Six Pairs of Earrings

Six Pairs of Earrings

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Once upon a time in far off lands there was a stringent and powerful king that ruled his vast kingdom with an iron hand.

The beautiful queen, in contrast, was compassionate and generous. As the king loved her very dearly her influence often softened his stance on state matters and military affairs and spared many from certain hardship and calamity.

Unfortunately, as her influence grew, so did the number of her enemies who stood to gain from wars and the, now suppressed, oppressive measures.

Mysteriously, the beautiful queen one day fell ill and died soon after. The king reverted back to his warring ways and caused many innocent folk to suffer once again.

A few upright ministers got together at long last and managed to persuade the king to remarry. Their hope was that he would be more reasonable if he had tender love in his heart once more.

But who should it be? The king had left the decision up in the air, to be discussed later.

A wise minister, a close friend visiting the Prime Minister Coen at this time put forth the suggestion that he would be rendering a useful service to the realm if he could recommend a suitable mate to the monarch.

The prime minister, after a prolonged silence, nodded and exclaimed. “Of course you are right sir. To tell you the truth, I had long held the same view. Only one difficulty made me hesitant in approaching his Highness with a suggestion. As you well know, our Sovereign has six concubines who are all very close to his Highness.

“The difficulty is in determining which of them the king’s favorite is. If my recommendation differs from his Highness’s choice I would certainly offend the new queen, with dire consequences for me later on.”

The wise minister nodded his understanding. “There is a way out of this dilemma,” he finally added. “The Summer’s End Gala will be upon us in a couple of days.”

If you wish to discover the king’s favorite present his Highness with six pairs of earrings depicting a lovely orchid. Five pairs should be identical in quality and style, but the sixth pair should be of discernibly higher quality.

“When you learn which of the six concubines receive the best earrings, you will understand the king’s thinking on the subject.”

Prime Minister Coen was pleased and took his friend’s advice. When the king chose his new queen, she was the same concubine whom he had recommended. Peace reigned ever afterwards in the Kingdom



The End

The Taste of Banzo’s Sword

The Taste of Banzo’s Sword

Matajuro Yagyu was the son of a famous swordsman. His father, believing that his son’s work was too mediocre to anticipate even an average level of competence, disowned him.

So Matajuro went to Mount Futara and there found the famous swordsman Banzo. But Banzo confirmed the father’s judgment. “You wish to learn swordsmanship under my guidance?” asked Banzo. “You cannot fulfill the requirements.”

“But if I work hard, how many years will it take me to become a master?” persisted the youth.

“The rest of your life,” replied Banzo.

“I cannot wait that long,” explained Matajuro. “ But I am willing to pass through any hardship if only you will teach me. If I become your devoted servant, how long might it be?”

“Oh, maybe ten years,” Banzo relented.

“My father is getting old, and soon I must take care of him,” continued Matajuro. “If I work far more intensively, how long would it take me?”

“Oh, maybe thirty years,” said Banzo.

“Why is that?” asked Matajuro. “First you say ten and now thirty years. I will undergo any hardship to master this art in the shortest time!”

“Well,” said Banzo, “in that case you will have to remain with me for seventy years. A man in such a hurry as you are to get results seldom learns quickly.”

“Very well,” declared the youth, understanding at last that he was being rebuked for impatience, “I agree.”

Matajuro was told never to speak of fencing and never to touch a sword. He cooked for his master, washed the dishes, made his bed, cleaned the yard, cared for the garden, all without a word of swordsmanship.

Three years passed. Still Matajuro labored on. Thinking of his future, he was sad. He had not even begun to learn the art to which he had devoted his life.

But one day Banzo crept up behind him and gave him a terrific blow with a wooden sword.

The following day, when Matajuro was cooking rice, Banzo again sprang upon him unexpectedly.

After that, day and night, Matajuro had to defend himself from unexpected thrusts. Not a moment passed in any day that he did not have to think of the taste of Banzo’s sword.

He learned so rapidly he brought smiles to the face of his master. Matajuro became the greatest swordsman in the land.


The End

The Sacred Tree

The Sacred Tree

“The useful declines to be used,

whereas the useless asks to be used.” Tao.



Once upon a time a well known carpenter named Shih, accompanied by his young and impressionable apprentice, was travelling through the untamed countryside, often taking shortcuts in order to reach the state of Ch’i on time.

Their travels at one point led them to the Shady Circle, where they observed a sacred Li tree in the temple dedicated to the God of Earth. The tree was immensely huge, so large in fact that it provided shelter to a herd of several thousand cattle and still left room for more. It was a hundred spans in girth, towering up eighty or ninety feet over the hilltop, before it branched out. Countless admiring crowds with their faces turned up, stood there gazing in awe at this miracle on earth.

The apprentice too had halted briefly and fixed his eyes also on this magnificence, thinking how a dozen boats could be cut out of it. He hastened his steps to catch up to his master, who’d continued on his way quite unconcerned. Bit puzzled, he addressed his master tentatively, “Master, in all this time that I’ve been fortunate enough to have handled an adz in your service, I have never seen such superb example of timber. How was it that you, Master, cared not pause a step, to even perfunctorily observe it?”

“Forget about it, it’s hardly worth the mention,” the master shrugged smugly. Observing the puzzled look on the stubborn apprentice’s face however, he relented. “The tree is good for nothing. Made into a boat, it would sink; into a coffin, it would rot; into furniture, it would break easily; into a door, it would sweat; into a pillar, it would be worm-eaten. Despite its size the wood is of no quality, and therefore of no use. That’s why it has survived to attain its present age.”

By dusk of the fifth day, the carpenter and his apprentice had finally reached home. After unburdening themselves of their baggage and washing up, they partook of a satisfying repast. That evening, as he snuggled cosily under the quilts, the carpenter had an unsettling dream.

He dreamt that the displeased spirit of the tree appeared to him and spoke to him harshly, as follows:

“Your arrogance is unconscionable. What is it tell me you intend to compare me with? Is it with fine-grained wood? Consider the pear, the orange, the pomelo, cherry-apple and all other fruit bearers: as soon as their fruit ripens they are stripped and treated with such indignity. The great boughs are snapped off, the small ones scattered abroad.

Thus do these trees by their own value cause injury to their own lives. Sadly they cannot fulfill their allotted span of years, but expire prematurely; all because they are destroyed for bringing forth the admiration of the world.

“Thus it is with all things. In view of this, I’ve strove long and hard to appear useless. Even so, many a time I had a close brush with the peril of being cut down. My wits and my ways however in the end succeeded in deterring them from their aim, and so I endured and grew to these heights; being only useful to myself.

“My kindness now propels me to impart on you few facts:

“In your pitifully brief human history Tsech’i of Nan-po was once travelling on the hill of Shang when he chanced upon a huge tree that greatly astonished him. In his mind he accounted that a thousand chariot teams of four horses could seek shelter under its shade. Reining on his horse under it and pointing he therefore shouted: “What sort of tree is this? Surely it must bear an unusual fine timber.” Then as he looked more closely, he saw that its branches were too crooked for rafters; and looking down he noted that the trunk’s twisting loose grain made it valueless for coffins. Reaching he plucked a leaf and tasted it; at once his face crinkled for it took the skin off his lips. The odor meanwhile was too strong that it would make a man insensate for several days. “Ah!” said Tsech’i, “this tree is really good for nothing, and that is how it has attained this size. A spiritual man might well follow its example of useless.”

“You may also recall that in the State of Sung there is a land belonging to the Ching, where thrive the catalpa, the cedar, and the mulberry. Such as are of one span or so in girth are cut down for monkey cages. Those of two or three spans are harvested for the beams of fine houses. Those of seven or eight spans are cut down for the jointless sides of rich men’s coffins. Alas, they do not fulfill their allotted span of years, but perish under the ax, all too young. Such is the misfortunes that overtake the worthy.

“In contrast; for sacrifices to the River God neither pigs with high snouts, nor bulls with white foreheads, nor men suffering from piles, can be used. For every soothsayer regards these as inauspicious. To the wise, however, these are regarded extremely auspicious, if only to themselves.

“I’m reminded of an account of a certain hunchback named Su. His jaws touched his navel. His shoulders were higher than his head. His neck bone stuck out towards the ultimate sky. His viscera were turned upside down. His buttocks were where his ribs should have been. Yet he lived rather comfortably. By sifting rice, or tailing, or washing, he earned his keep and achieved enough to support a family of ten.

“When the orders for conscription came, whether for the army or for public works, the hunchback walked about unconcerned among his peers, for his deformity excluded him from all such. Meanwhile, when the donations of grain for the disadvantaged and the disabled were handed out, the hunchback received as much as three measures, and when firewood was allotted, ten faggots. If physical deformity was thus sufficient to preserve his body until the end of his days, how much more should a moral and mental deformity avail!

“Alas, it’s a sad fact that mountain trees invite their own cutting down, lamp oil invites its own burning up. Lacquer can be used, there the tree is scraped; cinnamon bark can be eaten; therefore the tree is cut down. All men know the utility of useful things; but they do not know the utility of futility.

“As you and I are both created things, I ponder on the soundness of this good-for-nothing fellow: you, who’s in imminent danger of death, passing so demeaning a remark on the supposed good-for-nothing tree.”

The subsequent morning the carpenter Shih awakened with a start, covered with perspiration, and sat up on his bed for a while collecting his thoughts. His mind fastened just then on the well known fact:

That when Confucius was in the Ch’u State, the eccentric Chieh Yu passed his door, saying, “O phoenix! O phoenix! How has thy virtue fallen! Wait not for the coming years, nor hanker back to the past. When the right principles prevail on earth, prophets will fulfill their mission. When the right principles prevail not, they will but preserve themselves. At the present day, they are but trying to keep out of jail! The good fortunes of this world are light as feathers, yet none estimates them at their true value. The misfortunes of this life are weighty as the earth, yet none knows how to keep out of their reach. No more, no more, show off your virtue. Beware, beware, and move cautiously on! O brambles, O brambles, wound not my steps! I pick my way about, hurt not my feet!”

Later on that day when the carpenter Shih, heard his apprentice exclaim, “If the tree aimed at uselessness, how was it that it became a sacred tree?”

“Hush!” he responded gravely. “Keep quiet. I was wrong. It merely took refuge in the temple to escape from the abuse of those who do not appreciate it. Had it not become sacred, how many would have wanted to cut it down! Moreover, the means it adopts for safety are different from that of others, and to criticize it by ordinary standards would be far wide of the mark.”

A lesson was well learned!

The End.

Telling Right from Wrong

Telling Right from Wrong

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Once upon a time there was an illustrious teacher who counselled young minds in a rather prestigious private school. His fame was such that pupils from all parts of the country and all walks of life came to be educated by him. Tuition was purposely kept low to allow anyone to apply, as character traits played a more important part in the selection process.

During the semester, when a pupil was caught stealing, the matter was immediately brought to the teacher’s attention along with the strong request from the outraged fellow students that the thief be promptly expelled. But the teacher simply ignored the matter.

After a passage of time the same pupil was again found guilty of the same misconduct but again the teacher abstained from taking any action.

Outraged students this time signed a petition strongly requesting the thief’s immediate dismissal, threatening to leave if this matter wasn’t satisfactorily resolved.

This time the teacher called the protesting body of students before him and said, “You may all leave if you must but he shall stay. You are all fortunate enough to know right from wrong. This unfortunate pupil however does not. Would you have me turn him out into the world when he is the one most in need of my guidance?”

The assembled students bowed their heads in shame while the thief burst into tears and repented. He never stole again and was a model student thereafter.

Fini

True Value (The Gift)

True Value (The Gift)

(Original Story)

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All of us at one time or other have come upon these wise words: “Don’t judge a book by its cover. “ Yet in our fast paced society, we often rush headlong into things, make erroneous judgements, form ill conceived opinions and then follow the wayward paths that lead us astray. We would fare far better if cool heads prevailed. Be open- minded, don’t rely so heavily on the first impressions and remember: a second opinion would help to determine the truth.

Once upon a time there was a wise young geologist named Leon who chanced upon a very rare find during excavation in high altitudes. The item was half buried in the riverbank alongside a rushing turbulent stream. To the untrained eye, the object resembled a huge chunk of ice with a slightly pinkish hue, only it was solid as a rock. But Leon having at once recognized its true value carefully stored it away until he could acquire a very elaborate box to contain it. This lacquer box had gold inlaid images depicting a court lady on her leisure time. Coral, pearl and other gems were carefully inlaid on the sides and back of the box so it looked brilliant every which way you turned it. Inside it was lined with the finest plush, soft velvet.

At the end of his carefree adventurous days, having grown rather opulent, Leon decided to settle down and remarry in order to provide his precious young boy Kori with a more stable home. A pretty young widow with a single child of her own appeared to be the most suitable candidate and so before long they were married in an elaborate ceremony. Unfortunately her true nature soon revealed itself and he discovered their underlying incompatibility. Struggling with his inner dissatisfaction over the years Leon suffered some setbacks and fell on hard times. At the urging of his second wife he parted with most of his precious possession in order to keep up with her and her daughter’s extravagant demands but always resisted the idea of selling his rare find.

Once on a quiet day alone in his study with his son, who also shared his interest in reading, Leon had allowed Kori to handle the pinkish stone. “You like it too, don’t you son?” He’d asked with bemused smile on his lips as he reached to retrieve the stone.

“Yes, papa, I do, it’s such an interesting rock. Tell me again how you found it.” In truth Kori loved the story more than the rock itself and never got tired of hearing it. His father equally enthused, always obliged him with such colorful elaboration. This day at the end of his narration however, his father looked grim and said, “I ‘m sorry you had to suffer such unwarranted hardships on my account but I could not bring myself to part with it. “ He looked up earnestly then and said the strangest thing. “Actually, I’ve been saving it for you. “ With a shrug he then arose and, after carefully placing it into that beautiful box again, walked over and promptly placed it in the safe concealed behind an obscure painting hanging above his desk.

When some years later Leon fell mysteriously ill and died intestate his holdings and the affairs of the entire estate were bestowed upon his wife. She lost no time in selling the property, the land and everything of value, including the precious box that, by the way, fetched a pretty handsome price. But as for the lump of stone inside, before selling the box, she’d simply taken it out and on the verge of throwing it away, after a second thought, thrust it into the palm of her stepson and said, “Now, don’t go complaining that I haven’t given you anything from your dad.”

The boy remembered well what his father had said that day long ago, though he’d never shared this with anyone. And so he graciously accepted this paltry gift from his stepmother and happily tucked it away in his pocket.

Predictably, she’d next sought to rid herself of the burden of Kori, and sent this poor orphan packing to a distant paternal relative. The boy grew up there modestly and without incident, till one day, when he was handling this rock in the classroom, it drew the attention of his Geography teacher.

The rest as they say is history. The piece of rock proved to be an uncut, priceless pink diamond that fetched a fortune at auction, affording the poor little boy comfort and riches beyond anyone’s imagination.



By Bo and Steve

The Haunted Pavilion

The Haunted Pavilion

(An old Chinese tale retold)

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The Haunted Pavilion Part 1

A long time ago it was a norm for scholars, ‘wandering with sword and lute’ as it was known then, to travel the countryside, seeking knowledge from ancient sites and attaining wisdom from men of learning.

It so happens, one such scholar was trekking along a road south of Anyang, en-route to the city. He’d arrived late at a village some twelve miles short of Anyang, and as night was closing in fast, he asked an old woman if there was an inn nearby.

Her response was that the nearest inn was some miles distant.

“That would not do.” The scholar hummed. “Oh well, I may as well stay the night at that pavilion I’ve just passed.”

Such pavilions were common in China at that time, used as resting places for weary travelers, and looked after by neighboring villagers. But hearing this old woman paled and at once barring his way, she cautioned, “You must not do that! The place is haunted by evil spirits and demons! No one who had stayed there had ever lived to tell the tale.”

The young scholar however dismissed her dire warnings with wave of a hand and smiling said that he was quite adept at taking care of himself. No amount of protestation from the gathered villagers would deter him and he set off for the pavilion.

When pitch darkness blanketed the earth, far from going to sleep, the scholar instead, lit a small lamp and, retrieving his book, began reading the passages out loud. Time passed and, for a long while, nothing stirred until, on the stroke of midnight, the scholar heard loud footsteps on the road outside. Peering out of the door he saw a man dressed in black. The man stopped and called for the master of the pavilion.

“Here I am,” ejected a petulant voice from just behind the scholar, startling him so that he jumped in surprise. He turned but there was no one there.

“What do you want?” The huffy voice, emerging from thin air, asked.

“Who is in the pavilion?’ the man in black demanded.

“A Scholar is in the pavilion, but he is reading his book and not yet asleep,” the voice replied.

At this the man in black sighed, and turned his steps towards the village.

The scholar shook his head and, with a slight grimace on his lips, he settled back on his makeshift bed and resumed his reading. Some while later he was again interrupted by loud footsteps and this time, as he peered out of the door, he saw a man in a red hat halting on the road outside the pavilion.

“Master of the Pavilion!” the man bellowed.

“Here I am,” again the grumbling voice came from just behind Scholar.

“Who is in the pavilion?” the man in the red hat with a fiery voice demanded.

“A scholar is in the pavilion, but he is reading his book and not yet asleep,” the voice responded.

At this the man in the red hat sighed too and turned towards the village.

“It looks like I’m not going to get any peace tonight.” The scholar put aside his book and waited for a few minutes until he was sure there was no one else coming down the road. After a time he crept out of the door and, standing on the road, called out, “Master of the Pavilion!”

”Here I am,” came the same response from within.

“Who is in the pavilion?” the scholar asked.

“A scholar is in the pavilion but he is reading his book and not yet asleep,” the voice responded.

The scholar sighed and then asked, “Who was the man in black?’

“That was the black swine of the North,” the voice answered.

“And who was the man in the red hat?”

“That was the Red Cock of the West.”

“And who are you?” the scholar then demanded.

“I am the Old Scorpion,” was the reply. At this the scholar quietly snickered then slipped back into the pavilion. He did not sleep however; instead, he stayed awake the rest of the night reading his book, undisturbed.

The Haunted Pavilion Part Two

The next morning the villagers who’d rushed to the pavilion to see if the scholar had survived the night were aghast to see him seated on the veranda with a calm composure and strumming his lute. As they gathered around him bombarding him with questions the scholar held up his hand for silence.

“Patience, soon all will be revealed.” He smiled and then rising, added, “Follow me; I shall venture to remove the curse from this building.” He quickly went back inside the pavilion with many of the villagers trailing him. He fetched his sword, unsheathed it then, turning, signaled for them to stay back. Advancing swiftly he pulled aside a rotting screen in the corner of the room. Many gasped as they witnessed a gigantic black scorpion behind it, poised to strike. With one sweep of his sword, the scholar split the creature from head to tail; the two parts collapsed lifeless to the floor. There was a hissing sound, then black coils of smoke rising from the ashes, it all simply evaporated into thin air.

Not in the least bit perturbed he next asked the villagers where they had kept a black pig.

“In the house north of the pavilion,’ those finding their voice answered, and then showed him the place.

Indeed, exactly where they had directed the scholar, he soon discovered a huge black pig. He looked up, its eyes glinting with demonic fury. Being daylight however, the possessed beast’s powers were greatly diminished. Before it could strike the scholar wielded his sword and struck a deadly blow dropping the pig stone dead at his feet.

“Now where do you keep a large red rooster?’ facing the quivering crowd, he asked.

“In a shed to the west of the pavilion,” some brave souls answered and pointed at the direction of the place.

Sure enough there was an enormous red cockerel there, with a huge red comb, and long, sharp talons. Once more, with another swift strike of the blade, the scholar decapitated the demon disguised as the bird. He too lay dead at scholar’s feet.

Later, at a feast given in honor of the hero, the scholar graciously explained to the bewildered villagers how he had discovered the identities of the demons.

And so from that day on, with the demons vanquished, no harm ever came to anyone wanting respite at the pavilion south of Anyang.

The End

Newly Elected Official

Newly Elected Official

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An official on taking up his new post, asked his predecessor: “For efficiency sake, how should I proceed?”

The retiring official sporting a big smile, begrudgingly replied: “In your first year in office, act honestly and with decorum. Act in a semi-upright way and somewhat cautiously during the second and third year. Then you can muddle along in the fourth and final year.”


The elected official heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. “How can I hold out until the fourth year?”

Fini

Forming a Government

Forming a Government

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Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a very famous election pundit who was reported to have almost psychic abilities and could accurately predict the future. So renowned was his ability that reporters from the farthest reaches of the country came to seek him out for his counsel.

It so happened that a minority government in this fairly opulent country had caused several elections in a very short span of time. Now on the heels of yet another non- confidence vote, an election was being held. The incumbent was fearful of minority government and fearful still of a coalition that would force another election. Among the countless politicians vying for the coveted position the three frontrunners found themselves to be campaigning in the pundit’s riding and decided to seek out his wisdom. They scheduled separate appointments and at the appropriate time secretly called upon him to enquire which among them would be the successful candidate. They were surprised to see each other there at the same time. After exchanging wide- eyed glances the trio was met by an assistant and swiftly ushered into a musty, dimly lit room where a heavily carpeted floors, ancient tapestries and antique furniture along with wall-to-wall bookcases immediately intimidated any visitor.

The aged wise man seated by the cosy fire signalled for the trio to come forward and be seated before him.

The boldest one bowing his head slightly put the question forward in a respectful tone.

After a momentary pause he closed his eyes and silently pointed an index finger at the trio. The frontrunners were baffled by this gesture and exchanged quizzical looks. Then one of them, professing his ignorance, politely requested an explanation.

The pundit rose up in anger, “The will of the people cannot be any plainer.” He then exited the room in a huff.

Shaking their heads and somewhat miffed, the trio quietly left the premises.

That evening the assistant, no longer able to hold his query, asked, “Sir, which of the three will be the successful candidate?”

The pundit answered quietly: “The exact number is already known.”

“Does a single finger mean that only one of them will form the government?”

“Yes”

“But what if two of them are successful?”

“Then it means one of the three will fail.”

“And can all three of them be successful?”

“A single finger implies that all will succeed at one time or other.”

“And what if all of them fail to form a government?”

“My single finger means that not even one of them will be successful.”

The assistant quickly saw the point and said, “So this is Democratic Will!”


The End

Two Tigers Fighting

Two Tigers Fighting

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Once upon a time there were two powerful nations at war.

As each were equal in might the fierce, continuous engagement had lasted for over two years wasting away manpower, arms and draining the treasury with neither of them gaining an advantage.

The long drawn out war presented certain advantages to an adjoining kingdom. The Sovereign of this neighboring country was considering intervention to bolster his country’s prestige and might. He called a war counsel and asked his ministers for their opinion. The ministers were divided; some claimed this was an opportunity that should not be missed, others claimed it would only draw their country into this never ending conflict and the losses would far outweigh any advantages. Only one junior minister, Roltan, had remained quiet on the subject. After several hours of discussion the King, left with a serious quandary, dismissed the entire counsel, save for Roltan.

"You have abstained from voicing your opinion, any reason for that?" The King addressed Roltan when the chamber had emptied.

"Your Majesty is most discerning," Roltan begun with certain eloquence. "Your Highness, if I may be so bold as to relate a short story about what had happened to me once. When I was in my teens, to test my mettle, I undertook the task of hunting a pair of Tigers that were terrorizing a village."

"To lure the tigers to a trap, I first tied an ox to the trunk of an ancient tree in a clearing just outside of the village perimeter. When the tigers, as expected, descended upon the captive prey, I readied myself to strike. Fortunately I had with me a seasoned hunter, who quickly advised me to hold still. " Roltan exhaled thoughtfully.

"Wait,"  he said.  "If you confront them now they will both attack you in unison. The beasts are just beginning to devour the ox. When they are halfway through, finding the meat rather savory, they will fall into strife as they contend for the choicest parts. After the fray the smaller one will be bested while the big one will suffer injury. Then you will easily finish them both and win certain fame for killing two tigers at once."

Roltan paused, collecting his words before he again spoke. "Never before has our Kingdom been in a more advantageous position to reach its true potential."

The king eyed this young recruit with an appraising smile. It was in fact his secret ambition to ultimately subjugate these other kingdoms under one rule; his rule.

The End

The Snake in a Goblet

The Snake in a Goblet

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Once upon a time there was a very powerful Governor, honest but severe. Like so many astute officials he frowned on idle chatter; however his position required him to at least keep in touch with the local gentry. Even so he would quite often opt out of the many frivolous social obligations, seeing them as waste of his time. In those infrequent times spent away from his duties he much preferred solitary hunting trips. He only had one vice, if it could be called that, for he liked collecting finely crafted hunting weapons.

Squire Lee, who had an inflated sense of himself so common to that class of opulent gentry, could not accept being shunned by the Governor and so, after some coercion, had obtained a reluctantly proffered invitation to dinner.

Received graciously, he was ushered to a private hall where he was served a modest feast and some choice wine. Having proposed a toast, Lee raised the goblet to his lips and was about to take a sip when his eyes suddenly caught a coloured snake wriggling at the bottom of his cup. As it would have been rude to do otherwise, he restrained his fright and drank anyway. There was no sensation of the snake passing dawn his throat, therefore Lee deemed it to be a supernatural phenomenon, or some form of spell and from that moment on began to feel rather ill.

Seething with anger he returned home and at once called for the family physician. The physician, despite his extensive examination, could find absolutely nothing wrong with Lee. The Squire, nevertheless, still felt seriously ill and took to his bed from then on. Seeing his demise approaching ever nearer, he eventually decided to unburden the source of his grave trouble to his closest friend Ricker. “I’ve been wronged so needlessly. “ He exhaled in a whimper at the end of his fantastic accounts. “After my passing, I beseech you to avenge my death!”

Aggrieved at his friend’s condition, but being a more reasonable person, Ricker extracted a promise from Lee to hang on to life till his return.

After some finagling, Ricker acquired a private invitation from the Governor. He, too, was received graciously and ushered to the same hall. At the conclusion of their discussion of the supposed pressing matter of state, he was asked to stay on for some food and refreshments.

Seated in the same honoured seat as his friend, Ricker raised the goblet of wine to his lips. Lo and behold, he too saw the same vision as his friend at the bottom of the goblet. Hesitating for a second, he took a generous sip, and then discretely looked about him.

Hah, there was the culprit! Suppressing a bursting laugh, Ricker’s eyes remained fixed for a spell on the magnificent bow, hanging from the high ceiling.

The Governor, seeing the object of his attention at once volunteered, “I was most fortunate to have acquired that rare hunting bow from a Chief of the Gugeos tribe. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Indeed it is. “ Ricker exclaimed, after sipping some more wine. “It looks decidedly deadly, carved with such meticulous detail to imitate a venomous snake.” He kept the rest to himself, deciding to spare his foolish friend any further humiliation.


The End

The Peony Prince

The Peony Prince

(Story by BoSt.)

The Peony Prince Part 1

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Once upon a time at Makonwa, in the Country of Yonar, there was a grand old castle called Wataozi, surrounded by high walls and a deep moat deceptively carpeted with lotus lilies.

In this castle resided the powerful feudal King Kongzuozhi, who was an unbending, stern ruler.

He’d not always been that way; he’d changed drastically after the sudden loss of his only son and heir and the tragic demise of his bellowed wife. Sadly, that had occurred before the eventual cessation of his prolonged wars with the neighboring states.

It was a small consolation that the truce, after years of devastating wars had left thousands dead and the land ravaged, lasted long after the treaty was signed. Upon the demise of his beloved wife, something had died in King Kongzuozhi and from then on, forsaking love, His Highness concentrated only on his administrative duties and an occasional hunt.

Fortunately his beautiful daughter became another, unacknowledged casualty and was pretty much left to grow up on her own.

His chief Councillors, noting that King Kongzuozhi daughter, Princess Juanjing, were now eighteen and at good marriageable age collectively proposed to have her be suitably married.

After careful consideration His Majesty perceived this to be the perfect opportunity to solidify the truce with his most formidable foe, King Akono of Goakan.

It so happened that his arch nemesis had a second son that might be a suitable match and so he coolly consented to have the two royal houses allied through a binding marriage.

A meeting between The Majesties was soon arranged and an agreement reached that satisfied both fathers.

The two betrothed were then, in the company of sizable entourage, briefly allowed to see each other and exchange pleasantries before being summarily whisked away.

The prospective groom Prince Daro could hardly contain his good fortune and returned to his quarters as if in a daze, for Princess Juanjing was the most beautiful girl he’d ever set eyes on. She not only was an enchanting beauty, but also had a lovely poised figure and appeared quite intelligent and sweet.

Ever the dutiful daughter, Princess Juanjing for her part found her intended not entirely objectionable and promised herself to be the most loving and caring wife to her prospective husband. She was also relieved to learn that she and her husband would be living in the same castle she grew up in until the Title passed to their firstborn son upon the death of her father.

The Peony Prince Part 2

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One fine evening, as sleep averted her, Princess Juanjing accompanied by her maids, decided to take a long stroll in the magnificent gardens. She delighted at the cool breeze caressing her cheeks and puffing up her sleeves as she cast her eyes lovingly on the huge blooms of her favorite peonies, planted in stands hither and thither all along the path. She lingered by the pond where some water lilies were also in bloom. Absently she gazed at her reflection on the pond then watched the fireflies dancing in air as she listened to the harmonious croaks of the mating frogs.

“What’s this?” a curious image drew her attention and she bent over to see it more clearly. The slippery ground at the edge of the pond gave way, making her lose her balance and she was in imminent danger of falling into the water.

But just in time a handsome young man appeared and, gently cradled Princess Juanjing in his arms as he pulled her to safety.

He disappeared the moment her feet touched solid ground and she was out of harm’s way. But the pleasant scent of peony lingered about her.

Her maids in attendance on her had seen the slip and, as they rushed to save the Princess, they also noticed a glimmer of light about her as the Princess was returned to the safety of solid ground, but of the handsome young man they saw nothing.

Princess Juanjing’s heart was captivated from that moment on, truly smitten by this most handsome young man with fine features, and bedecked in floral patterned fineries.

He was clad in what she deemed to be a noble warrior’s court attire of the highest order. Clearly he was a Prince. For one thing the intrigue, near invisible pattern on his silk garment was that of a thousand exquisitely embroidered peonies and his sword’s scabbard was encrusted with rare jewels in the same pattern. She longed to see him again, if only, to thank him for saving her from the water.

She could not help but wonder how he’d happened to be there. Moreover, how could he have entered the private gardens without alerting the guards? More puzzling still was the fact that none of her maids had seen him. Could he have been a ghost? …A Fairy perhaps? Regardless, she cautioned all those in attendance to keep this a secret for she feared most of all that word of this would reach her father and cause a stir.

If he was for real, this infringement of security, however innocent, and the resulting trespassing charge, would place his life in direst jeopardy. Harbouring a certain fondness in her heart for him already, she could not bear to see him decapitated.

Unfortunately, during the subsequent days and nights she was kept busy, hardly a moment to spare. Having no mother, she was herself charged with the responsibilities of overseeing certain preparations of her trousseau and the impending nuptials. And so, even though she longed to visit the pond on the slight chance of encountering the young man again, she could never seem to get away. That is not to say she did not think of him every minute, every second of her wakeful moments.

The Peony Prince Part 3

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Her seemingly unending duties and obligations created unmanageable stress and this, coupled with her secret obsession with the mysterious young man, eventually took its toll and the Princess soon fell ill. She could not eat or sleep and her pallor grew ghostly pale. She grew thinner and thinner… The Princess was wasting away regardless of any treatment. The attending physicians were baffled for they could not pinpoint the reason for her progressing ailment.

Naturally the day of Princess Juanjing’s marriage with the young Prince Daro had to be postponed, if not, in the event of her demise, altogether aborted.

The King Akono of Goakan did not take this change of plan too kindly. Deeming it a personal affront, or at best a ruse, the relationships between the two countries became further strained.

King Kongzuozhi, her father, was both infuriated and deeply grieved by this turn of events. He set up a commission to investigate this matter further and to resolve this dreadful predicament. The thorough search finally uncovered certain facts and brought to light the peculiar events of the specific night that was at the start of Princess Juanjing’s personal crisis. Princess’s confident and friend maid, Nieju, was detained, severely and repeatedly interrogated. In the end she broke down and, through her confession, The King was able to uncover the source of his daughter’s infirmity.

King Kongzuozhi’s first reaction was one of extreme fury. He was not a superstitious King, so he expected the source to be an intruder. The guards on duty that night were all rounded up and severely punished. Those on duty in the garden lost their lives. His Majesty’s fury not spent however, he next wanted to have the gardens, specifically the peony beds, that had once been his deceased wife’s personal project, destroyed. The pond would not be spared either, nor would any of the living creatures living in it. His closest advisers braved his wrath to in the end to talk some moderation into King Kongzuozhi and so the decimation was averted in the nick of time.

They insisted that Princess Juanjing was sick and her malady was one of the heart. She had fallen deeply in love, a serious infatuation perhaps with the phantom, by then dubbed “The Peony Prince”, that she’d seen for so brief a span. He could be a fox spirit or other fey. They feared that Princess Juanjing would soon meet her untimely demise if something drastic was not done.

Unfortunately there was no account in the books of legend that matched the description of such a being.

King Kongzuozhi‘s ancestors had exercised domain over these lands for many generations yet the books did not speak of any tragedy or untimely demise of such a warrior Prince in this castle. Clearly this was a matter for the priests, for only they could exorcise this evil spirit that must have snuck into the garden in order to take possession of a pure soul like Princess Juanjing. If nothing was done soon, they warned His Majesty, Princess’s life would be forfeited.

King Kongzuozhi, with some skepticism, reluctantly agreed with this and so the Priests were called in to perform their exorcism at her sleeping quarters, in the garden and around the pond.

Princess Juanjing seemed a bit better after this though she remained downcast and listless in spirit.

The Peony Prince Part 4

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 It was another full moon then and her vigilant attendants seizing this opportunity to enliven her spirit a little obtained the King’s permission to engage the services of Meing Sheju, a celebrated player on the Tazuo, that evening. The weather was particularly hot and in the absence of any breeze, they arranged seating on the gallery to enjoy the performance of musicians as they played “Dannoura”. Suddenly, to the amazement of all, that same handsome Prince manifested from the bed of peonies. He was unmistakably visible to all this time, right down to the elaborate peonies embroidered on his fine garments.

“There he is! There he is! I see him!” Many cried out and pointed, at which time he suddenly vanished. Princess Juanjing, seemed to have regained her zeal, she was up and smiling, with a tint of color gracing her cheeks.

When the word of this reached His Majesty, her father he was infuriated and puzzled at the same time. “I knew those priests are all useless!” He scoffed; but he could not at the same time deny the sudden change that had come over his daughter.

The following night, while Mei played the flute and Sujikoa played the Koto for their mistresses the figure of the Peony Prince manifested again, though briefly. A thorough search of the garden, the peony beds and the pond continued into the subsequent day and produced no results, with not even the shallowest of footprints or even a bent blade of grass.

King Kongzuozhi’s fury knew no bounds. Eventually his ire dissipated and he agreed to engage a renowned mage of great strength and ability, Tao Yonume, to capture the phantom Peony Prince.

It was decided that, since music seemed to hold a special fascination for the apparition, it would be used to trap the phantom warrior Prince. Well before the music began playing, however, Tao Yonume all dressed in black, found a good spot to hide and evoked a spell to conceal his person.

Then he crouched among the peonies and waited. On cue, Meing Sheju and Osono started their concert, while all in attendance pinned their eager gaze on the peony beds. Princess Juanjing was concerned about the welfare of the apparition, but her longing to see him soon overcame her trepidation. As the music played “Sofuren” sure enough there materialized from the peony bed the figure of the Prince dressed splendidly in his fine embroidered garments. The attendants were puzzled as to why Tao Yonume did not jump up at this juncture to capture the apparition.

If the truth be known, Tao Yonume was so entranced by the noble bearing of the phantom Prince that at first he’d remained reluctant to capture him. His sense of duty overcame his hesitation however. He stealthily approached the apparition from behind and seized the Peony Prince round the waist, holding on with all his prodigious strength. After the phantom Prince was in his grasp, still clinging tightly to the apparition, Tao Yonume felt a strange wet vapor falling on his face. This by degrees made him fall in a swoon to the ground. Determined to hang on and still grasping the apparition, Tao Yonume forced himself to remain conscious and shouted, “I caught him… I caught him!”

But when he looked at what was in his grasp he saw only a large peony.

By then everyone had witnessed this struggle and armed guards hastened to the spot to apprehend the culprit. In their trail King Kongzuozhi also ran to the spot where Tao Yonume lay, followed by the Princess Juanjing and her maids.

The metamorphosis of a phantom Prince into a Peony astounded and mystified all except King Kongzuozhi who grumbled: “Ah, it is as I figured. This is no fox fairy or ghost. It is the noble sprit of the peony flower who has taken the form of a Noble warrior.” Then turning to his daughter he said, “I knew the security could not be breached. This is no ordinary apparition.” Tao Yonume nodded in agreement. “By your leave my Liege, may I add that this should be regarded as a high compliment from the Heavens.” King Kongzuozhi after a thoughtful silence concurred. “This is high praise indeed! You must all pay great respect to all the peonies, and show this one caught by Tao Yonume particular respect by taking good care of it.”

The King’s last words were directed at Princess Juanjing who immediately took charge and carried the peony flower back to her room. Her close attendants at once fetched her favorite vase and filled it with fresh water. She carefully placed the peony in the vase and placed it on a table near her bed. As nothing else happened that night, soon all retired to their quarters to get a good night sleep.

The Peony Prince Part 5

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At one point after midnight Princess Juanjing was suddenly woke, having received a gentle kiss on the lips. Rubbing her eyes she sat up and looked about her. All was as it had been when she had dozed off, nothing stirred, yet there was an intoxicating perfume that permeated the air. She smiled looking at the peony in the vase and reached out and gently run her fingers over the petals.

When she reclined and closed her eyes a strange sensation took hold of her. She felt as though her beloved peony spirit was beside her. He held her tight in his caress and showered her face with gentle kisses.

She drifted at once to a deep sleep, to awaken next morning refreshed and full of vigour.

Day by day she got better and better. Soon she was her vigorous, radiant self again. Each day she tended the peony with meticulous care, and though a cut flower, the peony seemed to never wither but instead a perfect bloom grew more brilliant in colour and still more fragrant with her ministrations.

The news of her recovery had of course reached King Akono of Goakan. He sent his emissaries with word, that now Princess Juanjing was well, in keeping with their previous arrangement he expected the wedding to go on.

King Kongzuozhi saw no reason to put off the wedding any further and so picked the time for the ceremony. No one consulted Princess Juanjing’s wishes and she being a dutiful daughter expressed no objection to the already arranged marriage.

Princess Juanjing’s closest friend and confident patiently listened to her reservations and then reasoned with Princess that it was not possible for any human to live with an apparition or fairy forever. Meanwhile Princess Juanjing was reminded that she had her duty to fulfill and certain obligations were expected of her. She could not, and must not, renege on her filial duty to her father and ancestors. Lasting peace was ensured with this arrangement and all would prosper. The prospective groom was handsome in his own right and had other attractive attributes, so how bad could it be?

A month later the King Akono of Goakan and his family with much fanfare and rich gifts for the bride arrived at the Castle. On the appointed date, Prince Daro was married off to Princess Juanjing in an elaborate ceremony and festivities that lasted for weeks.

But a curious thing happened on the wedding night; an occurrence that quickly became a closely guarded secret between Princess Juanjing and her attendants. In preparation for the wedding Princess Juanjing insisted the peony and the vase be removed from her quarters that would henceforth serve as the matrimonial chamber and be placed in the adjoining room. In all the fanfare few had paid attention to the flower after this.

The morning after the marriage was consummated; the peony was found still in its vase, dead and withered. Princess Juanjing shed quiet tears upon seeing this but, of course, Prince Daro was never told. Later that afternoon, when she could get away, she visited the peony garden and, squatting by the side of the pond, unfolded her silk handkerchief, removed the dead peony and gently placed it in the water as she said her silent farewells.

She watched it sink deep under the lily pads until it was hidden from view. Then, wiping her tears, she turned to begin the new chapter in her life.



The End

Fortune and Loss

Fortune and Loss

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Long, long ago, in a somewhat inconsequential province, an honorable man Donato, finally recognized for his brilliance, gained a very illustrious post. From that day on, his guests swarmed to his residence. But when he was dismissed from office on a false charge his residence grew so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Only one had remained consistent in his friendship. This unassuming young man called Yorick, who was not particularly well off, still called on Donato and did his best to lift the other’s spirits.

After terrible months of hardship the real culprit was caught, Donato was exonerated and reinstated to his former prominence. His so called absentee friends wanted to call on Donato again.

He at once wrote some in bold letters on a placard and had it posted at the gate of his residence. The words clearly stated:

“The best time to determine the mettle of your friends is not when you are exalted but when you are humiliated.

“The best occasion to gauge the genuine sincerity of others’ attitudes is the moment you fall from grace and become pathetic.

“The best moment to uncover those who are earnest and true-hearted would be when one is deceased or, happily, when one escapes death.

“Welcome all who are as true of heart as Yorick.”



The End

The Discontented Baby Turtle

The Discontented Baby Turtle

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It is in the nature of all creatures to boast and to outshine the other. It is the enigmatic engine of truth and knowledge mired in contention and competition that inevitably robs all living beings of a peaceful heart. So they hurdle at top speed towards that unwarranted need for a profusion of worldly goods. More is preferable, more is better, more is best, or is it?

Once upon a time there was a nice turtle family living happily in a modest pond inside a greenhouse. Their other turtle neighbours and the fish coexisted with them in perfect harmony sharing the bounty of the pond, never lacking for food, always sheltered from the harsh elements and happy to have all the space they needed to swim freely or wander about. During the summer months the diligent groundskeepers, for variety sake would transfer some of these inhabitants to the outside pond. On such a happy excursion, the baby turtle found himself in the outside pond. With the eagerness of youth he spent many a good day exploring his new surroundings. He loved every new experience, every new blade of grass, every lotus flower, rock and so forth. When it rained the droplets and the rushing wind delighted the baby turtle’s senses. Then there were the other interesting creatures of the air who captivated his imagination; some were small but others were incredibly huge.

With a contented air the baby turtle was sunning on his favourite rock one day, when quite absently he heaved a sigh and exclaimed, “Can things be any better than this? I have everything I need right here. This pond is the biggest and best place ever!”

“It’s adequate, yes, but certainly not the best or the biggest.” The nearby seagull wryly grunted, startling the baby turtle.

“What you mean?” The baby turtle demanded an explanation, quickly overcoming his surprise.

The seagull could not miss this chance to amaze this little thing and boast of the places he’d seen and the existence of a vast lake not too far away. “The lake is so expansive that you cannot fly over it from one end to the next. It’s limitless. It is so deep that no amount of drought affects the levels very much or ever can drain it.”

By the time he was through listing the scope and grandeur of the vast open waters he had invoked in the baby turtle such curiosity and yearning that all joy and contentment had left the poor little thing. No longer was this baby turtle happy, imagining far better places he could never be.

Long after the seagull was gone the baby turtle was still unhappy and for days on end just moped about. His parents were greatly concerned about his well being and eventually, after much prying, learned the source of his troubles. They were wise enough not to scold him for his naiveté, ingratitude or greed. Instead, his father had simply shaken his head, and then said, “To be upset over what you don’t have is to waste what you do have.”

The little turtle nodded, and went back to the happy way he was.

The End

Call a Stag a Horse

Call a Stag a Horse

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Once upon a time there was an old kingdom that had for many years enjoyed the wise rule of its Sovereigns. There came an unfortunate period when a young weak Prince, not particularly adept at ruling, ascended the throne. As it is with such rulers, a particularly power-hungry uncle became Regent to the new King and sought to seize power for himself before the boy King reached the age of maturity. There remained one snag in his plan of usurpation however, as many of the senior ministers remained loyal to the old Dynasty and would mount an effective opposition. To ensure his success the Uncle needed to ascertain with absolute confidence who among them were not his staunch supporters.

On the King’s birthday, last among many rare handsome gifts, the Uncle offered a very beautiful, stag and said” Your Majesty, I’m privileged to also present this rare stallion for your Highness’s riding pleasure.”

The King laughed good humouredly and said, “Your eyes must be failing you Uncle, for I see before me only a stag.”

At this point the Regent turned to address the many ministers that were present at Court, and with a grand gesture pointedly asked, “Good ministers, pray tell, is it a horse or a stag that you eyes behold?”

Some kept their silence, others, to please the Regent acceded readily that it was a beautiful stallion. Proud but unwise ones protested haughtily that it was a stag and further grumbled under their breath that the Regent had gone a bit too far this time with this shameless posturing.

In the days that followed those loyal, steadfast ministers who had dared to speak the truth were one by one demoted, framed, besmirched or libelled. Subsequently, all likely opponents were either publicly executed or quietly perished in the dungeons.

The young King, last of his line, was methodically driven to madness and then suicide, paving the way for the Uncle to seize the throne.

The End

The Puddle

The Puddle

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Once upon a time two young monks were happily travelling along an old country road. The sky that had been laden with dark ominous clouds most part of the day, however, soon gave way to torrential rain. They trudged along now with some difficulty as the earthen pathways instantly transformed into rushing rivulets. They had just veered around a corner when they came upon a pretty young girl in dire straits. Sporting an umbrella and dressed in her Sunday best, she appeared stymied by a particularly large puddle which the downpour had created directly in her path.

“Let me help you, “said one of the monks and, not waiting for her response, he lifted her in his arms, carried her over the puddle and let her gently down safely on the other side.

The monk’s companion said nothing, remaining unusually silent the rest of the way. That night as they prepared to sleep, unable to constrain himself, he grumbled in displeasure. “You should give extra prayers for absolution tonight, as you have so heedlessly flaunted our teachings and manhandled that rather pretty thing.”

“I left the girl there” his friend replied, plainly surprised. “Why is it that you are still carrying her?”

Fini

Be Like the Water

Retelling of Old Legends:

Be Like the Water 

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Once upon a time there lived a rather meek individual called Yori who strove to be strong. As he was interested in wrestling, he traveled to the farthest edges of the country and after repeated attempts finally got accepted in an illustrious school where a most famed master was the instructor.

Fueled by his enthusiasm he endured grueling training sessions to eventually become a great fighter. His timid nature however always stood in the way and in daily practice or special tournaments without fail he persistently got bested 
by the other initiates.

The teacher who’d earlier on recognized his true abilities was baffled by this. Suspecting Yori’s innate impediment, he initiated a private bout with Yori to test his skill. True enough, Yori, caught in the momentum of fight defeated his master on the first round. Subsequent bouts all proved to be the same.

You are a like the turtle,” the master told Yori one day. “But too often you cower under your shell, you need to come out.” and sent Yori to see his good friend, a Zen master at the nearby temple, for help.

“Not a turtle,” the Zen master nodded after hearing Yori’s account. “You shall be a Sweeping Wave.”

He instructed him on the preliminaries of meditation then told him to remain there the rest of the night imagining himself not as a human being who’s primarily afraid, not as an adroit wrestler, not anything but a great wave of the oceans. “Be like the tsunami,” he said to him before retiring to his private chamber. “Imagine your power sweeping, swallowing all and everything in your path. Then all will be well with you.”

Yori set motionless in darkness for hours contemplating the words of the Zen master.

At first his mind would not cooperate with his will, and he wondered about a great many useless things, places, people or past events, anything but the wave. Gradually however, his willpower won over his monkey mind and forced it to focus on the vast sea, volumes of water and then the waves. His mind now was pinned on that single giant wave. It grew larger and larger, washing over the shoreline, uprooting trees, structures, houses, and even the temple he was sitting in. Everything was encompassed by that giant wave. All that could be seen was the ebb and flow of the immense ocean.

At the first light of day when the Zen master emerged from his room he found Yori still meditating at the spot exactly as he’d left him. The master smiling patted Yori on the shoulder and said, “Now you are that invincible wave, go forth and always be thus.”

And true to fact, Yori from that day forth became an invincible fighter, winning every challenge and tournament. For decades his fame spread far and wide and he became the undefeated champion of the realm.

Fini

Cascading Flowers

Cascading Flowers

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Subhuti was one of the disciples of Buddha. One fine day seeking solitude, he decided on a short respite from the hot rays of the midday sun and rested under a fine old tree. He leaned his back to the sturdy trunk welcoming the gentle, fragrant breeze caressing his face. He closed his eyes and quietly reflected on the importance of emptiness, then his thoughts extended to the notion that nothing exists without bias and true impartiality. Suddenly flowers began to cascade on and all about him.

“We are praising you for your discourse on emptiness,” the falling petals whispered to him.

“But I have not voiced my thoughts.” Sabhuti protested.

“You have not spoken of emptiness, we have not heard any emptiness,” responded the swaying branches still decked in white delicate flowers. “This is the true emptiness.” Then the deluge of gleeful, smiling fragrant petals hugged Subhuti.

The Yellow Chrysanthemum

The Yellow Chrysanthemum

(Original story)

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Part One

 

Part Two

 

Part Three

 

Part 1

A long, long time ago there was a fierce and mighty general named Geronwu Muer who never lost a single battle. His military prowess rendered him invincible, so that the very mention of his name was enough to send ripples of fear through the enemy ranks. Each time the battle would be won even before it had started. In his mid years his glorious vocation suffered a serious setback when he received a devastating blow from the axe of an opponent. It crippled his sword arm and put an end to the legend of his invincibility.

Forced to retire to his country estate he allowed his well meaning friends to coerce him into a marriage. The day a boy was born to him was the greatest day of his life and filled his heart with hopes and dreams. The son, bereft of his mother at birth, would still be expected to fulfill Geronwu’s great aspirations. Hence, at barely five years of age the boy was subjected to gruelling military discipline and tutelage.

“I’m greatly disappointed in the boy.” Geronwu Muer confessed to a confidante one day as they shared a fine wine out on the veranda. “No amount of threat, pressure, or coaxing will deliver the result I seek. He is intelligent enough, physically fit, and agile enough in wielding the sword,” he shook his head grumpily, “but just doesn’t have it in him to be a warrior.”

“Do not lose heart my friend.” The confidante reached over and placed a comforting hand on Geronwu’s shoulder,” The boy is only five years in age after all,” he paused for emphasis, “and he does have some mighty boots to fill. Perhaps he will surprise us all by sprouting martial wings in his subsequent years.” He chuckled as he swallowed another mouthful of the fine wine.

“No. I have always been farsighted in such matters. I can see the writing on the wall. He will always be a disappointment to me.” Geronwu Muer shook his head morosely.

True enough, the subsequent years proved him right. The boy, Narcore, showed more inclination towards the literary arts and horticulture and excelled in them with the least effort whereas he struggled to achieve more than a mediocre rank in every aspect of his military training. As a result Geronwu Muer refused to have anything to do with the boy and spent his days drinking and carousing with his close associates. However, the boy had more in common with Geronwu than the father realized; for one thing, Narcore was courageous, passionate in his pursuits and rather strong willed and as hot tempered as his father.

“There is no denying it; I have a father that hates me. Never once has he tried to see things my way…. Heaven knows I’ve tried and tried to appease him but his expectations are far too unrealistic. How can anyone achieve those high standards of his. Why should I hang around only to be berated from dawn to dusk?”

The dejected ten year old Narcore simply seized the opportunity one day when his father was away and fled his despised circumstance. He took with him only a few of his prized possessions, a small knife, some dry food and the water skin then quietly snuck through the back gate without anyone knowing it.

“I will take my chance in the outside world. How much worse can it be?” A coward he was not. Fording the river he headed straight for the wilderness and the woods, knowing it would be harder for them to track him there. However, he soon came to regret his decision.

Part 2

Sudden violent gusts of wind arose, billowing the clouds up into an ominous flotilla that soon swallowed the sun. The forest creatures scurried off to seek shelter and Narcore was no exception as he too sought refuge from the impending heavy downpours. Crouched under a lip of rock in a crevice, he felt famished and decided to consume the last portion of his dried meat rations. He had been subsisting mainly on berries and roots, as he felt uncomfortable with hunting any animals.

As he swallowed the last bite a white hare, sheltering under a bush, caught his eye. He recalled the succulent morsels of meat the cook provided every day of the week. Rabbits were his specialty. On many an occasion Narcore had snuck into kitchen and watched the procedure. “It won’t be the same cooked over a campfire, but ….Hmmmm! “he hissed under his breath; nevertheless his mouth had watered in anticipation. He did excel in running, “I suppose I must try. “ With this thought in mind, he kept his eyes on the hare.

The moment the hare moved to scurry off Narcore darted from his shelter in hot pursuit of his game. But the hare was maddeningly swifter. Just as they reached a clearing it suddenly stopped, and, turning to face Narcore, growled. What happened next was unbelievable. The hare quickly grew in size to a monstrous proportion. Narcore brandishing his knife courageously fended off the fierce attacks and even managed to wound the beast. Suddenly a shrill cry coming out of nowhere shook the earth and at that very instance the monstrous hare, now seemingly reticent, vanished into thin air.

“Blast!” Narcore stamped his foot in a hot fury. Unwilling to forgo the fight he avidly scanned the perimeter but found not a trace of his opponent. The tall grass all about him swayed violently in the thrashing wind.

“What’s that?” He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked closer. “Is that a flower, a yellow chrysanthemum?” Forgetting his woes, he rushed towards it. But when he reached the exact spot, instead of a flower he saw a little girl in beautiful yellow dress crouching and poking the ground with a stick. She simply looked up and smiled at him unafraid.

“Are you lost, little girl?” he inquired. She answered him with a gentle shaking of the head.

He looked about him and, lo and behold, beyond the trees he spotted a trail of smoke which told of a dwelling. Then he noticed that twilight was encroaching upon them. The recent danger still fresh in his mind, he shook his head and said, “You shouldn’t be out here at this time and all alone! Come, I’ll walk you home.” He reached out a friendly, concerned hand. She shyly took it in hers and together they walked towards her home. Her parents were delighted at her safe return. They had just discovered Yechris’ (for that was their daughter's name) absence and were about to go look for her when they spotted the two children walking towards them.

Narcore spend a warm, cosy night and few more days and nights with Yechris and her parents. The adults had only exchanged a curious look between them, when Narcore that night decided to unburden his fear about the monster he’d encountered prior to meeting Yechris and smiled politely at his deep concern about their daughter’s well being should she encounter the same beast. Their subsequent reassuring manner and words soon put this fear out of Narcore’s thoughts.

He ate strange, but delicious, vegetarian food and spent his days tending the herbs and flowers planted in a fine enclosed garden at the back of the house. He would have been content to stay there forever but one day Yechris, looking very said, told him, “Tomorrow is the last day I can play with you.” And before he could inquire further she ran off into the house. The dinner was consumed in silence and everyone went to bed early that night.

The following morning when Narcore awoke, he found himself beside a grove of trees in the midst of a plush pile of grass that had kept him both dry and warm. Strangely enough, there was no sign of a house or garden anywhere. Just then he heard the sound of hound dogs and then sighted numerous mounted, armed man loaded with game of the hunt, racing towards him. They had been searching the countryside for him for the past several days and promptly delivered him to his home.

He expected the welcome he received from his father; “You ungrateful beast; how dare you be so defiant; if you weren’t my only offspring I would have had you whipped within an inch of your life then have your body torn asunder and fed to the wild dogs, for this! But don’t think your punishment will be any less severe. You deserve no leniency from me, and be assured, there are ways to make you regret your actions!”

In the subsequent days and weeks, Narcore faced the wrath of his father whose anger could not be assuaged with no amount of yelling and threats. Narcore received his punishments stoically however, enduring an even more restrictive, austere regimen than previously, one that was supposedly to build his character.

After his eighteenth birthday, when his father passed away Narcore, now the master of the house, gave full reign to his suppressed, but no less diminished passions for the literary arts, and began cultivating many varieties of chrysanthemums.

His garden soon had the best blooms and became the envy of all. He’d invested the family's money in rental properties to generate income enough for him to live frugally and contentedly. Often he would frequent the city markets and purchase new varieties of flower to enrich his garden.

Though he was of age, he refused to consider marriage and instead devoted all his spare time to creating magnificent chrysanthemum paintings, writing poems to the flower or simply tending the large chrysanthemum beds that flourished under his loving care.

Part 3

After his twentieth birthday, having saved up some spare money, he undertook a journey to the capital for the purpose of acquiring some rare chrysanthemums that his close friend Zoi had told him about. An introductory letter to the eccentric dealer procured him an appointment. Narcore’s genuine interest of chrysanthemums impressed the vendor enough to convince him to part with a very rare, coveted variety.

Armed with this prize, Narcore headed back home at once. While staying at an inn along the way he made the acquaintances of a very distinguished looking literati named Reijon who, along with his sister, was travelling in Narcore’s direction. As it was lonely on the road, Narcore befriended Reijon and, finding much in common especially their mutual love of chrysanthemums, invited both him and his bashful sister to be his guest for a time.

During their stay Narcore one day accidentally saw the sister without her head cover. He was immediately quite taken with her beauty. What’s more he could not shake the uneasy feeling that he’d seen her before. “In a painting, at the Pavilion or at a market?" But of course that was preposterous; for a fine upstanding lady, such as she was, would have had a very sheltered life.

As this gnawing notion that he had met her before persisted however, and during tea time with Reijon one day he delicately approached the subject of the sister and asked, “Your sister seems to be of an age, may I be so bold as to inquire: why it is she’s not yet married?”

Reijon smiled and said, “She’s been promised to a suitor for some time prior to this. We are waiting for him to turn 21 before the marriage can be arranged.”

Narcore’s heart crumbled, for he had been quite smitten from the first moment he’d laid his eyes on her. He quietly grumbled under his breath, not intending for Reijon to hear, “I shall turn 21 in two months. Pity I have no such luck.”

“Don’t be so sure, friend.” Reijon’s words just than startled him. He looked up aghast, looking into Reijon’s eyes in search for answers.

“Perhaps this may clarify things for you.” Reijon then smiled knowingly. “Though we’ve enjoyed your hospitality for over a year, with your upright manner you’ve never inquired after my sister’s name. As I have full confidence in you now, I shall divulge it: she is called Yechris, and I dare say you two had already met previously. Do you recollect?”

He waited for the information to sink in, and then nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, it was fate that brought you two together back then. I happened to be away with my tutor at the time. You have no idea of the danger you faced when you followed that white hare. He was truly an evil spirit that lured wayward travellers into his trap, and then devoured them." Seeing Narcore’s horror, he explained, “In answer to your unspoken question, no we are not the same; and the truth will be revealed to you all in good time. For now, I shall only say this; for some inexplicable reason my little sister and our parents happened to be in that hare’s meadow at that precise time. And that is why I say that you and my sister were destined to be together.

My parents have since passed away but as her guardian, and if it is agreeable to you, I am willing to accept you into our family as my brother-in-law.Narcore was so overjoyed at this that he blurted, “Of course, of course, nothing can be better.”

Soon after Narcore’s birthday he and Yechris were married. On their wedding night, after the bride was escorted to the nuptial quarters, a most queer thing occurred that now warrants further mention. You see, during the celebrations her brother, against Yechris’ advice, consumed an inordinate amount of spirits. Seeing the state he was in Narcore excused himself from the celebrants in order to safely escort his new brother-in-law to his quarters. Along the way however Reijon simply collapsed on the ground and no amount of coaxing would get him up. Fortunately they were alone at the time and the few remaining, extremely intoxicated, guests were preoccupied with the acrobatic performances of the entertainers. Luckily so, for the very moment Reijon had collapsed onto the ground, he had transformed into a wine-coloured chrysanthemum and sprouted roots that reached deep down into the earth. Bewildered, Narcore rushed off to his quarters and, finding his new wife seated coyly on the bed, told her all that had happened. She was mortified with the fear of discovery and, exiting through the back door, rushed off at once to where her brother taken up root. Gently pulling him out of the soil, they replanted him in a pot and secretly brought it back into their private chambers.

Needless to say, in all the excitement neither the bride nor the groom got any sleep that night as Yechris made a full confession to her husband. She and her family were chrysanthemum spirits, living as humans, and in her contrition she gave him the option of annulling the marriage if he so desired. But he would not hear of it, and furthermore he declared his increased fascination and undying love for her, promising to be a faithful, good husband to the end of their days. That night she willingly forfeited her immortality. By the following morning the brother had turned back into a human, suitably embarrassed and apologized profusely.

From that day forth Reijon took care never lose control again. One day he took his leave of them to start his life elsewhere, after promising to visit them from time to time.

The married couple lived happily and were blessed with many children each of whom they named after a different variety of Chrysanthemum.


The End