“Buying a black dog to ward off evil at home, and it died on the first night—an experiment manipulated by fate”

Recently, I’ve been feeling that the feng shui in my yard is off, heavy with yin energy, and everything I do seems to go wrong. An elder told me that a completely black dog has always been a fierce protector against evil spirits, capable of suppressing unseen forces. So on a whim, I asked my dad to pick out a pure black male puppy at the dog market.

The puppy had already been weaned and could chew on things by itself. I specially found a sturdy cardboard box, lined the bottom with an old shirt, and placed it in the corner of the living room as a temporary den. I thought it would take a couple of days for it to get used to the new environment, then I’d slowly train it to go outside and feed it some good food.

Who knew that after the first night, it was stiff and dead.

The temperature clearly wasn’t below freezing, the air conditioner was on in the living room, and there was no vent near the box. When we raised puppies in the countryside, even in winter when it was several degrees below zero, we used the same cardboard + old clothes as a nest, poured hot water over wheat bran for the first meal, and they ate happily, bouncing around lively. Now conditions are much better, yet it was gone overnight?

What made my scalp crawl even more was my own state that night—despite the air conditioner being on, I felt cold air seeping out from my bones. That cold wasn’t ordinary; it was an indescribable, clingy yin cold. I tossed and turned, couldn’t sleep, felt as if all my strength had been drained, my limbs heavy and unresponsive, and I didn’t know what time I finally drifted into a dazed sleep.

The next morning, I went to check, and the little black dog was already stiff, limbs stretched out straight, eyes half-open, like it was dead and unseeing.

At that moment, a terrifying thought suddenly popped into my mind:

If I hadn’t had the idea of “buying a black dog to ward off evil,” it probably wouldn’t have died.
It might have been bought by another family—one with underfloor heating, dog food, a dedicated doghouse, and a pack of little female dogs to accompany it, grow up, go into heat, have litter after litter, and continue its bloodline for generations, living a “happy life” as a dog.

But instead, I chose it at the market.
Because I assigned it a “mission”—to ward off evil, to exorcise, to block bad luck.
And the moment it arrived at this “mission,” on its first night, it