Open Up, Stone Gates!
In ancient times, on the shore of the Eastern Sea, there lived a fisherman nicknamed Hu Si. He was just over ten years old when he started fishing. He fished for twenty years, catching enough fish to fill a mountain. Yet he lived in poverty, poorer than anyone could imagine. He didn’t even own a small boat or nets—how could he? There wasn’t a single grain of rice in his house. He would rent a boat and nets from a wealthy neighbor and spend the whole year out at sea. The sea was stormy, the wind whipped up waves, and at any moment the water could sweep him away. The poor man would catch fish, sell it, and give the money to the neighbor to pay for the boat and nets. It was bitter for the fisherman, and anger would often consume him.One day, Hu Si went out to sea to fish. The water sparkled blue, there was no wind, and no waves could be seen. Just as he cast his nets, a fishing bird flew by: its black feathers shimmered with a green hue. The bird dove into the sea, emerged in an instant, and held a fish in its beak.
Hu Si said to the bird:
— Bird, bird! You catch fish—you have a curved beak and wings. I catch fish—but I have no boat or nets of my own.
It was as if the fishing bird understood human words. It looked at Hu Si with pity, spread its wings, and flew to the stern of the boat. It opened its beak, and a golden fish fell straight into the boat’s hold, thrashing about and slapping its tail against the oar. All that could be heard was: thump-thump-thump. Hu Si approached, looked, and saw tears flowing from the fish’s eyes. Feeling sorry for the fish, the fisherman released it back into the sea. The fish flipped over, wagged its tail, turned to Hu Si, nodded its head three times, and swam away.
Three times in a row, the fisherman cast his nets. No big fish came, only small ones. The fisherman grew anxious: how would he pay the boat’s owner? His old wife was waiting at home, and they needed rice to put in the pot. The fisherman pondered his bitter fate, grew even more sorrowful, and began to cry. As he was about to wipe his tears, he suddenly heard someone say:
— Don’t cry, good man.
Hu Si lifted his head and saw an old man before him, with a white beard and a green stalk of sorghum in his hand.
The old man said:
— You saved my son, and for that, I will give you whatever you desire. Just ask.
Hu Si thought and thought, then said:
— I don’t need much, venerable elder. Just a good boat and strong nets, so I can fish at sea with a light heart, and when I return home, I won’t have to worry about food or clothing!
The white-bearded old man nodded, clearly pleased with the fisherman’s words, and said:
— In the Yishan Mountains, there is a cliff one hundred zhang high. Take your old wife and move to that cliff.
The fisherman asked:
— But how will we get there, kind elder?
The old man replied:
— Don’t worry, I know how to help you.
With that, the old man handed Hu Si the green stalk. Hu Si took the stalk, and it was incredibly heavy and cold. He looked at it—it shone so brightly it hurt his eyes. He was amazed and thought, “What do I need this for?”
But the old man spoke again:
— Take the stalk, wave it toward the cliff, and say: ‘Open, stone gates, open, stone gates! Poor people have come!’ Just remember, once you enter, don’t doubt anything. Walk forward boldly. And never part with the stalk.
Hu Si was even more astonished. He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but the old man suddenly vanished. The fisherman took the stalk and went home. When his wife saw the stalk, she became angry:
— You should have brought rice or flour! What good is this stalk? We can’t eat or drink it!
The fisherman replied:
— Why are you making such a fuss? All your life you’ve dreamed of having a boat and nets so we wouldn’t have to worry about food or clothing.
He told his wife everything that had happened, leaving nothing out.
After listening, the wife was overcome with greed and said:
— You should have asked for something bigger and better! A boat and nets—that’s all?
Hu Si said nothing in response and didn’t argue with his wife. She was the only one he had in the world, and she had spent her whole life in poverty, full of worries and troubles. Hu Si packed the fish, placed it in two baskets, hung the baskets on a carrying pole, and set off with his wife. They walked for exactly two days and two nights and arrived at a small village at the foot of the Yishan Mountains. The village had no more than ten households. As they walked, they saw an old woman sitting by the gate. Hu Si approached her and asked:
— Tell me, kind woman, how far is it from here to the cliff one hundred zhang high?
The old woman pointed to the west and said:
— Go straight west for five li, and you’ll reach the cliff. But no one lives there. Who are you planning to sell your fish to?
Hu Si thought: she’s right. Then he begged her:
— Kind woman, could you keep these baskets for us while we go to the cliff? We have business there.
The old woman was indeed kind. She replied to the fisherman...
— Alright! Leave your baskets here and don’t worry about how long the fish will stay; however long it stays, no one will touch a single scale. It’s too heavy to carry anyway.
Hu Si left the fish with the old woman, and he and his wife set off toward the cliff. As soon as they left the village, they spotted the cliff. Wow! What a huge rock! It reached right up to the sky. They approached it, tilted their heads back, and looked up—white clouds covered its peak. Various birds flew around. Hu Si waved a green sorghum stalk and shouted:
— Open up, stone gates! Open up, stone gates! Poor people have come!
To make a long story short, as soon as Hu Si shouted this, the mountains shook, the ground trembled, and a thunderous rumble echoed all around. The cliff split into two halves—truly, stone gates.
Hu Si and his wife were amazed and a little frightened. Before they could blink, a woman emerged from the rock: her eyebrows like crescent moons, her eyes like shining stars—no matter how you looked at her, she was beautiful, radiant, and dazzling like the morning sun.
The beauty said:
— I see you are good people, eager to work. Perhaps you’d like to come in?
The fisherman and his wife replied:
— We would.
They said this and stepped inside. The woman extended her finger, the gates creaked, and in an instant, they slammed shut.
The beauty asked:
— What do you need, good man?
The fisherman replied:
— I don’t need much, just a good boat and strong nets so I can fish in the sea with a light heart, and when I return home, I won’t have to worry about food or clothing.
The beauty laughed and said:
— Don’t worry, good fisherman, you’ll have everything!
She said this and pointed her finger to the east. Hu Si looked: before him was the sea, endless and boundless, its green water like precious jade, smooth and calm like a polished mirror. A huge sun rose from the sea, turning the water red in an instant. People walked along the shore. The woman pointed to a tiled house and said:
— There’s your home, good man!
Then she pointed to a new boat and strong nets and said again:
— Here’s your boat, good man, here are your nets.
Hu Si looked at the fishing boat, looked at the nets, and rejoiced. His wife wanted to ask the beauty for more things, but suddenly, the beauty disappeared.
The fisherman and his wife lived in the tall tiled house, unafraid of cold or heat. They had plenty to cover themselves with, plenty to lay beneath them, plenty to wear, and more utensils than they knew what to do with. Only, there wasn’t a crumb of food. Hu Si took the strong nets and the new boat and set off to fish in the sea. A western wind rose, caught the fishing boat, tossed it about, and drove it to the very middle of the sea. Then the wind stopped.
The green water sparkled, flowing in thin, transparent streams. The fish in the water were countless. There was the swordfish—a silver belt; the carp—shiny red scales; the chrysanthemum fish—a golden yellow belly; the sturgeon—a shimmering green back. Hu Si cast his nets, pulled them in, cast them again, and pulled them in once more. He caught so much fish that the hold was full, and there was no room to sit in the boat. Just as the fisherman thought, “It’s time to head back,” an eastern wind began to blow. The boat glided over the water as if alive and quickly reached the shore. The fisherman went ashore and traded the fish for rice and flour.
In the morning, Hu Si would go out to sea, and by evening, he’d return with a boat full of fish. I don’t know how much time passed—the sun never set in those parts—but the leaves on the old acacia tree turned yellow, then green, then yellow again, then green once more. Hu Si and his wife lived without want—neither for food nor for clothing.
But the old woman wouldn’t stop grumbling:
— Go to the beauty and ask for gold and silver. I’m fed, clothed, and shod, but now I want to be rich.
Greed consumed the old woman; she craved gold so much her eyes burned, and she became mean and spiteful. She shouted and made a fuss. Hu Si didn’t argue with his wife—he had no one else in the world—and said:
— Let’s go together, find the beauty, and you can ask for what you need.
Hu Si took a green sorghum stalk, the old woman prepared two large sacks, and they set off to find the kind beauty. I don’t know how many days they searched—the sun never set in those parts—but the leaves on the poplars by the road turned green, then dried up, then turned green again, then yellow. Finally, Hu Si and his wife found the stone gates. They saw the kind beauty.
The beauty asked:
— What do you need, good man, eager to work?
The fisherman was silent, unable to speak.
Then the old woman said:
— I need silver and gold, and lots of it!
The woman said nothing, only pointed her finger to the west. In an instant, everything around began to shine and sparkle. What was white turned to silver, what was yellow turned to gold. When you looked at it, it seemed as if it wasn’t gold at all—the red sun was shining.
The old woman was delighted, so overjoyed she didn’t know what to do. She grabbed handfuls of gold and silver, shouting at her husband to hurry up and gather it all into sacks. They filled two whole sacks, and by then the sun had set. It began to grow dark. The fisherman grew worried and said to his wife:
“Who knows when the sun will rise again? How will we find our way home in the dark, to our fishing boat and nets?”
The old woman replied:
“If we don’t find it, it’s no great loss. And there’s no reason for us to stay here anyway. I want to be a lady, and the people here live comfortably—they won’t serve us. With gold and silver, we won’t perish; the rich are well-off everywhere. If you’re hungry, just open your mouth wide; if you’re thirsty, stretch out your hand—water will be right there. You won’t have to fish anymore.”
The fisherman didn’t like her words. He remembered the boundless green sea—like precious jade—and his new boat and sturdy nets. But the old woman wouldn’t relent; she stood her ground. The fisherman thought about what to do—after all, she was his wife—and decided to do as she wished. They each shouldered a sack and trudged along, groaning, until they finally reached the stone gates. The fisherman waved a green stalk of sorghum and said, “Open, stone gates! Open, stone gates!...”
Before he could finish, the ground trembled, the mountains shook, and a thunderous roar filled the air. The stone gates swung open on both sides. The fisherman and his wife stepped through, and again the earth trembled, the mountains shook, and the stone gates slammed shut behind them. The cliff, a hundred *zhang* high, stood as it always had. The fisherman and the old woman looked at the sun—it was just past noon. They continued on their way with their sacks, heading toward the village where they had left their fish.
The silver and gold weighed heavily on their backs, making it hard to breathe. The old man and woman trudged along, drenched in sweat. The fisherman held the green sorghum stalk in his hand, though for some reason it grew heavier and heavier. He didn’t throw it away, remembering the words of the white-bearded elder. He began to consult with his wife, wondering if they should discard some of the silver and gold.
The old woman disagreed, saying:
“Better to throw away the sorghum stalk—what use is it to us now?”
Once again, the fisherman obeyed her and tossed the green sorghum stalk aside. A thunderous roar echoed around them. The stalk transformed into a green dragon and flew up into the sky.
The old man and woman continued on, hauling their sacks of silver and gold toward the village where they had left their fish. But the road seemed different, unlike the one they had traveled before. After walking five *li*, they saw a village, but it was much larger than the one they remembered. It had at least several thousand houses. They met a person and asked what village it was.
The person replied:
“This village is called Rotten Fish.”
The fisherman asked:
“Why is it called that?”
The person answered:
“It’s been centuries since there were only ten houses in our village. A man and his wife passed through here, left a basket of fish, and went to the hundred-*zhang* cliff. They never returned. The fish rotted, and the stench spread throughout the village. Since then, our village has been called Rotten Fish.”
The old man and woman looked at each other in astonishment. They hadn’t aged a bit, yet centuries had passed. They walked a little further and saw an inn. Exhausted, their limbs numb, hunger gnawing at them, and thirst tormenting them, the old man said:
“Let’s rest and buy some food!”
His wife set her sack on the ground and reached for a silver ingot, but it was just a white stone. She reached for the gold, but it too was a stone, only yellow. She rummaged through the sack, but it was full of stones. The old woman turned pale, her hands trembling. She emptied the sack onto the ground, hoping to find at least a little gold at the bottom, but there was none. White and yellow stones clattered across the ground. The fisherman emptied his sack, and stones clattered out as well—not a single speck of gold or silver remained.
The old man and woman stared in disbelief, their arms spread wide. They ran back to the hundred-*zhang* cliff. Perhaps the stone gates would open? But no such luck! Where was the green sorghum stalk? The fisherman pointed at the cliff and shouted:
“Open, stone gates! Open, stone gates! Poor people have come!”
He shouted until his voice grew hoarse, but the cliff stood unmoving, as if nothing had happened. The fisherman remembered his former life of bitter hardship and grew cold with despair. He sighed and said:
“I wanted to feed others bitter herbs, but ended up tasting them myself. If you don’t eat bitter herbs, you won’t know their bitterness.”
The fisherman thought and thought, until frustration overtook him. He began to beat his head against the rock, over and over, until he died. The old woman wailed and cried out, realizing she had brought this upon herself. She would never see her home again. Overcome with despair, she too struck the cliff and died.
The next day, as the sun rose, small birds began to fly above the cliff. The fisherman and his wife had turned into a pair of dark-gray birds. They flapped their wings and cried:
“Ke ao heng si la! Ke ao heng si la! We died of despair! We died of despair!”
Month after month, year after year, winter turned to summer, heat to cold, and the little birds continued to fly and cry:
“Ke ao heng si la! Ke ao heng si la! We died of despair! We died of despair!”
As time passed, people began to call the gray birds *aohénniǎo*—the “birds of sorrow and despair.” To this day, in the Yishan mountains, the birds of sorrow and despair fly over the hundred-*zhang* cliff, crying:
“Ke ao heng si la! Ke ao heng si la! We died of despair! We died of despair!”
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