Chinese Stories in English
Green River 01
Stories published in《中国卫星小说精选》2024, 陈永林选编
Page citation and link to online Chinese text noted after each story.
1. Secrets of the Nursery Business 3. The Geometry of Life 4. Stealing a Peach
2. Island Jasmine 5. Exotic Pigeons
1. Secrets of the Nursery Business (花草诀)
Nie Xinsen (聂鑫森)
Mountain An, a short, thin man, retired from the Hunan Nursery Company almost a year ago. His son, Forester, now in his thirties, has held the general manager’s position for that year. Mountain handed over power completely, not even ruling from behind the scenes, but he did keep an eye on things from the sidelines.
He’d been a country gardener when he founded the privately owned company thirty years before. He’s quick-witted, hardworking and a master with plants, and over the years he’d overseen the company's growth from a small business into an industry powerhouse. He’d also become a prominent figure in the industry. The vast expanse of wild hills and ridges he'd initially leased was now a riot of vibrant colors, a veritable purple, red, green and yellow gold mine.
The company has a solid organization employing a staggering five hundred people in separate departments: Seedlings, Plants, Sales, Services and Reception, plus a Party branch and a labor union. Each department has its own office in the company headquarters, a three-story brick building surrounded by a luxuriant lawn with a small bamboo-fenced courtyard.
Mountain felt a sudden onset of inexplicable fatigue after a serious illness and decided to retire at the top of his game. Fortunately, his son had obeyed him and studied landscape architecture at Forestry College. After graduation, he worked diligently at the company as an ordinary employee, spending two years in each division. His low-key, down-to-earth demeanor earned him a good reputation from everyone involved. He even joined the Party.
"Forester, I’m no longer able to be the general manager. You should take over."
His tall, strong son was quick to reply "I don't have enough experience, Dad. You have to help me get on the horse and guide me on my way."
Mountain smiled faintly. "There’s something else you haven't said. You're worried I might ‘meddle in’ the company’s administration! Don't worry, I won't. I don’t care who you choose for the department managers or how you’ll conduct the company business."
His son proclaimed, "Okay! I can take up the position right away."
Mountain was astonished that the company had been operating as it always had since his son took the reins in February. New executives commonly replace managers in various departments, but his son hadn't done anything of the sort. He’d simply called a meeting of department heads and told them, "We're a nursery. We have to have some potted plants in our headquarters compound. It's the face of our company. Each of you choose a potted plant you like, put a label with your name on it and set it out on a plant stand."
Mountain hadn’t been at that meeting, but a former subordinate had quietly informed him about it by phone. He was pleased but a bit saddened: "Not changing the leadership team is probably best for everyone's emotional stability, which is good. But displaying more potted plants at headquarters is just a prosaic facade, a distraction from more important matters, which isn’t so good." He didn't mention his thoughts to his son directly, though.
Forester hasn't married yet, but he visits his parents in their home every now and then. He always leaves copies of the company’s business reports on the round table in the living room. Mountain has noted that sales volume and profits have been stable with slight growth. He knows that, given current market conditions, achieving such stability is no small feat.
New Year's Day was fast approaching, and Mountain counted on his fingers: it had been ten months since his son took over the company. Forester came over for New Year's dinner, even though it had snowed heavily every day recently and it was bitter cold outside. After dinner, he said, "Mom, we don't want to disturb you watching TV. Dad and I can go to the small living room upstairs to chat."
Mountain was a little surprised but immediately agreed. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
"I know you’ve always wanted to ask why I had each department head grow a potted plant."
"That’s right. I’ve wondered what kind of nursery business strategy was behind that."
Several pleasing calligraphy scrolls and paintings hung on the wall in the small upstairs living room. A pot of warmed rice wine and two shallow porcelain bowls sat on a small round mahogany table. Forester poured wine into the bowls and said, "Here’s to you, Dad. You take a sip, and I'll down the whole bowl!"
Mountain replied, "This kind of rice wine has a low alcohol content, so I'll finish off the whole bowl, too." The bowls clinked lightly together, and the father and son tilted their heads back and drank it all.
"Dad, I'm going to make some changes to the leadership team after New Year's Day. Just partial changes, of course. People worked together when you were in charge, and you didn’t have a deputy general manager. Now I'm going to appoint one."
"Who?"
"Cultured Jade Gu, the Director of Marketing."
"And the reason?"
"Let me start by talking about growing plants. Cultured originally chose a pot of rose blackberry. It has vibrant foliage, but it doesn't bloom until late spring. An old poem says, 'When the blackberry blossoms, it's done.' By the time it blooms, spring is almost over. The old poets also said, ‘Blackberry doesn't compete with others in spring; it blooms last in solitude.' This suggests quite a bit of contentment with solitude."
"I remember Cultured Gu’s age. He turned sixty at the beginning of summer."
"That’s right. He's close to retirement, but he still took good care of his pot of flowers. The white flowers bloomed in beautiful profusion by late spring, and the appearance was a testament to his attitude toward life and work.
“The day he came to me to complete the retirement procedures, he expected to receive a monthly pension. I told him I wanted him to stay on in his original position after retirement, and for the same salary. He agreed, except he refused to take his full salary. He said he only needed to make the difference between his pension and his former salary.
“Then he told me he wanted to switch to a tuberose, a plant that produces fragrant, white, trumpet-shaped flowers from June to November. It would remind him to keep striving hard despite his approaching old age.
“And he's come up with many new marketing strategies. He promoted the festive dragon boat flower before the Dragon Boat Festival, and recommended long-lasting marigolds to the elderly before the Double Ninth Festival celebrating longevity. When he organized an event with the Education Commission to celebrate Teacher's Day, he invited entrepreneurs to chip in with gifts of green-leaved, red-fruited Dieffenbachia to renowned and veteran teachers around the city. We sold thousands of pots in a flash!"
"Director Gu is a good man! But your cousin, Glamorous Liu, has been the director of the Nursery Department for many years, and she's only in her forties…. I heard she chose to raise a Chinese rose, the kind known as Moonlight Red, which yields bright red flowers."
"You're well-informed, Dad. However, she had a cleaning lady from the headquarters compound water and fertilize the plant for her. She never does anything herself. Nevertheless, she often boasts that her roses are the most beautiful of all.
“She's also not in the office much. I hear she goes shopping or to the movies. She doesn't like going to the nursery floor, either. No one dares say anything to her -- she's a 'royal relative', after all."
“But she’s accomplished quite a bit.”
"When you were at the helm, you helped her behind the scenes to get the planning done. After I took over, I entrusted the director of the Seedlings Department, Heaven-Sent Jiang, to do the production plans, and he was fully up to the job. Heaven-Sent is only two years older than me. He has an elderly mother and two children, and his wife is an elementary school teacher, but he never lets family matters interfere with his work. He’s been leading both the Seedlings and Nursery Departments with ease, one openly and the other secretly.
“He chose to grow a pot of delphinium, and he put so much care and love into it. When it blooms, the pale blue flowers are like swallows unobtrusively carrying mud to build their nests. It's very touching."
"Your cousin is one of our family, after all, so please show her some mercy."
Forester poured himself a bowl of wine and gulped it down before saying, "Dad, the Nursery Department and the Seedlings Department are the main driving forces for our company's development. We need to employ virtuous and capable people. My cousin’s got to go!"
"Well, what's the point of getting rid of her?"
"She can go to the Reception Department, not as a director, but as just a regular receptionist. She’ll have to sit in the office for eight hours, greeting visiting clients."
"What if she doesn't want to go?"
"She can go home and enjoy life. Her salary will continue to be paid, but not by the company. I'll pay it personally. If you don't agree, I'll bring you back on as the general manager."
"I didn't say I disagreed…. Who’ll be director of the Nursery Department?"
Forester said, "I propose merging the Seedlings and Nursery Departments into one. It’ll be called the Seedlings and Nursery Department, and Heaven-Sent Jiang will be director. Cultured Gu will be deputy general manager and concurrently serve as Director of Marketing. The leaders of other departments will remain unchanged. I've gotten to know them through the potted plants they chose to grow.
“That’s my secret strategy for the nursery business. I plan to hold a meeting after New Year's Day. I'll start by discussing the selection and care of potted plants, then turn to the leadership rotation, and close with the company's long-term development plan."
Mountain abruptly threw his head back and laughed. "Son,” he said, “this secret strategy for the nursery business shows that you have good judgment and courage. Great! Just do whatever you decide. I won't interfere. Ha, ha."
Out of the blue a loud shout came from downstairs. "Come on down and go to the courtyard with me to enjoy the fragrance of plum blossoms!"
Mountain responded "Okay…." Then he whispered to his son, "Your mother is getting crazy in her old age. She’s summoning us for a walk in the snow to appreciate plum blossoms. She knows what we've been talking about. It makes her happy, and that takes a load off my mind."
Forester said, "She’s got a lot of sense!"
Your translator doesn’t know why the book’s editor chose this story to lead off the compilation.
Published in《中国卫星小说精选》at p. 001. Translated from 搜狐 at here. Also available here.
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2. Island Jasmine (海岛茉莉)
Jiang Zhiqiang (江志强)
The island hangs alone in the deep sea. Only eight soldiers are stationed there. The squad leader, Old Huang, is the oldest and has the most seniority. He also does the cooking.
Supply ships bring food, reading materials and mail to the island every two weeks, and pick up the soldiers' letters to various parts of the motherland to take back on their return trips north. The soldiers always line up in formation to salute the supply ships on arrival and departure.
On weekdays, the soldiers exercise, train, read newspapers, sing, chat and go on patrols, just as they would on the mainland. They spend the rest of their time writing thick, bulging letters. The flimsy envelopes seem unable to hold the torrent that flows from their pens.
The area commander is particularly concerned about these eight soldiers and has sent them several messages: "What else is needed on the island? Feel free to ask!" So, at a routine squad meeting, Old Huang led a discussion: "What else do we need on our island?"
Two recently arrived soldiers lowered their voices and said, "There’s no internet…."
Old Huang smiled. "We have to defend the island with or without internet. We can get by without it."
He continued to mull over the question. Then one of the veterans uttered a single word: "Soil." That word touched the hearts of every soldier and they all nodded in unison. However, they didn’t raise the issue with their superiors. The army's transport capacity is limited, and they didn't want to burden their superiors except in case of an emergency.
One winter morning, Old Huang hitched a ride on a supply ship to go visit his family. When he returned, his bag contained exactly ten kilos of soil. He spread out several sheets of old newspaper on the floor of the duty room and carefully deposited the soil on them. "Authentic black soil from the Northeast!"
The soldiers gathered around the black earth and stared at it for a long time without looking up. Their eyes glowed when they reached out to take bits of the soil in their hands and gently caressed it.
Next the deputy squad leader, Young Lu, brought back ten kilograms of soil when he returned from a family visit. He was from the North China Plain and the soil he brought was brownish-yellow, the kind suitable for growing wheat, corn and soybeans.
Over the course of a year, one after the other, the soldiers brought soil from their hometowns to the island when they returned from family visits. They enriched the island's soil with black loam from the Northeast, brown dirt from North China, brick-red earth from the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, and dark loess sediment from the Loess Plateau.
How should they store so many different types of soil? Old Huang wanted to blend them together, but Young Lu disagreed: "The soils all have different qualities. I'm afraid it wouldn't be a good idea to mix them together."
Old Huang laughed. "When we first arrived on the island, we soldiers all had different qualities and habits. Now we’re all integrated together." So the soldiers blended the differently colored soils together. Come spring, Old Huang decided to plant a flower in the soil.
The comrades on the supply ship were very helpful. They brought a small bag of jasmine seeds to the island, along with an exquisite rectangular flowerpot. The pot had a traditional Chinese landscape painting carved on the outside, with four powerful words inscribed in a blank space: "Gorgeous Rivers and Mountains."
The soldiers were ecstatic and kept gathering around the pot to stare at it. "Don't count your chickens," a soldier from the supply ship advised, "but the commander said you'll be rewarded if you can keep the jasmine alive!"
It turned out that the flowerpot was a special gift from the area commander. He’d heard about the soldiers and their soil and was a little worried. Jasmine is a delicate plant, and he wasn’t sure it could survive on the island....
The commander visited the island on an inspection tour six months later and saw the jasmine in full bloom. Respect showed in his eyes as he looked at the soldiers. "Comrades, thank you for your hard work! This soil is different from other soils,” he sighed. “Chinese soils integrated together in this way are potent!" Springtime rippled across the soldiers’ wind-dried faces as they listened to the commander's speech.
"The motherland can count on us guarding this island!" Old Huang led everyone in a salute to the commander.
My second uncle, Old Huang, the squad leader in the story, told me about this. He served in the army for thirteen years and defended six islands, some large and some small. He was proudest of how he and his comrades had managed to grow a jasmine plant in such a harsh environment.
Since he retired, he told me, six generations of soldiers have come and gone on that small island deep in the ocean. Whenever they return home to visit their families, the soldiers always bring back bags of soil from their hometowns. They’ve used the blended soil to grow vegetables and trees, not just jasmine. When he retired, he had five military medals in his bag, plus a wooden box the size of a cigarette pack. The box was filled with "Chinese soil" from the island.
As I listened to my second uncle's recollections that night, I seemed to hear the sound of waves on the vast ocean. The jasmine plant flickered before my eyes like a torch, illuminating the dark night.
Translator’s Note: Some people say, “You can separate the Chinese from the farm, but you can’t separate the farm from the Chinese.”
Published in《中国卫星小说精选》at p. 005. Chinese text also available here.
Translated from华夏经纬 at https://www.huaxia.com/c/2022/05/30/1167542.shtml
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3. The Geometry of Life (人生几何)
Gao Chunyang (高春阳)
“Class Monitor, please inform the students who have daily assigned duties: From now on, no one is allowed to erase or even touch this little blackboard of mine.” Laying down this iron-clad rule was the first thing our geometry teacher, Mr. Lu, did when he entered his high school classroom on the first day of the new semester.
The Class Monitor bellowed, “Yes, Mr. Lu.”
My desk mate, Cosmos Liang, and I sat in the back row of the class. We each held a pen, which we used to move our pieces in a game of Go. We called it "moving," but in fact we just drew the Go pieces on a sheet of paper. He drew black O’s and I drew white X’s. When we captured a piece, we removed it from the game with an eraser.
“It's your turn, Cosmos,” I whispered.
"Hold your horses,” he whispered. “This weird old man is kind of interesting.“
I wasn't in the mood to watch the old codger. My eyes were fixed on the game. I was Cosmos’ teacher, that is, I taught him how to play Go. I handicapped him four pieces at first, then two, then one. Now I don't give him any. Sometimes I even lose.
Before he started lecturing, the strange old man picked up a piece of chalk and drew a quarter circle clockwise on the small blackboard. To be more precise, I should call it a quarter-circle arc. He began his lecture after he finished drawing.
The students thought that was weird. Hanging there, the quarter-circle arc looked almost but not quite like the moon, or almost but not quite like a bow.
I whispered, "Wha’d’ya mean? You don't want me to erase you."
Cosmos whispered, "We don’t have to play. Let’s listen to the lecture. Mr. Lu is kind of hard-nosed. Don't tee him off."
I looked up and saw Mr. Lu staring right at me. I was so scared I threw the "board" into the desk at once. Then I sat up straight and listened to this weird old man's lecture.
No complaints. The old man's lecture was sort of interesting. He made geometry sound like fun. Dry formulas came alive in his mouth. He looked stern, but he always managed to make my classmates laugh.
A week later, another class. Before he started his lecture, Mr. Lu continued drawing his masterpiece on the blackboard. He extended the arc he’d drawn last time into a semicircle with a continuous downward stroke, then stopped and began lecturing without any explanation. The half circle reminded me of a fully drawn bow. I wanted to use that bow to shoot an arrow at Cosmos.
I'd been really mad for a few days because I'd lost more than I won when I played Go with Cosmos. My face didn’t look like a face anymore -- more like a shoe insole. You know, others might say they were the second best Go player in the whole school, but no one would dare claim to be the best.
In the third week of geometry class, as usual, Mr. Lu began by sketching on his blueprint. When he finished adding a third quarter to the arc, we all understood that this strange old man wanted to draw a circle. But why was he doing it in four steps when he could’ve just done it all at once?
The time to witness the completion of the circle came a week later. The students burst into applause when Teacher Lu added the final stroke to connect the entire figure. He’d done what everyone had imagined he’d do.
The circle, about sixty centimeters in diameter, was oh so round. One classmate got a large compass to draw another circle around Mr. Lu’s. It turned out to be a perfect fit.
The strange old man finally stopped sulking and smiled for the first time in four classes. One student asked, "Mr. Lu, what's the point of this circle?" The teacher ignored him. He just waved his hand and continued lecturing.
After class, we all gathered around the small blackboard to admire the scene. The four arc segments were joined together seamlessly. How could anyone make such a perfect circle? Damn, was it really drawn by a human being?
I wasn’t in the mood to admire his artistry, though. The old man’s vision had come full circle, but mine hadn’t. Now, when I played Go with Cosmos, I lost every game. I couldn't beat him at all. Was this kid human? I was going crazy.
Regretfully, I neglected my studies because of our games and my grades plummeted. Cosmos's grades, on the other hand, rose to the point where he was on the verge of breaking into the top ten in the class. I could neither explain nor accept it. I was really depressed and felt like the whole world was laughing at me.
Mr. Lu was in high spirits for week five of geometry class. His arched eyebrows made him look like a swordsman rushing into battle with unstoppable momentum. His chalk was his sword, and he used it to slash through any opposition. In just over ten seconds, the circle had became a full moon hanging in the sky. The entire process was a seamless flow, like water in a river. Taking a second look at the blackboard, the moonlight seemed to spread across a thousand leagues. It was a poem. It was a vision.
The air seemed to freeze when Mr. Lu straightened up and sheathed his sword. A deep calm came over him. He scanned the classroom and announced, "Students, I drew this circle on the blackboard in just a few seconds, the time needed for one breath. But you know something? I practiced for five years on this little marvel, and then I drew circles for another twenty-five years while I was teaching. Thirty years all together!” He pointed his pointer at the blackboard.
“Do you think I did this to show off? No,” he continued, “There’s something else that’s even more impressive. Anyone can draw a circle in one breath, as long as they put in the time. Has anyone else ever tried to do it? The only requirement, of course, is that you do it by hand with chalk.” The whole class sat up straight in their chairs and listened in a daze.
Mr. Lu's tone was solemn. He knocked on a desk and said, "If an old man like me can apply himself for thirty years just to draw a circle, tell me, what excuse do you have for not applying yourselves? I may have spent thirty years accomplishing only one little thing, but none of you is better at it than me! Tell me, students, is it because you lack the talent? Come on! Who among you has the nerve to claim you couldn't draw a circle the way I did today, if you had thirty years to practice? If anyone is brave enough to say that, please leave now. You don't deserve to be in my class!
Mr. Lu put down his pointer and said, "I have a question. If I asked you to draw a circle in four segments, how would you do it? Who can answer my question?" The class fell silent, each student imagining the scene in their minds.
Cosmos raised his hand. Mr. Lu pointed at him and said, "I know you. Your name is Cosmos Liang."
Cosmos stood up and replied, "Mr. Lu, my understanding can be summed up in one word: heart. Heart is the center, the radius and the circumference of the circle. Wherever your eyes reach, wherever the chalk goes, that's where your heart goes. In fact, no matter how many segments you divide it into, no matter how long the intervals are, the radius will always be the same, as long as you put your heart into it!"
The class erupted in applause. Mr. Lu's eyes widened into a stare and tears covered his face.
From then on, I no longer cared about winning or losing when I played Go. I was content to be an average player. If someone challenged me, I’d tell them I was Cosmos Liang’s teacher and they’d turn tail and run.... Cosmos’ grades were tops in the school.
Later someone asked, “Who taught you to play Go?" I told them it was Mr. Lu."
The guy thought that was strange. "Mr. Lu doesn't know how to play Go!"
"It was him," I replied.
Your translator is beginning to wonder if the quality of the stories will improve as we get farther into the book.
Chinese text available here. An edited version is also available from 掌阅 here.
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4. Stealing a Peach (偷桃)
Ma Baoshan (马宝山)
When the Yellow River flooded during the reign of the Qing Dynasty’s Emperor Qianlong (1735-1796), a large number of refugees from Henan and Shandong provinces flocked to Jinan Prefecture. Dozens of stalls were set up on the streets of Jinan City to sell rice porridge for relief of the refugees. In time the warehouses supplying the stalls ran out of rice, but officials in Jinan completely ignored the flood victims’ plight.
It was almost time for the Spring Festival, and the officials celebrated by decorating the streets with lanterns. They also invited numerous artists to perform "The Rites of Spring" and set up a stage in front of the government offices.
When gongs and drums announced the start of the performance, a man carrying a shoulder pole lead a disheveled boy onto the stage and announced his intention to perform a magic trick for the governor and the other officials. A minor official dressed in black asked him what kind of trick, and the performer replied, "I can turn the seasons upside down, gentlemen, and present fresh melons and other fruits for you to taste."
An official in the audience demanded, "Then turn something into a peach for us."
The performer took off his cloak and draped it over a bamboo box. Pretending to be full of regret, he muttered, "The official’s request is truly unrealistic. It's freezing now, and there’s snow on the ground. Where can I go to get a peach? If I don't get one, I'm afraid the official will be angry. What... what should I do?"
The disheveled boy pleaded with him, "You already said you could do it, so how can you back out?"
The performer frantically paced around on the stage. He stopped in front of the audience and addressed the officials, "The ice and snow haven't melted yet, so where on earth can we find peaches? I’ll have go up to heaven and pick them from the Queen Mother's Peach Garden."
The boy laughed and said, "Are there steps to heaven? Are there ladders?"
"I have my own way," the performer said. He opened the bamboo box, took out a ball of rope, shook it, untied the ends and threw one end into the air. It seemed like a puff of smoke shot from the rope as it floated up into the cloud. The performer called to the boy," Son, I'm old and tired. I can't climb up the rope. You go for me." He handed the rope end to his son.
His son took the rope, but he looked troubled and complained, "This is so stupid, Dad! You want me to climb up to the clouds, but the rope is too flimsy. If it breaks when I’m half-way up, I’ll fall from the cloud and get squashed flatter than a pancake."
The performer had no alternative. With a pained expression on his face, he begged his son. "I’ve made a promise to the officials, and it wouldn’t be right to go back on my word. Please, I have to ask you to go to the Peach Garden. If you really can get a peach, the officials will give you a hundred gold coins as a reward. And I’ll find a beautiful girl for you to marry, guaranteed." The son nodded, grasped the rope and shinnied upwards. He gradually ascended into the cloud and out of sight.
After a while, a peach as big as a bowl fell from above. The performer smiled as he presented it to the governor. The governor held it in his hand but couldn’t tell whether it was real or fake, so he handed it to the officials sitting beside him. They also couldn't say whether it was real thing.
At this moment, the rope suddenly fell from the sky. The artist panicked and cried out, "Oh no, oh no! Someone up above has cut the rope! How can my son get down!"
A moment later, a head fell from the sky. The performer held it up for all to see the disheveled hair. He beat his chest and wailed, "The Peach Orchard guards must have caught my son stealing a peach and cut the rope. My son is dead!" Then other objects began to fall from the cloud: a leg, an arm, then a torso....
The performer was beside himself with grief. He put the body parts into the bamboo box one by one and sat down beside it. "My son,” he moaned, “ you followed your father all over the country and suffered so much. Today, you met disaster trying to please the officials and tragically lost your life. I’ll take you back to our home in the countryside to bury you."
The performer knelt before the governor again and pleaded, "My son has lost his life because he was stealing a peach from heaven. Please take pity on him, sir, and give me some money to bury the poor boy!"
The governor and other officials each took out a large amount of silver to reward the performer. He thanked him, took the silver, and tied it in a money belt around his waist. Then he walked to the bamboo box, patted the lid and said, "Son, come out and thank these honorable gentlemen for their gifts."
The lid flew open and a disheveled child jumped out. He bowed to thank the officials for giving him money. Everyone could see it was the performer's son. They watched in amazed silence as father and son picked up the box on their bamboo pole and carried it away.
Legend has it that the performers donated all their receipts to several porridge stalls providing relief to the disaster victims. The stalls remained open until the spring plowing season and closed only when the disaster victims returned home for spring planting.
This story has been passed down in Henan and Shandong for many years. Some elderly people tell it even today.
Chinese text available here, slightly edited from book version. Also at 刊APP下载 here.
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5. Exotic Pigeons (异鸽)
Ma Baoshan (马宝山)
In Zouping County, Shandong Province, there lived a man named Youthful Capacity Zhang, the son of a high ranking official. He particularly enjoyed raising pigeons and hoped to obtain and raise all the world's most famous breeds, so he searched far and wide for breeds listed in the "Classic of Pigeons".
He cared for his pigeons as though they were human babies. He used licorice powder to keep them warm in cold weather and fed them salt grains to cool them off in hot weather. Pigeons love to sleep, but sleeping too much can easily lead to life threatening paralysis. To keep his birds active and stave off paralysis, Mr. Zhang spent ten taels of silver to buy a small pigeon in Yangzhou that loved to move. It constantly turned around and around, never stopping. Mr. Zhang placed it in his flock in the hope it would disturb the others and keep them from sleeping too much.
He named this exquisite little bird "Night Traveler."
Mr. Zhang was famous throughout Shandong for raising pigeons. He also took great pride in his husbandry skills and was always bragging about them.
One night, a young man in white knocked on the door while Mr. Zhang was reading the "Classic of Pigeons" under a lamp. When he came in, Mr. Zhang looked at him but didn't recognize him, so he asked who he was. The young man replied, "I flit around, never in one place long enough for people to get to know me. I heard you have the largest collection of pigeons, so I came to see them."
Mr. Zhang was delighted to hear that the young man was also fond of pigeons, so he was happy to show him his flock. The dazzling array of colorful birds amazed the young fellow, who exclaimed, "The rumors are true. You have some of the most famous pigeons in the world. I raise pigeons, too, but not many. I only have two, but I suspect they’re the most extraordinary birds you've ever seen."
This piqued Mr. Zhang’s interest. He begged to go see these extraordinary pigeons and the young man agreed.
The two men walked under the moonlight and soon arrived at a small courtyard with a tiny house flanked by two trees. They entered, and Mr. Zhang was surprised to find the room was as bright as day despite the absence of lamps. Was it illuminated entirely by moonlight?
The young man mimicked a pigeon’s call and two doves fluttered in. They looked like ordinary pigeons with pure white feathers. They fluttered and chirped joyfully above the men's heads, but soon, the young man waved his hand and the doves flew away. The young man pursed his lips and emitted another strange call, and another two pigeons arrived. The larger one was as big as a goose, and the smaller one diminutive as a sparrow.
The two pigeons stood side by side on the steps and danced like cranes. The larger one stretched its neck and spread its wings like a peacock showing off its tail. The smaller one soared above its companion's head like a finch darting over cattail leaves, its delicate, sharp chirps sounding like raindrops hitting the cattails. Then the larger one stood still and sang in a pleasing voice that resembled a silver hammer striking jade.
The birds’ rhythmic movements blended together in moderate harmony. After a while, the smaller one flew up, while the bigger one twisted and swayed. It teased its tiny companion as they played and sang together. Mr. Zhang admired them immensely and regretted that he didn’t have such magical pigeons among all the thousands he was raising.
Mr. Zhang was so enamored of the young fellow's pigeons that he forgot he hardly knew the man and asked him to give up his treasures. When he refused, Mr. Zhang begged him. The young man let the two dancing pigeons fly away and, imitating a pigeon’s call once again, beckoned the first two white doves to return. He reached out and caught them in his hands, then handed them to Mr. Zhang. "If it’s OK with you, I'll give you these two white pigeons instead."
Mr. Zhang took the doves and examined them closely. Their amber eyes shimmered in the moonlight, translucent and bright, with pupils as round as black beads. He lifted their wings and, as if he were looking through crystal clear water, the muscles between their ribs and their internal organs were plainly visible. Mr. Zhang was intrigued and wanted to ask for more like them, but the young man guessed his thoughts and declined. "I have two more extraordinary pigeons, but I don’t dare let you see them."
Just then the young man's family arrived carrying hemp torches. They wanted him to come home right away. Before Mr. Zhang could say anything, the young fellow turned into a white pigeon, as large as a wild goose, and soared into the sky. Mr. Zhang looked around and the courtyard and house had disappeared. Only a small pigeon coop remained, with two small saplings beside it.
Mr. Zhang walked home holding the two white doves. He was in shock and sighed all the way. The two pigeons were remarkably docile when he arrived, flitting and playing like they had when he first saw them. He admired them even more and cared for them meticulously. Two years later, the pair produced six more white pigeons, three males and three females, and Mr. Zhang cherished them even more.
One day, a man claiming to be a family friend and a high-ranking official came to Mr. Zhang's home. He looked over Mr. Zhang's collection of renowned and exotic pigeons and began discussing the "Classic of Pigeons." He spoke volumes about renowned pigeons from various regions, such as the "Womanly Star" from Shanxi, the "Crane’s Grace" from Shandong, and the "Feathered Butterfly" from Guizhou, proving that he was quite knowledgeable.
Mr. Zhang accepted the man as a fellow pigeon fancier. His demeanor suggested that he was interested in acquiring some of Mr. Zhang’s flock, but Mr. Zhang was reluctant. He couldn't say no to an honored guest, however, so he chose two of the white doves. He reasoned that these two pigeons were worth a fortune, so it would be wise for the official to take good care of them.
Two days later, Mr. Zhang paid a reciprocal visit to the official’s home. He felt a bit proud of himself because he’d presented the man with such a generous gift, but the official's words of thanks were devoid of sincerity. With fond memories of the two pigeons still strong in his mind, Mr. Zhang asked, "Are the doves I gave you to your liking?"
The noble official smacked his lips. "They were quite plump and delicious."
Young Master Mr. Zhang was nonplussed. "What? Your Excellency cooked and ate them?"
"Yeah, I just finished lunch."
"Ah?!" Mr. Zhang was shocked. "Those pigeons were definitely not ordinary. They were the finest breed of ‘Tartars’ and were priceless!"
The official picked his teeth. "They didn’t taste special. Just like any other pigeon.” Mr. Zhang left, filled with anger and regret.
That night, the young man in white clothes came to Mr. Zhang in a dream and berated him. "I entrusted my children to you because I thought you cherished pigeons. How could you cast pearls before swine, causing my children to die in a cauldron?"
Mr. Zhang tried to defend himself, but the young man wouldn’t hear of it. "You’re not a good judge of people and can’t distinguish good from evil. You’ll never amount to anything. How can I ever trust you to raise pigeons again?" He waved his hand and all the white doves in the flock flew to him. The young man gave Mr. Zhang one last glare, then turned into a white dove and flew away with his children.
Mr. Zhang went to check on the pigeons in their cages when he woke up at dawn. Sure enough, all the white ones were gone. Overwhelmed with regret and feeling dejected, he gave away all his remaining pigeons. Afterwards, he lived a mundane life and accomplished nothing.
Chinese text at《中国卫星小说精选》page 013. Also available here.