A humbling lesson by an itinerant vendor

I left my office around dusk. The street was crowded, as usual. Back in the old days, the Chinese used to describe busy traffic as "cheshui malong" - chariots like flowing water and horses like dragons. Well, in modern metropolises, this can be adapted to mean "chariots like stagnant water and horses like wooden dragons".

As I looked out on the crowds in the evening breeze, I caught sight of some lotus seedpods on sale by the street. They looked extravagantly green and full in early winter. Wait, how could there be lotus seedpods at this time of the year?

Then I realized that the place where I was standing was called Xiaoxitian - Minor Western Paradise. The Western Paradise is famed as the abode of Buddha, where the deities all sit on lotuses. Maybe this place is blessed, I thought.

The lotus seller claimed to be from Baiyangdian, a wetland in Baoding, Hebei province. Speaking with an accent, he recounted the hardships in planting, gathering, transporting and selling lotuses, punctuating the long story with several folk tales.

How could I give up the chance to bargain? In the glassy skyscraper behind us, I had just spent the whole day bargaining a deal. What a waste of my commercial talents if I couldn't apply my superb skills here.

I told the man that since I had developed a special bond with the local people of Baoding, after tasting baked donkey pancake there, I would not bargain with him.

The peddler almost had tears in his eyes. But I went on: To enhance this friendship, could he give me an extra for each seedpod I bought?

The lotus farmer from the wetland was nowhere near me in cunning, I was convinced. He allowed me to choose from the basket and his accent gradually followed mine to pick up Beijing tones.

I felt very successful. With economy acting as the bridge, I had influenced the other side culturally. This is what it feels to be a triumphant man, I thought.

I first chose nine seedpods. Then I remembered my 4-year-old daughter who has never seen a lotus seedpod before, and chose nine more. Carrying 18 lotus seedpods, I drew much attention on my way home. I must have looked very much like a fervent Buddhist pilgrim, I thought.

My daughter was as excited as I had expected. But she immediately called out its proper name - lianpeng. That was another word I never thought she could have learned at this age.

I couldn't wait to open the seedpods, and felt as if I was unveiling a childhood dream. How I envied my pals who could eat lotus seeds. Now, it was my turn to eat as many lotus seeds as I liked.

But we found that nine of the ten pods were empty. The five or six seeds that were there tasted bitter. What kind of lotus is this? It couldn't possibly have grown in Baiyangdian - the lotus hometown. Then I remembered the peddler's accent. It was not I who had influenced him culturally, but he who had taken advantage of me economically.

I told my daughter seriously, don't you ever look down upon anyone, including your pals in the kindergarten.

Southern People's Weekly contributed to the story

(China Daily 04/17/2008 page19)