Chapter 1: Childhood Betrothal

My name is Chen July, and I was born in a remote mountain village in the northeast.

It is said that on the day I was born, someone saw two yellow-furred foxes standing upright like humans at the entrance of our courtyard, bowing repeatedly toward the house, their behavior eerily unsettling.

People in the village are deeply superstitious, and my grandfather was no exception. He was a feng shui master, extremely concerned with the mysteries of fate. When he heard someone claim to have seen the two foxes kneeling outside our home, his expression grew darker and more troubled. When others asked him about it, he said nothing, merely puffing on his old pipe in silence.

On the second day after my birth, something strange happened in the village. All the chickens and ducks, once prized by the villagers, vanished overnight, leaving everyone deeply uneasy. To make matters worse, someone who went up the mountain to gather herbs died under mysterious circumstances.

These coincidences led the villagers to believe something sinister was at work, and most of them blamed my birth for bringing disaster upon the village. They tried many times to send me away. If not for my grandfather’s considerable influence and respect in the community, I doubt I would have been allowed to stay.

Yet my presence brought poverty to my family. To appease the villagers, my grandfather distributed all the money he had saved to them. It was only thanks to this sacrifice that I remained in the village.

But peace proved fleeting. Soon after, another strange event occurred. When I was three years old, every well in the village dried up overnight, and the fields became parched and barren. The crops yielded nothing.

Once again, the villagers pointed their fingers at me, convinced that my birth was the cause of these calamities. In a frenzy, they gathered at our home, insisting that I must be sent away. Even the intervention of my uncle, the village chief, proved useless.

Just as tensions between my family and the villagers reached their peak, a visit from a wealthy patron shattered the deadlock. That noon, more than a dozen luxury cars rumbled along the bumpy country road to our house, drawing the curiosity of the entire village.

Everyone wondered why these distinguished guests had come to our humble home. The reason was simple: my grandfather, Chen Tiande, had decided to return to practice, to inspect homes and graves, and to alter their feng shui.

From that moment, my grandmother and father realized for the first time that grandfather was renowned throughout the northeast as the Golden Point Master. He was the twenty-third generation heir of the Ma Yi family, bearing the prestigious “Heaven” title.

My father said that on that day, those seeking grandfather’s counsel included political and business elites, veteran Maoshan priests, and renowned feng shui masters. Rumor had it that even the top official from the provincial capital was among them. All wished for grandfather to advise them on their fortunes and what dangers to avoid, for at their level, feng shui and physiognomy were of utmost importance.

Yet such concerns alone would not have prompted such a grand procession to our village.

The most crucial reason for their visit was that grandfather was to cast a new divination as he returned to practice—a ritual that, according to the records of the Book of Changes and physiognomy, would require him to sacrifice his own luck. Whoever received this divination would inherit the luck that grandfather surrendered.

Because of this, people scrambled to secure it, hoping to boost their own fortunes.

Grandfather’s requirement was simple: each person had to bring a girl of similar age to me. He would choose one of them to be betrothed to me, and the chosen family would receive the divination.

In the end, the nearby Liu family unexpectedly gained grandfather’s divination, simply because their daughter was selected. Immediately, they arranged for their daughter, Liu Qingqing, who was of my age, to be betrothed to me.

Thus, I gained a nominal wife, Liu Qingqing. Liu’s father and my elders agreed that when I turned twenty-one, I could marry her. Grandfather gave his blessing, and the childhood betrothal was settled.

With the Liu family’s departure, the feng shui event that had shaken the entire northeast came to an end.

Curiously, after Liu Qingqing and I were betrothed, the village enjoyed favorable weather and prosperity. Having witnessed grandfather’s status, no one dared trouble our family again.

Life improved steadily, but grandfather’s health declined, his spirit waning day by day. My family sought remedies in secret, but none proved effective.

Finally, when I was twelve, grandfather took me to the mountain behind our home. His hair was white, yet a special vigor seemed to radiate from him, making him appear exceptionally spirited.

I had never seen grandfather so tense, and I felt a deep anxiety. He looked back at me, his face solemn, and asked if I was willing to become the twenty-fourth generation heir of the Ma Yi family.

Hearing this, I was overjoyed. To follow in grandfather’s footsteps as a master of feng shui had always been my dream. Yet my uncle had pleaded for this knowledge his entire life, and grandfather refused to teach him. Why now pass it directly to me?

I did not understand.

Perhaps sensing my confusion, grandfather sighed. He explained that practicing the Green Hemp arts was not as glorious as I imagined. Divining fate is a matter of probing the secrets of heaven, and those destined for such a path must suffer the Five Evils and Three Deficiencies.

True masters of divination rarely meet a good end—this is not mere superstition, but a documented fact.

At my birth, grandfather saw that I was fated for the Five Evils and Three Deficiencies, which inspired him to pass down the Green Hemp arts to me.

This was my destiny, set from the moment I entered the world.

That day, I knelt atop the mountain, performing the three bows and nine kowtows to the surrounding forests.

The first bow was to the gods of heaven and earth, mountains and lakes. The second, to solitary ghosts and wandering spirits. The third, to ancestors and the Ma Yi clan.

From that day forward, I became the twenty-fourth generation disciple of the Ma Yi family.

Grandfather, known as the Golden Point Master, bestowed upon me the title “Ghost Hand of Ma Yi” for my journey in the world.

I asked why he gave me such a daunting title. Grandfather smiled, saying it was innate in my destiny, and when I grew older, I would understand its significance.

It was indeed peculiar.

Under grandfather’s careful guidance, I learned the secrets of feng shui at an extraordinary pace. Even he often praised my remarkable talent.

The Green Hemp physiognomy that grandfather taught me took less than a year for me to master completely. My progress was ten times faster than his own as a youth.

I devoured all the ancient texts on physiognomy in our home, including the obscure and difficult “Book of Burial.” Though I still had many questions about its contents, grandfather’s explanations gradually helped me understand.

While my peers played and laughed in the village, I was consumed with studying the arts of yin and yang at home. This led to frequent teasing by the other children, and gradually, I lost all friends in the village.

I became accustomed to this, for our destinies differed; it was only natural we could not play together.

But what pained me most was grandfather’s rule forbidding me from practicing divination before marriage. Even the simplest physiognomy could not be performed.

He warned that if I did, all my efforts over the years would be wasted.

This restriction frustrated me deeply, for I possessed great skill yet had nowhere to apply it, and the helplessness tormented me.

I once saw Granny Zhang, who treated grandfather and me kindly, with a darkened brow and an aura of misfortune—signs of impending doom.

Sure enough, two days later, Granny Zhang drowned in the river while washing clothes. The water there was barely above her knees.