In Qing Dynasty China, the imperial examination was more than a test — it was the gateway to status, power, and a meaningful career. For many scholars, success in the exams was the ultimate goal. But in the year 1801, during the sixth year of the Jiaqing Emperor’s reign, a man surnamed Li found himself once again among the thousands who failed to pass the provincial-level exam in Jiangnan.
Devastated by his repeated failures, Li turned to his friend Wang, who had also faced similar disappointments. Both men wondered: Were they simply unlucky — or was there a deeper reason behind their fate?
Hoping to find guidance, they set off together in search of a reclusive spiritual figure said to possess great insight.
A mysterious monk with the power to see fate
Their journey led them to Mount Mao in Jiangsu Province, where rumors swirled about a hermit known as the “Sleeping Monk.” Unlike ordinary monks, this man was said to remain in deep sleep for days, weeks, or even months at a time. According to legend, he had developed supernatural abilities through meditation and spiritual cultivation — among them, the power to glimpse a person’s destiny.
It was said that the monk rarely spoke, and when he did, his words were cryptic and few — like echoes from another world. Just before the two scholars arrived, he had murmured in his sleep: “Such a pity… two scholars with talent, yet erased from the list again and again. There is a reason…”
When Li and Wang finally found his secluded hut, they dropped to their knees in tears, pleading for the truth. Moved by their sincerity — or perhaps it was fate — the monk slowly opened his eyes.
What karma had in store for each of them
The monk first turned to Li and spoke solemnly: “Your wife drowned three of your newborn daughters. You did nothing to stop her. For this, your life will be cut short, and though you will eventually have a son, he will be crippled and of no use. And still, you dream of wealth and honor?”
Li was left speechless.
The monk then turned to Wang and said bluntly: “You exploit the poor for profit and are consumed by lust.”
Wang immediately denied it, insisting he was innocent.
But the monk continued: “You lend money at fifty percent interest. When the poor cannot repay on time, you compound the interest into the principal and rewrite the debt every six months. Is that not true?”
Wang fell silent.
Still trying to defend himself, he added: “But I’ve never acted out of lust.”
The monk’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think lust exists only in actions? To leer at women is to sin with the eyes. To flirt with them is to sin with speech. To write suggestive poems is to sin with ink. To dwell on them in thought is to sin with the mind. Your transgressions may be subtle — but they are still transgressions.”
With that, the monk closed his eyes and said no more.
When talent means nothing without virtue
The two men left the mountain in silence, shaken to their core. They had come seeking comfort and answers, but what they received was a harsh judgment. Their failures were not due to a lack of intelligence, effort, or even luck. Rather, they were the result of hidden wrongs — wrongs they had ignored, denied, or dismissed.
In the worldview shaped by karmic cause and effect, the heavens do not reward cleverness alone. True success, it seemed, belonged to those whose actions aligned with virtue, compassion, and conscience. No amount of talent could compensate for a lack of moral integrity.
Translated article
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