Xien Bot the Trickster

At the edge of a small village in the Thanh Hóa region, a cow so thin its bones showed grazed every day beside a plot of sacred ground. Its coat stood up in tufts like a dry areca palm sheath. Its owner was known throughout the area, a blunt man full of tricks. His name was Xiển Bột.

Tradition says the real name of Xiển Bột was Nguyễn Xiển. He came from the village of Hoằng Bột. Today that village lies in the commune of Hoằng Lộc, in Thanh Hóa province. He lived in the last years of the old monarchy and earned his living making up traditional medicines. His household was poor, but his mind was as quick as lightning. Folk legend also says he was the great-grandson of Trạng Quỳnh. He belonged to that line of people who liked to use laughter to speak bluntly to the powerful, face to face.

The tales of Xiển Bột are anonymous folk jokes. People of the Thanh Hóa region have told them from one generation to the next, and no history book ever recorded them. Yet tale by tale, a man appears who dared to speak the truth. Each time he spoke up, someone who bullied others had to go red in the face.

The story of the thin cow goes like this. The plot of sacred ground at the head of Yên Lược village was meant for honoring Confucius. In scholarly language it was called a văn chỉ. Buffalo and cows roaming loose in the village kept wandering in and trampling it, fouling the sacred site. The village chief and the local strongmen hated this. They met and gave Xiển Bột the job of looking after the ground and fencing it carefully.

They also laid down a rule that sounded very grand. If anyone's cow got into the văn chỉ, the village would seize it, slaughter it and share the meat among everyone. Whoever wanted to keep the cow had to pay to buy it back. The strongmen thought to themselves that their own cows were fat and their herders careful, so their cattle would never get in. The rule was all show. Its real purpose was to fine the few poor families who let a thin cow slip by. Xiển Bột looked at the rule and only smiled.

His own household had only that one bony cow. One day he went to the market and bought several packs of tam cúc playing cards. He handed them out to the village children who herded the cattle. He invited them to find a dry, flat patch of ground and sit down to play for fun. The children loved it. They crowded around with their noses buried in the game and forgot all about the herd grazing quietly out there.

Once the children were absorbed, Xiển quietly drove the whole herd close to the văn chỉ and calmly opened the gate. The cattle saw the fresh green grass inside and pushed their way in. He shut the gate and caught more than 100 head in one go. And most of that herd were the fat, fine cows of the village officials and the rich strongmen.

Now the trap the strongmen had set turned right back on them. By the village rule they had just made, the cattle that got in had to be slaughtered and shared. Butchering the fat, strong cows of the rich and sharing out the meat equally hurt them to the core. They argued back and forth and quarreled loudly. In the end they had to back down. They agreed to share the herd out among the villagers, one cow for each household.

So it turned out well. The ordinary families of the village, who had always lived in fear of losing a cow, now received a fair share too. The bony cow of Xiển Bột was as good as traded straight for a share of a fat one. The men who made a rule to fine the poor ended up paying the fine themselves. Xiển never needed to raise his voice at anyone. With just a few packs of tam cúc cards and a smile, he brought fairness back to the whole village.

Xiển Bột had a gift for winning what was right through laughter, and he did not save it for the village strongmen alone. Once, it followed him all the way into the royal palace.

As a healer, he had a good name that spread far, so he was sometimes called to treat people of high rank. At one point a rumor spread among the people that the king suffered from a condition that was hard to cure. People called it the four incurable illnesses, all at once. They were lameness, blindness, muteness and deafness. The rumor kept spreading until it reached the ears of the king. He flew into a rage, summoned Xiển, and demanded to know who had dared make it up.

Xiển Bột did not panic in the least. He pressed his palms together and calmly replied that the four illnesses were only a figure of speech. Every rumor, he said, had its reason.

People called His Majesty lame, he explained, because all year round he only sat inside the palace. He rarely set foot outside to see how his people were living. They called him blind because the misery of his people lay right before his eyes, yet he did not see it.

By now the king had gone red in the face, but Xiển went on unhurried. People called him mute, he said, because in the face of so much injustice and wrong he would not say a single word. Even the word deaf had its reason. Across the land the people cried out in complaint, yet their cries never reached his ears.

When he had heard it all, the king turned purple with rage. Yet thinking it over, he found every word of Xiển well reasoned and in its proper place. There was not one point he could seize on. The king had to swallow his anger. He could do nothing to the man who had dared tell the truth.

People of the Thanh Hóa region say this was how Xiển Bột went through his life, with a clear head and an honest tongue. It held true from the tale of the thin cow to the tale of the four illnesses. He had no sword or spear, and no high rank or power. All he had were words and laughter. Yet whoever bullied others was left speechless the moment they met him.

Hoằng Lộc today is a cool, green stretch of countryside in the Thanh Hóa region, with rice fields, tiled roofs and lively village market days. That land once produced a man who dared use laughter to say aloud what others only dared think in private. Now and then someone retells how he traded a thin cow for a fat one, or how he stood before the king and calmly explained the four illnesses. Each time, the laughter of long ago rings out again, crisp and warm, as if it had never died away.