"For the sake of keeping out those uninvited guests, the farmer took time to cut bamboo and brambles, reinforcing his fence. But he overlooked one thing—the fence was dead, while claws and teeth were alive."
"It never took long before the fence was once again riddled with holes."
"And so, the farmer made his fence denser and denser, while wasting more and more time in his garden each day. Until one day, after he drove away another Grass Sprite that had slipped into the garden through a gap in the fence, he watched the scrawny little fellow flee in panic with an armful of berries, completely indifferent to the basket of mushrooms beside him. The farmer suddenly straightened up."
"He finally remembered that he was a farmer, not a gardener."
"The following year, he cleared away all the flowers and plants in the garden and planted mushrooms instead... Thus, there were no more bees, no Flower Sprites or Grass Sprites in the garden, and naturally no rabbits, weasels, or wild boars either. Just like that, the farmer's little garden regained its peace... It was said that he later tore down the fence as well."
"Wild animals in the woods still occasionally passed by his little garden, but they only cast it a careless glance or pissed beside it. Nothing ever ruined his little garden again."
And with that, the story came to an end.
Elder Attar raised the wine cup in his hand, took a satisfied gulp, and sighed contentedly. "At the beginning, every idea is like a blank sheet of paper, and anyone can come scribble on it... Until that idea becomes a plan, and the plan becomes reality. The paper gains lines and boundaries, and so do our thoughts."
Zheng Qing stared blankly at the old man's wine