showcased my skills in the labor market, yet nobody there can even afford to repair their house, let alone build one. We lived side-by-side; I see him every day. I haven't noticed his ability being much greater than mine. Why is he suddenly making a fortune? Not only can he afford to build a house, but he treats the craftsmen to fried soybean paste noodles every day! Isn't his display of wealth too blatant?

On the fifth day, the main frame of the house was up, the walls were set, and it was time to install the main roof beams. Following old construction customs, they affixed talismans, raised the beam, set off a string of firecrackers, shared drinks and stewed meat, and gave red envelopes to all the workers, skilled and unskilled. This carpenter became even more indignant: He dares to eat stewed meat and give out red envelopes—is he showing off? This is infuriating! He dares to overshadow me! I must show him something to make him scatter his wealth. So, he went to a Feng Shui master seeking a method.

The master said: "Since the beams have just been raised, if you place an object on the beam, it will scatter his wealth." The carpenter asked: "What should I place, Master?" The master replied: "Carve a small wooden figure pulling a small cart, loaded with wooden ingots, and place it facing outward on the roof beam. Every day he pulls gold out, and once the roof is finished and the ceiling is plastered over, no one will see it. Within two years, he will unknowingly lose his fortune." The carpenter thanked the master and returned to make the object, placing it on the roof beam as instructed.

After the house was completed, the carpenter returned home every day, gloating as he watched the family supposedly fall into ruin. Yet, after two years, the family was not only not poor, but growing wealthier. The carpenter was furious! During a drink with another carpenter who had also worked on the job, he couldn't hold back and blurted out: "I followed the Feng Shui master’s advice and placed a little man pulling a cart of ingots outward on their beam. He was supposed to be pulling gold out every day, so they should have gone bankrupt long ago. Why are they getting richer?"

The other carpenter said: "Indeed! To tell you the truth, I was angry seeing how close-knit and prosperous his sons were, helping each other. So, I also sought advice from a Feng Shui master on how to ruin their family. The master told me: 'In the roof structure above the main gate, carve a small wooden man aiming an arrow, drawing the bow toward the inside of the house—aiming to shoot their family members daily. Once the roof tiles are on, no one will see it. Within two years, their family members will die or get injured inexplicably.' I never expected that not only have no one died or been injured, but they’ve even added a few more mouths to feed." The two carpenters conferred. This wasn't right; what kind of advice were these masters giving? They decided to confront the masters.

The two men found the Feng Shui masters. The first master said: "My advice was correct, but who knew you two were cursing the same family?" The two men argued: "Whether it was the same family or not, both our curses were vicious enough! One curses his people, the other curses his wealth. Shouldn't they have worked?"

The master said: "It's not that simple. When these two curses are applied to the same household, their meanings completely twist. Consider this: the small man is supposed to pull gold outward in the cart, dispersing their wealth. But he is being targeted by the small man aiming the bow and arrow from the roof structure! The meaning becomes: 'If you dare pull it out, I will shoot you!' How could the ingots move outward? This family's wealth can only enter, not exit—how could they not become rich?"

At that, both carpenters were stunned speechless.

Although this is a humorous tale, it subtly underscores the vastness of the study of Feng Shui and its influence on our daily lives. For over a year, relying on his superficial grasp of Feng Shui, our Young Master Liu has managed to cut a respectable figure in this small city. At least his name has spread; when relatives and neighbors mention Young Master Liu's name, who doesn't solemnly call him the 'Old Immortal'?

Tossing away the apple core he had gnawed clean, Young Master Liu let out a satisfied burp. His gaze drifted, lingering over the structure he had arranged—the Left Azure Dragon and Right White Tiger layout—before finally settling, unmoving, back upon the spirit tablet.

Gazing at the soul-stirring cursive script of 'Celestial Master Dao,' Young Master Liu's lips moved. The earlier playful expression vanished, replaced instantly by a 360-degree transformation. The contours of his features became firm and resolute. The air currents seemed to freeze at that moment, presenting a sharp contrast to his prior actions. It was as if one person had suddenly split into two, engaging in two different sets of behavior.

After a long while, he sighed softly: "To flourish or to perish? The 63rd generation is the pause! Master, is this folk rhyme true? Is our Celestial Master Dao truly finished?"

The air was utterly silent, as if the question had drifted in from the distant clouds. His distracted gaze swept back to the tablet, and Young Master Liu forced a bitter smile: "Putting that aside, if his damned lineage is over, what does that have to do with me? I’m the one who doesn't know where his next meal is coming from!"

Saying that, he shakily pulled out a pure cotton handkerchief from his pocket, picked up the tablet, and carefully began wiping it, muttering to himself: "But you were right about one thing; some things still need to be done by someone! Back then, you had no regrets, and today, your disciple has none either!"

As the words left his mouth, tears began to stream down Young Master Liu’s cheeks, unbidden. Simultaneously, the sore memory he had deliberately buried for twenty years began to sprout like a seedling from the fertile soil of his mind.