Avoid doors facing north, as evil spirits are believed to come from the north

Setting:
A cozy tea shop in Chengdu, China. The rain patters softly against the windows. Two longtime friends, Wei (the superstitious one) and Jian (the rational thinker), sip on hot jasmine tea after work.

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Wei: (glancing around the shop)
You know, I really like this place. Peaceful vibe, good tea… but I noticed their main door faces north. I’m surprised they’re still in business.

Jian: (raises an eyebrow)
Still in business? Because the door faces north?

Wei:
Exactly! Haven’t you heard? Doors facing north attract evil spirits. My grandmother always said they ride in with the cold northern wind.

Jian: (laughs gently)
So let me get this straight—evil spirits have a GPS that only locks onto cardinal directions?

Wei:
Hey, laugh all you want, but there’s a reason old houses in Sichuan never faced north. Even feng shui masters agree—it brings bad fortune. My cousin installed a new door facing north, and within a month, his dog ran away and his motorbike got stolen.

Jian:
So… correlation equals causation now? Maybe the dog just wanted a change of scenery. And about the bike—wasn’t he always forgetting to lock it?

Wei: (ignoring that)
I’m just saying, some traditions exist for a reason. Why risk it?

Jian:
I get the sentiment. But think about it. In cities like Harbin or even in northern Europe, almost every door faces north at some point—because streets go in all directions. If north-facing doors really invited evil, those places should be haunted amusement parks by now.

Wei: (grinning)
Maybe they are. You ever been to Harbin in the winter? That wind feels cursed.

Jian: (chuckling)
Fair, but that’s frostbite, not fright.

Wei:
Jian, remember Auntie Lan’s dumpling shop? It used to face south. Then after renovations, the door faced north. Within months, she slipped on a wet floor and broke her arm!

Jian:
Or maybe she just needs better anti-slip tiles and a “wet floor” sign. You can’t blame a compass direction for everything that goes wrong. By that logic, should I thank my west-facing door every time I find a good parking spot?

Wei:
Well, west is associated with metal in feng shui. Maybe your door’s got good chi.

Jian:
Okay, let me try it your way. Suppose I cover my north-facing door with red paper, hang a mirror, and burn some incense. Does that block the evil, or just confuse it?

Wei:
Now you’re mocking me.

Jian: (smiling)
Not mocking. I just like understanding why people believe things. I respect tradition, Wei. I eat mooncakes even though I don’t think they helped spark a revolution. But when it comes to home design, I’d rather trust airflow and sunlight than spirits and shadows.

Wei: (sips tea thoughtfully)
I know you’re logical, Jian. But sometimes logic doesn’t comfort you at night. Stories, symbols, they mean something to people. My grandma used to tuck me in and whisper, “Stay away from the northern wind.” It wasn’t about direction—it was about care.

Jian:
That’s actually beautiful. And you’re right—beliefs can offer comfort. But I just don’t want you limiting your choices or living in fear over invisible forces. What if your dream apartment has a northern view of the mountains?

Wei: (pauses)
Well… maybe some mountains are strong enough to guard against the spirits.

Jian: (grinning)
Now that’s the kind of flexible feng shui I can get behind.

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[They both laugh and clink their tea cups.]

Wei:
Okay, okay. Next time I house hunt, you can come with me—just don’t bring a compass.

Jian:
Deal. But I am bringing a flashlight. Just in case we meet any northern guests.