The Amazing Adventures of the Masters
In ancient times, there lived two stonecutters. Year after year, from dawn till dusk, they chiseled stone in the mountains. That autumn, just as the ninth moon had passed and the tenth had arrived, the leaves fell from the trees in the mountains, and the chrysanthemums withered. The craftsmen gnawed on dry bread crusts and washed them down with cold spring water.One of the stonecutters, nicknamed Zhang Er—Zhang the Second—sighed and said:
"The only time the poor have a decent life is during the sixth moon, but in winter, in the cold, it's nothing but suffering."
At first, Wang San—Wang the Third—said nothing, only furrowed his brows, deep in thought. Then he looked at his companion and said:
"Brother, I want to set out for distant lands. Here, you toil all year long, yet you remain poor and hungry."
Zhang the Second didn’t hesitate and agreed right away:
"You’re right. Let’s set off today!"
The stonecutters had no land, no home, and certainly no treasures or valuables to speak of. As the saying goes: no one to lead by the reins, nothing to hang on a carrying pole. No sooner said than done. Their preparations were quick, and they decided to set out on their journey.
On the road, they met some shoemakers, who asked:
"Where are you hurrying off to, brothers, stonecutters?"
Zhang the Second replied:
"Well, Wang the Third says we should head to distant lands, maybe we can earn enough there for food and clothes."
Hearing this, the shoemakers were delighted and said:
"All day long we bend our backs, sewing shoes, yet we have nothing to wear ourselves. Let’s go with you."
They continued on their way, walking and walking, when suddenly they encountered two women who sewed and embroidered for the rich.
The women asked:
"Where are you hurrying off to, brothers?"
One of the shoemakers replied:
"Well, the stonecutters say we should head to distant lands, maybe we can earn enough there for food and clothes."
Hearing this, the women were delighted and said...
— All day long we bend our backs, sewing dresses, while our own clothes are old and worn. Let’s go with you.
They went on. As they walked, they kept meeting craftsmen of all kinds. The farther they got from their homeland, the more people joined them: carpenters, blacksmiths, masters of every craft. At the very least, there were ten times a hundred of them. Just the stonemasons alone numbered several hundred!
The craftsmen marched like a mighty avalanche, onward and onward. I don’t even know what lands they wandered into. All day long, they didn’t come across a single village or person. And soon it would be dark. They saw a huge, dry tree off the road. Wan San stopped and said:
— It’s better for us to spend the night in the hollow of this tree than out in the open field.
Everyone liked his suggestion. They climbed into the hollow. Wow! What a thick tree! What a massive hollow! So many people settled in to sleep—you couldn’t count them all! Not a thousand—more than a thousand. And if needed, another five hundred could fit. No one even thought about their empty stomachs. They slept, snoring, wheezing, and whistling.
Now, it must be said that several thousand *li* from where the craftsmen slept, there lived a family. At that very moment, the mistress of the house was cooking dinner. She needed to steam the buns a bit longer, but the firewood was about to run out.
So she said to her son:
— Run out back, quickly, and bring a bundle of dry grass!
The boy obeyed, went out the gate, and in an instant found himself where the craftsmen were sleeping. He looked at the tree and thought, “This will do for kindling today. It’s been dry for ages!” He thought this, strained, and broke the tree. Such a crack rang out that all the craftsmen woke up at once—they thought it was a catapult firing—and tumbled out of the hollow onto the ground. The boy saw the little people and was so delighted, it’s beyond words. He squatted down and began to examine them. He couldn’t have imagined such wonders existed in the Middle Kingdom.
Then a firefly appeared, flying back and forth, shining so brightly—brighter than ten thousand candles combined. Its light turned the boy’s face red, and his black hair on his forehead gleamed as if oiled. He was huge in stature but had a kind appearance. The craftsmen stared at him in awe, unable to speak, only Wan San the stonemason remembered that he needed to help his comrades. He tilted his head back and shouted:
— Hey, giant boy! I see you have a kind heart. We haven’t had a single grain of rice in our mouths today. Do you have anything to eat?
The boy heard Wan San’s shout and said:
— Wait! I’ll run home in a flash! My mother is steaming buns, and she sent me to fetch kindling.
The boy jumped up, pulled out a thick bundle of reeds in one motion, and ran home. When he got there, he saw the fire in the hearth was still burning.
The buns were ready. The boy didn’t forget his promise and asked his mother for one to bring to the craftsmen. Only after that did he return home and start eating himself.
The craftsmen were overjoyed. And how could they not be? The bun was enormous, the size of a hill! And white—like pure snow! Even if there were a hundred times a thousand more craftsmen, they wouldn’t be able to finish that bun in three years and six moons. They didn’t even know where to start. Finally, they began to eat. They ate for many days—making a small hole in the bun. They saw there was a vegetable filling inside. How could they not taste the filling? They started pushing and shoving each other, trying to get to the center. Finally, they reached it and began to enjoy the filling. The vegetables were fragrant and fresh! The craftsmen had never tasted such a delicious bun.
They lived peacefully, surrounded by silence and tranquility. Many days passed. But one day, just as they were eating their bun, a loud crash rang out—as if the sky had collapsed. The ground beneath the bun shook violently. Wan San called the others, and they went to see what had happened. They peeked out cautiously. Oh my! What a wonder! Rain was pouring down with all its might—not drops, but streams, not hundreds but thousands—a silver waterfall falling from the sky, sparkling. The ground seemed to have vanished—an ocean spread all around. In the middle, the bun floated, and there were mountains of transparent crystal—many of them. Truly a marvelous sight! The craftsmen looked and looked, and suddenly they saw more mountains rising from the water—huge and tall. One mountain was heading straight for them, about to collide with the bun. The craftsmen screamed in fear. At that very moment, the mountain crashed into the bun. Wow! No crash, no noise—the bun remained intact, but the mountain shattered into pieces against it. Wan San and his comrades rejoiced, their sorrow vanished. They realized it wasn’t a mountain at all, just a bubble that forms on water.
Soon the rain tired and stopped. The bun was carried into a large river. Huge waves rolled, whirlpools churned the water, and the bun rocked from side to side, making the craftsmen dizzy, circles swimming before their eyes. They strained, pulled up a leaf floating on the water, and plugged the hole in the bun with it to keep the waves from rushing in.
The craftsmen floated down the river, not knowing where they were or where they were going. Even Wan San, experienced as he was, couldn’t say how much time had passed—there was no way to measure it.
Then one fine day, the craftsmen felt the bun stop rocking. They listened—silence surrounded them. Where had they drifted? They were so overjoyed, it’s beyond words. They all grabbed the leaf at once and pulled. Then a warm ray of sunlight slipped through the hole. The blue sky sparkled, and light white clouds floated across it—like silver ingots. The craftsmen grew sad again: the bun hadn’t reached the shore or solid ground—it was floating on the sea again. And the sea was like the blue sky, only wider, larger, smoother, and clearer.
The craftsmen gaze at the sea—vast and beautiful—yet their hearts remain heavy, for one cannot sail the seas forever. I don’t know how much time passed, but suddenly a strong wind blew in from nowhere, stirring up high waves. It seemed like their little boat might crash into an underwater rock at any moment. Van San grew anxious, but he didn’t lose heart or hang his head. Calmly, neither too fast nor too slow, he spoke:
“What good does it do to grieve? Though the sea is vast, there is still a shore. There was a branch here somewhere, washed into the boat by the waves. Let’s make oars out of it. There are a thousand of us! What is there to fear? Surely we can row to the shore?”
The craftsmen cheered up and began to smile. The carpenters went to inspect the branch. It was perfect! Even its thinnest twigs were thicker than an ordinary tree trunk. The carpenters started sawing and chopping. Soon, they had crafted countless oars.
The craftsmen took the oars in their hands and began to row. They rowed tirelessly.
They rowed at dawn, when the sky blazed crimson, and at night, when stars glittered above the sea.
Then one night, the moon rose, and the sea was calm—smooth as a mirror. The craftsmen spotted a long, dark shadow—perhaps a shore or an island. They rejoiced! After so many days adrift at sea! Though exhausted, they rowed even harder, and as the shadow drew closer, it seemed to grow taller. The craftsmen thought it was the seashore, but it appeared steep. How would they climb it? And something glimmered at the very top! Just a little farther, and they would reach it. But wait—what a marvel! The “shore” suddenly moved. The craftsmen looked closer: it wasn’t a shore at all—it was a huge fish. Before they could escape, the fish opened its mouth and swallowed the boat along with the craftsmen. Like a date, the boat slipped into the fish’s belly. The fish wasn’t satisfied; it flicked its tail and swallowed a whole steamship loaded with wool, then two more steamships full of fabric—yet its hunger was only half-sated.
Inside the fish’s belly, it was terrifying and dark; even on the darkest night, when the sky is covered in clouds, it’s brighter than this. The craftsmen sat face to face but couldn’t see each other. Zhang Er sighed deeply—he had never sighed like this since leaving home. He was deeply troubled. He stood up, took a few steps, bumped into Van San, and said sadly:
“It would be better to drift on the moonlit sea for ten years than to spend a single day in a fish’s belly.”
Van San laughed and asked:
“What’s this, friends? Why the long faces? Have you forgotten that there’s pig fat in the boat? Let’s light it, and it’ll be as bright as day.”
No one had ever seen fire burning inside a fish’s belly, but the craftsmen lit the pig fat, and it became as bright as daylight. They rejoiced: moments ago, they were like blind men, but now they could see again. They looked at each other, laughed, and talked. Soon, another joy came their way. They spotted two large steamships near their boat, loaded with fabric. What a delight!
Their clothes had worn out during the journey, and now everyone wanted new ones. Even Van San, the cleverest among them, couldn’t say how many garments could be made from the fabric on those ships. If any of the craftsmen remembered their homeland—the clear streams, the red flowers—they only grew sadder: back then, they had nothing to eat or wear. So, they set to work with calm hearts.
While the craftsmen busied themselves in the fish’s belly, many things happened. The waves carried the fish to the seashore, where a kite spotted it. The kite swooped down, opened its beak, and swallowed the fish. It flapped its wings, soared into the sky, and landed on a rooftop. What a beautiful place! Hard to describe. The sun shone warmly, casting rosy rays into every corner. The kite shook its feathers and let out a cry. In the courtyard, a girl sat embroidering. She looked up, saw the kite, took a patterned slipper, and threw it at the kite. The kite spread its wings, about to take off, but the slipper struck its wing and got stuck. The kite couldn’t fly.
The girl looked at the plump kite and thought, “I’ll cook it for my father; he’ll enjoy it.” She gathered her threads and needles, took the bird, and went inside.
By then, the craftsmen had dressed in new clothes, content and smiling. As the saying goes, joy filled the sky, and happiness covered the earth. They ran, jumped, and sang as if celebrating a festival. The girl pulled the fish from the kite’s belly and heard laughter inside. She was puzzled: where were the human voices coming from? To her, the fish seemed like a small fry. Carefully, she slit open the fish’s belly and found three steamships and a boat with a thousand people inside. The craftsmen had seen so many wonders by then that they weren’t the least bit afraid of the girl. Van San even politely thanked her, explaining why they had left their homeland and the troubles they’d faced. The girl pitied them and invited them to settle there forever.
The craftsmen rushed into the courtyard, eager to see the blue sky and bright sun. More than anything, they wanted to hear the birds sing and the wind rustle through the trees. They ran around for half a day but couldn’t find the exit. Suddenly, they saw two mountains stuck together, standing side by side. They poked one, tasted it—it was sweet, like rice flour dough. It turned out the girl had dropped two rice grains.
The craftsmen climbed the grain-mountains, struggling for who knows how long. By the time they reached the top, it was dark, and they couldn’t see the surroundings. They had to turn back, walking half the night before returning to the girl.
By then, her father had come home. He had a white beard and a cheerful laugh—clearly a kind man. The girl told him everything, and instead of eating, the old man waited to dine with the craftsmen. They feasted on the kite meat—delicious and tender! The girl sat nearby, spinning red wool and saying:
“Father, the red pom-poms on your hat are all worn out. I found some wool in the fish’s belly today; let’s make new ones!”
She took all the wool from the steamship and made two large, beautiful pom-poms, attaching them to her father’s hat.
At that moment, the craftsmen had just finished their dinner. The old man glanced at the red balls, put on his hat, promised to take the craftsmen with him the next day to show them around various places. The next day, the old man called for Wang San and all the thousand craftsmen, instructing them to climb onto his shoulders. He put on the hat with the new balls, took a few steps, and found himself at the gate. The old man carried the craftsmen into the garden. From afar, the craftsmen heard the wild plum tree singing beautifully. But when they entered the garden, they realized it was the buzzing of bees. On the dark green grass, on the light green leaves, on the red flowers, on the slender willows—everywhere there were dewdrops like pearls. The smallest ones were larger and rounder than the moon in the sky. The dewdrops sparkled and shimmered, turning red, then violet. The craftsmen sat on the old man's shoulders, looking down, and it seemed to them as if it were not dewdrops but a thousand times a thousand, ten thousand times ten thousand moons sparkling among the multicolored clouds.
The old man approached the fruit orchard with the craftsmen. The people sensed the delicious aroma of apples, their mouths watering, and they longed to taste those apples, certain that the old man would surely treat them. But suddenly, out of nowhere, a black eagle appeared. It was very fond of the balls on the old man's hat, having never seen such things before. The eagle spread its wings, snatched the balls in its beak, and flew south. The old man was alarmed and gave chase. The craftsmen were also worried, fearing that the old man might accidentally drop them. They hid in the folds of his clothes, only sticking their heads out to look around.
The eagle flew faster and faster, and the old man pursued it. He ran and ran but couldn't catch up. Then suddenly, he bent down, picked up a large mountain—a mountain that would take three days and three nights to climb to the top—and hurled it at the eagle. The mountain missed the eagle and fell on the southern slope of another mountain—even higher and larger. Suddenly, a voice rang out, so loud that the sky was frightened and the earth trembled:
"Who threw a grain of sand into my bowl?"
Hearing the voice, the old man stepped over the enormous and towering mountain, and there sat another old man on the ground, three times larger than himself, eating firmly cooked rice. The elder picked up the mountain with his chopsticks, tossed it out of the bowl, and resumed eating. The old man carrying the craftsmen on his shoulders began to apologize, saying:
"Forgive me, elder brother, I was chasing the eagle and wanted to hit it with a stone, but it landed in your bowl. Don't be angry!"
The elder not only didn't get angry but instead invited the old man to eat with him. It was just that his voice was naturally very loud.
But the old man didn't linger to feast, said nothing more, and rushed off again in pursuit of the eagle. He almost caught up, but then a mountain rose before him, enormous and towering even for him. White, smooth, with neither grass nor trees! The old man struggled to overcome it, barely reaching the summit. The craftsmen watched as sweat poured down the old man's face. It's not for nothing they say: "It's easy to go up a mountain, but hard to come down." The old man began to descend but lost his footing and tumbled into a gorge. He looked around—sheer stone walls surrounded him. There was no way for the old man to climb out—he kept sliding back. The craftsmen saw there was no escape unless they grew wings. They looked at Wang San, who also furrowed his brow, unsure of what to do.
Ah! What a marvelous thing happened! The stone walls began to move, the gorge shook violently, and turned upside down, just like a basin. The old man tumbled out of the gorge, luckily the craftsmen held on tightly, or they would have fallen to the ground. They looked around and saw a young man before them, several hundred times taller than their old man. The young man stood up. Ha! This was no gorge. The old man had fallen into the giant's navel.
The giant sat up, rubbed his eyes, having just woken up. The old man said to him:
"I beg you, elder brother, look where the black eagle flew, I can't see it!"
The giant jumped up, cupped his hands like a roof, looked south, and shouted:
"You're too late, old man, too late! The eagle has already flown into the Southern Gates of Heaven! What a cunning one! Afraid you'd catch him, he laid an egg and blocked the Southern Gates of Heaven with it!"
Hearing this, the old man stomped his feet in frustration and began pounding his chest with his fists. The craftsmen felt sorry for him. The giant thought for a moment and said:
"Step onto my palm, I'll lift you to the heavens, to the very Southern Gates, maybe you can move that egg aside?"
So the old man did, climbing onto the giant's palm, and the giant raised his hand. In an instant, the old man and the craftsmen were ten thousand miles above the earth. They tilted their heads back and saw a round door in the purple clouds, firmly blocked by the eagle's egg, with golden rays radiating in all directions. The old man pushed the egg, but it didn't budge. He grew sorrowful, tears streaming from his eyes. Wang San discussed with the craftsmen and said:
"Don't grieve, venerable one! We'll drill through this egg and ascend to the heavens to find the black eagle!"
The craftsmen set to work. They hammered at chisels: clink-clank. But the eagle's eggshell was hard, harder than stone. Each strike sent sparks flying in all directions, and they struck again—more sparks flew. But Wang San and his fellow craftsmen didn't give up. The chisels dulled, the blacksmiths set up forges, and began sharpening the chisels. The hammer handles broke, so the carpenters took axes and saws to make new handles. Finally, they broke through the eagle's egg. The egg white and yolk spilled onto the earth. From the white, Lake Qinghai formed, pure and clear. From the yolk, the Yellow River, yellow and swift. For a thousand years, they will not dry up; for ten thousand years, they will not run dry. They have flowed for a thousand years and will flow for six thousand more. And the diligent and skillful craftsmen, along with the old man, ascended to the heavens.
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