By Pamela Love
Long ago in China, a boy named Yan ran as fast as he could, squinting against the westward sun as it cast shadows on the mountain path. A cry caught his attention. He looked up, seeing an old man perched on a rock and waving a tin cup.
“I’m thirsty,” the man said. “I cannot reach the stream below. Fetch me water, please.”
Panting, the boy bowed. “Yes, Grandfather,” he said, using the requisite term of respect. He sped down and up the hillside eight times, for the old man slurped the cup dry every time.
At last, he smiled and wiped his mouth. “Thank you, boy. What is your name?”
“Yan.”
“Such good parents you must have, for they taught you to care for the aged… unlike some people.” The old man glowered toward the setting sun. “Now, return home.”
The boy extended his arm. “Grandfather, please come with me. Father told me that I must offer you hospitality because—”
“Nay, I am well enough.” Then the old man muttered something under his breath, and Yan turned, his feet carrying him back to his village seemingly of their own accord.
The next morning, Yan was working in the mine as usual. Aiming at a vein of iron, he struck. But what fell at his feet wasn’t metal, but a small glass-like stone that glowed red in the lamplight.
What could this be? Yan thought as he brought it to an older miner. The man almost danced with delight. “A ruby! But a cut and polished one? That’s impossible.” He examined where the boy had struck. “Try again.”
The boy obeyed. A second gem, this one jade, fell.
The miner picked it up. “Let me try.” He struck the wall, but only chunks of ore fell. He frowned. “Wait here.”
Soon, he returned with the local magistrate, who tested Yan. The boy struck the spot again. A sapphire landed. Trying the old miner’s hammer, a topaz tumbled to his feet. Even using his palm, a diamond appeared. The magistrate shook his head. “I must speak to your father.”
***
A month later, Yan crouched miserably in his hut. Two stern miners, clubs in hand, stood watch over him. “Don’t move!” one said as Yan tried to stretch a leg. “You must obey the magistrate and be still.”
Outside, a familiar voice demanded, “What is going on here?”
Yan looked through the window. “You!” It was the old man he had fetched water for, his eyes wide with shock over how the boy was being treated.
Before the guards could speak, the old man gestured and they slumped into a deep sleep. “Yan, what happened?”
“Someone has placed a curse on me, Grandfather.” Tears brimmed in Yan’s eyes. “Wherever I strike—mountain, ground, even a table—gems appear.”
The old man folded his arms. “That was a gift, not a curse.”
“So I thought at first,” Yan said. “Then Father asked me why gems are valuable. I answered, ‘Because they are beautiful.’”
“‘Yet wildflowers,’ Father answered, “are equally lovely and cost nothing. They are common. Rarity makes gems costly. One small diamond can buy enough rice to feed our village for a year. If you make as many gems as there are grains of sand, they would have as little worth as sand.’
“Now the magistrate forbids me to work in the mine, or do nearly anything else, lest I accidentally create more gems. My father is a doctor. He is searching for a cure for me.”
The old man sank to his knees. “I am a spirit who tests travelers to see how they treat strangers. I meant to reward you, Yan.” His face twisted with anger. “Before you came, a man passed by who was utterly different from you. That villain said, ‘No time!’ when I asked for water. He had a birthmark like a winding river on his chin. He is the one I cursed. Wherever he strikes, rats, scorpions, and other foul creatures will appear.”
Shocked, the boy burst out, “That was my father! He was in another village when he learned of a cave-in here. He was rushing home to save lives! But he sent me back to help you, because he regretted not helping someone aged.”
The spirit put his head in his hands. “How could I have made two mistakes?”
Despite everything, Yan still pitied him. “At least, because Father is a doctor and not a miner, he uses neither pickaxe nor hammer. The curse does not affect him.”
“Eventually, it will.” Suddenly, the spirit shimmered, transforming into a brilliant red dragon. “Climb on. Where is your father?”
Yan told him, then clung to the dragon as it sped across a mountainside. At last he called out, “There!” Ahead stood the doctor by a temple, raising a door knocker.
“Stop!” shouted Yan. Astonished at the sight of his son riding a dragon, his father let the heavy bronze ring slip through his fingers. When it hit the door, thousands of rats, scorpions, and centipedes swarmed the doctor. Yan shrieked.
Monks came running, gasping as they watched the dragon slurping up the revolting creatures one after another as if they were delicious noodles at a feast. Yan’s stomach twisted. I’ll never eat again.
At last, the dragon finished, its belly bulging. With care, Yan climbed down and embraced his trembling father, whispering an explanation.
“What harm I have done, I shall undo,” the spirit promised. “Reward and curse be removed! Let no one remember the gems or the vermin.” Sighing with relief, father and son bowed. The monks withdrew into the temple. “Nevertheless, I must reward you for your kindness. That is my people’s law.”
Yan closed his eyes, thinking hard. “A fountain, please! One that bubbles up where you sat. Then travelers might refresh themselves. It also rewards us, since we would not have to fetch water ourselves.”
The spirit grinned. “It is done! Now I shall drink there, for I thirst.”
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