Chapter 35.3: The Wrong Kind of Mother

Walking back home, the group in the courtyard was still eating. It was clear they’d slowed down on purpose to wait for him.

“Little Yuan, was that your mom on the phone?”

“Yeah, it was, Taigong.”

Li Zhuiyuan sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and started eating while recounting the phone call with his mom.

He put on a cheerful and joyful front.

Just like any normal kid, there was always a time when parents were their idols—everything started and ended with “my dad” or “my mom.”

Li Sanjiang listened, beaming, often chiming in. Every time, Li Zhuiyuan would respond, which only made Li Sanjiang happier. He kept tapping his bowl with his chopsticks, laughing, “I knew it, I just knew it, hahaha.”

Aunt Liu was pleased too. Her naturally cheerful nature welcomed the lighter atmosphere at home.

Even Liu Yumei asked Li Zhuiyuan a few questions.

She mused that no matter how clever a child is, they can’t escape their nature.

Runsheng gnawed on a sausage while eating and watching Li Zhuiyuan, assuming the earlier silence on the way home had just been because the kid missed his mom.

He had no parents himself, just a grandfather, so seeing Li Zhuiyuan talking excitedly made his face slowly fill with yearning.

So this is what it’s like—to have a mom.

Only Ah Li silently set her chopsticks down.

She liked watching the boy’s face, but the joy and excitement on it held no light in his eyes.

After dinner, Li Zhuiyuan dragged Li Sanjiang to Zheng Datong for some medicine.

A shot would’ve worked better, but Li Sanjiang absolutely refused.

Back home, everything resumed as usual.

Runsheng sat watching TV and smoking.

Aunt Liu cleaned up the kitchen, then busied herself coloring paper effigies.

Ah Li was coaxed by Li Zhuiyuan to go sleep with Granny Liu.

Li Zhuiyuan went out back to complete his horse stance training diligently.

When he returned upstairs, he saw Li Sanjiang pouring laundry detergent into his hands.

On the stone slab beside the water vat, there was a basin of hot water and a towel hanging.

“Taigong…”

“Taigong got another good omen.”

“Congrats.”

“Go on, go get the small shovel!”

“Heh.”

Thanks to the interruption from his mom’s call, Li Zhuiyuan suddenly realized—his fortune problem still hadn’t been solved.

But he couldn’t ask Taigong directly, since Taigong didn’t understand it either.

So what exactly had he traded away in that deal that cost him so much fortune?

Back in his room, Li Zhuiyuan switched on the desk lamp and pulled out the Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi.

He frowned as he opened it.

He missed Wei Zhengdao’s handwriting.

Of all the books he’d brought up from the basement, only the ones penned by Wei Zhengdao were truly legible to him.

Suppressing his discomfort, he kept reading, page after page.

He couldn’t tell if he was just getting used to this dogscratch handwriting or if the Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi truly was profound.

But the more he read, the more enthralling it became, and he couldn’t stop.

This book discussed the feng shui of rivers, lakes, and seas.

It was a unique subfield—since typical “feng shui” dealt more broadly with landscapes, with water being just one part. Mountains and land were the main focus.

After all, whether for the living or the dead, everything is rooted on land.

But this book focused on water—covering water burials, water prisons, water disasters, and so on. Mountains and land were secondary.

From a practical standpoint, here’s a comparison:

If you mastered other feng shui books, you might sense an ancient tomb when exploring famous mountains.

But after reading this one, while on a boat, you might suddenly feel it and point: “There, a Dead Sinker.”

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t rush through the Liu family book. He also picked up Qin Family’s Guide to Viewing Flood Dragons for comparison.

He noticed the themes were aligned—clearly the Liu and Qin families had once stood as equals on the river.

Their focus matched, but their approaches differed.

This was a big plus for a learner. Cross-referencing them deepened understanding.

Once he truly grasped both, his knowledge of river feng shui would become exceptionally deep.

Checking the time, he realized it was bedtime.

Li Zhuiyuan put the books away, turned off the lamp, washed up with a basin of water, then returned to his room, folded his blanket, lay down, and tried to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later, he sat up—sleep eluded him.

Even the strongest behavioral habits couldn’t suppress the emotional churn stirred up by that call.

He opened the door, stepped onto the balcony, and sat in a rattan chair, staring into the pitch-black night sky.

Who knew how long he sat there?

The door to the east wing opened—Liu Yumei caught a glimpse of her granddaughter stepping out and hurriedly draped a cloak over her shoulders.

Looking up, she spotted the boy on the second-floor balcony. Her heart was a mix of emotions.

They’d spent all day together, and now they needed more time at night?

But seeing the blank look on the boy’s face, her doubts stirred. Wasn’t he all cheerful at dinner? What happened?

Missing his mom again?

Though children were children, she felt this boy shouldn’t be so fragile.

The way he looked now reminded her of her own Ah Li, sitting by the threshold in her worst days.

Soon, her granddaughter appeared on the second floor, sitting beside the boy.

A moment later, the girl gently draped half her cloak over him.

Liu Yumei’s eyes widened—her granddaughter was showing initiative to care for someone?

They’d been living in Li Sanjiang’s house a while, and while Ah Li’s condition had stabilized, there’d been no improvement—until that boy moved in.

Then things started changing, like ice finally dripping with meltwater.

But no change before today compared to this moment!

First, she nodded and shook her head to express herself. Now, she showed care on her own.

Liu Yumei looked up, holding back tears. She truly saw hope—her granddaughter might actually recover, and not too far off.

She went back inside, sat before the ancestral shrine, and pointed at them.

“Ah Li’s illness—it’s your fault for being irresponsible. If even one of you had left a trace of spirit behind to protect her as tradition demands, she wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

She grabbed a towel, wiping her eyes, her voice breaking.

“If I’d known smashing your memorial tablets could help her, I’d have chopped you all into firewood years ago.”

…

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t know when the girl arrived. She seemed to have been there a while. Something warm was draped over his back.

“You’re here?”

She looked at him, then, surprisingly, took his hand.

Then she noticed something, lowered her head, and gently pried open his palm.

Inside was a wound.

She brushed it with her fingers.

It was a rare moment of tenderness. Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t help but smile—but it froze quickly.

The girl pressed all five fingers into his palm. Her nails, not too long or short, dug directly into his flesh.

“Ssss…”

Li Zhuiyuan winced in pain, jerking upright, his whole body twisting.

“Ah Li, it hurts, it hurts…”

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