ENG
"Inherent gifts in there mystical sprouts reside,
Walking forth from the earth, spirits untied.
Roots serve as limbs, nourishing body and mind,
Beware, excessive gathering brings hardships unkind."
It was written in ancient records that consuming ginseng could bestow longevity, leading many to develop a fervent passion for devouring this precious tuber-especially aged ones. However, some scholars dismissed this notion, viewing ginseng as both a tonic and a poison; its elevated status stemmed from its humanoid appearance, they said. Nonetheless, those who made their living by harvesting ginseng always found eager buyers.
Deep within the valley, the younglings of ginseng shoots trembled with fear at the unmistakable sound of footsteps. It was the dreaded rhythm of the ginseng harvesters' mountain shoes, crushing the thick layers of decaying leaves and rocky earth. And with every eerie resonance, the siblings of the ginseng plants vanished, disappearing one by one. Only the tiniest survivors managed to evade this grim fate, their diminutive size providing a fleeting reprieve. Yet, even they bore the mark of fate-a crimson thread, marking them, and restraining them. Who knew when the harvesters would return, to dig them up once they grew into their full potential?
Time raced by, swift and unyielding. And on that day, the familiar footsteps resurfaced. With the years that had passed, it was likely the offspring of harvesters who were generations younger than those who came before; then a quickened pace, a sense of anticipation-the crimson threads had surely been spotted. But oh, what ill fortune! As the ginseng harvester reached for the thread, it led him to a grim sight-the entwined remains of a skeleton. A curse gathered on the tip of his tongue, but before he could spit it out, the ground behind him rumbled with the sound of scattered dirt. He turned his head; the shifting soil unleashed a monstrous creature, towering and menacing. Fear gripped the harvester, urging him to flee, his frantic screams piercing the air, shouting of man-devouring guais.
Long ago people believed ginseng granted long life, so harvesting it became an obsession. Ancient warnings even hinted that the plants contained spirits and that roots functioned like limbs. Some scholars rejected the longevity myth, saying ginseng’s fame came from its humanoid shape and that it could be both restorative and toxic. Still, demand stayed high, so harvesters kept working the mountains to sell the prized roots.
In a particular valley, young ginseng shoots lived in constant fear whenever harvesters approached. The sound of mountain shoes crushing leaf litter and soil meant other ginseng nearby disappeared, dug up and taken. Only the smallest sprouts sometimes escaped being raked out; their small size let them avoid immediate capture.
Those tiny survivors did not go unmarked. Each bore a crimson thread that both identified and restrained it. That thread acted as a sign that harvesters had noticed them and intended to return when the plant grew large enough to be worth digging up. The plants lived under the threat that the harvesters would come back at any time.
Years passed and the harvesters did return, likely a younger generation following in their elders’ footsteps. A harvester spotted a crimson thread and reached down for it, but instead of a plant he unearthed a human skeleton. Before he could react, the ground shifted and a huge, menacing creature burst out of the soil. The harvester ran screaming, shouting that man-devouring guais were attacking.
The story finishes with a clear warning: the old verse and the valley’s events link together. Excessive gathering and disturbing ginseng can provoke violent consequences—skeletons and monstrous defenders emerging from the earth. The implication is that those who hunt ginseng for profit risk more than poverty or superstition; they may awaken real, deadly retribution tied to the plants and the land.