Five Sisters
A mother had five daughters. The eldest was named Ding-zher — Thimble, the second Shou-zher — Bracelet, the third Jie-zhir — Ring, the fourth Er-zhur — Earring, and the fifth He-bor — Purse. The mother was widowed early and remarried a peddler. He was not a kind man, and even worse, he was unjust. Moreover, he was a miser. He forbade his stepdaughters to sew dresses from new fabric, nor did he allow them to be fed good food. If something didn’t suit him, he would shout and curse:"Hey! I’m wasting good rice, ruining first-class flour, feeding five girls — worthless goods!"
One day, the peddler left early to go through the villages, and before leaving, he instructed his wife:
"Take half a *sheng* of the best flour, pour half a *jin* of the best oil, bake lots of layered pancakes, and when I return in the evening, I’ll eat my fill."
Having said this, the peddler slung his carrying pole with goods over his shoulder and left. The wife sent all five daughters to the threshing floor to dry grain, locked herself in the kitchen, and prepared to bake pancakes. She took the finest flour, kneaded the dough, lit the fire in the stove, and began frying pancakes in the pan. Before she could finish the first pancake, she heard the eldest daughter return. *Bang-bang-bang* — she knocked on the door, shouting:
"Mom, mom! Open up!"
The mother replied:
"Why have you come? Why aren’t you drying the grain on the threshing floor?"
"I came for the sieve."
The mother unlocked the door and let her daughter in. The fire was blazing in the stove, and steam was rising from the pan.
The daughter asked:
"Mom! What are you doing?"
"Baking pancakes for your father."
"Smells delicious! Let me try one."
So said Ding-zher, lifted the lid off the pan, saw the pancake was golden and steaming, grabbed it, and began eating.
The mother said to her:
"Alright, daughter, eat it, but remember, when you return to the threshing floor, don’t tell your sisters anything."
Ding-zher agreed, ate the pancake, took the sieve, and left. The mother locked the door and started baking the second pancake. Just as it began to brown, the second daughter came running. *Bang-bang-bang* — she knocked on the door, shouting:
"Mom, mom! Open up!"
"Why have you come? Why aren’t you drying the grain on the threshing floor?"
"I came for the winnowing basket."
The mother unlocked the door and let her daughter in. The fire was dying down in the stove, and steam was rising from the pan.
The daughter asked:
"Mom! What are you doing?"
"Baking pancakes for your father."
"Smells delicious! Let me try one!"
So said the daughter, lifted the lid off the pan, took a pancake, and began eating.
The mother said to her:
"Alright, daughter, eat it, but remember, when you return to the threshing floor, don’t tell your sisters anything."
The daughter laughed, finished the pancake, took the winnowing basket, and left. The mother closed the door and started baking the third pancake. Just as it began to brown, the third daughter came running. *Bang-bang-bang* — she knocked on the door, shouting:
"Mom, mom! Open up!"
"Why have you come? Why aren’t you winnowing the grain on the threshing floor?"
"I came for the broom."
The mother unlocked the door and let her daughter in. The flames were blazing in the stove, and steam was rising from the pan.
The daughter asked:
"Mom! What are you doing?"
"Baking pancakes for your father."
"Smells delicious! Let me try one!"
The daughter lifted the lid off the pan, took a pancake, and began eating.
The mother said to her:
"Alright, daughter, eat it. But remember, when you return to the threshing floor, don’t tell your sisters anything."
The daughter nodded, finished the pancake, took the broom, and left. The mother locked the door and stuck the fourth pancake to the side of the pan. Just as it began to brown, the fourth daughter came. *Bang-bang-bang* — she knocked on the door, shouting:
"Mom, mom! Open up!"
"Why have you come? Why aren’t you sweeping the grain on the threshing floor?"
— I came for the sack.
The mother unlocked the door and let her daughter in. The fire was blazing in the hearth, and steam was rising from the pot.
The daughter asked:
— Mom! What are you doing?
— I’m making buttered pancakes for your father.
— It smells delicious! Let me taste one!
Er-zhur opened the pot, took out a pancake, and started eating.
Her mother said:
— Well, daughter, go ahead and eat, but when you go back to the threshing floor, don’t tell your sisters anything.
Er-zhur laughed, finished the pancake, took the sack, and left. The mother locked the door, stuck the last pancake to the side of the pot, added more firewood, thinking she would bake it and hide it away. Suddenly, she heard a knocking at the door: bang-bang-bang. It was the fifth daughter running in, shouting:
— Mom, mom! Open the door!
The mother said:
— Why have you come? Why aren’t you marking the grain on the threshing floor?
— I came for the yoke.
The mother unlocked the door, let her daughter in, gave her the yoke, and said:
— It’s already dark, hurry back to your sisters and help them carry the grain!
But the daughter replied:
— Let me taste a pancake!
— I don’t have any pancakes, eat some thin rice porridge instead!
— You let my sisters taste the pancakes, but not me! So you love them, but not me!
He-bor said this and burst into bitter tears.
The mother sighed, took the last pancake out of the pot, gave it to her youngest daughter, and said:
— This is the only one left, eat it, dear.
He-bor took the pancake, smiled happily, and started eating. A spotted dog saw that He-bor was eating a buttered pancake, lifted its head, and watched. He-bor broke off a piece and tossed it to the dog:
— Taste it too, little dog, and see how delicious buttered pancakes are.
The girl finished the pancake, and by then the sun had hidden behind the mountains. The peddler returned home, took the yoke off his shoulder, and said:
— I’ve traveled far and wide through four villages and eight hamlets, passed through the eastern farms and visited the western settlements. I’m tired and hungry. Hurry up and bring me some buttered pancakes.
His wife replied:
— The daughters ate all the buttered pancakes.
When the peddler heard this, anger boiled inside him like bubbling water. He said nothing but devised a cunning plan. The next morning, he prepared an axe to chop firewood, slung a strong rope over his shoulder, took a thick stick and a dry sheepskin, laughed, and said:
— Well, daughters, today I’m going to the mountains to gather firewood. The flowers are blooming, and butterflies are fluttering. Come with me, and you’ll have fun all day.
The trusting girls, hearing they would go to the mountains to play and frolic, were delighted. The eldest, Ding-zher, took a basket, saying she would gather wild apples. The second, Shou-zhuo, took a small shovel, saying she would dig up medicinal roots of hydrangea. The third, Jie-zhir, prepared a small rake, saying she would gather fragrant herbs. The fourth, Er-zhur, hung a basket on her back, saying she would collect mushrooms. The fifth, He-bor, took a small sickle, saying she would cut branches of arborvitae. They also took along their little spotted dog to keep them company on the way. The peddler went out the gate, and the five sisters cheerfully followed him.
They passed ninety-nine shoals, rounded ninety-nine bends, and arrived at Bear Mountain.
The peddler said:
— Daughters, I’ll chop firewood at the foot of the mountain, and you go up the mountain to play and frolic. When my axe falls silent, come back down.
The sisters climbed the mountain, and there was such beauty that words couldn’t describe it. The sky was colorful, the trees were green, the grass was lush, and there were all kinds of flowers and birds! There were countless wild peaches and apples, so many that the branches bent under their weight. In the lakes, there were green, red, yellow, and blue fry. The sisters held hands, picking flowers, gathering apples, catching butterflies, and rolling in the grass. They were free—like birds released from a cage—and couldn’t contain their joy. The eldest sister filled her basket with apples and said:
— Let’s go back to father.
The sisters replied:
— Wait! Can’t you hear father is still chopping firewood?
They walked further. The second sister dug up some hydrangea roots and said:
— Enough playing, let’s go back to father.
But the three younger sisters replied:
— Don’t worry! Can’t you hear father is still chopping firewood?
They walked further. The third sister gathered a whole armful of fragrant cattails and said:
— We’ve gone too far, let’s turn back!
And the two younger sisters reply:
— Not far, it’s close, not far, it’s close! Can you hear? Father is still chopping firewood!
They walk further. Er-zhur has filled her basket with mushrooms and says:
— The sun will set soon, it’s time to go home!
Hearing this, He-bor pouts and says:
— All of you have full baskets, but I have nothing!
The sisters see that He-bor is upset, they talk among themselves and say:
— If that’s the case, let’s walk a little further. Father’s axe hasn’t fallen silent yet.
They want to go further, but a little dog blocks their path, barking: woof-woof-woof!
— Don’t bite us, little friend, we’ll play for a bit and then turn back.
They walk further and wander deep into the forest. He-bor cuts tender branches of thuja, her sisters help her, and they gather a whole bundle. The sun sets behind the mountains, the birds hide in their nests, and it grows dark. The sisters start heading back, but they’re scared, they can’t find the path—and they get lost. They walk forward—steep mountains block their way, backward—a dense forest. Fireflies flicker in the grass, animals roar in the gorges. Night birds fly through the forest, the wind whistles and howls in the trees, rustling the grass. It’s terrifying in the mountains on a dark night, their hearts skip a beat. The sisters wander and wander around Bear Mountain, completely losing their way. The eldest sister, Ding-zher, says:
— Don’t be afraid, don’t dart around. Can you hear? Father is still chopping firewood!
The sisters listen, hold hands, and slowly walk toward the sound of the axe with the little dog. They cross the mountain, pass two gorges, and suddenly see a mountain path. They hear the axe chopping wood:
Bang-bang-bang-bang! The sisters rejoice and shout together:
— Father, father, we’re here!
But only an echo answers them, and their father’s voice is nowhere to be heard. They look around in the starlight and see a dry sheepskin hanging from a tall tree, with a thick stick tied next to it. The stick sways in the wind, hitting the sheepskin: bang-bang-bang-bang! There’s no axe.
Father, father, your heart is cruel, you didn’t spare your daughters, leaving them in the dark mountains to be devoured by wolves and tigers. They want to return home, but the night is dark, the mountains are steep, and the path is invisible. Where can they go? Where can they lay their heads?
Suddenly, far, far away, in the depths of the mountain forest, a light flickers. If there’s a lamp burning, there must be people.
The sisters rejoice and all speak at once:
— Let’s go and see, if only someone would take us in for the night, and tomorrow at dawn we’ll find our way and return home.
They overcome their fear and start climbing the mountain. The little dog twists under their feet, not letting them pass, barking with all its might.
The sisters say to it:
— Don’t bark, little friend, don’t be angry, we’ll soon reach the house, find food, and feed you until you’re full!
The sisters hold hands and walk toward the distant light with the little dog. But it’s not a lamp at all—it’s a lantern glowing at the entrance to a cave. The sisters climb the stone steps and see double stone doors, one half open. They peek inside—an old woman sits there. She looks at the sisters—what a strange sight—and asks:
— How did you, children, wander here on such a dark night?
The girls reply:
— We went to the mountains to gather firewood but got lost. Please, kind grandmother, let us stay the night with you.
The old woman sighs and says:
— It seems you don’t know where you’ve wandered. This mountain is called Bear Mountain, and this cave is too, because a werebear lives here. He doesn’t eat cooked food, he devours people. Whoever passes here falls into his claws. Do you see the piles of white bones in the cave?
— And who are you, grandmother? Why didn’t the bear eat you, why did he spare you?
The old woman replies:
— He wanted to eat me too, dragged me here in his claws. But I’m old and skinny. Bones and skin. So he didn’t eat me, he ordered me to look after the house.
— Where is he now, the bear? Why haven’t we seen him?
— You silly children! It’s good you haven’t seen him. Be careful he doesn’t notice you.
The old woman steps out of the cave, looks at the sky, and says:
— The bear has gone hunting for people, he’ll return soon. You’d better leave here while you can!
The night is dark, the mountains are desolate, where can the girls lay their heads?
They ask:
— Grandmother, dear grandmother, when the bear returns, where will he sleep?
The old woman replies:
— If it’s hot, he’ll sleep on the cold kang; if it’s cold, he’ll climb onto the warm kang.
— Where is his warm kang?
— In the deep cauldron.
— And where is his cold kang?
— On the flat stone.
The sisters consulted among themselves, whispering quietly, and then said to the old woman:
— Don’t be afraid, grandmother! Hide us in five large jars. When the bear returns, make him sleep on the warm kang. We’ve figured out how to get rid of him.
No sooner had they said this than the wind whistled outside, and the bear appeared on the mountain. There was no time for further talk. The old woman quickly opened five large clay jars and told the sisters to hide inside. She hid the spotted dog in the stove, as there was nowhere else to put it. As soon as they were hidden, the werebear arrived.
He entered, sniffing the air:
— Sniff-sniff, what’s that smell?
The old woman replied:
— Maybe it’s the smell of my feet?
— Sniff-sniff, not feet.
— Maybe it’s the smell of fresh blood on you?
— Sniff-sniff, not blood!
The bear ran around the cave, searching the corners. He approached the clay jars, wanting to open them and look inside. The old woman was terrified, her heart racing. She didn’t have the strength to stop him or the courage to block his way. “This is bad! He’ll kill those poor girls.” Suddenly, the spotted dog jumped out of the stove, rushed forward, barked, and bit the bear’s leg. The bear turned around, kicked the dog, and said:
— I smell something foreign, but it’s just this mangy little dog!
The old woman said to him:
— I don’t know where this stray dog came from. I chased it and chased it, but it won’t leave.
— Tie it up. If I don’t catch a human tomorrow, I’ll eat the dog.
— That’s true. Now go to sleep. It’s late.
— It’s too hot. I’ll sleep on the cold kang.
— Look at the wind blowing. It’ll get cold after midnight. Better sleep on the warm kang.
The bear listened to the old woman, climbed into the cauldron, and began to snore. The old woman quietly opened the clay jars and let the sisters out. Din-zher and Shou-zor brought heavy boulders and placed them on the lid of the cauldron, making it impossible to move. Jie-zhir and Er-zhur gathered dry brushwood and started a fire in the stove. And He-bo stretched the blacksmith’s bellows with all her might: pai-da! Pai-da! The bellows wheezed, and the flames licked the cauldron—hotter and hotter, hotter and hotter!
The bear woke up and roared:
— Hot-hot-hot! It’s burning!
The sisters replied:
— Don’t roar! The warmer it is, the sweeter the sleep!
— Ah! It’s hot! My fur is burning!
— Don’t shout! Bear fur is like a coat. Shed the old one and grow a new one!
— Ah! It’s hot! My skin is burning!
— Don’t roar! Bear skin is like clothes. Shed the old one and grow a new one!
And so, the evil werebear was roasted alive in the cauldron.
Morning came. The sisters were anxious, their hearts like a stormy sea. If they returned home, their cruel stepfather would make their lives miserable. If they didn’t return, they would pine for their mother.
Seeing their sadness, the old woman said:
— This mountain has everything—pumpkins, apples, various vegetables, medicinal herbs, and grain. I, too, have nowhere to lay my head. Perhaps you’ll stay? We’ll live together.
And so, the five sisters stayed to live on the mountain. After roasting the werebear, peace returned to the mountain. The sisters and the old woman lived in love and harmony, helping each other in everything.
They caught wild ducks, pheasants, and hares, herded wild cows, sheep, and boars, and tamed them. They tilled the land on the slope with hoes, sowing wheat and millet. The virgin soil was fertile and rich. They dug ditches, and spring water flowed down from the peak, pure and clean. It flowed and flowed, poured and poured. There was plenty of manure, and the weeds were pulled. The wheat sprouted green and shiny, and the millet grew tassels. The harvest was magnificent!
The sisters gathered mulberry leaves to feed silkworms. They collected wild cotton and began weaving cloth. They made delicious, aromatic wine from apples, sowed hemp, and pressed fragrant oil. They cut thin bamboo to weave baskets. They felled thick trees to build a house. They had everything—food, clothing, shelter, and various utensils—all in abundance.
Winter turned to summer, heat to cold, and three years passed unnoticed. Once again, red leaves covered the ground, and the peach tree at the gate bloomed. The sisters remembered their mother and decided to send her a message. The eldest sister took off a copper thimble, the second a silver bracelet, the third a gilded ring, the fourth green jade earrings. And the youngest? She untied a small satin purse embroidered with brocade from her belt. The sisters placed all their jewelry inside, covered it with silk and satin scraps, and added a handful of grain. They tied the pouch tightly and called the spotted dog, sending it to their mother’s house.
For three long years, the sisters had not been home. For three long years, drought had plagued the land beyond the mountains, with no rain in sight. The peddler’s trade had completely collapsed. He had sold all his goods and spent the money. He no longer had the strength to carry his wares. The chest was empty of grain, the box devoid of flour. The stove was cold, and no smoke rose from the chimney. The husband and wife sat sighing and groaning. Suddenly, they saw the spotted dog running, wagging its tail, with a bundle in its mouth. The wife took the bundle, untied it, and found a copper thimble, a silver bracelet, a gilded ring, jade earrings, and a satin purse embroidered with brocade. The mother cried tears of joy and said:
— My daughters are alive, all five of them. The pins and hairpins in the satin pouch told me so. They have food and clothing. The scraps and grains told me so! Run ahead, little dog, and lead me to my children!
The cruel stepfather heard this and didn’t know whether to believe it or not. But staying at home meant certain starvation. So he decided to go with his wife. The dog ran ahead, and the couple followed. They crossed ninety-nine sandbanks, rounded ninety-nine bends, and came to the mountain called Ten Thousand Treasures. They began to climb. Green, well-tended fields stretched across the slopes and cliffs; cows mooed, goats leaped, and chickens, ducks, pigs, and hares ran about the mountain. In the middle of the mountain stood a tall house with a spacious courtyard. The spotted dog barked three times: wan-wan-wan!
The five sisters came out to the gate. They rejoiced and marveled, unable to speak. They rushed to their poor mother and embraced her. Three years had passed since they last saw her, and now they were reunited.
The stepfather stood to the side, red with shame. He sighed quietly and thought, “I’ve wronged my stepdaughters. I must apologize.”
He apologized and begged for forgiveness, and so the tale ends. And if you ask how the five sisters treated their mother and stepfather, I’ll tell you: they served them wine and meat, and plenty of multi-layered, buttery pancakes, served on whole platters.
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