My name is Tang Hao, and my grandfather's name is Tang Yun. Since I was very young, I’ve lived with my grandfather. My parents disappeared when I was just a child, and they never returned—it's as if they vanished without a trace.

My grandfather had a craft—tattooing. He ran a tattoo shop right here in our village.

Typically, in rural areas, tattoos aren't a common sight, and one might expect a tattoo artist here to make little money. But strangely, my grandfather's shop was always bustling, with many people from outside the village coming specifically to see him. Even within the village, my grandfather was highly respected, and countless people sought him out for tattoos. What fascinated me the most was that the shop was constantly filled with all kinds of beautiful women. Tattooing was both an art and a kind of "privilege."

The reason my grandfather’s tattoos were so popular was because of the nature of his work—it was mystical, no, perhaps I should say it was downright sinister. I still remember the time my grandfather tattooed the village chief’s beautiful wife; it was an event that still sends shivers down my spine.

Speaking of the village chief, he was probably the richest man in the village. His wife was beautiful—narrow brows, a slim waist, a curvy figure, and skin as white as snow. But the most perplexing thing was that, despite being forty years old, the chief had no children.

One day, the village chief’s wife came to my grandfather. Out of curiosity, I overheard their conversation and was shocked to find that they were discussing how to have a child. The next thing I knew, the village chief’s wife entered the tattoo room with my grandfather, and she stayed there for several days. Every noon, she would return.

About a month later, the village chief’s wife miraculously became pregnant. I was still young at the time, and I immediately assumed my grandfather must have had an affair with her. I was furious with him, thinking he was a filthy old man, too old to be involved with her, and that he had somehow fathered my “little uncle.”

Of course, now that I’m older, I understand it wasn’t my grandfather’s fault. The village chief was unable to have children for years, and at his age, my grandfather was certainly incapable of such things. The problem, it seems, lay in that tattoo. But at the time, I couldn’t understand how a tattoo could make someone pregnant.

Tragically, when the village chief's wife gave birth, she died during childbirth. However, the child—a baby girl—survived, and she was just as beautiful as her mother. The village chief was devastated. He even attempted to starve himself to death, but fortunately, my grandfather spent hours talking him into eating, and he eventually pulled through.

Later, my grandfather took me to the grave of the village chief’s wife to pay respects. While burning incense and paper money, I could see the guilt written on his face. He sighed deeply and muttered, “A human body is impure. How can a Buddha be tattooed on someone’s skin? There will be consequences. I shouldn’t have tattooed you with the ‘Goddess of Fertility.’ You loved him too much! You sacrificed your life just to give him a child.”

At that moment, I didn’t understand what he meant. Now, I realize that my grandfather had tattooed the “Goddess of Fertility” on the village chief’s wife, which enabled her to conceive. But a Buddha shouldn’t be tattooed on a person’s skin—it was a violation of the sacred, and the consequence was her death.

Isn’t that strange? A tattoo could have such an effect—making someone pregnant and causing death?

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

But that wasn’t the only strange incident involving tattoos.

There was a local thug, nicknamed “The Rotten Bastard Qiang,” who spent a few years in the city and returned as a big shot. He became obsessed with getting a tattoo of Guan Gong, the Chinese god of war and loyalty, thinking it would make him powerful and respected. The thug thought that if he got the tattoo, he would exude strength, just like the god.

But my grandfather refused outright, saying that Qiang's fate was weak and he wouldn’t survive a Guan Gong tattoo. He warned that it would bring disaster.

But how could a thug like Qiang take no for an answer? He threatened to burn down my grandfather’s shop, dig up our family grave, and even kidnap me. He was ruthless in his pursuit.

At that time, I was still young. Concerned for my safety, my grandfather reluctantly agreed, but he warned that if anything went wrong, he wouldn’t take responsibility.

Once Qiang heard my grandfather had agreed, he was ecstatic. He didn’t care about any warnings. He nodded to everything my grandfather said and eventually got the tattoo.

Sure enough, about a week later, Qiang met his end.

It’s said that he was in a cornfield with a woman when a snake suddenly appeared and bit him. The snake was harmless—a common grass snake—but strangely, Qiang began foaming at the mouth, convulsing violently. By the time he arrived at the hospital, it was too late. Some people claimed that they saw the eyes of the Guan Gong tattoo on his back open just before he died, and it was chilling.

As a child, I thought Qiang’s death was caused by the snake. But now, I’m starting to believe that the tattoo might have been the real cause of his death—not the snake, but the awakened Guan Gong tattoo.

Isn’t that creepy? A tattoo could have such power?

My grandfather explained that if Qiang had gotten the tattoo on his chest, things might have been different. But since it was on his back, Qiang couldn’t bear the burden and died. He wasn’t strong enough to handle it.

My grandfather also said, “He had it coming. Digging up graves and threatening to harm my grandson—it’s no wonder he met such a fate.”

After that, I became more and more curious about my grandfather’s tattoos. At the age of fifteen, my grandfather finally agreed to teach me his tattooing skills.

Five years later, I had nearly mastered all of my grandfather’s techniques. It was then that I realized my grandfather’s tattoos weren’t ordinary at all.

There was a particularly sinister type of tattoo known as Ghost Tattoos—its effects were bizarre and chilling.

The history of tattooing dates back to ancient China, where it was known as “刺青” (Cìqīng), meaning "pierced ink." The ancient practice involved using needles soaked in ink to create designs on the skin, a technique that had been passed down for over two thousand years. These tattoos had various purposes, from warding off evil spirits to bringing good fortune, attracting love, and ensuring safety. They were also used in dark rituals, often referred to as Ghost Tattoos.

My grandfather was the eighteenth generation in a long line of Ghost Tattoo masters. I, unfortunately, was the twentieth generation—separated by my father, who had never learned the craft.

My grandfather often said that the number of practitioners left was dwindling. We might be the only family left to carry on the tradition.

Unfortunately, after I learned the craft, my grandfather forbade me from using the Ghost Tattoos. He told me that this art was dark, dealing with yin magic, and the consequences of misuse were dire. “You’re not ready,” he warned me, “You’re not strong enough to handle it. If you dabble in it now, you’ll lose your life.”

But one day, just before the Ghost Festival, my grandfather suddenly left the house. Before he left, he told me, “During the Ghost Festival, people and ghosts may come seeking tattoos. You can give tattoos to the living, but don’t ever give one to a ghost. If you do, the consequences will be unimaginable.”

He stressed that I could only tattoo yang designs—positive symbols like gods, immortals, and animals. The yin designs, however, were much more powerful and dangerous, often involving spirits and demons.

Although I had learned the art of Ghost Tattoos, I had never used it. The idea of using ghosts as ink still frightened me, and I couldn’t fully understand it.

The night my grandfather left, I had a bad feeling. The next morning, I called his phone—but it was turned off. That’s when a strange visitor arrived at the shop: a heavily pregnant woman named Chen Cuilian, from our village. It was odd—why was a pregnant woman coming to get a tattoo?