Moon Mausoleum
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Since ancient times, Fu Ji was a way of communicating with spirits in China. Not only to get in contact with your dearly departed, but also to get medical advice and spiritual guidance from the other side.
Since ancient times, Fu Ji was a way of communicating with spirits in China. Not only to get in contact with your dearly departed, but also to get medical advice and spiritual guidance from the other side.
If you thought the Ouija board was the pinnacle of spine-tingling communication with the dead, buckle up—because China had already mastered this art centuries before anyone even whispered “Goodbye” over Parker Brothers’ infamous talking board.
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Enter Fu Ji (扶乩), an ancient form of “spirit writing” that Taoist monks, mystics, and the spiritually adventurous used to summon messages from beyond. Cryptic, unsettling, and often wrapped in layers of poetic metaphor, Fu Ji was believed to be a direct line to the deceased, celestial beings, and even Taoist deities.
Dating as far back as the Song Dynasty (960–1279 AD), though some sources trace it even earlier to the Tang Dynasty. Perhaps going as far back as 400 CE. The Daoist practice was also called Fu-Luan (扶鸾) or Jiang-Bi (降筆) and is still done in Taoist temples in Taiwan and China. In comparison, automatic writing to contact the dead was perhaps first started in Europe by the 1600 by those practicing Enochian magic.
Conversely, most spirit-writing altars promoted the syncretic nature of Chinese religious beliefs and ritual practices, combining Confucian morality, Daoist concepts of immortality, and the Buddhist liturgical method for the universal deliverance of the dead.
Read More: Check out all ghost stories from China
Fu Ji was a divination practice that blended mysticism with the written word. The technique involved a suspended wooden or bamboo stylus (often in the shape of a Y or T) held by one or two participants—think of it as an ancient planchette with a mind of its own. The stylus would then be guided across a tray of sand, or later, over sheets of paper, forming symbols, characters, or even full messages allegedly dictated by spirits.
Unlike the Ouija board’s eerie one-letter-at-a-time approach, Fu Ji sometimes delivered entire sentences in intricate calligraphy—because, apparently, ghosts in ancient China had excellent penmanship.
Planchette writing began as a method for summoning the Lady of the Privy ( 異苑 Yiyuan ) during the Six Dynasties, and flourished in the Tang and Song dynasties.
She was said to have been a concubine and the head wife hated her, always making her do the hardest and dirtiest jobs.
Most likely murdered, she died on the fifteenth day of the first month. Every year that day, people honored her by making her an idol and worshiping her in the washroom or beside the pigsty. If the idol they had made her got heavier, it was a sign she was there. People offered her juices, fruits and the idol allegedly started to move.
She was said to foretell the future and people asked her about their good and bad luck.
People think that she was the first spirit they tried to contact with planchette writing because there were writings where they only noted down how they worshiped her. Although it started to only be on the 15th of the first month, it ended up being possible to summon her every day. It was used for years in Chinese folk religion before finding its way into Daoist scriptures.
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The belief was that various spirits could communicate through Fu Ji, but not just any wandering ghost could hijack the stylus. Taoist monks and practitioners often summoned:
Celestial beings and Taoist deities – if you were lucky, you might get words of wisdom from an enlightened immortal rather than some spectral troublemaker. This practice was used by a lot of Daoist practitioners to write down important Daoist books and scriptures. Some instructions were even said to have come from the Lady of the Privy.
Works like the Complete Works of Patriarch Lü ( 呂祖全書序 Lüzu Quanshu Xu ) and Today’s Infinite Precious Repentance of Patriarch Lü ( 呂祖無極寶懺 Lüzu Wuji Baochan ) were some of the scriptures said to have come through automatic writing.
Deceased ancestors – because sometimes, the family just won’t let you go, even in the afterlife.
Ghosts of the restless dead – this was where things get dicey. Messages could range from heartwarming reassurances to chilling warnings or vengeful curses.
Fu Ji was never just a casual game you pulled out at parties—it required a carefully constructed ritual, often performed within Taoist temples for answers, divination and poems. Usually, the séance takes place in the inner sanctuary of the shrine, an area before a central image of the deity, fenced off with a low wooden railing.
The space was purified, incense burned, and participants (often a medium and a scribe) entered a focused, meditative state. Through chanting, prayers, or specific incantations, the spirit was invited to take control of the stylus. The stylus, seemingly guided by unseen hands, moved fluidly to inscribe messages in sand or ink. A scribe would then transcribe and interpret the cryptic responses.
Once the session ended, the spirit was respectfully dismissed (because you don’t want lingering guests from the afterlife), and the messages were analyzed for deeper meaning.
And if you think people didn’t take this seriously—historical records suggest that Fu Ji was even used in imperial courts to consult the gods on political matters. Yes, there were actual emperors out there making national decisions based on ghostly pen pals.
The Fu Ji has not the same scary connotations like the Ouija Board have today. Things might have been different for the Ouija Board tradition as well hadn’t it been for the movie, the Exorcist and how the church deemed it to be the work of demons.
The Fu Ji writing however had other issues, as it was outright banned for other reasons.
For a practice so intertwined with Taoist spirituality and folklore, you’d think Fu Ji would remain a permanent fixture in Chinese culture. But by the late Qing Dynasty (1644–1912), authorities began cracking down on spirit writing, seeing it as a threat to social order. The fear? That people could fake messages from the beyond to manipulate others.
Later, during the Communist era, Fu Ji and other mystical practices were outright banned as superstition. All types of superstition were forbidden, ghost stories, religion and communicating with spirits. After the founding of the People’s Republic in 1949, these sectarian communities were stigmatized as “reactionary secret societies” and forced to desist from all public activities. Therefore, spirit-writing has
long been abolished in mainland China.
In contrast, spirit-writing altars (jitan 乩壇) or phoenix halls (luantang 鸞堂) still spread across many Chinese communities in Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, and North America with the Chinese diaspora.
While Fu Ji is no longer mainstream, especially after the ban on supernatural practices, remnants of its influence can still be seen in certain Taoist ceremonies and spiritual communities. In Taiwan and Hong Kong, there are reports of practitioners using modified versions of spirit writing to seek divine guidance.
In modern Hong Kong, The Planchette Writings of Marquis Zhuge ( 諸葛武侯乩文 Zhuge Wuhou Jiwen) have been very popular. This was a collection of predictions written down in the 1930s, many thinking a lot of them have come true. Whether it’s true or was mostly vague in meaning is up to debate.
Fu Ji wasn’t just a supernatural parlor trick; it was a deeply spiritual practice that people genuinely believed connected them to the beyond. Whether you see it as a fascinating cultural relic, a legitimate mystical art, or just an ancient way to freak yourself out, one thing is certain—China’s mystical writing carries a legacy that refuses to be erased.
So if you ever stumble upon an old Taoist temple with an ink-stained wooden stylus resting eerily still in a tray of sand… maybe think twice before picking it up. After all, some messages are better left unread.
TAOIST SORCERY: Chinese Planchette / Spirit Writing – Fu-Ji (扶乩)
The Strange Tale of How China Lost Its Ghost Stories
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