about us

The Feng Shui Shop was founded in 2015 with a simple initial idea. Mr. Li felt that the old sayings and customs passed down from the older generation actually had merit, but they had been exaggerated and mystified, making them incomprehensible and unbelievable. He couldn’t stand it. Some things shouldn’t be buried like this.

He rented a small storefront at the entrance of an alley in the old town, about ten square meters, with a simple wooden sign that read “Feng Shui Shop.” The shop was clean and tidy, with a few old elm wood tables, a few bamboo chairs, and sparsely stocked shelves: a few simple brass compasses, a mahogany paperweight, a few introductory booklets he had hand-drawn and annotated with pinyin, and some well-preserved antique items he had collected from the countryside. A pot of tea was always kept warm in the corner, poured for regular customers.

Mr. Li didn’t do anything superficial. His customers were mostly neighbors or honest people introduced by others. The problems were practical: the toilet door in their newly allocated apartment faced the bedroom, which bothered them constantly; how could they resolve this without spending money? The young couple often argued; was the sofa in the living room placed incorrectly? Their son was preparing for the college entrance exam; how could they arrange his desk to help him concentrate? Mr. Li didn’t talk about “feng shui arrangements” or rituals. He usually just listened, nodded, took a piece of paper, and drew a simple layout diagram with a pencil. He’d add a screen here, move a plant there, and change the bedside lamp to a warmer one. His reasoning was simple: “The draft is too strong; it’s unsettling, and the energy can’t stay still. Add a curtain to soften it.” “Your work corner is facing away from the door; it makes you feel uneasy. Turn it so you can see the door.”

He often said, “Feng shui isn’t about blindly believing in external things; it’s about adjusting your environment so you don’t feel too stressed. When the environment is peaceful, your mind is at ease, and you can do things steadily.” His words, like his tea, weren’t particularly impressive, but they were refreshing and comforting.

The small shop has been open for over a decade, without expansion, branches, or an online store. Mr. Li still opens the shop every morning, wipes the tables, sets up the goods, and boils water. Most customers are regulars, or new friends brought by regulars. Someone once asked him, “With such excellent skills, why not expand?” He waved his hand: “This kind of business is meant to be done face-to-face, over a cup of tea, and discussed slowly. If you expand, the flavor changes.”

That’s how the “Feng Shui Shop” is—like the old banyan tree at the alley entrance, small but deeply rooted. It doesn’t promise great wealth, but quietly helps everyone who walks in find a little peace and smoother path in their everyday lives. Mr. Li feels that’s enough; that’s all he wanted to do back then.