Every time I returned to visit my grandparents, I'd feel an eerie chill whenever I walked around alone. My grandparents' house was in Co Dinh village, one of the most ancient lands with traces of human presence. And naturally, it wasn't lacking in mysterious, bizarre things, captivating even modern people like us.
Back then, my grandmother had a Dầu tree planted in her garden. I don't know much about this tree, but my grandmother described its fruit as being like that of a chinaberry tree. When stuffed into bamboo blowguns, they stung a lot when shot, and nine out of ten kids back then loved playing this game. By the time my mother grew up, the Dầu tree had long been cut down, as there were quite a few stories related to it.
The story goes that when my grandfather first transferred to his current hometown, he bought a plot of land from a colleague. My grandparents saved and borrowed enough to build a house, but after it was built, they faced a lot of misfortune. Sometimes the thatched roof would catch fire, other times a rotten pillar would cause a section of the house to collapse – even though the pillars were ironwood that my grandfather and uncles had personally gone and cut. There were also incidents of thieves breaking through walls, and all sorts of things. After a period of stability, my grandmother started raising livestock. At first, everything was normal, but then her hens stopped laying eggs – as if they had run out of eggs to lay. After that, each hen would crow like a rooster, but any that crowed would die within three or four days.
At that time, they all died from a wasting disease, similar to what's now called "chicken droop," but their feathers gradually fell out, and when butchered, there wasn't a drop of blood left. As for dogs, my grandmother said they could never raise dogs with fur colors other than yellow; whichever one they raised would die. She didn't understand how they died, but each one would bang its head against the Dầu tree and die at its base. My grandparents were very distressed, but for the sake of their children, they tried to hold on – my grandfather had stable work there, and my grandmother toiled with trading to earn a little money for daily necessities.
Regarding the dogs, my grandmother recounted that they could never raise dogs with fur colors other than yellow; whichever one they raised would die. For over a decade, neighbors and friends never saw them successfully raise a dog of a different color. The yellow-furred dogs would suffer from all sorts of illnesses and ailments, scabies and everything, but they were as tough as bugs. Black or brindle dogs, however, would only last a few days to half a month before my grandparents were seen busily burying them. Then one day, my grandparents finally realized why their house was so plagued by misfortune. It was the first day of the seventh lunar month – in the lunar calendar, two days are considered most potent: the first day and the full moon (the fifteenth). If anyone isn't clear, I'll elaborate a bit: On the full moon, the moon is roundest, and the *Thái Âm khí* (Great Yin energy) from the moon is strongest, so yin energy thrives, making it easy for ghosts and demons to appear, but also for deities to manifest. The first day, however, is even more potent. "Mùng một lưỡi trai" (new moon crescent) means that normally there's no moon on this day, or the moon only shows a sliver like a clam's mouth. At this time, there's no *Thái Âm khí*, only *Thiếu Âm khí* (Lesser Yin energy) from the earth. So deities don't appear, and only ghosts and demons – wandering spirits, hungry ghosts, etc. – are present on this day, which is why offerings are made on the first day of the month. On that particular day, my grandfather was returning from the factory. As he reached the alley, he saw a figure dangling on the Dầu tree, and below were a bunch of other figures. Thinking they were neighborhood kids climbing the tree to pick fruit, he shouted:
"It's so dark, and you guys are climbing trees? You'll fall and break your neck! Get down right now!"
The one in the tree turned its head towards him, cackled a few times, then called out – the voice, as my grandfather recounted, was raspy like bamboo creaking in a storm, hard to listen to, and eerie:
"My houuuuse... I live here..."
Then it reached up to its head, twisted its neck to one side, and spoke while cackling:
"Fall and break your neck like this, huh...?"
In his horrified eyes, it let go of the Dầu tree and dropped to the ground with a thud. Immediately, the dark figures on the ground began to cry and laugh, then shrieked hideously. My grandfather was utterly terrified then, so he dropped his Phượng Hoàng bicycle with a thud and dashed into the house. It wasn't that my grandfather was a coward at that moment; he ran in to check if my grandmother and aunts/uncles were alright! Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief, quickly woke my grandmother, and asked if she had heard anything. She shook her head. Then he pointed to the base of the Dầu tree in the garden, and she saw the figures, but their eyes glowed a vivid red, like large, bright red fireflies. They were crying and laughing, slowly advancing towards my grandparents' house. My grandparents were so scared they hugged my aunts/uncles, not knowing what to do. But just then, a rooster's crow rang out, and they vanished without a trace...
The next day, as soon as dawn broke, my grandfather immediately went to the house of Mr. Nhĩ – the most skilled master in our villages back then. Let me briefly tell you about him. Mr. Nhĩ used to study classical Chinese characters (chữ Nho). After the imperial examinations were abolished, he resigned from his official post and returned to his hometown. However, he had passed the Tú Tài examination, so people in the village called him Master Tú Nhĩ. He kept Âm Binh – not the kind of Âm Binh that sorcerers keep, like wandering spirits, hungry ghosts, or preta... but he kept Binh Hồn. My grandfather said that Binh Hồn are the souls of fallen soldiers, or spirits with spiritual awareness, who don't care for incense or flowers, and don't demand karmic merit. Master Tú Nhĩ said this was a practice of Taoist Internal Cultivation of Quanzhen, not an External Cultivation practice like the sorcery of Maoshan. He had a pouch containing a handful of beans, called Đậu Binh (Bean Soldiers), which he used for the spell 'Scattering Beans to Form Soldiers' (Tát Đậu Thành Binh). He also had a Bagua mirror – which was both a mirror and a compass. Whenever he performed a ritual, he would carry it to examine the geomancy of each house, checking directions and auspicious times. As soon as my grandfather arrived, he saw Master Nhĩ sitting neatly on the wooden platform. The master smiled, poured some tea, and said:
"You've come so early, is something the matter? Your complexion shows a bad omen; you must have encountered something ill-omened last night. Have you come today because of that?"
"Master, your judgment is spot on. It's just that my family..."
As he spoke, my grandfather recounted his family's story to Master Nhĩ. The master listened, his brows furrowed, then he calmly said:
"This is bad! To be honest with you, your land used to be a place of ill fortune. Years ago, when Duy Tân went north, he was stopped in Thanh Hóa, unable to take another step past Tam Điệp. The Northern scholars (sĩ phu Bắc Kỳ) were resentful; they submitted petitions to the Temple of Literature (Văn Miếu) and vowed to walk as mendicants from Hanoi to the capital to meet the king. But who knew the Governor-General (Toàn quyền) found out? He arrested all their families and had them executed. Four elders from our commune participated in that march. Their families, nearly 40 people, were executed. All their bodies were buried behind the village's bamboo moat. Perhaps they died with such deep resentment that their vengeful spirits never dispersed. On the first day of the lunar month, they gather and cause mischief..."
"So, my land..."
"Before, your land was called Đồng Than (Weeping Field) – because every month, one would hear the wails and groans of those nearly forty unjustly killed people. Later, several elders invited the Village Guardian Deity (Thành Hoàng) to descend, and He said that He could only suppress two of the groups. But for over thirty years, there had been no activity! I didn't think they would become so rampant again." Then he sighed again, continuing, "And you were reckless too, with chickens dying like that, you should have told me sooner. I suspect these entities are draining the life force of poultry; they are no longer mere spirits... They might have already become á quỷ!"
My grandfather was startled to hear this and quickly asked Master Nhĩ:
"What is an á quỷ, Master?"
Humans possess Tinh, Khí, and Thần. Tinh is the flesh and blood, the physical body. Strong Tinh leads to a long life, weak Tinh to an early death. Thần is the spirit, the three souls and seven ethereal spirits. Strong Thần means strong ethereal spirits, making ghosts and demons tremble, and allowing one to overcome disasters. As for Khí, this is the most subtle and mysterious. Each person possesses their own unique Khí, but it is largely categorized into Dark Khí and Spiritual Khí. Those with heavy Dark Khí often turn to thievery and banditry, while those with strong Spiritual Khí are wealthy and blessed with much good fortune. When a person whose Dark Khí overwhelms their Spiritual Khí dies, they become a Vong. This Vong has no Tinh, lacks Thần, and possesses only Khí. Unable to neutralize its true nature, it slowly accumulates resentment and becomes harmful to others. If too much accumulates, it transforms into an Á Quỷ. This type of demon is 'Hậu thiên,' meaning it wasn't born a demon but was formed through a process. Compared to a regular demon, it isn't as strong, but in terms of malice and treachery, no other demon can rival it.
My grandfather was terrified and restless. Seeing Cụ Nhĩ lost in thought only heightened his anxiety. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, Cụ Nhĩ turned to him and said:
"Now listen to me, Uncle. Go home first, take your wife and the children somewhere else immediately. Then come back here, and we'll figure things out, one step at a time." Then he tapped his knuckles, nodding vigorously to urge him on: "Today is the Thân day of the Seventh Month, isn't it? Then you must take your wife away immediately, within the Thìn hour! Hurry, or you won't make it. If it reaches the Mùi hour, everything will be ruined. Then come straight back to my house. Tomorrow, we'll go to your house!"
Cụ Nhĩ said this, then saw my grandfather off. My grandfather immediately went home and took his wife away, because by the time he left Cụ Nhĩ's house, it was already 8:30 AM, leaving him just over two hours to move! It was so hectic that he only managed to return to Cụ Nhĩ's house the next morning!
After my grandfather had taken his wife away and returned to Cụ Nhĩ's house, he found two middle-aged men and another old man, roughly Cụ Nhĩ's age, already present in Cụ Nhĩ's living room. Cụ Nhĩ smiled and introduced them to my grandfather:
"You probably don't know them yet, Uncle. These are two of my senior disciples. They're currently cultivating the Dao at Thái Vi, all the way in Ninh Bình province. Last night, I sent a message via bird, and they've come to lend a hand!"
As he spoke, Cụ Nhĩ gestured towards the two men beside my grandfather. They had gentle, relaxed expressions, wore robes draped loosely over their shoulders, and bowed lightly to my grandfather. Back then, people still wore *áo the*, but *áo bào* were rare; even the village chief no longer wore them. Next, Cụ Nhĩ pointed to the old man beside him and said:
"This is my junior Daoist brother, all the way from Vinh. His abilities are three parts superior to mine. With him here, your family's problem won't be difficult at all."
Hearing this, my grandfather quickly turned and bowed to the old man. This man, though Cụ Nhĩ's junior Daoist brother, had completely white hair and an ancient appearance, looking at least twenty years older than Cụ Nhĩ. Hearing the introduction, he, who had been sitting with his eyes closed, nurturing his Khí, opened them and smiled faintly:
"Senior brother, you flatter me. How could my humble skills compare to yours? I took a shortcut, practicing External Cultivation and paying the price with karmic merit and primordial Khí to barely make it to today. Now, I simply help whoever I can. Looking at this man, Vong Khí surrounds him; it seems something ill has befallen him..."
Cụ Nhĩ then turned and recounted the story of his family's land. The old man frowned more and more deeply, then exhaled sharply:
"Senior brother, it's definitely an Á Quỷ. Dog's blood is inherently foul, yet it possesses properties that ward off evil. If they are consuming dog's blood, then I fear their malevolent energy is not to be trifled with..."
Only then did Cụ Nhĩ turn to everyone in the room and instruct them:
"Tonight, I will go to Uncle T's house once. Everyone else, get some rest early!"