CHINAThe Magic BrocadeA hero's knees do not buckle at the first problemMany years ago, in a small village in China, lived a weaver and her three sons: Zhu, Shen, and the youngest, Wang Xing.Now the weaver was a widow and had to support her family by herself. However, she was very skilled-especially at weaving brocade with silver, gold, and silk threads running through. It was said that the animals and birds in her brocades were so lifelike, they looked as if they were ready to leap off the cloth and run into the woods. So, by selling all that she wove, the weaver and her sons lived comfortably, though they were far from rich.One day, as the widow went through the market carrying her latest weavings, her eye fell upon a beautiful painting. It was of an exquisite white house sitting in the middle of a glorious garden. Among the bushes fluttered red birds, the likes of which she had never seen. A silver river coiled around house and garden, and beyond the river was a forest full of green and gold trees."Ah!" she sighed. "I must have this picture." She traded all of her weavings for it and took the picture home.Placing the picture on the table, she sat down and stared at it, sighing again and again. When her sons came in from the fields, she showed the picture to them. "How I wish we could live in such a place."Zhu and Shen laughed. "Mother, it is only a painting."But Wang Xing put his arms about her shoulders. "Why not weave a copy of the picture in a piece of cloth?" he said. "That will be almost like living in it.""Thank you, my youngest son," said the weaver. Without even cooking the evening meal, she went to her loom and began to work.From then on, she worked morning, noon, and night on the weaving, sleeping little and eating less.Zhu and Shen soon grew annoyed. "She is making nothing for the market," they told each other. "There is no food on the table. There are no clean clothes."Wang Xing took them aside. "Do not trouble our mother, brothers. If you chop wood and sell it, I will do all of her chores. That way Mother can keep her dream. For has she not supported us all these years?""Pah!" said Zhu."Hah!" said Shen.But they did as Wang Xing had asked, because he had shamed them.Weeks passed and still the weaver worked only on the one brocade. Now the older brothers grew tired of chopping wood and hauling it to the market for sale.Once again, they went to complain to their mother. Once again, Wang Xing stopped them."Let me do the chopping and the selling," Wang Xing said. "Let me do all the household chores. Just comfort Mother, and bring her tea."A year passed. Tears from the weaver's eyes dropped onto the brocade, making the river in the brocade shimmer.Another year passed. Blood from her pricked fingers dropped onto the bright birds in the brocade, making them shine.Finally, the third year came and nearly went, and the brocade was finished at last. The white house sat proudly in the middle of the ga Excerpted from Mightier Than the Sword: World Folktales for Strong Boys by Jane Yolen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
