A long time ago, in the land of ancient China, there lived a wise old man named Laozi. People said his name meant “Old Master,” and those who met him believed he carried the wisdom of the mountains and rivers inside his heart. Laozi taught the path of the Tao—The Way—about living simply, gently, and in balance with everything around you.
But Laozi didn’t want to be famous. He lived quietly, away from city noise, in a small home surrounded by tall bamboo trees. Yet, word of his wisdom still reached far and wide.
One morning, a curious young soldier named Han set out to find Laozi. Han was tired of always thinking he had to fight, win, and rush to get ahead in life.
Han had heard stories of Laozi and believed that maybe, just maybe, the old man had answers to feelings he didn’t understand. He traveled for many days until he reached Laozi’s peaceful village.
When Han found Laozi, the old man was sitting beneath a tree, watching swallows fly across the sky.
“Great Master,” said Han, bowing low. “I’ve climbed mountains and crossed rivers to find you. I want to be strong and wise. Please teach me how to win in life.”
Laozi smiled gently and offered Han a seat beside him.
“Have you ever tried to catch the wind in your hand?” Laozi asked.
Han blinked. “No... it’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because the wind moves on its own... We can feel it, but we cannot hold it.”
“That,” said Laozi, “is how the Tao works. It cannot be forced. It moves where it goes. The more you chase it, the more it slips away.”
Han frowned. “But how will I ever get ahead if I don’t take action?”
Laozi picked up a cup and poured tea. But he didn’t stop—he poured and poured until the tea spilled over.
“Trying too hard,” Laozi said softly, “is like pouring tea into a full cup. Everything you want spills away when your mind is too full.”
Han looked at the mess, surprised. Then he laughed. “I see. If I force life, I overflow and lose control.”
Laozi nodded. “There is strength in waiting. Power in peace. When we follow the Way, we move as nature moves—not too fast, not too slow.”
Han stayed with Laozi for three days, helping him tend the garden and listening to the wind dance with the leaves. He learned that sometimes, doing less could do more.
When Han left to return home, he felt different. Birds still chirped, the river still flowed, and the wind still blew—but in his heart, a stillness had taken root.
Laozi’s teachings would later be written in a book called the Dao De Jing, full of simple truths that wise people still read today.
Han didn’t return to the battlefield right away. First, he taught his friends to sit quietly and listen to trees swaying. He learned that being calm helped him act wisely, and that the Tao would guide him, so long as he didn’t force it.
And though Han still faced many hard days ahead, he often remembered Laozi’s words:
“Be like water. Flow. Don’t push. Let things come.”
And slowly, step by gentle step, Han found peace.
A long time ago, in the land of ancient China, there lived a wise old man named Laozi. People said his name meant “Old Master,” and those who met him believed he carried the wisdom of the mountains and rivers inside his heart. Laozi taught the path of the Tao—The Way—about living simply, gently, and in balance with everything around you.
But Laozi didn’t want to be famous. He lived quietly, away from city noise, in a small home surrounded by tall bamboo trees. Yet, word of his wisdom still reached far and wide.
One morning, a curious young soldier named Han set out to find Laozi. Han was tired of always thinking he had to fight, win, and rush to get ahead in life.
Han had heard stories of Laozi and believed that maybe, just maybe, the old man had answers to feelings he didn’t understand. He traveled for many days until he reached Laozi’s peaceful village.
When Han found Laozi, the old man was sitting beneath a tree, watching swallows fly across the sky.
“Great Master,” said Han, bowing low. “I’ve climbed mountains and crossed rivers to find you. I want to be strong and wise. Please teach me how to win in life.”
Laozi smiled gently and offered Han a seat beside him.
“Have you ever tried to catch the wind in your hand?” Laozi asked.
Han blinked. “No... it’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because the wind moves on its own... We can feel it, but we cannot hold it.”
“That,” said Laozi, “is how the Tao works. It cannot be forced. It moves where it goes. The more you chase it, the more it slips away.”
Han frowned. “But how will I ever get ahead if I don’t take action?”
Laozi picked up a cup and poured tea. But he didn’t stop—he poured and poured until the tea spilled over.
“Trying too hard,” Laozi said softly, “is like pouring tea into a full cup. Everything you want spills away when your mind is too full.”
Han looked at the mess, surprised. Then he laughed. “I see. If I force life, I overflow and lose control.”
Laozi nodded. “There is strength in waiting. Power in peace. When we follow the Way, we move as nature moves—not too fast, not too slow.”
Han stayed with Laozi for three days, helping him tend the garden and listening to the wind dance with the leaves. He learned that sometimes, doing less could do more.
When Han left to return home, he felt different. Birds still chirped, the river still flowed, and the wind still blew—but in his heart, a stillness had taken root.
Laozi’s teachings would later be written in a book called the Dao De Jing, full of simple truths that wise people still read today.
Han didn’t return to the battlefield right away. First, he taught his friends to sit quietly and listen to trees swaying. He learned that being calm helped him act wisely, and that the Tao would guide him, so long as he didn’t force it.
And though Han still faced many hard days ahead, he often remembered Laozi’s words:
“Be like water. Flow. Don’t push. Let things come.”
And slowly, step by gentle step, Han found peace.
