“The Farmer’s Fortune

The Farmer’s Fortune

There was once a quiet valley where the mountains stood like guardians, watching over small villages scattered along the river. In one of these villages lived an old farmer named Wei. He was neither rich nor poor, neither particularly lucky nor unlucky—or so people thought. He lived simply with his son, tending a modest piece of land, and caring for a single horse that helped plow the fields.

One summer morning, that horse broke free from its tether and ran away into the hills. Wei’s neighbors soon gathered outside his house, shaking their heads and sighing.

“What bad luck!” one said. “That horse was your strength in the field. How will you work the soil now?”

Another added, “Without the horse, your harvest will be poor. You might not even have enough food for winter.”

Wei listened quietly, leaning on his hoe. He did not argue or defend himself. Instead, he said simply, “Maybe it is bad luck. Maybe it is good. Time will tell.”

The neighbors left, whispering to one another about his strange calmness.

Days passed. Then, one afternoon, the runaway horse returned. To everyone’s surprise, it was not alone. Following behind it were two wild horses, strong and sleek. The farmer quickly closed the gate, and suddenly he had three horses instead of one.

The neighbors hurried back, this time smiling and clapping him on the shoulder.

“What good luck!” they said. “Now you have more horses than anyone else in the village. You’ll be able to work your fields faster, and maybe even sell one for silver!”

Wei gave a small smile. “Maybe it is good luck. Maybe it is bad. Time will tell.”

The villagers laughed. How could this be bad luck? They went away shaking their heads again.

A week later, Wei’s son tried to train one of the wild horses. The animal, unused to saddles and reins, bucked and kicked. The boy was thrown hard to the ground. His leg broke badly, and he could not walk without crutches.

This time the neighbors rushed over with long faces.

“Oh, what terrible luck!” they cried. “Your only son is injured. Who will help you in the fields now? How will he ever recover?”

Wei placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, steadying him as he tried to stand. The boy winced with pain, but the father’s voice was calm.

“Maybe it is bad luck,” Wei said. “Maybe it is good. Time will tell.”

The villagers muttered among themselves. They could not understand him. To them, it was clearly misfortune.

Summer turned to autumn. As the leaves began to fall, a messenger from the king arrived in the valley. A great war had broken out on the border, and every young man in the village was ordered to join the army. Families wept as sons were taken away.

But when the soldiers saw Wei’s son with his injured leg, they passed him by. He was spared.

The neighbors came once more, this time with mixed expressions—sad for their own children, yet recognizing Wei’s strange fortune.

“What good luck!” they said. “Your son’s injury has saved him from the war. He may limp, but he lives. Our boys may never return.”

Wei looked toward the mountains, where the army had marched away like a river of dust. He closed his eyes and repeated, as always, “Maybe it is good luck. Maybe it is bad. Time will tell.”

The seasons went on. Some of the young men never came back from the war. Some returned with scars, both visible and hidden. Wei’s son, though limping, learned new skills that did not require running or fighting. He became skilled at carving wood, shaping plows, stools, and tools for the village. Slowly, his work became valued more than the strength of his legs

.

The villagers eventually stopped judging Wei’s fortunes so quickly. They noticed that what once seemed like misfortune often opened doors to something else. What once appeared to be a blessing sometimes carried hidden burdens.

And Wei himself? He never claimed to know the future. He never rushed to label events as lucky or unlucky. Instead, he lived each day as it came, tending his fields, guiding his son, and letting time unfold its own story.

The valley still remembers him. Children grow up hearing the tale of the farmer who answered every twist of fate with the same quiet wisdom:

“Maybe it is bad luck. Maybe it is good. Time will tell.”