Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome back to Sleepy Stories. I'm your host, Lucy,
and my friends and I will be reading you a
sleepy bedtime story every week to relax you and to
help you to drift off into a RESTful sleep. From
time to time, we will also read you a relaxing,
peaceful meditation that will take you somewhere beautiful and calming.
Once we have read the stories, we will then read
them a second time, but this time they will be
ready even slower. This will help you to relax even more.
Before we begin, I would like you to close your
eyes and breathe in and out nice and deeply. Take
a few seconds to inhale, and then hold your breath
for a few seconds more, and then release and breathe out.
Do this a few times if you need to. While
you listen to the music and you listen to my voice,
give yourself time to let your body relax and your
mind settle. It's important that we allow time for us
to feel safe, cozy, and completely at ease. And now
it's time for this week's story.
Speaker 2: The Secret the Emperor could not keep. Long ago, when
Japan was a land of winding mountain roads, quiet temples
and villages tucked among cedar forests. There lived an emperor
named Haru. He ruled from a beautiful palace surrounded by
gardens and lakes. His people respected him, his advisors had
hired him. Travelers spoke highly of the peace that existed
throughout his kingdom. Yet despite all he possessed, there was
one thing that troubled the emperor. A secret, a secret
he had carried for most of his life. Each year,
when the first snow fell upon the mountains, the memory returned.
Each year, he told himself he would finally speak of it,
and each year he remained silent. The secret was not dangerous,
it was not shameful. It was simply a story he
had never found the courage to share. The story had
begun many years earlier, long before he became emperor, long
before he wore robes of silk or sat upon a
golden throne. Back then, Haru had been a young prince.
Like many young princes, he was curious about the world
beyond the palace walls. He loved listening to stories from
merchants and travelers. He studied maps. He dreamed of distant valleys,
hidden temples, and mountain villages where life moved at a
gentler pace. One autumn, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he
persuaded his father to allow him to travel through the kingdom.
A small group of guards accompanied him, but they kept
their distance. The prince wished to see the country with
his own eyes. For many weeks he traveled. He crossed
broad rivers spanned by graceful wooden bridges. He walked through
forests where sunlight filtered through the branches like golden rain.
He visited fishing villages along the coast. He climbed mountain
paths lined with ancient stone lanterns. Everywhere he went he
carried a small notebook. In it, he recorded everything he saw,
the color of autumn leaves, the shape of distant mountains,
the songs sung by fishermen as they repaired their nets,
the scent of cedar after rainfall. The prince believed that
if he wished to one day rule wisely, he must
first learn how ordinary people lived. As the weeks passed,
the air grew colder, the leaves turned from gold to crimson.
The first hints of winter appeared upon the highest peaks.
One afternoon, while crossing a remote mountain, redail Harry became
separated from his companions. A thick fog rolled down from
the hills. The narrow path vanished beneath the mist. At first,
the prince felt little concern, surely he would soon find
his way, But the fog continued to thicken. The daylight
slowly faded, the wind grew stronger, snowflakes began to fall.
The prince wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and
continued walking. Soon the snow became heavier, the path disappeared completely.
The forest grew silent. Even the birds seemed to have
hidden from the storm. For the first time in his life,
the young prince felt truly alone. The cold crept into
his hands and feet. His breath formed white clouds in
the air. Darkness settled over the mountains. Haru searched desperately
for shelter. Then, through the falling snow, he spotted a
faint light. It flickered among the trees, a warm, golden glow.
With renewed hope, he hurried towards it. The light came
from a tiny cottage nestled beside a stream. Smoke drifted
from its chimney. A paper lantern hung beside the door.
The sight was the most welcome thing Haru had ever seen.
He knocked gently. Moments later, the door opened. Standing there
was an elderly woman. Her hair was silver, her face
was lined with age, yet her eyes were bright and kind.
Without asking who he was, without asking where he came from,
without asking whether he could repay her, she welcomed him. Inside.
The cottage was warm and simple. A small fire crackled
in the hearth. Bundles of herbs hung from wooden beams.
A kettle simmered quietly above the flames. The woman offered
him hot tea. Then she placed a bowl of rice
and vegetables before him. Only after he had eaten did
she ask where he had come from. The prince thanked
her for her kindness, yet he did not reveal his
true identity. For that evening, he was simply a traveler
caught in a storm. The old the woman seemed perfectly
content with that answer. Outside, snow continued to fall. Inside,
the fire glowed warmly. The storm raged throughout the night,
but within the tiny cottage, the prince felt safe, and,
although he did not yet realize it, that quiet winter
evening would change the course of his life forever. The
following morning, the storm had passed. Fresh snow covered the mountains.
The forest sparkled beneath the pale winter sun. Before leaving,
Prince Haru thanked the elderly woman for her kindness. He
wished to offer her gold, she refused. He wished to
offer her jewelry. She refused that too, woman simply smiled.
She told him that travelers should help one another. That
was enough, Yet the prince felt he must do something.
Before stepping through the cottage door, he made a promise.
One day, he said he would return and repay her kindness.
The old woman nodded. She seemed pleased by his words.
Then she handed him a small wooden token. It was
smooth from age and carved with the image of a
plum blossom. The prince slipped it into his pocket. He
bowed deeply. Then he continued on his journey. By midday,
he had found his companions. Soon afterwards, he returned to
the palace. Years passed, the prince grew older. His father
eventually died, and Haru became emperor. The responsibilities of ruling
a kingdom were greater than he had ever imagined. There
were roads to build, harvests, to oversee disputes, to settle festivals,
to organize envoys, to welcome. Every day brought new duties.
The seasons passed. Spring followed winter, Summer followed spring, years
became decades. Slowly, the memory of the tiny cottage faded,
not completely, but enough. The promise remained buried beneath countless
other concerns. Then one winter morning, many years later, everything changed.
The Emperor was walking through a quiet section of the
palace gardens. Snow covered the stone paths. A cold wind
stirred the bamboo leaves. As he passed beneath the flowering
plum tree. Something caught his attention. A blossom had fallen
onto the snow. The shape was instantly familiar. His heart skipped.
For a moment, he felt as though time itself had stopped.
That evening, he searched through an old wooden chest containing
keepsakes from his youth, maps, letters, travel journals, and there,
wrapped inside a faded cloth, he found it. The small
wooden token, the plum blossom, the gift from the elderly woman.
The memory returned all at once, the snow storm, the cottage,
the fire, the bowl of rice, the promise, the promise
he had never kept. For a long time, the Emperor
sat in silence, the token rested in his hands. Outside,
snow drifted softly across the palace gardens. At last, he rose.
The following morning, he announced that he would be leaving
the capital for a time. His advisers were puzzled, His
ministers were concerned, but the Emperor would not explain. He
simply set out with a small group of attendants and
began traveling towards the distant mountains. The journey took many weeks.
The kingdom had changed greatly since his youth. Villages had
grown larger, roads had improved. New bridges crossed rivers that
had once required ferries. Yet many things remained the same.
The forests still whispered in the wind. Temple bells still
echoed across the valleys. Mountains still rose beyond the horizon.
As the Emperor traveled, he found himself sharing meals with
farmers and fishermen. He listened to their stories. He walked
through markets, He visited schools and workshops. The journey reminded
him why he had loved traveling as a young prince. Eventually,
he reached the mountain region where the storm had stranded
him all those years ago. The landscape felt strangely familiar.
The stream was still there, the forest remained, and the
mountains stood exactly as they always had. At last, he
found the clearing, but the cottage was gone. Only a
few weathered stones remained. For a moment, the emperor felt
a deep sadness. He had arrived too late, many years
too late. A nearby villager noticed him standing among the ruins.
The man approached and explained that the elderly woman had
passed away long ago. The Emperor lowered his head. The
news was painful. He had hoped to thank her in person,
to fulfill his promise at last. Yet as he spoke
with the villagers, he began to learn something remarkable. Everyone
remembered the old woman not because she had been wealthy,
not because she had been famous, but because she had
spent her life helping others. Travelers were always welcome at
her home, no one was turned away. Those who received
her kindness often passed it on to others. Over time,
the entire valley became known for its generosity. Visitors helped strangers,
Neighbors cared for one another, children, grew up learning the
importance of kindness. The old woman's influence remained everywhere. The
Emperor listened carefully, and slowly he realized something. The kindness
she had shown him on that snowy night had never
truly ended. Like a pebble dropped into a still pond,
it had created ripples. The ripples continued long after the
pebble had disappeared. The Emperor spent several days in the valley.
He helped restore an old bridge. He arranged for a
new school to be built. He planted a grove of
plum trees beside the stream. Yet he knew these things
were not repayment. Some gifts could never be repaid, They
could only be passed forward. When spring arrived, the Emperor
returned to the capital. The plum trees soon blossomed. Their
pale flowers covered the valley in white and pink. Travelers
began calling it plum Blossom Valley. Years later, the Emperor
grew old, His hair turned silver, his steps became slower.
Yet one thing continued to trouble him. The secret, the
secret he had carried for most of his life, the
story of the woman who had helped him the story
he had never shared. At last, during a great spring festival,
he decided it was time. Representatives from every corner of
the kingdom had gathered at the palace, farmers, merchants, craftsmen, teachers, nobles, children.
The Emperor stood before them all. Then he told the story.
He spoke of the snowstorm, the cottage, the bowl of rice,
the promise, the kindness of an elderly woman who had
sheltered a frightened traveler without expecting anything in return. Many
listeners were surprised, others were moved. Some wiped tears from
their eyes. When the story ended, the Emperor smiled for
the first time in many years. His heart felt lighter.
The secret he could not keep was finally free, and
so was he. From that day onward, the story spread
throughout the kingdom. Parents told it to their children, teachers
shared it with their students. Travelers carried it from village
to village. The people remembered that even an emperor had
once depended upon the kindness of a stranger, and they
remembered something else. Great acts of kindness do not need
great wealth. They do not require titles or power. Sometimes
they begin with something as simple as a warm fire,
a bowl of rice, and an open door on a
snowy winter night. And though the Emperor eventually passed into history,
the lesson remained. For kindness, once given, has a curious
way of traveling farther than anyone could ever imagine, like
ripples across still water, like blossoms carried upon the wind,
like a story passed from one generation to the next,
a story that began with a secret and ended with
a kingdom that learned the true value of kindness. The
secret the Emperor could not keep. Long ago, when Japan
was a land of winding mountain roads, quiet temples, and
villages tucked among cedar forests, there lived an emperor named Haru.
He ruled from a beautiful palace surrounded by gardens and lakes.
His people respected him, his advisers admired him. Travelers spoke
highly of the peace that existed throughout his kingdom. Yet
despite all he possessed, there was one thing that troubled
the emperor. A secret, a secret he had carried for
most of his life. Each year, when the first snow
fell upon the mountains, the memory returned. Each year, he
told himself he would finally speak of it. And each
year he remained silent. The secret was not dangerous, it
was not shameful. It was simply a story he had
never found the courage to share. The story had begun
many years earlier, long before he became emperor, long before
he wore robes of silk or sat upon a golden throne.
Back then, Haru had been a young prince. Like many
young princes, he was curious about the world beyond the
palace walls. He loved listening to stories from merchants and travelers.
He studied maps. He dreamed of distant valleys, hidden temples,
and mountain villages where life moved at a gentler pace.
One autumn, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he persuaded his
father to allow him to travel through the kingdom. A
small group of guards accompanied him, but they kept their distance.
The prince wished to see the country with his own eyes.
For many weeks he traveled. He crossed broad rivers spanned
by graceful wooden bridges. He walked through forests where sunlight
filtered through the branches like golden rain. He visited fishing
villages along the coast. He climbed mountain paths lined with
ancient stone lanterns. Everywhere he went, he carried a small notebook.
In it he recorded everything he saw, the color of
autumn leaves, the shape of distant mountains, the songs sung
by fishermen as they repaired their nets, the scent of
cedar after rainfall. The prince believed that if he wished
to one day rule wisely, he must first learn how
ordinary people lived. As the weeks passed, the air grew colder,
the leaves turned from gold to crimson, The first hints
of winter appeared upon the highest peaks. One afternoon, while
crossing a remote mountain region, Harrow became separated from his companions.
A thick fog rolled down from the hills. The narrow
path vanished beneath the mist. At first, the prince felt
little concern. Surely he would soon find his way, But
the fog continued to thicken. The daylight slowly faded, the
wind grew stronger, snowflakes began to fall. The prince wrapped
his cloak tightly around his shoulders and continued walking. Soon
the snow became heavier, the path disappeared completely. The forest
grew silent. Even the birds seemed to have hidden from
the storm. For the first time in his life, the
young prince felt truly alone. The cold crept into his
hands and feet. His breath formed white clouds in the air.
Darkness settled over the mountains. Haru searched desperately for shelter. Then,
through the falling snow, he spotted a faint light. It
flickered among the trees, a warm, golden glow. With renewed hope,
he hurried towards it. The light came from a tiny
cottage nestled beside a stream. Smoke drifted from its chimney.
A paper lantern hung beside the door. The sight was
the most welcome thing Haru had ever seen. He knocked gently.
Moments later, the door opened. Standing there was an elderly woman.
Her hair was silver, her face was lined with age,
yet her eyes were bright and kind. Without asking who
he was, without asking where he came from, without asking
whether he could repay her, she welcomed him inside. The
cottage was warm and simple. A small fire crackled in
the hearth. Bundles of herbs hung from wooden beams. A
kettle simmered quietly above the flames. The woman offered him
hot tea. Then she placed a bowl of rice and
vegetables before him. Only after he had eaten did she
ask where he had come from. The prince thanked her
for her kindness, yet he did not reveal his true identity.
For that evening he was simply a traveler caught in
a storm. The old woman seemed perfectly content with that answer. Outside,
snow continued to fall. Inside, the fire glowed warmly. The
storm raged throughout the night, but within the tiny cottage,
the prince felt safe, and, although he did not yet
realize it, that quiet winter evening would change the course
of his life forever. The following morning, the storm had passed,
Fresh snow covered the mountains. The forest sparkled beneath the
pale winter sun. Before leaving, Prince Haru thanked the elderly
woman for her kindness. He wished to offer her gold,
she refused. He wished to offer her jewelry. She refused
that too. The woman simply smiled. She told him that
travelers should help one another. That was enough, Yet the
prince felt he must do something. Before stepping through the
cottage door, he made a promise. One day, he said
he would return and repay her kindness. The old woman nodded.
She seemed pleased by his words. Then she handed him
a small wooden token. It was smooth from age and
carved with the image of a plum blossom. The prince
slipped it into his pocket. He bowed deeply. Then he
continued on his journey. By midday he had found his companions.
Soon afterwards, he returned to the palace. Years passed, the
prince grew older, His father eventually died, and Haru became emperor.
The responsibilities of ruling a kingdom were greater than he
had ever imagined. There were roads, to build, harvests, to
oversee disputes, to settle festivals, to organize envoys, to welcome.
Every day brought new duties. The seasons passed. Spring followed winter,
Summer followed spring. Years became decades. Slowly, the memory of
the tiny cottage faded, not completely, but enough. The promise
remained buried beneath countless other concerns. Then, one winter morning,
many years later, everything changed. The emperor was walking through
a quiet section of the palace gardens. Snow covered the
stone paths, A cold wind stirred the bamboo leaves as
he passed beneath the flowering plum tree. Something caught his attention.
A blossom had fallen onto the snow. The shape was
instantly familiar. His heart skipped for a moment. He felt
as though time itself had stopped. That evening, he searched
through an old wooden chest containing keepsakes from his youth, maps, letters,
travel journals, and there, wrapped inside a faded cloth, he
found it. The small wooden token, the plum blossom, the
gift from the elderly woman. The memory returned all at once,
the snowstorm, the cottage, the fire, the bowl of rice,
the promise, the promise he had never kept for a
long time. The emperor sat in silence, the token rested
in his hands. Outside, snow drifted softly across the palace gardens.
At last he rose. The following morning, he announced that
he would be lead, leaving the capital for a time.
His advisers were puzzled, his ministers were concerned, but the
Emperor would not explain. He simply set out with a
small group of attendants and began traveling towards the distant mountains.
The journey took many weeks. The kingdom had changed greatly
since his youth. Villages had grown larger, roads had improved.
New bridges crossed rivers that had once required ferries. Yet
many things remained the same. The forests still whispered in
the wind. Temple bells still echoed across the valleys. Mountains
still rose beyond the horizon. As the Emperor traveled, he
found himself sharing meals with farmers and fishermen. He listened
to their stories. He walked through markets, He visited schools
and workshops. The journey reminded him why he had loved
traveling as a young prince. Eventually he reached the mountain
region where the storm had stranded him all those years ago.
The landscape felt strangely familiar. The stream was still there,
the forest remained, the mountains stood exactly as they always had.
At last, he found the clearing, but the cottage was gone.
Only a few weathered stones remained. For a moment, the
emperor felt a deep sadness. He had arrived too late,
many years too late. A nearby villager noticed him standing
among the ruins. The man approached and explained that the
elderly woman had passed away long ago. The emperor lowered
his head. The news was painful. He had hoped to
thank her in person, to fulfill his promise at last.
Yet as he spoke with the villagers, he began to
learn something remarkable. Everyone remembered the old woman not because
she had been wealthy, not because she had been famous,
but because she had spent her life helping others. Travelers
were always welcome at her home. No one was turned away.
Those who received her kindness often passed it on to others.
Over time, the entire valley became known for its generosity.
Visitors helped strangers, Neighbors cared for one another. Children grew
up the importance of kindness. The old Woman's influence remained everywhere.
The Emperor listened carefully and slowly, he realized something. The
kindness she had shown him on that snowy night had
never truly ended. Like a pebble dropped into a still pond,
it had created ripples. The ripples continued long after the
pebble had disappeared. The Emperor spent several days in the valley.
He helped restore an old bridge. He arranged for a
new school to be built. He planted a grove of
plum trees, beside the stream. Yet he knew these things
were not repayment. Some gifts could never be repaid, They
could only be passed forward. When spring arrived, the Emperor
returned to the capitol. The plum trees soon blossomed. Their
pale flowers covered the valley in white and pink. Travelers
began calling it plum blossom Valley. Years later, the Emperor
grew old, His hair turned silver, his steps became slower.
Yet one thing continued to trouble him. The secret, the
secret he had carried for most of his life, the
story of the woman who had helped him, the story
he had never shared. At last, during a great spring festival,
he decided it was time. Representatives from every corner of
the kingdom had gathered at the palace, farmers, merchants, craftsmen, teachers,
nous children. The Emperor stood before them all. Then he
told the story. He spoke of the snowstorm, the cottage,
the bowl of rice, the promise, the kindness of an
elderly woman who had sheltered a frightened traveler without expecting
anything in return. Many listeners were surprised, Others were moved.
Some wiped tears from their eyes. When the story ended,
the emperor smiled for the first time in many years.
His heart felt lighter. The secret he could not keep
was finally free, and so was he. From that day onward,
the story spread throughout the kingdom. Parents told it to
their children, teachers shared it with their students, Travelers carried
it from village to village. The people remembered that even
an emperor had once depended upon the kindness of a stranger,
and they remembered something else. Great acts of kindness do
not need great wealth. They do not require titles or power.
Sometimes they begin with something as simple as a warm fire,
a bowl of rice, and an open door on a
snowy winter night. And though the emperor eventually passed into history,
the lesson remained. For kindness, once given, has a curious
way of traveling farther than anyone could ever imagine, like
ripples across still water, like blossoms carried upon the wind,
like a story passed from one generation to the next,
a story that began with a secret and ended with
a kingdom that learned the true value of kindness. The
secret the emperor could not keep. Long ago, when Japan
was a land of winding mountain roads, quiet temples, and
villages tucked among cedar forests. There lived an emperor named Haru.
He ruled from a beautiful palace surrounded by gardens and lakes.
His people respected him, his advisers admired him. Travelers spoke
highly of the peace that existed throughout his kingdom. Yet
despite all he possessed, there was one thing that troubled
the emperor. A secret, a secret he had carried for
most of his life. Each year, when the first snow
fell upon the mountains, the memory returned. Each year, he
told himself he would finally speak of it, and each
year he remained silent. The secret was not dangerous, it
was not shameful. It was simply a story he had
never found the courage to share. The story had begun
many years earlier, long before he became emperor, long before
he wore robes of silk or sat upon a golden throne.
Back then, Haru had been a young prince. Like many
young princes, he was curious about the world beyond the
palace walls. He loved listening to stories from merchants and travelers.
He studied maps, He dreamed of distant valleys, hidden temples,
and mountain villages where life moved at a gentler pace.
One autumn, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he persuaded his
father to allow him to travel through the kingdom. A
small group of guards accompanied him, but they kept their distance.
The prince wished to see the country with his own eyes.
For many weeks he traveled. He crossed broad rivers spanned
by graceful wooden bridges. He walked through forests where sunlight
filtered through the branches like gold and rain. He visited
fishing villages along the coast. He climbed mountain paths lined
with ancient stone lanterns. Everywhere he went he carried a
small notebook. In it, he recorded everything he saw, the
colour of autumn leaves, the shape of distant mountains, the
songs sung by fishermen as they repaired their nets, the
scent of cedar after rainfall. The prince believed that if
he wished to one day rule wisely, he must first
learn how ordinary people lived. As the weeks passed, the
air grew colder, the leaves turned from gold to crimson.
The first hints of winter appeared upon the highest peaks.
One afternoon, While crossing a remote mountain region, harw became
separated from his companions. A thick fog rolled down from
the hills. The narrow path vanished beneath the mist. At first,
the prince felt little concern, surely he would soon find
his way, But the fog continued to thicken. The daylight
slowly faded, the wind grew stronger, snowflakes began to fall.
The prince wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and
continued walking. Soon the snow became heavier, the path disappeared completely.
The forest grew silent. Even the birds seemed to have
hidden from the storm. For the first time in his life,
the young prince felt truly alone. The cold crept into
his hands and feet. His breath formed white clouds in
the air. Darkness settled over the mountains. Haru searched desperately
for shelter. Then, through the falling snow, he spotted a
faint light. It flickered among the trees, a warm, golden glow.
With renewed hope, he hurried towards it. The light came
from a tiny cottage nestled beside a stream. Smoke drifted
from its chimney. A paper lantern hung beside the door.
The sight was the most welcome thing Haru had ever seen.
He knocked gently. Moments later, the door opened. Standing there
was an elderly woman. Her hair was silver, her face
was lined with age, yet her eyes were bright and kind.
Without asking who he was, without asking where he came from,
without asking whether he could repay her, she welcomed him. Inside.
The cottage was warm and simple. A small fire crackled
in the hearth. Bundles of herbs hung from wooden beams.
A kettle simmered quietly above the flames. The woman offered
him hot tea. Then she placed a bowl of rice
and vegetables before him. Only after he had eaten did
she ask where he had come from. The prince thanked
her for her kindness, yet he did not reveal his
true identity. For that evening, he was simply a traveler
caught in a storm. The old woman seemed perfectly content
with that answer. Outside, snow continued to fall. Inside, the
fire glowed warmly. The storm raged throughout the night, but
within the tiny cottage, the prince felt safe, and, although
he did not yet realize it, that quiet winter evening
would change the course of his life forever. The following morning,
the storm had passed. Fresh snow covered the mountains. The
forest sparkled beneath the pale winter sun. Before leaving, Prince
Haru thanked the elderly woman for her kindness. He wished
to offer her gold, she refused. He wished to offer
her jewelry. She refused that too. The woman simply smiled.
She told him that travelers should help one another. That
was enough, Yet the prince felt he must do something.
Before stepping through the cottage door, he made a promise.
One day, He said he would return and repay her kindness.
The old woman nodded. She seemed pleased by his words.
Then she handed him a small wooden token. It was
smooth from age and carved with the image of a
plum blossom. The prince slipped it into his pocket. He
bowed deeply. Then he continued on his journey. By midday,
he had found his companions. Soon afterwards, he returned to
the palace. Years passed, the prince grew older. His father
eventually died, and Haru became emperor. The responsibilities of ruling
a kingdom were greater than he had ever imagined. There
were roads, to build harvests, to oversee disputes, to settle festivals,
to organize envoys, to welcome. Every day brought new duties.
The seasons passed. Spring followed winter, Summer followed spring, years
became decades. Slowly, the memory of the tiny cottage faded,
not completely, but enough. The promise remained buried beneath countless
other concerns. Then one winter morning, many years later, everything changed.
The Emperor was walking through a quiet section of the
palace gardens. Snow covered the stone paths. A cold wind
stirred the bamboo leaves. As he passed beneath a flowering
plum tree, something caught his attention. A blossom had fallen
onto the snow. The shape was instantly familiar. His heart
skipped For a moment, he felt as though time itself
had stopped. That evening, he searched through an old wooden
chest containing keepsakes from his youth, maps, letters, travel journals,
and there, wrapped inside a faded cloth, he found it,
the small wooden token, the plum blossom, the gift from
the elderly woman. The memory returned, and all at once,
the snowstorm, the cottage, the fire, the bowl of rice,
the promise, the promise he had never kept. For a
long time, the Emperor sat in silence, the token rested
in his hands. Outside, snow drifted softly across the palace gardens.
At last, he rose. The following morning, he announced that
he would be leaving the capital for a time. His
advisers were puzzled, His ministers were concerned, but the Emperor
would not explain. He simply set out with a small
group of attendants and began traveling towards the distant mountains.
The journey took many weeks. The kingdom had changed greatly
since his youth. Villages had grown larger, roads had improved.
New bridges crossed rivers that had once required ferries. Yet
many things remained the same. The forests still whispered in
the wind. Temple bells still echoed across the valleys. Mountains
still rose beyond the horizon. As the Emperor traveled, he
found himself sharing meals with farmers and fishermen. He listened
to their stories. He walked through markets, He visited schools
and workshops. The journey reminded him why he had loved
traveling as a young prince. Eventually he reached the mountain
region where the storm had stranded him all those years ago.
The landscape felt strangely familiar. The stream was still there,
the forest remained, the mountains stood exactly as they always had.
At last, he found the clearing, but the cottage was gone.
Only a few weathered stones remained. For a moment, the
emperor felt a deep sadness. He had arrived too late,
many years too late. A nearby villager noticed him standing
among the ruins. The man approached and explained that the
elderly woman had passed away long ago. The emperor lowered
his head. The news was painful. He had hoped to
thank her in person, to fulfill his promise at last.
Yet as he spoke with the villagers, he began to
learn something remarkable. Every One remembered the old woman, not
because she had been wealthy, not because she had been famous,
but because she had spent her life helping others. Travelers
were always welcome at her home, no one was turned away.
Those who received her kindness often passed it on to others.
Over time, the entire valley became known for its generosity.
Visitors helped strangers neighbors cared for one another. Children grew
up learning the importance of kindness. The old woman's influence
remained everywhere. The emperor listened carefully, and slowly, he realized something.
The kindness she had shown him on that snowy night
had never truly ended. Like a pebble dropped into a
still pond, it had created ripples. The ripples continued long
after the pebble had disappeared. The Emperor spent several days
in the valley. He helped restore an old bridge. He
arranged for a new school to be built. He planted
a grove of plum trees beside the stream. Yet he
knew these things were not repayment. Some gifts could never
be repaid, They could only be passed forward. When spring arrived,
the Emperor returned to the capital. The plum trees soon blossomed.
Their pale flowers covered the valley in white and pink.
Travelers began calling it plum Blossom Valley. Years later, the
Emperor grew old, His hair turned silver, his steps became slower.
Yet one thing continued trouble him. The secret, the secret
he had carried for most of his life, The story
of the woman who had helped him, the story he
had never shared. At last, during a great spring festival,
he decided it was time. Representatives from every corner of
the kingdom had gathered at the palace, farmers, merchants, craftsmen, teachers, nobles, children.
The Emperor stood before them all. Then he told the story.
He spoke of the snowstorm, the cottage, the bowl of rice,
the promise, the kindness of an elderly woman who had
sheltered a frightened traveler without expecting anything in Many listeners
were surprised, others were moved. Some wiped tears from their eyes.
When the story ended, the emperor smiled for the first
time in many years. His heart felt lighter. The secret
he could not keep was finally free, and so was he.
From that day onward, the story spread throughout the kingdom.
Parents told it to their children, teachers shared it with
their students. Travelers carried it from village to village. The
people remembered that even an emperor had once depended upon
the kindness of a stranger, and they remembered something else.
Great acts of kindness do not need great wealth, They
do not require titles or power. Sometimes they begin with
something as simple as a warm fire, a bowl of rice,
and an open door on a snowy winter night. And
though the Emperor eventually passed into history, the lesson remained.
For kindness, once given, has a curious way of traveling
farther than anyone could ever imagine, like ripples across still water,
like blossoms carried upon the wind, like a story passed
from one generation to the next, a story that began
with a secret and ended with a kingdom that learned
the true value of kindness.
Speaker 3: And super stand