The Peaks of Annoyance
A long time ago, in a quiet corner of ancient China, lived a man named Yu Gong. Old Man Yu. He was ninety years old. His back was bent, his beard was long, and his patience was thin for two very specific things: the Taihang Mountain and the Wangwu Mountain.
These weren't just hills. These were giants. Two colossal mountains stood directly in front of Yu Gong's home. They blocked the sun. They blocked the path to the outside world. To go anywhere, Yu Gong and his family had to walk miles around them, every single time.
For decades, this was just a fact of life. A daily inconvenience. But one day, Yu Gong sat by his fire, watching the last sliver of sunlight disappear behind the towering peaks. He was old. He was tired of walking.
He looked at his children, his grandchildren. Their lives, too, were shaped by these obstacles. They couldn't easily trade. They couldn't easily visit. The mountains were a permanent, physical barrier to progress, to freedom, to light.
That night, he called a family meeting. His sons, grandsons, and even his wife gathered around. Yu Gong looked at them, his eyes firm. "These mountains," he declared, "they are a nuisance. A burden. We will move them."
Silence. Then, a bewildered look on every face. "Father," his wife finally said, "you are ninety. And these are mountains. What good would a few baskets of dirt do?"
Yu Gong simply smiled. "The mountain will not grow," he said. "But our family line will. Our sons will have sons. Our grandsons will have grandsons. And together, we will move them. Piece by piece."
A Lifetime of Dirt
The very next morning, Yu Gong put his words into action. He gathered his small family. They had no fancy tools. Just hoes, shovels, and sturdy baskets woven from straw.
They began to dig. Yu Gong led the way, his old hands surprisingly strong, chipping away at the base of Taihang Mountain. His sons followed, then his grandsons, each filling their baskets with dirt and rocks. His wife, though frail, helped too, sweeping away loose pebbles.
It was slow, back-breaking work. They dug. They carried the heavy baskets. They walked for miles to the Yellow River, where they dumped the earth. Then they walked back, emptied, only to repeat the cycle. Day after day. Month after month.
Their clothes became ragged. Their hands calloused. Their faces tanned by the sun. But they kept going. The sheer scale of the task was impossible to ignore. Each basket was a tiny victory against an enormous foe. They barely made a dent in the mountain.
Other villagers watched. Some laughed. Some shook their heads in disbelief. Who would undertake such a pointless task? Who would waste their last years digging at a mountain?
One old man, known as Zhisou, the Wise Old Man, thought Yu Gong had lost his mind. He found Yu Gong at the base of the mountain, straining with a heavy basket. Zhisou laughed, a loud, mocking sound that echoed through the valley.
"Yu Gong!" he called out. "You are truly foolish! You are nearly at your grave. How can you possibly think of moving such massive mountains with your feeble strength and a handful of children? It's absurd!"
The Unyielding Spirit
Yu Gong paused, his hoe resting on the earth. He looked at Zhisou, not with anger, but with a calm, almost pitying expression. "You, Zhisou," he said, "are a truly narrow-minded man. You see only the present. You see only my old age."