Volume One: Arrival in the Noble Land Chapter Three: Recognizing Flowers and Identifying Herbs

Following the winding mountain path, shaded by verdant trees and clusters of wild grass, Chen Chen walked steadily onward. Within these great mountains, countless scenes unfolded—more often, flowers and grasses bloomed for unknown hands to cherish, for unseen eyes to recognize.

As he journeyed through the mountains, accompanied by rivers that spared him from thirst, Chen Chen knew not where to find his next drink. Resolving to learn from the land itself, he set about identifying flowers and herbs, cultivating knowledge so that on his travels through this world, he would not be left unskilled or without means.

He observed the great rivers flowing eastward, tracking the sun’s rise and fall to mark the cardinal directions. Though accustomed to rivers running east, he ventured upstream along an alternate watercourse, mindful that clean drinking water was vital wherever one might live.

Not straying far, he pondered the days ahead, realizing that knowledge and experience would serve him well. Thus, he began his study of flora, each plant a lesson, each flower a story.

His first discovery was a modest plant—likely Job's tears—with unremarkable blossoms but hard, full seeds tinged faintly with blue or purple. Recognizing this, Chen Chen’s spirits lifted, and he set forth, composing a poem as he left:

The mountain's plants rise tall and green,
Adorned with flowers and fruits unseen.
“Pray tell,” I ask, “from whence they come—
Their use, when time for healing's sum.”

Marking the find, he moved on, surrounded by countless plants. To his surprise, he encountered foxtail grass, a humble yet distinct presence. This grass, plain at birth, yet alive nonetheless, bore a small, fuzzy bloom atop a slender stalk—resembling both a caterpillar and a tiny club.

Chen Chen reached out to pluck one but withdrew his hand, captivated by its charm and unwilling to disturb its quiet beauty. These plants were not instant blooms but patiently awaited those destined to find them, perhaps to weave a tale.

Inspired, he penned another verse:

A tiny plant, a club-like bloom,
Slender stalks rise from the gloom.
Idle folk may hold it near,
Half a figure framed sincere.

His journey continued, revealing flowers unknown to him, colors and forms he had not seen in all his years among trees and fields. In these grand mountains, many flowers flourished whose names escaped him, their blossoms vivid but mysterious.

He noted one with green, vine-like stems and leaves painted with delicate beauty, petals pale as butterflies, layered with four or five more. Such rare flowers thrived only in places teeming with life, where butterflies might pause, blurring the line between real and shadow.

Again, he marked his observation and moved on. Determined to catalog at least seven or eight species today, so his knowledge might keep pace with his needs, he pressed forward.

Soon, he came upon a willow by the riverbank, swaying gently in the breeze. Tall and graceful, the tree often hung its slender branches low, soft leaves fluttering with the wind. Chen Chen lingered briefly, inspired to praise its elegance:

By river’s edge, the willow stands,
Towering tall with slender hands.
Bending low in gentle grace,
Softly swayed by wind’s embrace.

This natural marvel, forged by earth and sky, rain and wind, bore witness to resilience and life’s tenacity. Marking it lightly, he moved on.

Though plants and trees have their limitations, they remain vital threads in the vast tapestry of existence. After this willow, Chen Chen felt he had distanced himself from the perilous threshold he once crossed, stepping beyond its shadow.

Ahead, he glimpsed more blooms and hurried toward a particularly lovely flower. Yet, running too fast, the bloom slipped behind him. Frustrated, he stopped, turning to examine a patch of simple green grass near the river. No matter the kind, grass is grass, and this offered a moment’s rest.

He scooped cool river water to quench his thirst, savoring the refreshing chill, then studied the tender shoots before him. Though he knew not their names, the mountains offered an abundance of herbs and flowers, waiting patiently for those who might one day speak of their origins.

Once more, inspired by nature’s poetry, he composed:

Tender grass sprouts fresh and green,
Spreading wide across the scene.
Leafy petals arch with care,
A soft embrace cradled there.

Patient and deliberate, Chen Chen knew such study demanded time. Seizing the calm before the mountain rain, he paused to rest. By now, he had identified five plants, with two more to seek—his criteria: they must bloom along his path, visible and clear.

As he resumed, he arrived at a rose flowering amid rocky crags in a valley—a striking sight in such a harsh place. Unlike the usual plant with roots, stems, branches, and leaves forming a complete whole, here was a single red rose branch—rare and precious.

Moved, he penned a tribute:

The rose before me, lone and bright,
Though thorned, it claims the light.
In endless paths that stretch ahead,
This blossom’s beauty gently spread.

After admiring this unique flower, Chen Chen sought a hidden spot to contemplate his next find. Without further judgment of this uncommon rose, he slipped into nearby grass, rolling quietly into the shadows.

There, to his surprise, he was not alone. Yet, accustomed to the world’s ways, he chose to remain concealed, sensing something intriguing might unfold.

Within the grass, his gaze fell upon a thorny bush—brambles in myriad forms, tender leaves tipped with sharp spines, a faint, pungent fragrance, and a stark defense that nature had woven into its very being.

Resolute to capture its essence, Chen Chen composed:

On bramble’s stem, new shoots arise,
Tender leaves beneath the skies.
Mock not their seeming frail embrace—
Green strength endures, a steady pace.

With seven plants now identified, the place where the rose bloomed seemed poised for a story yet to be told.