Chapter 001: Making a Living by Selling Cloth

Keqiao Textile City, beneath the vast dome, the air was always laced with the faintly acrid scent of synthetic fibers and the constant clamor of haggling voices. Yang Rui had just seen off a Northeastern merchant who had haggled for half an hour over a mere thirty-cent price difference. Rubbing his throbbing temples, he returned to his stall—a space of less than ten square meters, crammed with bolts of fabric in every hue. His phone rang, the screen flashing “Director Zhang.”

“Brother Yang, are you busy? If it’s convenient, could you come over now? My office… sigh, something’s gone awry again!” On the other end, Zhang Jianguo’s voice was thick with exhaustion and irritation. Zhang Jianguo ran a wholesale accessories business in the market; he was an old client of Yang Rui’s, and one of the “special attention” customers for his feng shui services.

“Sure thing, Brother Zhang, I’ll be right over.” Yang Rui replied, briskly locking the glass door of his booth and heading toward the market’s office area. Dressed in an ordinary polo shirt and casual pants, he blended into the crowd without drawing attention. Only his eyes, sharp and searching, occasionally betrayed a scrutiny at odds with the bustling atmosphere of bargaining all around.

Zhang Jianguo’s office was on the top floor of the market’s east section—an independent suite with floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view, an enviable location. But as Yang Rui pushed open the door, his brows knit ever so slightly.

Zhang Jianguo slumped in his oversized executive chair, his complexion ashen, bags under his eyes tinged with blue, his whole being seeming drained of vitality. Papers lay scattered across the desk, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Seeing Yang Rui, he forced out a smile that was more pained than a sob. “Thank God you’re here, brother! At this rate, I swear I’m going to lose my mind!”

“Take it easy, Brother Zhang. Tell me slowly. You look like you haven’t been sleeping well lately?” Yang Rui’s gaze swept the room unobtrusively as he exchanged pleasantries, already sketching the layout in his mind.

“Not sleeping well? That’s putting it mildly!” Zhang Jianguo ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Insomnia! Can’t sleep a wink all night! And if I do doze off, it’s nothing but nightmares! Either I’m falling into a pit or being chased by debt collectors! My head feels like mush during the day, every contract I look at makes me dizzy. Last month I even signed the wrong order—lost nearly two hundred thousand!”

“And that’s not all.” He lowered his voice, his face twisting with a mix of anger and fear. “The house is in total chaos! Someone must’ve tipped off my wife! She stormed into the apartment I’d rented for… you-know-who with a group of people the day before yesterday, made a huge scene! Now she’s forcing me to sign divorce papers!”

Yang Rui nodded, turning his gaze to Zhang Jianguo. “How about your health, besides insomnia and dizziness?”

“It’s bizarre!” Zhang Jianguo slapped his thigh hard. “Started last month when I moved into this new office! First, I had a mysterious low-grade fever for days—doctors couldn’t find a cause. Barely recovered, then my right shoulder and neck got so stiff they felt like iron plates! Patches, massages—nothing helped! Now, these past couple days, I’ve got tinnitus—constant buzzing, feels like my head’s about to explode! Went to the hospital, doctor said it’s stress, nervous tinnitus! Nonsense! Haven’t I always had stress? Why didn’t I have these problems before?”

“I see.” Yang Rui’s expression turned grave and professional. He didn’t immediately take out his compass, but began pacing the office, his gaze probing every detail like a needle. Zhang Jianguo watched him anxiously.

“Brother Zhang, when you renovated this office, you didn’t consult anyone about the layout, did you?” Yang Rui stopped in front of the giant window, beyond which the market’s busy freight corridor bustled.

“No, I thought the spot was great—bright and spacious—so I just moved in. What? Is something wrong?” Zhang Jianguo asked, urgency in his voice.

“There’s quite a problem,” Yang Rui said, turning around, his tone steady as he launched into a professional analysis. “First, your ‘Mingtang’ is blocked. The view from the window is good, but it faces directly onto that straight freight thoroughfare below, with endless streams of people and vehicles forming a ‘piercing sha’—a direct, harsh energy flow. Qi rushes in through the window and slams straight into your seat, with no buffer or circulation. This leads to financial loss, poor health, restless spirit. Your dizziness, tinnitus, neck stiffness, even the previous fever—all are related to this sha energy impacting your head and neck.”

Zhang Jianguo paled further, instinctively rubbing his neck.

Yang Rui moved behind Zhang Jianguo’s chair, pointing to the wall behind him. “Second, your ‘backing’ is unstable. This wall behind you looks solid, but look—” he rapped the wall with his knuckles, producing a dull, hollow sound, “it’s a light steel frame with plasterboard, not a true load-bearing wall. In feng shui, the saying goes, ‘sit with substance behind, face openness ahead.’ The backing should be solid, symbolizing support from benefactors and stable career. Yours is hollow—almost ‘falling Black Tortoise,’ as we call it. This means you’re isolated at work, vulnerable to backstabbers, and your home life is unstable, lacking support.”

Zhang Jianguo opened his mouth, remembering the informant and his wife’s relentless confrontation, but was left speechless.

“Third,” Yang Rui walked to the southeast corner of the office, where several dust-covered boxes and an idle printer were piled, “the Xun sector is missing and polluted. In the Bagua, this area represents the eldest daughter, as well as talent and financial fortune. Here, the corner is irregular, with a clear missing section, and it’s blocked and soiled by junk. This not only seriously impacts your legitimate wealth, but also foretells trouble with the women in your household—constant disputes and strife.”

Zhang Jianguo broke out in a cold sweat. “Brother, your analysis is spot on! So… what should I do now? Am I… haunted?”

Yang Rui shook his head, his tone resolute. “Brother Zhang, as I’ve always said, my feng shui practice isn’t about ghosts or spirits—it’s about how the environment’s layout affects a person’s energy, magnetic field, and mind. Prolonged exposure to sha energy, unstable backing, and a polluted wealth sector keeps one’s nerves taut, the subconscious constantly absorbing negative signals, leading to poor judgment, emotional turmoil, and physical dysfunction—setting off a chain reaction. This isn’t being haunted; it’s a systemic imbalance caused by environmental oppression.”

He paused, seeing the near-desperate look in Zhang Jianguo’s eyes, and said firmly, “First things first, we must make adjustments! Step one: install thick, opaque floor-length curtains inside the windows and keep them drawn, blocking the ‘piercing sha.’ Step two: immediately clear all clutter from the southeast corner, keep it absolutely clean, bright, and ventilated, and place a broad-leafed green plant there—like a money tree—to boost wealth energy. Third, and most crucial, you must move your desk! You can’t sit with your back to a hollow wall. I suggest…” He surveyed the office, pointing to a corner, “move there—back to a load-bearing wall, facing the door, creating a layout of ‘support behind, open view ahead.’ The view may not be as open, but the energy will be steadier, better for consolidating your position.”

Zhang Jianguo, as if grabbing a lifeline, nodded repeatedly. “I’ll move! I’ll move right now! I’ll get the curtains installed this afternoon! I’ll clear out the junk right away!” Yet his face fell again. “But, brother, will this really fix my tinnitus and neck pain? And what about my wife…”