Two Harvests

Two peasants, Wang Da and Zhang San, sowed wheat on their fields in the autumn. Their fields were next to each other. Soon, strong and healthy wheat sprouts appeared. The fields looked like velvet carpets of a cheerful emerald color.

But then the cold weather set in, and winter approached.

"Oh, how cold we are!" said the tender wheat sprouts. "If only someone would cover and warm us! We’ll freeze in the winter."

The snowflakes already floating in the air replied to them:

"Don’t be afraid, little sprouts, you won’t freeze in the winter! Soon, many, many snowflakes will fall to the ground to save you from the cold."

Before long, snow began to fall in thick flakes, covering the green sprouts with a white downy blanket. The sprouts warmed up under this cozy blanket and slept until spring.

In the spring, it grew warm, the snow melted, and the water washed the wheat sprouts. They woke up and began to grow vigorously again.

But in the spring, it wasn’t just wheat growing in the fields—the weeds were also hard at work. They kept up with the wheat.

One day, the owners of the fields, Wang Da and Zhang San, came to check on their wheat. Wang Da only glanced at his field, saw that the wheat was growing lush and strong, and was overjoyed. He quickly returned home and boasted to his wife and neighbors:

"No one has better wheat than mine!"

Zhang San, on the other hand, approached his field, admired the wheat, then walked around the field, carefully inspecting it. Suddenly, among the wheat, he found many weeds that were hard to notice at first glance. He immediately began searching for these weeds, pulling them out, and throwing them off the field.

From then on, every two or three days, Zhang San returned to the field and cleared it of weeds again. He knew well that if the weeds were left alone, they would choke the wheat.

But Wang Da never returned to his field again.

"If my wheat has sprouted better than anyone else’s, then my harvest will also be the largest," he thought.

Meanwhile, the weeds in his field declared war on the wheat. They quickly stretched upward toward the sun. Soon, they had grown taller than the wheat and were crowding it from all sides.

The wheat grew thin and weak, as if it had fallen into the hands of an evil stepmother. Before long, it was no longer visible. The victorious weeds proudly raised their heads: they lived comfortably and freely in Wang Da’s field, unafraid and rustling their leaves merrily.

On Zhang San’s field, only one single weed remained. It hid among the wheat, too afraid to even lift its head.

One day, after Zhang San inspected his field and went home, the weed raised its head and looked around. Yes, it was alone in the entire field. The weed sighed heavily and said:

"What a terrible master we have! Every day he comes and mercilessly pulls us out of the ground and throws us off the field. What should I do? If I don’t think of a way to save myself, he’ll find and destroy me tomorrow."

Its sighs and words were heard by the weeds from the neighboring field.

"Why are you sighing so heavily?" they asked. "What’s your trouble? Maybe we can help you?"

"Quiet! Quiet!" whispered the weed from Zhang San’s field. "My master will hear and destroy me right away. Better advise me on what to do."

The weeds from Wang Da’s field turned their proud heads toward Zhang San’s field. Indeed, there were no weeds there. On the clean, tilled soil, the wheat grew vigorously; it was already sprouting ears and choking the last remaining weed.

And all the weeds from Wang Da’s field shouted in unison:

"You can’t save yourself! You’re doomed, but you can still save your children. Throw your seeds onto our field. Only here can they grow—after all, here we have a kind master!"

In the autumn, Wang Da prepared to go to his field to harvest the crop. He hitched oxen to a cart, took his sons with him, and set off. But when he saw his field, Wang Da froze in horror: only weeds grew there! And they had already managed to sow their seeds for the next year!

Meanwhile, Zhang San gathered a bountiful harvest from his field, filling his granaries with golden, plump grain.

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Two Harvests

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