Feng Shui Master of Secret Arts

In my third year as a secretary, my boss died in his own office.

The police called it an accident, but I knew better. The potted plant that should have been placed in the Xun position had been moved to the Li position. The paperweight on the desk had been set down at the wrong hour, and even the Sha Qi from the building outside the window had been deliberately activated. This was murder, carried out through feng shui.

My new identity was exposed by necessity: the heir to a family of occult practitioners. I had hidden my identity and become a lowly secretary because I refused to use feng shui to harm people.

The detective assigned to the case didn't believe in ghosts or gods, but he couldn't solve it. He stared at me and asked, "Just how many secrets are you still hiding?"

I opened the schedule from the three days before my boss was killed and pointed to an entry.

"The killer is in this building."