The most contrary man that ever drew a full dozen breaths was Chueh Chun, living in Tien Ting Village, thirty minutes by donkey, by up and down very bad road, north of the Great Wall, the far-famed Chinese Wall.
Queer Chueh Chun had been named Ma Tzu by his honorable parents. He had been named Ma Tzu, which means Face Rather Ugly. He, himself, changed his name to Chueh Chun, which means Absolutely Beautiful.
The good people of Tien Ting Village lived tidily in made houses, above ground. Chueh Chun lived in a cave, a deep and winding fox den, below ground. Such of the neighbors as were permitted by law to wear hats, wore little round hats, on their heads. Chueh Chun wore hats on his feet. Moreover, he wore straw hats in winter, fur in summer. On his head perched an ancient sandal. He pretended that the arrangement was excellent. The sandal shaded his eyes, yet permitted his head to remain cool.
The neighbors when going upon long journeys commonly rode their shaggy mountain ponies. Chueh Chun when setting forth on an arduous trip—say fifty miles—was most likely to walk. But to go from his fox lair home to the nest of his speckled hen, he invariably rode a little donkey.
Yu Yuch Ying, aunt to Chueh Chun, willed her obstinate nephew thirty thousand cash, just when his purse was at its flattest. The neighbors gathered round Chueh Chun to congratulate and envy him. Said they: “What a fortunate person are you, dear Chueh Chun. The thirty thousand cash that your late lamented Aunt Yu Yuch Ying left will set you up in noble style. A most opportune windfall was that. Plenty of luck you have.”
But Chueh Chun nodded his head. He always nodded his head to show that he differed. “Quite the contrary,” said Chueh Chun, “I fear me, honorable neighbors, that my aunt’s bequest is an ill thing altogether. It is luck the worst. Thirty thousand cash are so heavy that I shall be compelled to make at least two trips to fetch them. Besides, the beggars will be annoying me without let-up from break of day till I break their heads. And think of thieves. The money will bring me ill, I am sure.” And Chueh Chun laughed heartily, for that was his way of expressing sorrow.
However, Chueh Chun’s excellent wife knew how to manage him. She said: “Quite right. If I were you, I wouldn’t dream of going for the fortune. And I wouldn’t once think of riding the donkey, not once.” And she spoke as if she meant her words.
Therefore—upon his donkey—the contrary husband started for Tsun Pu, where his beloved aunt had lived and left riches. Immediately outside Tien Ting Village the traveler was forced to cross a river. The current was swift and it washed the hat-shoes from Chueh Chun’s feet. Down the stream swirled the hats, with their owner in splashy pursuit. The neighbors, who had gathered to bid old Contrary a fine journey, were loud in lamentation over his loss. They exclaimed, beating their breasts: “Oh, Chueh Chun, we are so sorry that you have lost your hat-shoes, so utterly sorry. With our eyes we weep for you and cry ‘alas.’ What terrible luck. It is demon-sent luck in truth.”
But Chueh Chun paused in his splashing and answered them: “Why, no. I dare say it is not bad luck at all. Quite the opposite, my esteemed neighbors, it may be very fortunate indeed.” He wept to show that he was well pleased.