Feng Shui magic

Li Chengfeng's eyes narrowed. *Just when I convinced Ye Gucheng, another obstacle appears.* The sudden interference from Ye Wuming, a **branch family member**, complicated matters. This was the Ye family's internal strife—Li Chengfeng knew better than to meddle. If they refused his solution, so be it.

Ye Mengyao glared at Ye Wuming, her voice sharp with disdain. "What business is it of yours, a *branch descendant*, to meddle in our ancestral affairs? Know your place."

The barb struck deep. In the Ye hierarchy, branch family members were relegated to minor roles, while the main lineage controlled wealth and power. But with the main family struck by illness, figures like Ye Wuming had seized newfound influence.

Ye Wuming smirked, unfazed. "Times have changed, *Princess*. The main line is crippled—blind, mute, rotting. The branch family now steers the Ye empire." He leaned closer, malice glinting. "The Beijing elders entrusted *me* to oversee Qingzhou's assets—including the ancestral graves. Touch them without my consent, and you'll be cast out."

Ye Mengyao's fists clenched. Two years ago, this man had bowed to her at family gatherings. Now, he dared threaten her?

On the hospital bed, Ye Gucheng trembled with silent rage, his unseeing eyes straining toward his daughter's voice.

Li Chengfeng, sensing danger, edged toward the door. "Ms. Ye, apologies—I've urgent matters at home."

"Coward!" Ye Mengyao hissed, but Li Chengfeng was already sidestepping Ye Wuming's henchmen.

Ye Wuming blocked his path, voice dripping menace. "You're the 'feng shui master' urging them to desecrate our graves?"

Li Chengfeng's survival instincts flared. The locust tree's presence on the tomb reeked of sabotage—likely orchestrated by the branch family. *This isn't a job; it's a death trap.*

"Just a fraud, sir!" Li Chengfeng raised his hands, playing the fool. "Spouting nonsense for cash. I'll vanish—swear it!"

Ye Wuming's lips curled. "Smart man. Stay gone… or disappear *permanently*."

As Li Chengfeng fled, Ye Mengyao's hope crumbled. Her father's labored breaths filled the silence.

Ye Wuming turned to her, mock sympathy in his tone. "Don't fret, *Princess*. Our medical team will 'cure' your father and aunt." His laugh echoed through the sterile room. "Whether they walk out alive… well, that's another matter."

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