ENG
Scatters o'er the mountain's crest,
Rich soil births, dews of the best.
Seven ounces common, eight ounces rare,
A slight difference, fortunes lay bare.
This story was told by a pharmacist in the city, and it concerns a secret about his cousin's family.
The cousin's ancestors were originally ginseng gatherers in the mountains. For some unknown reason, they abandoned their old craft and became woodcutters.
Although the family was not wealthy, everyone lived long lives.
From a young age, the cousin often saw a shabby, unkempt old man visiting their home. Whenever he came, the family would prepare a lavish meal and fine wine for him to enjoy alone. At the time, the cousin despised the old man, thinking he was a freeloading drunkard who seldom spoke and often caused trouble when drunk.
One day, the old man visited again for a drink while the cousin's great-grandmother fell gravely ill with typhoid fever, seemingly on the brink of death. Upon hearing about her critical condition, the old man went into the courtyard, reached into the ground with both hands, and out crawled numerous vines. Among the vines grew a small seedling that quickly matured, blossomed, and bore fruit. The old man pulled it out, revealing a Millennium Ginseng. After the great-grandmother drank the ginseng soup, she miraculously recovered and remains healthy to this day.
It was on that day that the cousin seemed to come to a realization and began to treat the old man with great respect, as if he were a member of the family.
The cousin once invited the pharmacist to move to the mountains and live with him, but the pharmacist flatly refused.
The pharmacist explained, "Although your family enjoys longevity, they live on bland meals every day, and life in deep mountains are too lonely. I still prefer to live in the city. Hence, I cannot go with you."
Just take the story as a fun anecdote.
A city pharmacist tells a family secret about his cousin in the mountains. The story starts with a short rhyme about ginseng: it grows on the mountain, and a tiny difference in weight—seven ounces versus eight—can separate common roots from rare ones, with big consequences. The cousin’s family used to gather ginseng generations ago but, for unknown reasons, became woodcutters. They were not rich, but people in the family tended to live unusually long lives.
A shabby, unkempt old man was a regular visitor to the cousin’s home. Even though the family was poor, whenever he came they set out a lavish meal and good wine for him to eat by himself. The cousin grew up resenting the man, thinking he was a freeloading drunk who rarely spoke and sometimes caused trouble when he drank.
The turning point came when the cousin’s great-grandmother got a severe case of typhoid and was nearly dying. The old man went into the courtyard, put his hands in the ground, and vines crawled out that bore a seedling. That seedling quickly matured, blossomed, and produced a root the story calls a Millennium Ginseng. The old man pulled it out, they made a soup from it, the great-grandmother drank it, and she recovered and remained healthy afterward.
After that miracle, the cousin began to treat the old man with deep respect, like a member of the family. The obvious implication is that the family’s unexpected longevity was tied to this secret: access to exceptionally rare ginseng and to the old man who could produce or find it. The rhyme at the start underscores that a very small difference in a ginseng root’s quality can make the difference between ordinary life and great fortune.
The cousin later invited the pharmacist to move from the city to live with them in the mountains, but the pharmacist refused. He said that even though the family had long lives, their meals were bland and mountain life was lonely, and he preferred the city. The pharmacist presents the whole tale as an anecdote about the cousin’s family and their strange, valuable secret.