Tales of Folk Feng Shui Mysteries

In the distance, a group of at least dozens of people approached, each wielding iron shovels, pitchforks, and even a few carrying butcher knives, all cursing angrily as they marched straight toward the shepherd's house.

The old shepherd stood frozen, dumbfounded. Suddenly, the front door was kicked open from outside, and the leader, a man in his fifties, pointed his finger and roared, "Where's that bastard Pillar from your family?! Someone saw him come back!"

The old man hurriedly stepped up to defend himself. "You must have seen wrong—my son Pillar wouldn't dare come back!"

"Old Yu, we're all neighbors here. I've gone easy on you all these years since you're old and alone. But your bastard son not only stole money but also ruined my daughter. Today he must come with us to the police station!" the middle-aged man thundered.

Someone in the crowd pointed at me and said, "I saw Pillar come in with him—second uncle is definitely right, he's inside."

That was all it took—like a match to a powder keg, dozens of people rushed madly into the shepherd's house. But just as they pushed open the door, they were greeted by Zhao Dadan's towering frame blocking the entrance. The furious crowd fell silent at once.

"What the hell are you all yelling for? I'm starving—when's food going to be ready?" he muttered sleepily, rubbing his eyes and staring at the crowd. "What's this? You want to fight me?"

"N-no," one brave young man, barely in his twenties, mustered the courage to shout, "We're looking for Yu Pillar, that bastard—he ruined my sister! I'm going to kill him!"

Zhao Dadan didn't seem bothered at all. He stepped aside and said, "Look for yourselves—I've been sleeping so hard I don't even know where I am!" Then he walked over to the old shepherd, pulled out two hundred yuan, and tossed it to him. "Get me something good to eat—I'm starving."

Zhao Dadan's presence alone deflated the crowd's momentum. I thought Pillar was done for sure, but despite turning the house upside down three times over, they couldn't find him anywhere.

Could there be a secret tunnel?

"You see? I told you my son isn't here, but you wouldn't believe me. If he ever does come back, I'll drag him straight to the police myself—I won't shelter him!" the shepherd declared righteously.

They searched another ten minutes, still finding nothing. The middle-aged man spat in frustration. "If I catch him, I'll kill him myself! Don't think hiding will save you—let's go!" He waved his hand, and the mob began to leave.

But I suddenly called out, "Wait!"

I noticed the shepherd's face turning pale green, and he kept giving me frantic winks. His personal mess didn't concern me much, but the shadow temple did. The middle-aged man turned back, confused.

I said, "Sir, I wanted to ask—what exactly is going on with that temple? I heard four people died there recently, and one survived. Could I meet that survivor?"

"Who are you?" he demanded.

I replied that I was a Taoist priest passing through, and I'd sensed something very wrong with the temple. After hearing me out, the crowd started whispering among themselves. The leader hesitated, then grabbed my hand with excitement. "Please come to my house and see if you can save my son! We've seen every shaman and medium for miles around—they all say he's cursed and won't live past the year."

The shepherd let out a long breath of relief, grateful I hadn't blurted anything out about his son. As for where Pillar was hiding, I guessed it was probably a cellar under the house—quite common in the countryside.

I left Zhao Dadan at the shepherd's home—he'd be no help against evil forces, better for him to rest up. On the way to the village head's home, I learned he was the leader of this place, called Ma Village. He had indeed suffered greatly: his daughter had been assaulted by Pillar, leaving her depressed for over half a year, missing her college entrance exams, and eventually leaving for Beijing to work. Meanwhile, his son returned one night only to come back seemingly brain-dead—ruining what had once been a good family.

Several local exorcists had told him his son was cursed, but their skills were too weak to help.

What really intrigued me was the shadow temple. I was certain the temple's evil hadn't claimed just one or two victims—if I could destroy it, it would earn me great merit, maybe even extend my lifespan by ten days or more.

On the way, the village head asked about Pillar. I neither confirmed nor denied knowing him. Soon, we arrived at his home. Villagers trailed behind, curious, and quickly filled his yard.

Inside, on a brick bed, sat a young man in his twenties, drooling and wearing a foolish grin. Using my spiritual sight, I saw a green mist at his brow.

It was yang depletion—the result of contact with a beast that had cultivated into a demon. As I lifted his eyelids, the village head nervously asked, "Can you save him?"

I thought carefully, then said, "His life can be saved, but his mind… that's unlikely."

"That's good enough—living is better than anything," his parents sobbed with relief.

With ordinary yang depletion, being this close would have made the boy go berserk. But he sat limp, proving his spirit had been devoured by some monster—similar to how fox spirits in legends drain men's life force. The demonic energy would naturally invade his body, leading to death over time.

Most spirits avoid outright killing to escape karma—they only nibble away a bit of life essence before leaving, making it hard to trace their involvement.

I asked some villagers to help strip the young man bare. He sat there silently, eyes blank and mouth hanging open—a classic case of three souls intact but all seven spiritual aspects damaged. Clearing his demonic energy might let him recover a bit, but his mind would remain affected.

I took a cinnabar brush and wrote the character for kill on his forehead. Then, following the body's meridians, I drew a detailed energy diagram with talismans at key points—Tianshu, Zhongwan, Qihai, Tanzhong, Fengchi, Xinshu, and Shenshu.

Once done, I stabbed a silver needle into his throat and prepared a burning talisman as a catalyst, shouting, "Hehao yin-yang! Sun rising in the east! By this charm, sweep away all evil! Urgent as the law commands!" The talisman burst into flames.

The young man convulsed violently as if struck by lightning, sending his parents screaming in terror and the crowd gasping. He foamed at the mouth, twisted side to side like an epileptic fit, and let out guttural howls. After twenty minutes of this, he let out a tremendous fart with a loud phuut.

I'd expected it and quickly slipped outside. Seconds later, everyone in the room began coughing and vomiting uncontrollably.

"Oh god, it's worse than a cesspit," someone gagged.

"I feel like I'm suffocating," another moaned as villagers stumbled out, retching.

I told the purple-faced village head, "Open the windows—let it air out. Soon your son will regain some sense, but how much he recovers depends on him."

The villagers' gratitude needs no recounting. That foul stench had been the demonic energy rotting inside him. The green mark on his forehead showed it was a beast spirit, not a ghost—ghosts would leave a black mark.

Once the smell cleared, I returned with the village head. The crowd was too scared to follow.

His house was large, with big tiled roofs and a yard full of livestock. Yet so many tragedies had shattered his family.

He wept as he asked me what had really happened.

I gave his son a charm-infused drink to temporarily restore some spirit. While he was lucid, I asked, "Quickly—did you see a girl in the temple? Did you eat anything there? Did you feel like you lost your soul?"

The boy looked confused, hesitating half a minute. I knew this brief clarity might be his last. His father sobbed, urging him to speak.

"I—I saw a giant snake… and then nothing." He explained they'd been drinking in the next village when they saw Pillar heading into a restaurant. The five of them followed, thinking they'd catch him, and inside they found two beautiful waitresses.

As luck would have it, only the village head's son smoked, and that day he skipped eating anything there, puffing his old tobacco instead. The other four, who didn't smoke, ate food and were taken by the snake.

He alone was thrown out, his soul damaged but his life spared. I asked, "Had you ever worshiped at the temple before?"

"No one believes in that anymore—it's about to collapse. Even if you wanted to pray, who'd go there?" he replied.

This confirmed my theory: a snake demon had occupied the temple, using the Guanyin statue to shield itself from heavenly lightning. Thunder gods won't strike where a Bodhisattva's image stands—just like how the giant Guanyin statue in Hainan has never attracted lightning.

But the snake wasn't content to hide—it remodeled the temple into a shadow temple, using the Guanyin image as cover while continuing its evil cultivation. The heavenly thunder eventually damaged a corner of the temple, reducing worshippers, and putting the temple at risk of demolition. Once it fell, the snake would be exposed and struck down.

But how did this snake find Pillar? And who was the Taoist telling people to pray at noon? I asked the village head, but he swore no one had ever seen such a Taoist or heard of the shadow temple.

"Master, is there really a snake in that temple?" the village head asked nervously.

"I'm sure of it. Here's what we'll do—gather the villagers, get tools and a bulldozer, and come with me to tear down that temple!" I said.

"Is it safe? So many have already died…" he worried.

I reassured him, "Don't worry—earth-moving curses have nothing to do with the snake itself. If I'm right, something else is behind those accidents. Gather the men—nothing will happen with me there."