Fables That Fix Lives: Ancient Code for Modern Problems

 We join spokes in a wheel, but it is the center hole that makes the wagon move. We shape clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want. We hammer wood for a house, but it is the inner space that makes it livable. We work with being but non-being is what we use.

A parrot left its own home and flew to another mountain. The birds and animals living there all loved it very much. “This is a nice place,” thought the parrot, “but it’s not my home.” A few days later it said good-bye to them. Several months after its return the mountain caught fire. Seeing this, the parrot loaded its feathers with water, flew to the top of the mountain, and flapped its wings to sprinkle water on the fire. When the Heavenly God saw this, he asked the parrot, “How can you possibly put out the fire with so little water?” “I know,” the parrot answered, “but I once lived here and everyone treated me like a brother. It breaks my heart to see this mountain on fire. I’ll do all that I can to help them put out the fire.” Moved by what the parrot said, the Heavenly God helped it put out the fire.

  Colors blind the eye. Sounds deafen the ear. Flavors numb the taste. Thoughts weaken the mind. Desire withers the heart. The Master observes the world but trusts his inner vision. He allows things to come and go. His heart is open as the sky. [Lao Tzu]

Empty your mind of all thoughts. Let your heart be at peace. Watch the turmoil of beings, but contemplate their return. Each separate being in the universe return to the common source. Returning to the source is serenity. It you don't realize the source, your stumble in confusion and sorrow. When you realize where you come from, you naturally become tolerant, disinterested, amused, kindhearted as a grandmother, dignified as a king. Immersed in the wonder of the Tao, you can deal with whatever life brings you, and when death comes, you are ready.

  One day, a stork moved its nest from a mound outside the city gate to a pillar at the entrance of a graveyard. The keeper of the yard noticed this and hurried to inform Ziyou, a local official of Wucheng. “Storks always know when rain is coming,” the keeper said. “Now that it has moved its nest, there must be a flood on the way.” “You’re right,” Ziyou agreed. He immediately ordered the townspeople to prepare boats. A few days later, heavy rain poured down, and the river swelled, flooding the mound where the stork had once lived. The downpour continued relentlessly, and soon, even the pillar—along with the nest perched upon it—was nearly submerged. The stork circled above its drowning nest, crying out in distress, unsure where to go next. “How tragic!” Ziyou sighed. “Though the stork is wise, its foresight is still limited.”

One sunny afternoon, a clam emerged from the riverbank, spreading its shell wide to soak in the warm sunlight. Nearby, a hungry snipe spotted the exposed clam and swooped down, aiming to snatch its tender flesh. But the clam was quick—it snapped its shell shut, trapping the snipe’s beak in a tight grip. The snipe, unable to free itself, hissed, "If the sun stays hot and no rain falls for two days, you’ll dry out and die!" Unshaken, the clam retorted, "And if I don’t let you go, you’ll starve before then!" Neither would back down. Their fierce standoff lasted so long that a passing fisherman noticed them—and with a swift motion, he captured them both.  

  When people see some things as beautiful, other things became ugly. When people see some things as good, other things became bad. Being and non-being create each other. Difficult and easy support each other. Long and short define each other. High and low depend on each other. Before and after follow each other. Therefore, the Master acts without doing anything and teaches without saying anything. Things arise and she lets them come; things disappear and she lets them go. She has but doesn't possess, acts but doesn't expect. When her work is done, she forgets it. That is why it lasts forever.

  One day the famous archer " Genglei" and the king of Wei , standing beneath a high platform, saw a bird flying from the east. The archer said to the king, “I can shoot the bird down just by drawing my bowstring.” “You mean archery can reach as high a level as this?” asked the king.  “Yes,” the archer answered.   A moment later the bird flew nearby . It was a solitary wild goose. " Genglei" drew the bowstring, and the goose fell down at its twang. “So,” said the king, “archery can really reach such a level.” " Genglei" said, “This is a solitary goose, wounded and not yet recovered.” “How do you know that?” asked the king.  The archer answered, “ It flew slowly because of the wounds and cried mournfully because it was separated from its flock. With the wounds unhealed, the goose had a linger­ing fear. Startled by the twang of the bowstring, it tried to soar to greater heights with all its might, which opened the old wounds. The goose couldn’t sta...

  In ancient times, there lived an old woodcutter who ventured into the mountains nearly every day to chop wood. It was said that this man was a miser, hoarding his silver until it turned to gold, valuing wealth above all else in the world.   One day, as he worked, a fierce tiger leaped at him. Though he fled, escape was impossible—the beast seized him in its jaws and carried him away. The woodcutter’s son, seeing his father in peril, grabbed a long knife and gave chase. Unburdened, he ran faster than the tiger, which struggled under the weight of its prey. Soon, the son caught up to them.   Miraculously, the old man was unharmed, as the tiger had only gripped his clothes. But when the son raised his knife to strike, the woodcutter cried out in panic,  "Don’t ruin the tiger’s skin! Don’t spoil it! If you kill it without cutting holes, we can sell the pelt for a fortune! Strike carefully— don’t damage the body!"   Distracted by his father’s greed, the son hes...

  One day the famous archer “ Gengle i” and the king of “Wei”, standing beneath a high platform, saw a bird flying from the east. The archer said to the king, “I can shoot the bird down just by drawing my bowstring.” “You mean archery can reach as high a level as this?” asked the king.   “Yes,” the archer answered. A moment later the bird flew near. It was a solitary wild goose. “Genglei” drew the bowstring, and the goose fell down at its twang. “So,” said the king, “archery can really reach such a level.” “Genglei” said, “This is a solitary goose, wounded and not yet recovered.” “How do you know that?” asked the king.   The archer answered, “It flew slowly because of the wounds and cried mournfully because it was separated from its flock. With the wounds unhealed, the goose had a lingering fear. Startled by the twang of the bowstring, it tried to soar to greater heights with all its might, which opened up the old wounds. The goose couldn’t stand the pain, so it fell do...

  When it was moving house, the owl met a turtledove. The turtledove asked, “Where are you   going   in   such a   hurry?” “I’m   moving to the   east,”   answered   the   owl.   “Why?”   “Be­ cause,” answered the owl, “people here are all complaining about my singing.” The turtledove said, “Moving to another place would be a good idea if you could change your voice. If you can’t, the people in the east will complain about your voice as well.”

  The Peacock’s tail feathers were golden and beautiful, but the peacock was jealous by nature. Although it had long been tamed, it would chase boys and girls dressed in bright, beautiful clothes and peck at them. Whenever the peacock took a rest in the mountains, it would find a proper place for its tail first, then lie down. Once a peacock was chased in the rain by a bird catcher. The rain wet the peacock’s tail. The peacock knew very well it was in danger, but it loved its tail so much that it stopped flying. Eventually the peacock was caught by the bird catcher.

  Before the master carpenter Lu Ban had completed his wooden phoenix—its crest unchiseled, its talons unshaped, its feathers still rough—onlookers gathered to mock his work. Those who glimpsed only the unfinished body sneered, "This is no phoenix, but an ugly owl!" Others, seeing only the rough-hewn head, scoffed, "A clumsy pelican, nothing more!" The crowd jeered at what they believed to be Lu Ban's failure, their judgments hardened by the incomplete form before them. Yet when the master applied his final strokes—when the emerald crest rose in splendor, the vermilion talons gleamed, and the gilded feathers caught the light like scattered fire—the truth revealed itself. The phoenix shook itself alive, wings unfurling in a burst of color, and took flight in a sweeping arc across the heavens. Those who had laughed fell silent, their earlier certainty crumbling before the revelation of the whole. The Nature of Partial Perception This ancient parable mirrors a...

  A mouse always ran away at the sight of a cat. So the cat came up with a clever trick—it draped a string of prayer beads around its neck. The mouse was delighted. "Look!" it thought. "The cat has turned vegetarian. How wonderful!" To show their gratitude, a group of mice approached the cat. But the moment they got close, the cat pounced—killing and devouring several before the rest could escape. Safe at last, the surviving mice gasped, "The cat is even more dangerous now that it ‘prays’!" Moral: Not every change is genuine. Some predators just learn new disguises.  

  Once upon a time, a powerful nation (the Donkey) arrived in a region where smaller, resilient states (the Tigers) had long thrived. The Donkey boasted of its unmatched strength—its vast armies, economic sanctions, and fearsome reputation. At first, the Tigers were terrified. They hid in the shadows, fearing the Donkey’s roar (or rather, its loudspeaker diplomacy). But as time passed, the Tigers observed: The Donkey’s threats were hollow —it imposed sanctions but lacked real economic power. Its military strikes were ineffective —costly, but without lasting victories. Its alliances were shaky —other nations saw through its bluster. Then came the moment of truth. The Donkey launched a war, expecting quick surrender. But when the Tigers retaliated—not with equal force, but with guerrilla tactics, cyber warfare, and economic resistance—the Donkey panicked. Its leaders, used to dictating terms, now scrambled for ceasefires. The Tigers...

  Long ago in the mountains of Qian, where no donkey had ever been seen, a merchant brought one from distant lands. The people, unsure of its purpose, left it grazing at the forest’s edge. A mighty tiger, encountering this strange beast for the first time, froze in fear. The donkey’s towering frame and thunderous bray sent the tiger fleeing—convinced it faced a supernatural threat. But with time, the tiger grew bold. It observed the donkey’s hollow bravado: the kicks that missed, the aimless braying, the clumsy defiance. Finally, the tiger pounced, tearing through the donkey’s throat. What once seemed formidable proved feeble—all bluster, no bite. The Modern Parallel: Superpowers Exposed Like the donkey, so-called "superpowers" today rely on: ·        Theatrics over strength (empty threats, performative sanctions) ·        Legacy fear (reputation from past wars, not current competence) ·  ...

  Once a hunter in ‘Linjiang’ caught a young ‘ David ’s deer. It was so lovely that the hunter decided to take it home to raise. As soon as he entered his house, his dogs ran over and stared at the little deer, mouths watering. The man shouted at them to go away. From then on, he kept showing the dogs the David’s deer and warned them not to hurt it. Finally, he let the dogs play with the deer.   To his delight, they lived peacefully. The little David’s deer grew up to forget its identity.   It took the dogs as its friends and played all kinds of games with them, which brought them even closer.   The dogs, however, kept on good terms with the deer only for the sake of their master. They often dreamed of tasting the David’s deer, which made their mouths water. Three years passed and the young David’s deer had grown up. One day it happened to go out and found many dogs from other households playing on the road. It joined in the fun, but was encircled and eaten, lea...

  Once upon a time there was a man named ' Ji Hou ' who loved monkeys and had them trained by professional han­dlers. One trainer, named ‘Tuo Shi’, dressed the monkeys up like human beings.  He put on tall hats, colorful clothing and embroidered shoes and taught them to kowtow, stand erect, sit and kneel just like human beings. When ‘Tuo Shi’ was satisfied with their behavior, he took them to ‘Ji Hou’, who was very glad to see them and invited them to drink spirits.  The drink excited them so much that they jumped and somersaulted, tore hats and clothing shreds, threw off their shoes, and showed their true selves.

One day, a man accidentally caught two young wolves. Fluffy and adorable, they were so endearing that he decided to raise them alongside his dogs. To his pleasant surprise, the wolves and dogs lived together peacefully. As time passed, the wolves grew up but remained docile, and the man almost forgot they were wild creatures. One afternoon, while napping in his hall, the man was startled awake by his dogs’ furious barking. Seeing nothing unusual, he dismissed it and tried to sleep again. Just as he began to drift off, the dogs barked violently once more. This time, he pretended to stay asleep, watching carefully. To his horror, he saw the two wolves creeping toward him, jaws open—ready to sink their teeth into his throat. His loyal dogs lunged forward, barking fiercely to protect him. Realizing the wolves’ treachery, the man swiftly killed the ungrateful beasts and skinned them as a grim reminder of nature’s unyielding instincts. #Betrayal #Wild vs. Tamed #Instinct vs. Trust # ...

Late one evening, a butcher was driving home after closing up his shop. In the back of his pickup truck sat the last unsold cut of prime pork—leftover from the day’s sales. As he slowed at a red light, a lone wolf lurking near the roadside caught the scent. Salivating, the predator locked onto the meat and began trailing the truck at a distance. Glancing in his rearview mirror, the butcher noticed the wolf keeping pace, its eyes gleaming under the streetlights. Uneasy, he rolled down his window and brandished his cleaver, shouting, “Back off!” The wolf hesitated but didn’t flee. The butcher’s grip tightened on the wheel. This isn’t safe. Then, an idea struck him. All it wants is the meat. If I leave it somewhere out of reach, maybe it’ll give up. Spotting a tall metal fence by an abandoned lot, he pulled over, hooked the pork onto one of the spikes, and drove off, relieved to see the wolf sniffing the air, distracted. The next morning, curiosity nagged at him. ...