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