“Shang Cang?” The hotel receptionist repeated the name as he searched his memory for anyone who was Chinese. “Ah yes, he used to work here until a few months ago.”

“What happened to him?” Li Yun asked.

"I heard he quit.”

“Do you know if he found another job?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. He usually works on the night shift, so I don’t know him too well. The other cleaners say he left after the doctor diagnosed him with brain cancer.”

“Brain cancer?” Li Yun thought the Shang family was more cursed than the Mo family. “Do you have his existing address or can you call him to let him know that someone who knows his grandfather would like to speak to him?”

The receptionist nodded. It wasn’t time for check-in, so the workload was light. She looked up Shang Cang’s number from their employees' records and called the number. The phone rang five times. Before she hung up, a male voice responded.

“Cang?"

"Yes?"

"This is Shelly from the Days Inn. There’s a Mr. Yun Li who would like to speak with you,” said the receptionist. “He said he knows your grandfather.”

“Grandfather Lei?” Shang Cang’s voice sounded tired over the phone. “What’s his name again?”

Li Yun repeated his name before the receptionist could ask. She repeated the name to Shang Cang, who agreed to speak with him. The receptionist Shelly gave Li Yun the wired phone.

“Hello? You know my grandfather?” Shang Cang asked.

“I am looking for him based on Master Yue's recommendation,” said Li Yun. “I heard he had passed away. But I wonder, are you the inheritor of his lineage?” 

Shang Cang had never heard of Master Yue. However, after his grandfather passed away, some of his old clients were still contacting him. They were typically wealthy Asians who wanted to request feng shui consultation.

“I do not know much about his practice,” Shang Cang replied. 

“Your father?” 

“He doesn’t remember much either.”

Li Yun exhaled a long breath in disappointment. “Can I give you my number? I have some questions regarding the practice of feng shui. If you have any thoughts, can you give me a call?”

Shang Cang didn’t mind, but as Li Yun repeated his number, Shang Cang didn’t bother to write it down. “Why did it even matter anymore?” Shang Cang thought. Everything appeared a bit pointless now. He was only one artifact away from unlocking the secrets in his dream when he suddenly collapsed from exhaustion. The doctor found a tumor in his brain, and since then, everything seemed hopeless. He couldn’t afford to stop working, but his brother had made him stay home to recuperate.

“I heard that you have brain cancer, but do you need a second opinion?” Li Yun clumsily asked. He hated talking over the phone since he couldn’t gauge what the others were thinking. “I’m not an oncologist, but a surgeon and I happen to know some doctors at WGH.”

Shang Cang thought the person was strange. Why did a surgeon need a feng shui consultation? “It’s too late, they said it's grade four glioblastoma.”

Grade four glioblastoma had a poor prognosis. Even with surgery and chemotherapy, less than 10% survived for more than five years. Shang Cang was still young, and it was possible for him to live for another ten years.

"Did the doctor recommend surgery?" Li Yun asked.

"They did."

"Are you getting treatment?"

"No."

Li Yun didn't ask why. Judging from previous jobs, it was likely an economic burden to proceed with surgery and treatment. Even with insurance, treatment was expensive. It was also uncertain that it would keep him alive.

“What do you know about TCM?” Li Yun wondered if people who genuinely practiced an ancient lineage were more willing to look at alternative medicine.

“Isn’t that a scam?” Shang Cang asked.

Li Yun sighed again, he guessed growing up in the west made it difficult for some to accept other methods. Nevertheless, he couldn’t blame their way of thinking. Modern medicine and many current practices were built upon past knowledge.

For Li Yun, it wasn’t about ancient knowledge being better than modern knowledge, but it was about discovering ancient knowledge that was lost in translation through the passage of time. Ancient arts like alchemy had evolved into chemistry and traditional medicine into a pharmacy. Had feng shui truly evolved into architecture and urban planning? Or was there information that hadn't evolved into something more useful for the modern age?

And for some ancient lineage, why was there a veil of secrecy that required a family to pass down their knowledge only to their family and clans? Was it to keep ahead of other clans, or was there something more?

Feng shui and divination were two arts that, if real, had many repercussions. No matter what culture and ancient civilizations, prophecy and attempting to change the future had always resulted in tragedy. It was a warning that the future should not be seen.

“Is that how you feel about feng shui?” Li Yun spoke over the phone.

Shang Cang didn’t know what he thought. Everything he was experiencing in the dream world was likely a manifestation of the tumor. The artifacts and hidden secrets were simply his desire to seek miracles and ways to turn his life around.

“I don’t know much about feng shui,” Shang responded. “I can’t help you with a consultation.”

“I’m not asking for a consultation. I am at the beginning stage of practice, but I can’t determine whether the steps I am making are the correct ones. I simply need some guidance to continue.”

"You're a practitioner?" Shang Cang asked. He had never met another practitioner. His grandfather had told him it was rare to find a real practioner with a lineage as it was knowledge only passed down within the family.

"In a way," said Li Yun. "Aside from being a surgeon, I have a TCM clinic."

"All right, I'll message you a location where we can meet."

Shang Cang hung up the phone after agreeing to meet with Li Yun and looked around the dark living room. The door to the bedroom opened, shedding light into the room.

“Who’s that?” His father, Shang Man, asked from the threshold of the bedroom. He had been watching TV since the mid-morning and had barely left the room since then.

“Nothing important,” Shang Cang replied.

Shang Man rolled his wheelchair out of his room, heading into the kitchen for some snacks. “Why haven’t you gone to work?” 

“Manager gave me some time for all the overtime work I did,” Shang Cang lied. 

His father was still clueless about his condition. Only his brother knew because he was the one who responded when the hospital called to notify the family. Even if his father knew, what else could he do? He was living off of disability and hadn’t worked since the accident.

Shang Man headed back to his room as soon as he got his snack, leaving Shang Cang alone in the living room. The usual silence returned, but the dripping droplet from the leaky faucet made it difficult for Shang Cang to sleep. Irritated by the sound, he grabbed his jacket and left the apartment.