duyong

I was born in the 1980s, and officially stepped into the world of Feng Shui in 2006. Over the past decade, I’ve witnessed mysteries that most would never believe.

In 2013, over 100,000 fish died mysteriously in Liaozhong Reservoir…
In Tower Bay Street, spirits marched in a ghostly parade…
In Wenguantun, shadowy markets rose at dusk…
And in front of the Shenyang Imperial Palace, a ghostly princess once sat in her palanquin.

Were these the workings of nature — or something far more ancient and unseen?

In ten years, I’ve saved lives — and yes, I’ve ruined some too. Feng Shui is like a blade: it bears no evil or virtue. The darkness lies in the hearts of men.

This book is not written to boast about my mastery or to chase after the sensational. I write to share a truth:

Feng Shui can nurture life — or destroy it. There is no good or evil in the art itself. Only in the human heart.

Tales of Folk Feng Shui Mysteries

"Bah! What fate?" Old Wang snorted. "Fate wants me to save him. Out of our way—mind your own business. I'm protecting him."

The man spoke cautiously, as if fearing Old Wang. This reminded me of his boast: "Exorcism is my specialty; feng shui is just amateur." But the man persisted, reciting:

"Turtle and snake lock the dragon's head,

Three years should send me to the netherworld,

Yet yang fires torture me year after year."

Puzzled by his doggerel, I watched Old Wang frown. "I see. Come to me in three days. I'll handle it. He's my apprentice—no netherworld accusations against him."

The man knelt, kowtowing. "Thank you, Master!"

As we left, Old Wang gave him a triangular-folded talisman. Once safe, I asked about the poem. "You tell me—what good deed did you do?" he snapped.

"Good deed? What are you talking about?"

"That man is a grudge spirit from the Dragon-Turtle Yin Array. The 'cold river water' is women's blood, torturing him daily. He could've reincarnated in three years, but you trapped him in a turtle shell. Of course he hates you!"

He explained: a drop of virgin boy's urine should have sealed the grudge, but soaking it in yin poison prolonged his suffering. Now freed, the spirit sought revenge. Old Wang promised a ritual in three days, and the spirit agreed to drop the accusation.

I panicked—was this my fault? The yin array was meant to bind grudges for luck, but requiring daily incense and virgin urine to prevent backlash. As Feng Shui Zhai Zhi warned: "Elderly blood strengthens grudges but invites 反噬 (backlash)." Madam Dong must have broken the rules. If not for Old Wang, that 5,000 yuan could have killed me.

A hawker approached, offering rock sugar gourds. "Five skewers for one! Eat them and walk the path smoothly." He smiled at Old Wang. "Buy some? Cheap!"

Old Wang glared, voice stern. "Scram, or I'll scatter your soul."

The hawker yelled, "How rude! Don't buy, don't insult!" He rallied the crowd: "Judge me! Why curse me?"

Old Wang smacked his forehead, annoyed. "He wanted five human heads for a gourd—I should've played along."

This was my first ghost market—Old Wang said yin traders often swapped lives for gourds, each granting five years. His harsh refusal exposed us.

Ghosts surrounded us, demanding an apology. "Apologize! You must apologize!"

I tried to speak, but Old Wang hissed, "Silence! Apologizing admits guilt—guilt means punishment."

"What if we don't?" I asked, eyeing the hostile crowd.

Old Wang lifted his shirt, revealing the waist tablet that had terrified Professor He. "No choice now— 没想到 (who knew) the Wenguantun ghost market is this vicious."

Just then, the silver-haired granny in yellow appeared, leading a donkey cart piled with gold. The donkey's bell rang clearly, drawing all eyes.

"My son sent new money," she called, kind-faced. "Take it, everyone—leave this boy be."

Chapter 27: Horror in the Ghost Market (2/2)