How Does Taoism Break the Spell When Evil People Borrow Your Luck? (Part 1)

Chiyang Daoren, Eastern Taoism

(The following is a folk legend.)

During the Jiajing reign of the Ming dynasty, in the wealthy region south of the Yangtze, there lived a merchant named Qian Minghui. His family had been in trade for three generations, and by his own generation they were immensely rich and highly respected locally. Qian Minghui was kindhearted and generous with charity. Not only did his business thrive, but he had also married a virtuous and beautiful wife and had a son and a daughter. His business went smoothly and his life was a happy one.

The Qian family mansion stood on the busiest market street in the city of Suzhou, a residence of three courtyards deep, with carved beams and painted rafters, rockeries and flowing water, like a classical Jiangnan garden.

Qian Minghui's business spread across the whole country, north and south of the Yangtze. From grain, silk, and tea to jewelry and jade, there was nothing he did not deal in, and every venture brought rich profits. The neighbors all said the Qian family was favored by the God of Wealth from birth and made money at whatever it turned its hand to.

But in the year Qian Minghui turned forty, everything quietly began to change.

At first there were only trifling things. A deal already agreed would suddenly change; a partner he had worked with well would go back on his word at the last moment; boats carrying goods would inexplicably run aground in the river; even his safest investments began to lose money.

At first Qian Minghui paid it no mind, taking it for the normal ups and downs of business—after all, how could everything in trade go smoothly?

But as time went on, these misfortunes grew more frequent and more serious. A shipment of silk worth ten thousand taels of silver was caught in a rainstorm in transit, and the whole lot was soaked and moldy. A gold mine he had invested in turned out to have a fake vein, and he lost everything he had put in. Even the family's own shops became inexplicably slow, and the old scenes of crowded doorways were no more.

What puzzled Qian Minghui even more was that his luck itself seemed to be sliding fast. He used to be able to find silver just walking down the street; now even a copper coin dropped on the ground had nothing to do with him. He used to get the best news and opportunities at merchant guild gatherings; now he was always the last to know and missed every chance.

In three years, Qian Minghui's fortune shrank by more than half. What pained him even more was that his wife's attitude toward him was changing. His once gentle and virtuous wife began to complain about the family's decline and blamed him for not knowing how to run the business. His two children, too, were given the cold shoulder by their schoolmates because of the family's fall, and often came home unhappy.

Qian Minghui could not sleep at night. He could not understand why this was happening. He had done nothing to offend heaven or harm others; he had always done business honestly, treated his workers well, and given generously to charity. Why was Heaven treating him like this?

Just when Qian Minghui was most at a loss, something even stranger happened.

It was a night of the full moon. Qian Minghui was alone in his study going over the accounts, trying to find the cause of the family's decline. Suddenly he heard faint footsteps in the courtyard. At first he thought it was the night wind stirring the leaves, but listening closely, he was sure someone was walking in the courtyard.

Qian Minghui quietly pushed open the window and looked out. He saw a dark figure moving slowly in the moonlight, seemingly doing something near the rockery of his house. The figure moved stealthily, now crouching, now rising, and glancing around from time to time, clearly unwilling to be seen.

Qian Minghui was startled—could it be a thief? But from the figure's movements, it did not seem to be stealing anything; rather, it seemed to be burying something. He quietly put on his clothes, took a wooden stick, and prepared to go out and look.

Just then, the figure seemed to finish whatever it was doing and moved swiftly toward the courtyard wall, and with a few leaps vanished into the night. Qian Minghui hurried to the rockery to look and found that the earth there seemed to have been turned over, leaving strange traces of digging.

Early the next morning, Qian Minghui searched carefully around the rockery and at last found a small hole under a stone. Buried in it was a sheet of yellow paper on which were written in cinnabar some symbols he could not understand, together with his own BaZi, the eight characters of his birth.

Qian Minghui turned pale with shock: someone was plainly working some evil magic on him! He immediately thought of his run of bad luck over the past three years—could it all be connected with this?

But who would do such a thing to him? Qian Minghui racked his brains. He had always been kind to others; although competition in business was unavoidable, he had never made any deadly enemies.

Who could want to harm him? Qian Minghui brooded over it.

Just when Qian Minghui was most troubled over this, someone unexpected appeared. It was an old Taoist master who looked over sixty, dressed in a blue-green Taoist robe, with white hair and beard and a kindly face. The old master said his surname was Chen and that he came from Mount Longhu (Dragon and Tiger Mountain) in Jiangxi, a Taoist priest wandering in all directions. Passing through, he had learned that Qian Minghui was a great philanthropist of the area, always eager to do public good and help people in urgent need, honest in business and modest in manner. But seeing sha qi swirling around Qian Minghui's house and doing no small harm, he could not bear it, and so he had come especially to help.

At first Qian Minghui did not believe him, taking him for another charlatan, for in recent years he had been cheated again and again. But the old master wanted no money for himself and no donations for his temple. He said only that he saw that Qian should have been wealthy and noble, with a thriving household, but had been secretly plotted against, and he could not bear to sit by and do nothing.

The old master looked at the yellow paper Qian Minghui had dug up, and his face at once grew grave. He said to Qian Minghui, “Benefactor, you have met a wicked person who has used the ‘art of luck borrowing.’” The old master spoke slowly. “Someone is secretly borrowing your wealth luck and family fortune. No wonder you have had such unbroken bad luck these three years.”

“The art of luck borrowing?” Qian Minghui had never heard of such a thing. “What kind of evil magic is that?” he asked in alarm and doubt.

The old master sighed and explained: “It is an extremely sinister and vicious magic. By special methods, the practitioner borrows another person's fortune for his own use. The fortune of the person whose luck is borrowed declines, while the practitioner's fortune soars. This talisman is the medium of the borrowing. Buried at a vital feng shui point of your house, it can draw off your fortune without end.”

Qian Minghui's hair stood on end as he listened, and he hurriedly asked: “Please, Master, who is harming me? How can this evil magic be broken?”

The old master shook his head: “The practitioner must be someone close to you and familiar with you; otherwise he could not have obtained the eight characters of your birth, nor slipped into your house to bury the talisman. As for a way to break it, there is one, only…” The old master hesitated.

“Only what?” Qian Minghui pressed him anxiously.

Seeing how anxious Qian Minghui was, the old master had no choice but to tell him: “There are indeed three ways in the world to undo luck borrowing, but this is a grave matter, and the secrets of Heaven must not be lightly revealed. Go back first and think carefully about who around you might wish you ill. In three days I will come again and tell you how to break the spell.”

With that, the old master made to leave. Qian Minghui hurried to keep him, but the old master had already drifted away, leaving only these words: “If we are fated, we will meet again. Benefactor, remember—caution above all.”

Qian Minghui sat at home, shaken, his heart a jumble of feelings. On the one hand, he at last knew the cause of his bad luck; on the other, he could not bring himself to believe that someone close to him wanted to harm him.

He began going over everyone he had had contact with in these three years, trying to find anything suspicious. His wife? Impossible—they had loved each other for more than ten years, and she had no reason to harm him. His children? Even less possible—they were still young, and they too had suffered from the family's decline. Then who could it be? A business partner? A shop assistant? Or someone else?

The more Qian Minghui thought, the more frightening it seemed: such an enemy had been lurking right beside him, and he had noticed nothing. He began to watch everyone around him closely, hoping to find some clue.

The next day, when Qian Minghui went to inspect his shops, he noticed that the steward's manner was somewhat unnatural. This steward, named Wang Fugui, had worked under him for seven or eight years, always diligent and conscientious, and deeply trusted. But today, when Wang Fugui saw him, his eyes shifted and he stammered when he spoke.

Qian Minghui grew suspicious and watched him secretly, and found that Wang Fugui had indeed been acting strangely these past days. Wang Fugui used to arrive at the shop early and go home late, but now he often left early, and he seemed to have much more money than before—he had even bought new clothes and gold and silver jewelry for his wife.

A steward's monthly wage was limited, after all, and by rights he should not have been able to spend like this. Without showing anything, Qian Minghui privately sent someone to look into Wang Fugui's affairs, and sure enough, a problem came to light.

It turned out that Wang Fugui had recently opened a small shop of his own outside, and its business was astonishingly good, with plenty of customers every day, and he was raking in money. What's more, it was said that Wang Fugui had had extraordinary luck these three years: whatever he bought made money, as if the God of Wealth were protecting him.

It was all too much of a coincidence. Wang Fugui's rise corresponded exactly to Qian Minghui's decline. And as steward, Wang Fugui certainly had the chance to learn the eight characters of Qian Minghui's birth, and the chance to slip into the Qian mansion.

The more Qian Minghui thought about it, the more suspicious Wang Fugui seemed, but he needed more evidence. So he decided to follow Wang Fugui secretly and see whether he could catch him out.

Three days later, at dusk, Qian Minghui quietly followed Wang Fugui and saw him go to a ruined temple on the outskirts of the city. The temple had been abandoned for many years, and ordinarily no one came there.

Why would Wang Fugui come here?

Qian Minghui cautiously followed him in. He saw Wang Fugui stop in the back courtyard of the ruined temple and take a small cloth bundle from his robe, containing incense, candles, and paper money. He lit the incense and candles, knelt on the ground, and muttered something, apparently praying.

What shocked Qian Minghui even more was that in his prayer Wang Fugui mentioned Qian's name and said something like “May the wealth luck last long and the blessings flow on without end.” He was plainly performing some kind of ritual!

Qian Minghui was trying to hear more clearly when he accidentally stepped on a dry twig, which made a faint crack. Wang Fugui was instantly on the alert and looked all around. Qian Minghui quickly hid behind a stone pillar and did not dare make a sound.

After waiting a long time, Wang Fugui made sure no one was there, gathered his things, and left. Only when he had gone far did Qian Minghui go to where Wang Fugui had knelt and look. He found a small clay jar buried there, containing some strange things: a tuft of hair, a few fingernail clippings, and a sheet of paper covered with talismans and incantations.

Qian Minghui's hands were trembling: this hair and these nails were very likely his! As his personal steward, Wang Fugui certainly had the chance to collect such things. And what was written on the talisman was exactly the same as on the one he had found under the rockery at home.

The truth was out! It was Wang Fugui who had been secretly harming him, borrowing his wealth luck!

Qian Minghui was furious and wanted to rush out at once and confront Wang Fugui. But he suddenly remembered the old Taoist's words: the art of luck borrowing could not be lightly broken and had to be undone by special methods; if he acted rashly, the consequences might be even more serious.

So Qian Minghui swallowed his anger, quietly left the ruined temple, and went home to wait for the old Taoist to appear again.

Back home, Qian Minghui tossed and turned and could not sleep. He had never imagined that a subordinate who had followed him for so many years would harm him by such sinister and vicious means. Wang Fugui had always seemed loyal and honest—who could have guessed that such malice was hidden in his heart?

Early the next morning, Qian Minghui waited in his study, and sure enough, the old Taoist arrived as promised.

“Benefactor, have you found something out?” the old Taoist asked as soon as they met.

Qian Minghui told him everything about Wang Fugui from beginning to end. When he had heard it, the old Taoist nodded: “Just as I thought. This Wang Fugui's heart is crooked. Seeing your great wealth, he grew envious, and so he learned this evil magic to harm you.”

“Then how can this art of luck borrowing be broken?” Qian Minghui asked impatiently.

The old Taoist's expression was grave, and he spoke slowly: “Though the art of luck borrowing is sinister and vicious, it is not beyond breaking. According to the ancient books, there are indeed three ways in the world to undo it, but each has its own particular conditions and risks.”

Qian Minghui listened with rapt attention, not daring to miss a single word.

“The first method is called ‘Backlash Returning to the Source,’” said the old Taoist. “It means reversing the luck-borrowing magic so that the borrowed fortune returns to the victim. This requires finding all the media of the borrowing, including talismans, hair, nails, and so on, and destroying them by special methods while performing a counter-spell.”

“That method sounds good,” said Qian Minghui. “I have already found what Wang Fugui buried in the ruined temple, and the talisman under the rockery at my house. That should be all the media, shouldn't it?”

The old Taoist shook his head: “I'm afraid it isn't so simple. The art of luck borrowing usually sets up several media points to keep the spell stable. Since Wang Fugui dared to strike at you, he must have come prepared and would not have set only one or two. Moreover, even if all the media are found, the counter-spell requires deep attainment in the Taoist arts; the slightest carelessness will bring backlash on oneself.”

Qian Minghui's heart sank. “Then what is the second method?”

“The second method is called ‘Grafting the Flower onto Another Tree,’” the old Taoist went on. “It means shifting the target of the borrowing onto someone else, so that the practitioner borrows another person's fortune and you are set free. This method is relatively simpler: one only needs to make a substitute medium and draw the practitioner's attention to another target.”

Qian Minghui frowned. “But wouldn't that harm an innocent person?”

The old Taoist nodded: “Exactly so. Although this method can protect oneself, it drags others into harm and goes against the Way of Heaven. What's more, if the person it is shifted to is deeply accomplished in the Tao, he may turn the spell back again, and then your situation will be even more dangerous.”

Qian Minghui pondered for a long while, then asked: “And the third method?”

The old Taoist's expression grew even more serious: “The third method is the most fundamental and also the most difficult. It is called ‘Transforming Sha Through Virtue.’ It requires the victim to raise his own blessings and virtue by accumulating virtue and doing good, so that the effects of the art of luck borrowing are dissolved naturally.”

“Accumulating virtue and doing good?” Qian Minghui was puzzled. “I have always been a man who does good. Why would I still suffer this calamity?”

The old Taoist explained: “Benefactor, although you do good in ordinary times, those are only ordinary good deeds. To undo the art of luck borrowing requires greater blessings and merit—such as saving lives, founding charities, and bringing benefit to a whole region. Only when your blessings and virtue are deep enough will no evil magic be able to affect you.”

Qian Minghui fell deep into thought. Each of the three methods had its advantages and drawbacks: the first was too risky, the second was immoral, and the third, though proper, would take too long, and there was no knowing how much blessing and virtue would have to be accumulated to undo the spell.

As he hesitated, the old Taoist spoke again: “In fact, these three methods are not isolated; they can be used in combination. But…”

The old Taoist paused, and his expression became extremely grave.

Just as Qian Minghui was about to press further, the old Taoist's face suddenly changed, and he looked out the window. In the distance, black clouds bore down on the city, thunder rolled, and a flash of lightning split the sky, lighting up the old Taoist's frightened face.

“This is bad!” the old Taoist said urgently. “A master has sensed our conversation and is working a more powerful spell. The situation is far more complicated than I imagined—there is someone far more formidable behind Wang Fugui! Benefactor, what you face now is not merely the ‘art of luck borrowing’; it is a carefully laid trap!”

Having said this, the old Taoist hurriedly rose to leave. “Three days from now, at the Zi hour (11 p.m.–1 a.m.), meet me at the burial mound field outside the city. I will tell you the most crucial method!”

Qian Minghui was about to ask the old Taoist to stay, but the old master had already vanished into the night, leaving Qian Minghui alone in his study to ponder, full of questions.

The old Taoist's words made Qian Minghui even more uneasy. Someone more formidable behind Wang Fugui? What on earth was going on? How could a mere steward know any master of the arts?

Qian Minghui began to reexamine the whole affair. Perhaps he had underestimated its complexity from the start. Wang Fugui might be only a pawn, and the real mastermind someone else.

Over the next three days, Qian Minghui cautiously observed everything around him. He found that it was not only Wang Fugui: several servants in his household had also been acting strangely of late. And the neighbors had begun to look at him oddly, as if something had happened to him that they all knew about and only he was kept in the dark.

What made him even more uneasy was that his wife was growing colder and colder toward him. His once gentle and considerate wife now lost her temper with him for no reason whenever she saw him, blamed him without cause, and even began to talk of going back to her parents' home for a while. His two children were also growing more and more distant, as if there were something ill-omened about him.

Qian Minghui realized that the effects of the art of luck borrowing might be even more serious than he had imagined. It was not only making him unlucky in business; it was destroying his relationships and the harmony of his family, leaving him isolated and helpless.

At last the appointed time came. At the Zi hour, in the middle of the night, Qian Minghui went alone to the burial mound field outside the city. The place was desolate and eerie; few people came there even by day, and at night a chill wind blew in gusts that made one shiver.

Qian Minghui waited beside a fairly large grave mound, his heart in turmoil. The surroundings reminded him of many tales of ghosts and monsters, and he could not help feeling afraid.

Just when he was burning with impatience, the old Taoist appeared. But this time the old Taoist looked rather the worse for wear, with several rips in his Taoist robe, clearly having just been through some fierce struggle.

“Benefactor, we haven't much time,” the old Taoist said urgently as soon as they met. “The one behind Wang Fugui has sensed my presence and is trying to stop me from helping you. I must tell you the most important method of breaking the spell before he finds this place.”

Qian Minghui hastily asked: “Who on earth is pulling the strings behind this? Why harm me like this?”

The old Taoist shook his head: “This person is hidden very deep, and I have not fully discovered who he is. But this much is certain: he is not only after your wealth luck; he has a greater design. Your family has been in trade for three generations, and what it has accumulated is not only wealth but also deep blessings. What some people covet is exactly these blessings.”

“Blessings?” Qian Minghui understood even less.

The old Taoist explained: “Blessings are more precious than money. They bear on the rise and fall of the fortunes of a person and even of a whole family. Your family has done good and accumulated virtue for three generations, and its blessings are deep; that is why you have the wealth and rank you have today. And some people who want to take a shortcut will try to steal or borrow the blessings of others.”

Qian Minghui suddenly understood: the enemy he faced was more terrible than he had imagined.

“Then what is the most crucial method of breaking the spell?” Qian Minghui asked eagerly.

The old Taoist looked around, and after making sure nothing was amiss, lowered his voice and said: “The third method, ‘Transforming Sha Through Virtue,’ is indeed the most fundamental solution. But it has one crucial secret: one must be willing to ‘sacrifice oneself for righteousness.’”

“Sacrifice oneself for righteousness?” Qian Minghui was puzzled. “What does that mean?”

The old Taoist said: “True accumulation of virtue and doing good is not done in hope of reward; it requires a spirit of self-sacrifice for others. Only when you are willing to sacrifice your own interests, even your life, for the welfare of others can the most powerful force of blessing and virtue be roused, and all evil magic be completely undone.”

Qian Minghui pondered: this was a very high demand indeed. To sacrifice himself in order to break the art of luck borrowing—was it worth it?

The old Taoist saw his hesitation and went on: “Benefactor, you must understand that what you face now is not merely a matter of the art of luck borrowing. The mastermind's aim is to destroy you and your family completely, so that all the blessings your family has accumulated over generations become his. If you cannot undo this in time, not only will your family be ruined and its members die, but your descendants will also suffer.”

These words gave Qian Minghui a jolt! He could be indifferent to his own life or death, but he could not ignore the safety of his wife and children.

“Then what exactly should I do?” Qian Minghui asked.