For three days the sages followed a winding path through the forest until finally it met with a road on a plain like a plate. Down this straight and dusty road they plod, surrounded on each side by treeless paddies. And as the sun sank low, only the road seemed to offer a bed. “Tired are we, and hungrier still,” reflected King Ching Chi. “Yet this road seems endless and its prospects few.”
“True enough,” replied Tzu-yu. “But the rice nears fruition and is the greenest of green. And the crickets and frogs will serenade us the whole night.”
Even as they spoke, they espied a buffalo emerging from a paddy ahead, and soon a farmer moving it along. Seeing them, the farmer waited for them in the road. “Good day, Sirs,” said he, “I see you are weary and probably famished to boot. But you will find no inn for many leagues hence.”
“It is just as you say, Sir,” replied Chen Jen, “but we will sleep as we must and perhaps find an inn’s comfort on the morrow.”
“No need at all for you to sleep rough on this road,” replied the farmer, “for my home is nearby and there is room by the hearth.”
“Your kindness is great and we accept it thankfully,” answered Chen Jen.
“It is no great kindness at all, respected lord,” replied the farmer, “for I see you in want and it costs me but little. And it is clear you are no ruffians, but educated men of gentle spirit. So, let us be on our way, the sooner to share a meal!”
Thus the sages soon found themselves seated about the hearth in a rustic country home, surrounded by a large and smiling family. The meal, rice with a few bits of radish tops, seemed a banquet, and the hot tea, the very elixir of life, so hungry they were. Burping contentedly, Tzu-yu expressed the same. After some while of pleasing banter, one of the oldest sons mustered his courage to ask, “Please, can you tell us, Sirs, what it is you do to earn your bread?”
At this, his father rebuked him severely, declaring, “You have insulted our guests! Can you not see that these are gentlemen well-educated and wise who need not give account of their lives to the likes of you?!”
But Chen Jen answered the farmer gently saying, “Your discretion is correct and your sympathies true, but with your permission, dear Sir, I would answer all the questions your son might ask. For if my life were not transparent, I would hide it in shame, and his question, I think, is one of innocent curiosity and worthy of address. ”
“I apologize for the insolence of my son, nonetheless,” replied the farmer. “But my lord knows his business better than I, and so I leave you, Sir, to answer as you will.”
Speaking then directly to the shamefaced son, Chen Jen said, “Your father is correct and has much wisdom to teach, not only to you, but to me as well. For I am a man well educated, it is true, yet have come to understand that wisdom is not knowledge nor is it to be found in a book.
Now to answer your question: I do not rightly know. Long ago I was a teacher of no little repute, having taught young princes and lived well among the rich. But hungering for harmony my heart bid me wander and has brought me here now to this very same hearth. The best I can say, is that the Way always provides, whether through generosity as is found in this home or in the opportunity to teach or in the sweat of my brow. And though the way is not often easy and many the nights cold, wet and hungry, never would I return to my life of disharmonious ease.”
“Though I work daily from morning dark to evening dusk, still I would not trade places with you,” responded the farmer, “for there is great comfort in constant labor and the promise of home and family at the end of the day!”
“Nor should you indeed!” responded Chen Jen. “For I tell you, Sir, sincerely, that your choice is well made and the conditions of which you speak, speak too of harmony! And I will tell you this also, that I am often called a sage, yet no sage worth the name would not gladly learn from you.
Many are the so-called sages that know little of the Tao, yet great are the multitudes that walk in harmony with Tao yet with nary a thought of the Tao! Is it not those who are learned who must learn to unlearn? For it is the simple people who have all that true sages wish to achieve. We think ourselves sages because we fail of simplicity!”
“Sir, your words seem kind and generous though I confess I understand them not,” said the farmer. “But know that you are always welcome to find warmth at my hearth.”
And so passed a most pleasing stay. And in the morning, upon their departure, King Ching Chi tried to press a few coins in payment into the farmer’s hand, but he would not take them and feigned great slight. So, in parting, King Ching Chi said, “Sir, it is my hope to return by this way and should it come to pass I will be bringing you a gift. And the insult will be mine, if it be not graciously received!”
This post is part of a series. To view the index, go here.
“True enough,” replied Tzu-yu. “But the rice nears fruition and is the greenest of green. And the crickets and frogs will serenade us the whole night.”
Even as they spoke, they espied a buffalo emerging from a paddy ahead, and soon a farmer moving it along. Seeing them, the farmer waited for them in the road. “Good day, Sirs,” said he, “I see you are weary and probably famished to boot. But you will find no inn for many leagues hence.”
“It is just as you say, Sir,” replied Chen Jen, “but we will sleep as we must and perhaps find an inn’s comfort on the morrow.”
“No need at all for you to sleep rough on this road,” replied the farmer, “for my home is nearby and there is room by the hearth.”
“Your kindness is great and we accept it thankfully,” answered Chen Jen.
“It is no great kindness at all, respected lord,” replied the farmer, “for I see you in want and it costs me but little. And it is clear you are no ruffians, but educated men of gentle spirit. So, let us be on our way, the sooner to share a meal!”
Thus the sages soon found themselves seated about the hearth in a rustic country home, surrounded by a large and smiling family. The meal, rice with a few bits of radish tops, seemed a banquet, and the hot tea, the very elixir of life, so hungry they were. Burping contentedly, Tzu-yu expressed the same. After some while of pleasing banter, one of the oldest sons mustered his courage to ask, “Please, can you tell us, Sirs, what it is you do to earn your bread?”
At this, his father rebuked him severely, declaring, “You have insulted our guests! Can you not see that these are gentlemen well-educated and wise who need not give account of their lives to the likes of you?!”
But Chen Jen answered the farmer gently saying, “Your discretion is correct and your sympathies true, but with your permission, dear Sir, I would answer all the questions your son might ask. For if my life were not transparent, I would hide it in shame, and his question, I think, is one of innocent curiosity and worthy of address. ”
“I apologize for the insolence of my son, nonetheless,” replied the farmer. “But my lord knows his business better than I, and so I leave you, Sir, to answer as you will.”
Speaking then directly to the shamefaced son, Chen Jen said, “Your father is correct and has much wisdom to teach, not only to you, but to me as well. For I am a man well educated, it is true, yet have come to understand that wisdom is not knowledge nor is it to be found in a book.
Now to answer your question: I do not rightly know. Long ago I was a teacher of no little repute, having taught young princes and lived well among the rich. But hungering for harmony my heart bid me wander and has brought me here now to this very same hearth. The best I can say, is that the Way always provides, whether through generosity as is found in this home or in the opportunity to teach or in the sweat of my brow. And though the way is not often easy and many the nights cold, wet and hungry, never would I return to my life of disharmonious ease.”
“Though I work daily from morning dark to evening dusk, still I would not trade places with you,” responded the farmer, “for there is great comfort in constant labor and the promise of home and family at the end of the day!”
“Nor should you indeed!” responded Chen Jen. “For I tell you, Sir, sincerely, that your choice is well made and the conditions of which you speak, speak too of harmony! And I will tell you this also, that I am often called a sage, yet no sage worth the name would not gladly learn from you.
Many are the so-called sages that know little of the Tao, yet great are the multitudes that walk in harmony with Tao yet with nary a thought of the Tao! Is it not those who are learned who must learn to unlearn? For it is the simple people who have all that true sages wish to achieve. We think ourselves sages because we fail of simplicity!”
“Sir, your words seem kind and generous though I confess I understand them not,” said the farmer. “But know that you are always welcome to find warmth at my hearth.”
And so passed a most pleasing stay. And in the morning, upon their departure, King Ching Chi tried to press a few coins in payment into the farmer’s hand, but he would not take them and feigned great slight. So, in parting, King Ching Chi said, “Sir, it is my hope to return by this way and should it come to pass I will be bringing you a gift. And the insult will be mine, if it be not graciously received!”
This post is part of a series. To view the index, go here.
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