During the Qing Dynasty, an official named Liao Yiqing once recounted a true story that circulated near his home. Though brief in its original telling, the incident left a deep impression on those who heard it, serving as a cautionary tale about integrity, greed, and the weight of one’s own words.
Not far from Liao’s residence stood a small tea and snack shop run by a man who had migrated from Jiangxi Province. The shop saw a steady flow of customers each day — travelers resting their feet, locals stopping for a quick bite.
A forgotten bundle becomes a test of conscience
One afternoon, a man dressed like a low-ranking official’s attendant sat down to eat. After finishing his meal, he left quietly, blending back into the street outside. When the shopkeeper later cleared the table, he noticed a small cloth bundle left behind.
Curious, he opened it. Inside were two pawn tickets and silver notes totaling more than five hundred taels of silver — a staggering sum, far beyond what an ordinary shopkeeper might earn in many years. After a brief moment of hesitation, he chose not to report the find. Instead, he concealed the bundle, telling no one.
A desperate plea and a vow made before Heaven
Before long, the man returned, visibly shaken and nearly stumbling as he searched the shop from corner to corner. When he could not find the bundle, his face fell. Turning to the shopkeeper, he explained that he was a servant in an official’s household. That very morning, his master had instructed him to pawn two leather cases at the Changsheng Pawnshop, where they were exchanged for 540 taels of silver. The pawn tickets and silver notes, he said, had all been wrapped in a white cloth bag — the same one now missing.
He pleaded with the shopkeeper, promising lasting gratitude if the bag were returned. But the shopkeeper’s expression hardened. With a dismissive tone, he replied that countless people passed through the shop every day, and there was no way to know who might have taken it.
Desperate, the servant dropped to his knees. Fighting back tears, he said that if he failed to return with the money, he would have no way to explain himself to his master. Death by drowning, he claimed, would be preferable to the shame and punishment that awaited him.
By then, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the commotion. Sensing the mounting pressure, the shopkeeper raised his voice and vowed to Heaven before everyone present: if he had found the bag and failed to return it, he declared, then he deserved to die in the water. Such vows were not spoken lightly in that era, and the severity of his words shocked the onlookers. Convinced by the force of his vow, the crowd gradually dispersed. With no hope left, the servant rose and left the shop empty-handed.
When ill-gotten wealth demands its price
Time passed, and the shopkeeper put the silver to use. He began trading in local lacquerware, transporting it to other regions and selling it for profit. The business prospered quickly. After only a few trips, he had multiplied his wealth.
A year later, emboldened by success, he invested all his savings in a larger shipment and brought his son along on the journey. Once again, the venture proved lucrative. Their boat was loaded with goods as they made their way home.
But as they passed through a shallow stretch of water, disaster struck. The vessel collided with a massive rock hidden beneath the surface. The impact shattered the boat completely, leaving no intact planks behind. There was no chance for rescue. Both father and son drowned in the wreckage.
In the end, the vow made in the tea shop was fulfilled in the most tragic way imaginable.
Stories like this endure not because of superstition alone, but because they speak to enduring human truths. Words spoken in haste can carry consequences far beyond what is intended. More importantly, wealth gained by violating one’s conscience rarely brings lasting peace. Had the shopkeeper known the true cost of his decision, it is difficult to imagine he would have chosen to keep what was never his to begin with.
Translated by Patty Zhang
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