The Promise

Great Qian, Cangzhou, Dian’nan Prefecture City.

Between rows of tightly packed streets and houses, the broad flagstone avenue was alive with bustling traffic and throngs of pedestrians weaving through, their voices mingling with calls from vendors.

A beggar, his clothes faded and with holes, yet washed clean, no more than sixteen or seventeen in appearance, slender and frail—so much so that his clothes hung loosely—stopped three feet before a young couple. “Blessings upon you, sir and madam! May you soon be blessed with children and grow old together in happiness!”

The husband was a scholar. Hearing the beggar address him as “sir,” a hint of delight touched his heart; the beggar seemed suddenly more agreeable. Newly married, the couple found the auspicious words pleasing. Thinking it harmless to seek a bit of good luck, the scholar took a few copper coins from his pocket and tossed them into the beggar’s chipped bowl.

“Thank you, sir and madam! Thank you!” Zhuang Jin bowed, smiling and repeating his thanks as he watched the couple depart, inwardly remarking that even begging was an art.

Any profession, to do it well, one must love it. For months now, he had treated begging as a craft to be studied, and indeed it yielded results.

He had gained a few insights. For instance: when begging, it was essential not to be too clean, nor to emit any unpleasant odor that would drive people away. But one mustn’t appear too neat either; if the beggar’s clothes were less patched and torn than those of passersby, who would feel pity and give alms?