The Feng Shui Detective

by Unknown

  Sinha grabbed Joyce under the arms. With one sharp tug, he pulled her backwards through the gap between the front seats, away from the wriggling snake until she was sprawling in the back of the car.

  The lions peered into the car. At the front window, one of the lions started nosing at the head of the snake, from which dark liquid was dripping down the window.

  ‘Okay now, okay now,’ said Wong. ‘All safe.’

  ‘You’re all right now,’ said the old astrologer, squeezing Joyce’s shoulders.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whimpered. The snake’s body continued to writhe from the top of the window, and then gave a shudder and stopped.

  ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ said Sinha. ‘You’ve been very brave. I think Wong is more petrified than you are.’

  ‘Jun hai,’ said the geomancer, breathing in short gasps as he turned the car around, nudging the lions out of the way as he had the sheep the previous day. The car lurched over the roadside ruts, and then righted itself, facing back to the entrance. ‘Now we go,’ he yelled. ‘I think we do not wait to collect our fee. I think we have to be satisfied with deposit only.’

  ‘I agree,’ said the Indian.

  The Proton moved back towards the gate, with Tambi’s multi-terrain vehicle following at a distance.

  ‘A narrow escape,’ said Sinha, still holding the shaken young woman. ‘Now why would he want to do a thing like that? Not very thoughtful. No good for us or him. Surely three more deaths would be the worst possible publicity for his park?’

  ‘He is not interested in making money from animal park,’ said Wong, turning down the music. ‘He just pretends, I think, so he can take share in this project. He makes lions eat his partners. Solve two problems at once. Gets rid of them. Gives good excuse for not continuing with park. More deaths, even better. He wants to dig up land. Make a mine. Much metal under the ground.’

  ‘What a bastard.’

  Joyce sniffed and started to breathe more steadily.

  ‘You wanted to see jungle animals closely,’ said Sinha.

  ‘Yes,’ gasped Joyce, wiping her eyes and trying to smile.

  After bumping along in relative silence, the astrologer, who had loosened his fatherly grip on the young woman’s shoulders, looked back. ‘Tambi’s car has stopped. I wonder why?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Wong. ‘Maybe because I took all the petrol out this morning.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I use a bit of hose I found in the garage. Just suck it out.’

  ‘So you siphoned off his gas. I thought your breath smelt a bit alcoholic this morning. How very interesting. How will he and his cousin get out?’

  ‘Don’t know. They could walk. But maybe not a good idea. Lions not been fed yet.’

  The geomancer slowed down the car as a pink butterfly flew in a drunken zig-zag across the road. Then he put his foot back on the accelerator. He turned to face his young assistant. ‘You know, Joyce? Maybe I start to like your music now.’

  Wong turned up the volume and the sound of rock music shook the car as they headed for the gates.

  Mysterious properties

  In the third century AD was written the Lieh-tzu. In this book, Yang Chu says: ‘There are four things which do not allow people to have peace.

  ‘The first is long life, the second is reputation, the third is rank, and the fourth is riches.

  ‘Those who have these things fear ghosts, fear men, fear power, and fear punishment.’

  Blade of Grass, the things you want are the things you do not want.

  Hear the ancient story of the man who knew what he wanted.

  He was walking by the riverside when he saw an Immortal. The man was very curious. He looked at the person from Heaven.

  ‘I suppose you want something special from me?’ said the Immortal.

  ‘Yes,’ said the man.

  The Immortal touched a stone with his finger. It changed to gold. He said: ‘You can take.’

  The man did not go. He stayed.

  ‘Do you want something more?’ said the Immortal.

  ‘Yes,’ said the man.

  The Immortal touched three rocks nearby. They turned to gold. He said: ‘You can take.’

  But the man still did not go.

  The Immortal said: ‘What do you want? What is more valuable than gold?’

  The man said: ‘I want something very ordinary.’

  The Immortal said: ‘What do you want?’

  The man said: ‘Your finger.’

  From ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’,

  by C F Wong, part 112.

  ‘You have to answer a question for me, Wong-saang,’ said Biltong Au-yeung, leaning over the railing of the ferryboat, and shouting over the rushing of the wind and the churning of the engines. ‘Why does everyone love the Star Ferry? Why do I love the Star Ferry? It’s old, grimy, slow, crowded, out-of-date, and the terminus buildings are cramped and unappealling. Yet there’s something almost—almost miraculously refreshing about it. Even in this city where everyone is rushing-rushing-rushing—even worse than Singapore, no?—people will make a special effort to put the Star Ferry into their schedule. Why do we do this?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s really kinda magical,’ said Joyce.

  It was dusk in Hong Kong. The green-and-white boat, shaped like a woodlouse, bobbed gently up and down as it lazily traversed one of the world’s busiest waterways. They were only halfway across Victoria Harbour, yet already a dozen boats had crossed their path, some appearing to veer dangerously close.

  So transfixing was the 360-degree panorama that Joyce eventually lowered her camera and just leaned on the wrought iron railing, soaking up the scene, and occasionally being showered by the spray. The variety of vessels visible was stunning. There were huge ocean liners, like white skyscrapers lying on their sides; there were freight ships, their decks piled high with multi-coloured cargo-containers, kindergarten bricks for giants; there were lighters topped with cranes, unloading cargo from ocean-going vessels on the edges of the central harbour; there were tiny tugboats, dragging large boats on what seemed to be ridiculously fine bits of string; there were old wooden Chinese junks, their hulls oddly upturned at each end (Joyce noted that they were powered by engines—not a single one had the romantic bat-wing sail that you saw on Hong Kong pictorials); there were sleek, aerodynamic jetfoils skimming futuristically across the top of the water with the sound of jet aircraft; there were tiny rowing boats, one of which had a figure with a traditional cone-shaped hat leaning over the edge, fishing with a string and a hook, but no rod; and there were the grey marine police boats, looking like water insects with spiky antennae protruding from their bridges, uniformed men standing stiffly at their bows.

  ‘Not magic,’ said C F Wong. ‘Good feng shui.’

  ‘Go on, fill us in then, please, C F,’ asked Joyce.

  ‘The harbour and the Star Ferry are the feng shui centre of Hong Kong. It is not the map centre. It is not the geography centre. But it is the true centre. Hong Kong island, on this side, ten times smaller than Kowloon peninsula on that side. But Hong Kong island has very great ch’i energy. This balances the ch’i energy of Kowloon, also very strong. Look at the mountain. The mountain, the stars, the water—all combine to make ch’i energy flow into a pool on north side of the island.’

  Joyce leaned over the lower deck railings and saw, behind them, the Peak, which stood like a huge green wall behind the buildings of the central part of Hong Kong island.

  ‘The five ch’i elements are all here. Where we stand on this boat,’ the geomancer continued. ‘Water. It is under our feet and all around us. Wood. The boat itself is mostly made of wood. Wooden benches and wooden floors. Metal. The frame of the boat, the engine, the funnel. These are all metal. Fire. There is a fire in the centre of the vessel. Makes it move. Most of the day the boat is in the direct line of the sun. Soil. All around us on both sides of the harbour, are huge pieces of earth. Not just land. Big mountains of e
arth. Such big amounts of elemental energy can be bad. But here there is balance. It is not perfect. But it is quite good. The balance is quite okay. This is why many people feel strong when they are on the Star Ferry.’

  It was dusk and the neon lights of the Hong Kong cityscape were flickering into life around them. The purples, reds and yellows of the neon logos were reflected as long, shimmering streaks in the water. To the west, the last light from the setting sun was captured as a thousand pieces of orange fire on the crests of the waves.

  Joyce felt the wind-borne spray cooling her face and she was happy. She no longer felt that the feng shui man’s world was one she could never enter. She was beginning to realise just how big her own world really could be.

  Wong—whether because of the high ch’i energy of the location or just because he was in a holiday mood, Joyce did not know—was in an unusually talkative mood. He had bought a book of aerial photographs of the city, and was happily pointing out large-scale feng shui factors visible from on high.

  ‘Hong Kong island is very good example of yin and yang, the two basic forms of elemental energy. Hong Kong north part is very yang. Noisy, busy, active, crazy, everyone running all the time. Then there is a mountain in the middle. Then Hong Kong south part is very yin. Quiet, lots of trees, restful, more homes, less offices. The houses are short, not tall, there are beaches instead of docks, you see, quite different. This is very obvious if you know something about yin and yang. But more interesting to the feng shui master is the influences of east and west on the island . . .’

  ‘Beaches? Great. When are we going? I could just do with a couple of days on the beach. Make this the perfect holiday.’ She wondered what Hong Kong guys were like. What was the name of that movie star? Fat somebody?

  ‘This is not holiday. This is work. Please to remember,’ said Wong.

  ‘There’s not much work,’ said Joyce. ‘We’re only gonna buy a house. And Bill already knows which one. Won’t take long, will it? Is it big? Does it have a garden?’

  Biltong Au-yeung, a bespectacled executive in his late thirties, lowered his well-groomed but somewhat overweight body onto a wooden bench opposite Wong. ‘Let me tell you about buying property. It’s a bit different here than in other countries.’

  He explained that nearly all homes were small flats in high-rise buildings. If you wanted a newly built one, you would look at the advertisements in local newspapers to see what developments were being started.

  From his bag, he pulled out a folded newspaper and showed them a full-page advertisement from the previous day’s newspaper telling readers that a residential complex in the rural area was to be sold shortly. It showed Dragon’s Gate Court as a complex of tower blocks, with thick foliage draped over every balcony, surrounded by shops and gardens. There were no other developments nearby. Lush rolling hills stretched out on one side, and a tranquil blue sea dotted with white sailing boats ran to the horizon on the other. It was sort of paradise-for-skyscrapers.

  ‘What’s the address?’ Joyce asked. ‘It doesn’t give any address. Is it anywhere near the Chim place C F was talking about?’

  ‘It’s on the edge of Ma On Shan,’ Au-yeung replied. ‘It’s normal in Hong Kong not to bother with addresses, especially in new towns. You just name the area and the building.’

  ‘Dragon’s Gate Court. Sounds nice,’ the young woman said. ‘Now what? Let’s go and see it. Have you got the keys? Where do we find the estate agent?’

  ‘It’s very different here. You basically get in a queue and put your name down for a unit. If it’s a very popular development, they do a sort of computerised ballot, and then publish a couple of hundred winners’ names in the newspapers.’

  ‘You can win the flat? You don’t have to pay?’

  ‘No, no. You win the right to buy the flat. You still have to pay full price. At the moment, the market is in a bit of a slump, and these units are pretty pricey, even by Hong Kong standards, so the developers reckon a ballot won’t be needed. We just need to go down there tomorrow morning. If you all come to my office by 6.30, that should be enough time. Do you remember how to get there?’

  ‘Six-thirty? Like in the morning?’ She was shocked, and sat down, suddenly tired.

  ‘Yes. There will almost definitely be a queue, and the first site bus leaves at 6.45. Bring your passports.’

  ‘It’s that far away? Like in another country?’

  ‘No, but it’s high security. Flat sales always are, here. Everyone needs formal identification.’

  ‘Yikes. Six-thirty. That’s only twelve-and-a-bit hours away,’ said Joyce, looking at her Swatch. ‘And I have at least ten hours’ worth of shopping to do. And can we go and have tea at the Peninsula?’ This question was aimed at Wong.

  ‘I think we cannot afford it,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, go on, C F. Daddy will pay you back. Put it on expenses. What about the shopping? Where is this Chim place you were telling me about, where you can get knock-off Prada bags and the shops are open till 4 a.m.?’

  ‘Tsim Sha Tsui. Just docking there now.’

  Wong whispered to Au-yeung: ‘Please excuse my assistant. In Putonghua, there is a phrase. She is a bit p’ei ch’ien huo. Understand or not?’

  The Hong Konger smiled. ‘Mingbaak. Waste-money-merchandise.’

  With a gentle bump, the Star Ferry nosed up to the side of the jetty on Kowloon-side.

  By 8.05 the next morning, Wong, McQuinnie and Au-yeung were in a long and sleepy queue of would-be property buyers which snaked along the outside of a construction site in Ma On Shan, a semi-urban district thirty minutes’ drive from central Hong Kong. The developers had provided free transport from the major urban centres to the on-site showroom where the blocks were to be sold. Au-yeung had explained that this was partly for the sake of convenience, since there was only one access road to the development. But he added that it was probably also because triad elements often tried to infiltrate apartment sales. Each would-be buyer had to provide identification before they were allowed onto the bus.

  Subdued by the earliness of the hour and the boredom of the bus ride, most people were initially too somnolent to talk. But as the sun became bright in the sky, a buzz of sleepy conversation started to run down the length of the queue. Wong appeared to be asleep on his feet, his eyes open but unseeing.

  There was a little drama soon after Au-yeung and his two feng shui advisers had taken their place in the queue. Two large dark cars pulled up and stopped dramatically in the road in front of the sales office. Some tough-looking men in dark suits emerged and marched towards the front of the queue. They were soon seen arguing with the guards that were planted thickly around the office.

  ‘Who are they? People pushing in?’ Joyce asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Au-yeung. ‘Possibly triads. They often muscle in to flat sales and try to get the best slots, which they then re-sell for huge profits. I don’t know, though.’

  The argument got more heated, and the security guards were seen calling for help on walkie-talkies. More men in uniform arrived and soon physically grabbed the six men and hustled them away. There was much struggling and shouting, and the incident caused the queue of people to become completely silent for several minutes.

  The whiff of danger served to wake the young woman up. She noticed that Au-yeung’s briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist. ‘Jeepers. You must have some pretty important stuff in there.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Hong Kong businessman said. ‘My lunch. Someone once stole my cha siu bau and I am taking precautions to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No, not really,’ he said with a smile. ‘You have to pay deposits on flats like this in Hong Kong in cash. The deposit for this is 1.5 million Hong Kong dollars, which is about 200 000 US dollars.’

  ‘Like, you have 200 000 US dollars in there?’ she squeaked.

  ‘No, I have what is called a cashier’s order for that sum. It works like cash, but is not quite s
o heavy. But some people bring actual cash along. Some people in Hong Kong pay the whole bill in cash—not just the deposit but the whole price.’

  ‘Wow. Two hundred thou seems a lot of money for a deposit.’

  Wong added: ‘Yes, and that only one-tenth of the full price. Even worse than Singapore.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Yes,’ said Au-yeung with a sigh. ‘That’s why it’s really important to get the right place. So damn expensive. We are going to use this flat as a launching pad for our family. My wife is six months pregnant, so it is really important we get the right place.’

  ‘Birth coming,’ said Wong, who took from his pocket a brochure containing a floor plan. ‘Need to harness the influence of the east. Must smooth out the darkness of the north. Also fix water element. So baby can grow big and strong.’

  The businessman smiled. ‘That’s it. Anyway, when we get to the front of the queue, we will be shown a plan which will reveal which flats are still available, and you must help me choose. You only get a couple of minutes to decide, which is why I need you with me.’

  ‘This map very bad. Gives room size for each room, but no directions.

  ‘Yes. They never give enough information. They just rush you all through, take the money and run.’

  ‘I think it’s hilarious,’ said Joyce. ‘I mean, look at the picture in the ad. It’s nothing like this.’

  Instead of the elegant blocks surrounded by greenery, there was nothing but a large, dusty construction site filled with half-built blocks, some of which were covered in green netting. Nor were the surroundings in the illustration—green fields and blue seas—anything like reality. The development seemed to be circled with other large, dusty construction sites.

  ‘I can’t see a single tree in any direction,’ said Joyce. ‘In fact, I can’t see any plants at all. And where’s the sea? According to this picture, it’s supposed to be right next to the sea.’

  Au-yeung said: ‘This is what they call an artist’s impression. The artists usually use their imagination quite freely.’