The Greenwood Gourd

Chen Yuan was eight years old when his parents died.

His aunt called him a freeloader, and his cousin used him as a punching bag. Only his cousin Chen Ling'er would secretly slip him half a steamed bun. He lived in a lean-to piled with firewood and straw, hauling water, chopping wood, feeding the chickens, and doing the laundry every day in exchange for a bowl of leftovers.

When hunger became unbearable, he went into the mountains to forage for wild fruit. He could walk the mountain paths with his eyes closed. He knew better than anyone which trees bore which fruits and which slopes grew which vegetables.

An old scholar in the village took pity on him and taught him a few characters. The old scholar said, “Your parents weren’t from around here.”

Chen Yuan touched the wooden gourd hanging around his neck, the only keepsake his mother had left him. As she lay dying, she had stroked his head, said something, and never woken again.

He had no idea that this unremarkable little piece of wood concealed the greatest opportunity of his life.