The day I saw him, I was chasing after the world.
My name is Lian, and I was a young court advisor in the kingdom of Chu. I worked hard, studied harder, and always tried to be better than everyone else. I thought that if I could be the smartest, the fastest, or the loudest, I would win the respect of the king—and maybe even the peace I longed for in my heart.
One afternoon, while returning from a meeting in the capital, I walked along a dusty road through a quiet village. It was almost sunset, and I still had papers tucked under my robe and thoughts spinning in my head. That’s when I saw him: barefoot, dirty, with wild hair like a nest. He danced in circles, waving his arms like a bird trying to fly.
Some villagers whispered, “It’s the Madman of Chu.”
“Why doesn’t someone stop him?” I whispered back. “The man’s gone mad.”
An old woman beside me smiled softly. “Or maybe he’s the only one who isn’t.”
Curious, I stepped closer. The man twirled once more, laughed, and then looked right at me. His eyes were sharp, not lost like I expected. And then he said something I would never forget.
“You’re busy chasing clouds, boy—but what if the sky doesn’t need chasing?” He pointed up, then plopped down under a tree and lay quietly, watching the leaves above dance in the breeze.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Don’t you know the world is full of problems? Governments to fix? Laws to make? Wars to stop?”
The Madman just grinned. “And what will more pushing fix, except more pushing?” He yawned and closed his eyes. “The river flows best when no one's trying to shove it.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how. All my life I had believed effort was the only way. But something about his calmness made me pause.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of his words.
Over the next few weeks, I watched the Madman. He sang to trees. He picked fruit gently, never rushing. And yet, people came to him—not to be ruled, but just to be near him. Children laughed beside him. Old folks listened to him hum. Even animals stayed close.
I started to wonder. What if peace wasn’t something I could force? What if it was something that came on its own when I let go?
One morning, I left my court papers behind. I sat under a tree near the Madman and watched the wind move the leaves. For a long time, we didn’t speak.
Finally, he said, “Welcome back, cloud-chaser.”
I smiled.
That day, I didn’t chase the world. I let it pass like the river—and felt more alive than ever.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the Madman of Chu. I slow down. I listen. And I let things unfold on their own—like the Tao always meant them to.
The day I saw him, I was chasing after the world.
My name is Lian, and I was a young court advisor in the kingdom of Chu. I worked hard, studied harder, and always tried to be better than everyone else. I thought that if I could be the smartest, the fastest, or the loudest, I would win the respect of the king—and maybe even the peace I longed for in my heart.
One afternoon, while returning from a meeting in the capital, I walked along a dusty road through a quiet village. It was almost sunset, and I still had papers tucked under my robe and thoughts spinning in my head. That’s when I saw him: barefoot, dirty, with wild hair like a nest. He danced in circles, waving his arms like a bird trying to fly.
Some villagers whispered, “It’s the Madman of Chu.”
“Why doesn’t someone stop him?” I whispered back. “The man’s gone mad.”
An old woman beside me smiled softly. “Or maybe he’s the only one who isn’t.”
Curious, I stepped closer. The man twirled once more, laughed, and then looked right at me. His eyes were sharp, not lost like I expected. And then he said something I would never forget.
“You’re busy chasing clouds, boy—but what if the sky doesn’t need chasing?” He pointed up, then plopped down under a tree and lay quietly, watching the leaves above dance in the breeze.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Don’t you know the world is full of problems? Governments to fix? Laws to make? Wars to stop?”
The Madman just grinned. “And what will more pushing fix, except more pushing?” He yawned and closed his eyes. “The river flows best when no one's trying to shove it.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how. All my life I had believed effort was the only way. But something about his calmness made me pause.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of his words.
Over the next few weeks, I watched the Madman. He sang to trees. He picked fruit gently, never rushing. And yet, people came to him—not to be ruled, but just to be near him. Children laughed beside him. Old folks listened to him hum. Even animals stayed close.
I started to wonder. What if peace wasn’t something I could force? What if it was something that came on its own when I let go?
One morning, I left my court papers behind. I sat under a tree near the Madman and watched the wind move the leaves. For a long time, we didn’t speak.
Finally, he said, “Welcome back, cloud-chaser.”
I smiled.
That day, I didn’t chase the world. I let it pass like the river—and felt more alive than ever.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the Madman of Chu. I slow down. I listen. And I let things unfold on their own—like the Tao always meant them to.
