"Good, good, good." The man repeated, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm not asking for myself. How are my parents? Any disasters?"
He handed me his birth chart. Truth be told, fortune - telling wasn't my specialty, but I could handle basics. I'd seen a blind diviner with Grandpa—now that was a master.
Once, Grandpa helped a village find land for a temple. Feng shui said a blessed site brought rain; a cursed site blocked evil. Most mountain temples stood on barren peaks to neutralize (evil qi). After choosing a site, a blind beggar said, "Build it on the northwest broken beam, not here."
Grandpa was offended—he was the feng shui expert. "This spot has abundant water. A Dragon King Temple here will bring ten years of good weather. The broken beam overlooks the village—'temple pressing on people' means weak descendants."
The blind man bet: "It will rain Thursday and Saturday, but the circle I drew here won't get wet. If it does, forget it; if not, build on the beam."
Grandpa agreed, stalling construction. It poured on Tuesday, trapping us. On Friday, I checked: water pooled in the circle, but the surroundings were dry. Grandpa looked grave. As predicted, it rained again Saturday. On Sunday, the circle had collapsed into a pit. Grandpa changed plans, building the temple on the beam with nine halls aligned to the Nine Luminaries, a well below facing the gate.
I was shocked—Grandpa had set a yin - draining (array). The temple later saved the village from a landslide. The blind man was a Ghost Valley diviner from the blind divination school, who'd died a month later. His circle was a "ground eye"—it collapsed before disasters. He'd gambled his life to guide Grandpa.
Back to the middle - aged man. His question about parents was straightforward, but my calculation confused me. "Are your parents at home?" I asked.
He replied, "Yes, working in the fields."
I smiled inwardly—he was lying. "Sir, I'm trying to help, but you're wasting time. Leave; I won't read for you."
"Can't you figure it out? That's why you're sending me away."
"Figure out what? You're parentless, yet ask about parents. You don't trust me." Watching his shock, I added, "Your biological father died last year, and your mother is paralyzed. Your birth mother isn't far—ask around. Now leave."
"You're a god!" He panicked, bowing. "I've been cheated too often. Forgive me—let me kneel if you must."
I helped him up. "Speak slowly."
He told his village's story, and I frowned, wondering if I should take the case.