Chapter 0037: The Illusion of The Foolish Old Man Removes the Mountains, The Truth of The Foolish Old Man Removes the Mountains

After all two thousand refugees had entered the city, the heavy city gates behind them closed with a loud, grating creak.

Inside the city, Yamen Runners bolted the gates shut. Outside, fully armed Government Soldiers stood solemnly, placing sharp wooden barricades at the city wall entrance as they awaited the arrival of the second group of refugees.

The night grew deeper.

The refugees, having entered the city, felt too embarrassed to occupy people’s homes. Instead, they laid out bedding near the designated Porridge Shed where rice porridge was distributed, waiting for the government to issue relief grain. After that, they planned to go outside the city to find land suitable for reclamation, hoping to cultivate crops.

The land in their villages had become too hardened from drought to grow anything. They could only wait for spring rains next year before returning home to till the soil and replant.

After settling their families on spread-out bedding, as the hour approached You Shi (5-7 PM), some people set off toward the government office entrance to see what this business about steamed buns and Splitting Mountains and Rivers was all about.

The residents of Jiangdu Xian also headed toward the government office, curious to hear how ordinary people could possibly split mountains and rivers.

Upon reaching the government office, they found a large stage that had been set up at some unknown time. On the stage stood a young, plump villager, behind whom were piled many sacks of rice flour and steamed buns. Seated on either side were several villagers skilled at beating gongs and drums, currently testing their bronze instruments with rhythmic clangs and beats.

A refugee hoarsely called out to the plump villager, “Hey, young man, I heard we can get steamed buns just for listening to a story here. Is that true?”

The young plump villager on stage cleared his throat twice, straightened his somewhat plain Linen Clothes, and replied, “You’re right, fellow villager, but there’s one more thing—you need to understand what my story is about before you can receive the steamed buns.”

The crowd exchanged puzzled glances.

How could anyone not understand a simple story?

“Then hurry up and tell it, young man!” the crowd urged, eager to finish listening and claim their steamed buns.

“Alright!” The plump young man clapped his hands, and the villagers behind him beat out a rapid rhythm on their gongs and drums. The crowd quieted down as he raised his voice and declared, “I am Zhu Xiaobiao, not much educated but fond of visiting tea houses to listen to storytellers. Today, I’ll share a mythical tale I heard in Yuzhou.”

A mythical story? One about immortals?

The crowd pricked up their ears.

“They say long ago, south of Jizhou and north of Yuzhou stood two great mountains—one called Taihang, the other Wangwu. Their ranges stretched seven to eight hundred li, and their peaks reached seven to eight thousand zhang high.

North of the mountains lived a villager named Yugong (Foolish Old Man), nearly ninety years old. Every time he wanted to go to the other side of the mountains, he had to take a long detour. So he gathered his family and proposed, ‘Let us work together to level these two steep mountains, so the road can extend straight through to the other side. Do you support me?’

His whole family expressed their support. Then his wife raised a question, ‘But where should we dump the earth and stones we dig up?’

Everyone said, ‘Throw them to the shores of the Bohai Sea.’

So Yugong took his three strongest sons and grandsons up the mountain. His neighbor was a widow with an only child, who, though just seven or eight years old, eagerly skipped along to help them. Together, they chiseled rocks and dug earth, carrying it in baskets all the way to the distant shores of the Bohai Sea. They could only make one round trip each time the seasons shifted from winter to summer.”

An elderly scholar in the village mocked Yugong, saying, “You are utterly foolish! With your remaining years and waning strength, you can’t even move a single blade of grass on the mountain, let alone deal with all that earth and stone!”

Yugong sighed deeply and replied, “Your mind is so stubborn, so unyielding that even orphans and widows are more open-minded than you. Even if I die, my sons will carry on. They will have grandsons, and those grandsons will have sons, and so on for generations without end. But the mountains won’t grow any taller or larger—why fear we can’t level them?”

The old scholar had nothing more to say.

The mountain deities of the two peaks, upon hearing this, grew afraid that Yugong would dig endlessly. They brought their complaint to the Heavenly Emperor. Moved by Yugong’s sincerity, the Heavenly Emperor commanded the two sons of the Giant God to carry away the mountains. One was placed in the eastern part of Shuofang, the other in the southern region of Yongzhou. From then on, Yugong faced no more mountain barriers on his journeys.”

Zhu Xiaobiao finished the story leisurely and asked, “Dear folks, what insights have you gathered from this tale?”

The crowd, captivated, snapped back to reality. One person remarked, “I think Yugong was truly foolish. Why haul the dug-up stones so far away? He should’ve given them to the village stonemasons to make tables and stools. That way, if mountain floods came, they wouldn’t be washed away or ruined!”

Another added, “Though Yugong’s idea sounded good, his descendants would spend generations just digging mountains—not farming or studying. Wouldn’t that mean a lifetime of no prospects, relying on the women at home to support them?”

“Exactly!” someone agreed, saying, “And in the end, it was the gods who helped Yugong! What kind of mountain-leveling is that? I thought we could really flatten Yu Ji Mountain ourselves!”

The villagers buzzed with discussion until a handsome scholar in the crowd suddenly spoke up, “This humble student has a different perspective. This story should teach us that in undertaking tasks, we must have unwavering determination and fear no hardship. As the saying goes, ‘Where sincerity reaches, metal and stone can be split.’ Though Yu Ji Mountain is vast, if all the people in the county lend a hand, the mountain will eventually be dug away.”

Zhu Xiaobiao immediately clapped enthusiastically, exclaiming, “Well said, young man! Please come up here!”

The scholar gently parted the crowd and ascended the platform. Bian Yangchun and others, who had been listening among the crowd, exclaimed, “Ah, isn’t that Brother Jing Ze?”

Ouyang Jiu chuckled softly, “Interesting, truly interesting. Let’s see what these two are scheming.”

Once Jing Ze was on stage, Zhu Xiaobiao eagerly grabbed two steamed buns from a pile and shoved them into his hands. “Young man, if you’ve got more to say, say it!”

Jing Ze nodded, turned to the crowd below, and declared, “The counties east of Yi Province rely on Yu Ji Mountain blocking the river—farming depends entirely on heaven’s whim. Rain brings good harvests; no rain means barren fields. If we could truly carve a canal through Yu Ji Mountain, we could irrigate the land with river water and never again be at the mercy of the heavens.”

“Some might say our strength isn’t enough to finish digging, but as this young… ahem, this lad beside me said: if we can’t finish digging, our children and grandchildren will continue. If they can’t finish, their descendants will carry on. When the digging is finally done, our descendants’ descendants will farm without having to depend on heaven’s whims anymore.”

At this moment, a villager immediately questioned, “But what good does it do if we don’t get to enjoy the benefits ourselves?”

Anyone thinking about spending their whole life digging mountains would hesitate – after all, they were farmers, people born to work the land. Suddenly shifting to mountain digging, never mind whether they had the strength, could they even support their families?

What if everyone starved to death? Where would future generations come from then?

Hearing this, Zhu Xiaobiao stepped forward and addressed the crowd solemnly, “I’m Zhu Xiaobiao, nobody famous, just an ordinary commoner like all of you. We live simply to feed ourselves and our descendants, hoping we might even afford to send our children to school to study, pass imperial exams to become minor officials, bringing honor to our ancestors and benefiting common people. Isn’t that right?”

The crowd nodded, feeling he’d spoken from their hearts.

“But heaven shows no mercy! A heavy rain, a great mountain, a mighty river – these push us common folks east and west toward death. Drought here, flood there, leaving us no way out. The court sends relief to our Yi Province every year, but what good does it do? It doesn’t solve the root problem!”

Zhu Xiaobiao shook his head and sighed, while behind him, gongs and drums played a tune of shared indignation and compassion, making everyone present sigh in sorrow.

“True! The land remains drought-stricken, the waters still flood. If my roots weren’t here, I’d have left long ago!”

“Sigh, leaving isn’t easy either. When people hear we’re from Yi Province, they won’t let us settle in their cities, afraid all Yi Province refugees would flock there! Weren’t many driven back just two years ago?”

“Why were we born in Yi Province…” someone lamented, tears falling uncontrollably.

Zhu Xiaobiao continued, “Yes! Why were we born in Yi Province? Why not in those good places without floods or droughts? Why not in Jingcheng, that dazzling capital where officials’ children are born into wealth and privilege?”

“Are we destined to suffer from birth?” Zhu Xiaobiao stepped forward, his face filled with grief and indignation. “Are we born to endure such natural disasters?”

“Are we born without heaven’s protection, without the gods’ blessing? Are we born sinners who must suffer lifelong to atone for past-life crimes?”

His voice rose and fell with passionate sorrow and anger, making listeners recall their refugee hardships, covering their faces while weeping, bodies shaking with grief.

Were they truly fated to suffer? Were they sinners in past lives?

Then Zhu Xiaobiao’s tone suddenly shifted, becoming serious and firm: “No, we’re not.”

The crowd stared in confusion.

“Do you all truly believe gods exist?” Zhu Xiaobiao smiled faintly. “In ‘The Foolish Old Man Removes the Mountains,’ his sincerity moved heaven, which sent mighty deities to move two great peaks. But do you know what really happened?”

The truth?

The crowd grew more bewildered. What truth could there be? Didn’t the deities simply move the mountains away?