A friend recently recommended a fascinating book: Ni Kuang on Destiny, published in 2016 by the celebrated Hong Kong writer Ni Kuang. Best known for his wildly imaginative science fiction, Ni Kuang takes a strikingly different turn in this work, claiming that the experiences of superpowers and extraordinary abilities he describes are not fiction, but fact. In the book, he recounts mysterious events he witnessed or encountered, offering a rare glimpse into what he believes to be the real existence of superpowers. So what kinds of abilities did he claim to encounter?
Defying gravity with lightness skill
In martial arts novels and movies, practitioners of qinggong — or “lightness skill” — may not fly like fantasy heroes. Still, they leap across rooftops and glide effortlessly over walls, seemingly defying gravity. But could such a feat be more than literary or film imagination? Ni Kuang insists it’s real — something he witnessed with his eyes.
He recounts an unforgettable moment from his youth in Shanghai, a city once teeming with street performers. One afternoon, a middle-aged man in a long gray robe appeared in a public square, accompanied by a young boy. Without saying a word, the man pulled out a pouch of white powder and carefully drew a large circle about 20 meters wide on the ground. This, it seemed, was his stage.
Before the act began, the man began walking briskly around the circle. His steps grew faster and faster, until a light breeze stirred, and his long gray robe fluttered as if caught in an invisible current. To Ni Kuang’s astonishment, the man’s speed rivaled that of elite Olympic sprinters.
Yet there was no sign of strain. No pounding footsteps. No exaggerated motion. He appeared to be simply walking — effortless, graceful, almost floating. It defied logic. Walking at sprinting speed without visible exertion? It was the kind of thing no one would believe — unless they saw it with their own eyes. And this was only the beginning. The real performance was still to come.
Next, the performer borrowed a matchbox from someone in the audience. At that time, matchboxes were made of thin, fragile wood — barely sturdy enough to hold any weight. He placed it on the ground, then leapt lightly onto it, balancing effortlessly on one foot in the classic martial arts pose known as “Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg.” To the crowd’s amazement, he didn’t wobble or falter. Instead, he began to rotate — gracefully spinning atop the flimsy box. Then, as if skating on air, he glided backward about a meter before landing softly on the ground.
When he returned the matchbox, it was completely intact — no cracks, bends, or scuffs. Ni Kuang noted that the man likely weighed over 50 kilograms, making the feat all the more unbelievable. How could a delicate matchbox support such weight? And more puzzling — how could anyone precisely balance and spin with such control? For a moment, it seemed as if gravity had let go.
Martial arts novels often portray the idea that unlocking the Ren and Du meridians unleashes immense inner power, granting effortless mastery of qinggong, allowing one to leap onto rooftops or float through the air. In reality, this is largely an exaggeration. According to traditional Chinese medicine, clearing these meridians promotes better circulation and overall health, but doesn’t grant superpowers. That said, elements of lightness skill do appear in Taoist practices. In Taoist cultivation, the ultimate aspiration is “levitation in broad daylight” — a sign of spiritual transcendence so profound that the body physically ascends to the heavens.
One of the most famous legends is about Emperor Huangdi. Upon completing his cultivation, a dragon descended to carry him skyward. In this moment of divine ascent, he became the first recorded Taoist immortal in Chinese history. So, what does it truly mean to “levitate”? And how, according to tradition, could one begin to cultivate such a state?
Taoist practice emphasizes the movement of energy through the eight extraordinary meridians and the cyclical flow of internal energy, known as small and grand circulation. According to tradition, once the grand circulation is fully realized, the body may become so light that it begins to float. The exact methods — and the time required to master them — remain closely guarded secrets within Taoist schools. Different sects offer varying interpretations and techniques, each with its own path toward this elusive state.
Given these principles, it’s likely that the performer was not merely an entertainer but a highly accomplished Taoist practitioner. His next demonstration seemed to confirm this — he displayed a legendary ability known in Taoist circles as teleportation.
Five ghosts teleportation
The performer next demonstrated a remarkable Taoist technique known as Five Ghosts Teleportation. He placed a flowerpot before the audience and invited several children to fill it with soil. Afterward, he buried a seed and covered the pot with a cloth. Within seconds, he lifted the cover — and to everyone’s amazement, the seed had already sprouted. Each time he repeated the ritual — covering and uncovering — the plant grew visibly taller. Soon, delicate vines twined around the pot, and a small yellow flower blossomed. Someone in the crowd recognized the flower as a cucumber blossom, which the performer confirmed with a knowing smile.
With another reveal, the vine suddenly bore a fresh cucumber. The performer plucked it, sliced it into thin pieces, and shared them with the audience. Even young Ni Kuang tasted a slice and found it crisp and flavorful. Finally, the performer covered the pot one last time. When he lifted the cloth again, the cucumber plant had vanished completely, leaving only the original pot of soil behind.
The audience was left puzzled. Where had the cucumber come from, and where had it gone? Could the performer use sheer mental power to make a seed grow instantly, like the legendary Sun Chulin? To their surprise, the performer revealed the secret: the cucumber had been “borrowed” from a nearby vegetable garden. When the audience turned to look, they saw the garden was just a short distance away.
This raised another question: If he had the ability to teleport objects unseen, why not use it to steal gold bars from a bank? Such a skill could make him unimaginably wealthy. So why was he performing on the streets instead? The performer seemed to anticipate the audience’s curiosity and explained the meaning behind the name Five Ghosts Teleportation. According to him, the technique involves borrowing objects with the help of unseen spirits called the “Five Ghosts.” These spirits enforce strict rules: anything borrowed must be returned within a certain time frame, or the borrower will face severe consequences.
Ni Kuang later met an elderly man who confirmed that Five Ghosts Teleportation was once a common skill among traveling performers in northern China. The man recounted a story about a performer who used a bamboo tube to demonstrate the technique. Wherever the tube was placed, it produced fine, fragrant wine, immediately recognized by locals as coming from a famous city distillery.
After the performance, the artist went to the distillery to pay for the wine he had “borrowed.” However, skeptical of such claims of superpowers, the shop owner refused to accept the payment. Undeterred, the performer knelt before the shop and persistently begged the owner to take the money, attracting a crowd of curious onlookers. Eventually, moved by the performer’s sincerity and the growing audience, the owner reluctantly accepted the payment, settling the debt.
Taoist invisibility technique
Unlike the previous performances, where Ni Kuang was simply an observer, he became an active participant this time, and what he experienced left him utterly shocked.
As is common in street performances, the middle-aged man invited audience members to join in. Young Ni Kuang and one of his classmates were selected. The performer whispered strict instructions: when he told them to crouch, they must remain completely still-no standing, no speaking, no movement at all — or serious consequences would follow. The boys agreed, assuming it was just a simple part of the act.
The performer then placed a large wicker basket over them. Ni Kuang noticed something strange when the basket was lifted — the crowd around him looked astonished. He glanced toward two classmates and waved at them. Yet, despite his gestures, they seemed unable to see him, their faces blank and expressionless. As Ni Kuang and his friend crouched under the basket, they felt nothing unusual. The audience erupted into applause and cheers when the performer uncovered them and instructed them to stand. The two boys were baffled — what had just happened?
Returning to their classmates, they were immediately surrounded by excited onlookers asking, “Where did you just go?” Confused, Ni Kuang and his friend insisted they hadn’t gone anywhere — they had stayed crouched. But no one believed them. To the spectators, the boys had completely vanished from sight. Was this the legendary invisibility technique? A form of Taoist illusion magic?
Years later, Ni Kuang reflected on the event and concluded that the middle-aged performer must have harnessed a special Taoist power that could temporarily alter the visual perception of everyone nearby. He theorized that this ability allowed the performer to manipulate the audience’s awareness, causing them to “fail to see” Ni Kuang and his classmate for two to three minutes. In other words, the performer seemed to exert control over the minds of those around him.
But could such a skill truly exist?
Translated by Cecilia and edited by Tatiana Denning
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