What happened next? Well, it’s been about ten years since that night, and here’s the honest truth—feel free to call me a liar if you’ve got a medical background, but I’m not here to argue. I’m just stating what happened.
Since I sprinkled that rice water, I haven’t had a single outbreak of hives. Not one.
I went back to the doctor, who flat-out refused to believe it. “Impossible!” he said. “Are you secretly taking steroids?”
Over the years, I’ve asked Teacher Ji about this more than once, desperate to understand how something so unbelievable could happen. If it’s that miraculous, why don’t dermatologists and allergists just shut down their practices and stock up on rice water to cure every case of hives?
His answers, as always, were elusive—little smiles and vague deflections. But one thing’s clear: whatever he tapped into that night went beyond ordinary logic, blending feng shui’s mysteries with a touch of the inexplicable.
So, what happened after that night with the rice water? Let me tell you about the past decade or so since I sprinkled it in that southwest corner.
If you’ve got a medical background, please don’t shout that I’m making this up—I’m not here to debate. I’m just sharing what happened.
Since that night, I haven’t had a single outbreak of hives. Not one! I went back to the doctor, who flat-out refused to believe it. “Impossible!” he kept saying. “Are you taking steroids behind my back?”
Over the years, I’ve asked Teacher Ji about this more times than I can count, desperate to understand how something so unbelievable could happen. If it’s that miraculous, why don’t dermatologists and allergists just close shop and start handing out buckets of rice water to cure every case of hives?
Teacher Ji, ever calm, broke it down for me—and I’ll share his explanation here, since my question is probably one you’re wondering too.
Why Rice Water Worked (For Me)
First off, there’s no such thing as rice water curing all hives. My case was specific: the hives were triggered by that patch of wall cancer in the southwest corner of my apartment. But for the countless others with hives out there, their causes might not be tied to a directional issue at all. Clearing the energy in that corner with rice water worked for me—but it’s not a universal fix.
How did he know it was the southwest? Teacher Ji calculated it using my birth data and the timing of my symptoms. I once begged him to teach me this method, but he was firm: his feng shui system isn’t something you can learn in bits and pieces. “You’d have to learn it all,” he said, adding with a disarming innocence that it’d “only” take two or three years by his side.
Now, the big question everyone’s curious about: What’s the deal with rice water?
In all the years I’ve known Teacher Ji, I’ve seen him tackle the most complex feng shui cases and heard stories that sound downright otherworldly. Yet, whenever he needs to neutralize a troubled area, his go-to move—every single time—is sprinkling rice water. Why? Because he believes it’s the most effective method.
According to Teacher Ji, rice water is the ultimate balancer of energy. It works in a gentle, harmonious way, coexisting with whatever’s in the space—be it a “sha” (negative force) or something else. Unlike harsher methods, rice water doesn’t harm these unseen presences. “They like it too,” he says. It’s a peaceful neutralization, a way of restoring balance without conflict.
Compare that to salt rice, a common ritual tool. Sprinkling salt rice cleanses a space too, sometimes even more powerfully, but it’s aggressive—like beating out unwanted guests. It works, sure, but it’s a hostile eviction that can anger those “unknown friends” lingering in the space. Rice water, on the other hand, is more like feeding them a good meal and politely asking them to leave. Both methods get results, but the approach—and the consequences—differ vastly.
From Feng Shui to Fiction
Teacher Ji’s insights haven’t just helped me—they’ve fueled my creative work too. My sci-fi mystery novel The Tomb Raider Legion sprang from one of his ideas. Speaking of feng shui in fiction, the legendary Ni Kuang’s Feng Shui—later adapted into the film The King’s Armor—is a classic. Once, in a casual chat with Ni Kuang, I mentioned Teacher Ji’s concept for my novel. The master praised it, saying it outshone his own work and was even more gripping than Feng Shui.
The novel’s premise? A tomb-raiding tale set a decade before The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles. Teacher Ji’s twist flipped traditional feng shui on its head. Normally, people use feng shui to find an ideal burial spot, predicting prosperity for descendants. His idea? The greatest tomb raiders must also be feng shui masters. To locate an ancient tomb, you reverse-engineer it: study the descendants’ fate, deduce the feng shui layout that would produce it, then scour the region for matching terrain. Simple, yet brilliant.
Take this fictional snippet about finding Qin Shi Huang’s tomb:
“The Li Mountain range forms a circular shape, like a steamed bun—what feng shui calls a ‘Covered Axe Giant Gate Formation.’ Its bell-like slopes mean the energy shouldn’t pool at the base. Yet Qin Shi Huang’s tomb is a vast underground palace built into the mountain’s bottom, off-center rather than directly beneath the peak. Knowing the Qin dynasty lasted only two generations, I concluded his burial site must lie at the edge of this circular ‘Giant Gate.’ That’s how I found it.”
In practice, this reverse-engineering would be tricky, but in a novel, it’s perfectly plausible—and it’s what earned Ni Kuang’s nod of approval.
That’s the gist of my feng shui stories. Over the years, I’ve met other remarkable experts, but Teacher Ji remains the one I know best, with the richest trove of tales. So, I’ve shared his experiences here, offering a glimpse into the fascinating, mysterious facets of this ancient art. Whether it’s curing hives with rice water or dreaming up tombs lost to time, there’s always more to explore in the unseen.
Writer: Su Yiping
Time Stamp : 2012 Aug 22
From PTT Marvel Board
True TAIWAN Horror story 
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