Le Nhu Ho

Long ago, in the village of Tiên Châu in the Hưng Yên area, one household had to cook an unusually large pot of rice for every meal. Once cooked, it held as much rice as several families put together. Yet that giant pot was cooked for just one person.

The one who emptied that big pot was a boy named Lê Như Hổ. His parents were poor, but they loved how eager he was to learn. However hard they scraped, they kept him in rice and lamp oil for his studies. There was only one problem. He ate far too much. The old tellers say that at every meal he would finish a whole big pot of rice, and still feel just fine. The family was already short of everything. Feeding an appetite like that, they ran through their rice in just half a year, until not a single grain was left in the bin.

His parents loved their son, but they had to swallow their sorrow. If they kept feeding him, where would the rice come from? Yet if they made him go hungry, how could he study? After much thought, they arranged for him to marry into a well-off family in the village of Thiện Phiến and live in his wife's home. They hoped that family had plenty to spare, so their son could eat his fill and study in peace.

The bride's family had heard of the hardworking young scholar and agreed. But when he moved in and the meal was laid out, the whole household was dumbfounded. He alone ate as much as several people. His parents-in-law looked at each other, worried and uneasy. Rich as they were, anyone would wince to watch the rice dwindle so fast at every meal. So the family cut back, and at each meal they served him a pot smaller than the one at home.

Strangely, from the day he ate less, the diligent son-in-law changed completely. His books were pushed into a corner. As soon as he finished eating, he would lie down and sleep. When someone called him, he only mumbled. He was always listless, like a wilted leaf. Seeing this, his wife's family was deeply disappointed. They privately wondered whether they had married their daughter to a lazy young man whose only gift was a reputation for learning.

Word of this reached his own father. He hurried over, asked a few questions, then spoke calmly to the parents-in-law. He told them the boy was not lazy. By nature he had an unusual appetite. At home he needed a full big pot of rice at each meal to have the strength to study by lamplight late into the night. Here he was eating less than half his fill. His body was worn out, so how could his head hold on to the written characters? For a body that ate like his, the father said, learning only went in when the stomach was full.

The parents-in-law were only half convinced, but they were willing to give it a try. From that day on, the family let him eat until he was truly full, until he put down his chopsticks of his own accord. And sure enough, the young scholar seemed to become a different person. Every night the lamp in his room burned late. The steady sound of his reading carried out into the yard, through one watch of the night after another. The young man who had sprawled asleep in the daytime now worked so hard that he forgot the dawn had come.

His wife's family was glad, of course, but a small doubt still lingered. He ate so much and studied so hard, but could he do anything useful out in the fields? Or was he only good at sitting in one place? With that in mind, they gave their son-in-law a few plots of rice field that had lain abandoned for a long time. The weeds had grown thick, higher than a man's knee. They told him to go and clear them.

The next morning he ate a hearty meal, then shouldered a knife and went out to the fields. But once he got there, he found a shady tree, lay down at its foot and fell sound asleep. People from the household passing by saw the son-in-law asleep in the middle of the field, the weeds still standing. They shook their heads and clicked their tongues. He truly was good only for eating, they thought.

Yet in the early afternoon he woke, stretched once, and set to work. His arms swung the knife so fast that the tall, thick weeds lay flat, as if a strong wind had swept through. He worked straight through without a break. By the time the sun went down, all three abandoned fields were clean and clear, the soil turned up dark and glossy. The water weeds were thrown in every direction, and the fish and shrimp in the paddies floated up to the surface. When the family came out to look, everyone stared wide-eyed. No one could believe that one man had done so much in a single afternoon.

That was not all. When the rice ripened, the family needed to harvest in a hurry, but they could never find enough hands. They needed 20 reapers to bring it in on time. The grain was growing overripe in the fields, and everyone was anxious. The son-in-law only smiled and told the family to leave it to him. He ate a big meal and went out to the fields alone. Reaping with his hands and carrying loads on his shoulder pole, he went back and forth like a weaver's shuttle between the paddies and the yard. The fields were full of ripe rice, yet before nightfall that same day, he had harvested it all. He carried it home and spread it neatly on the drying yard.

By now the parents-in-law had no doubts left, only love and esteem for their son-in-law. The huge pot of rice of those early days had turned out to be nothing to scorn. It had nourished a pair of hands that worked like several men, and a mind that learned one thing and understood ten. Whatever he ate of the family's rice, he repaid with as much labor. On top of that, he gave them a hardworking and devoted heart.

Later generations say that even the name Như Hổ came from eating. In that area lived a friend of his who was just as famous for his appetite. Once the two of them met, and a meal was laid out so they could test each other. The friend was a champion eater himself. Yet he watched the young man calmly finish one tray of food after another, as relaxed as could be. In the end the friend put down his chopsticks in admiration and said that his companion ate with the strength of a tiger. From then on, people called him Lê Như Hổ. The name means Lê who eats like a tiger.

Later, thanks to all those nights of studying by lamplight, Lê Như Hổ passed the examinations, became an official, and rose to high office at court. Once he was sent as an envoy to the great country to the north. Its emperor had heard that the envoy from the south ate an astonishing amount. So he ordered a banquet with trays of food stacked one upon another, meant to test whether the rumor was true. The envoy sat down and calmly ate his way through one tray after another. His face stayed as relaxed and courteous as if he were sipping a cup of tea. The whole court stared at each other in amazement. Their early suspicion turned into admiration for the southern envoy, as capable as he was dignified.

People remember Lê Như Hổ, but not to count the pots of rice he ate. They remember the lamp that burned late every night, the three overgrown fields cleared in a single afternoon, and the whole field of ripe rice harvested before dark. As for the bowl of rice, it never measured the man.