The morning air smelled of dew and plum blossoms. I was only twelve, but my heart already felt heavy—so many lessons, so many things to get right. My name is Jie, and I lived in a quiet village on the edge of the river, where my grandfather, Master Zan, was known as the wisest man in the valley. Everyone came to him with questions. Except me. I already thought I had all the answers—until the day I spilled the tea.
It started with the big task. Grandfather was to meet with the village leaders. He asked me to prepare the tea tray, an honor I had never received. I was excited, careful, and proud. But as I carried the tray, my hand shook, and the last cup fell. It hit the stone path and shattered—pieces and drops flew everywhere. All that effort undone… by a single drop.
“I’ve ruined it,” I muttered.
Grandfather looked at the broken cup and smiled softly.
“Come,” he said gently. “Help me sit by the river.”
Confused, I followed him. By the water's edge, he sat quietly, watching the river flow. I waited, thinking he'd scold me—or at least talk about the importance of careful hands.
Instead, he said, “Jie, do you see that leaf?”
A yellow leaf floated down from a tree and landed on the river—it twirled, spun, and danced as the water carried it downstream.
“It let go,” he said. “Just like that tea cup did. And now it's part of the flow.”
“But I messed up,” I whispered. “I tried so hard to do everything right.”
Grandfather nodded. “And that effort was good. But today, you learned about the undone drop.”
“What does that mean?”
He picked up a droplet of tea still glistening on the rim of the fallen tray. “You’ve studied the book of Liezi, yes?”
I nodded. Liezi was one of the old Taoist sages. In school, we read tales of wind-riders and sages who spoke of freedom and flow.
“Liezi once asked what happens when you let go of controlling everything,” Grandfather said. “He learned that when we stop holding so tightly, the Tao—the natural way—carries us. Just like the river carries the leaf. That drop you spilled wasn’t a mistake. It was a moment. And moments pass.”
We sat quietly. The sun moved higher. The river kept going… never turning back, yet never rushing. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Later that day, we served the guests with four cups instead of five. No one minded. They laughed and talked. I smiled too.
That evening, I walked alone by the river. I bent down and tossed a small stone into the water. The ripples spread out… and disappeared.
I didn’t change overnight. But the next time something went wrong, I didn’t hold on so tight.
I remembered that drop.
And I let it go.
The morning air smelled of dew and plum blossoms. I was only twelve, but my heart already felt heavy—so many lessons, so many things to get right. My name is Jie, and I lived in a quiet village on the edge of the river, where my grandfather, Master Zan, was known as the wisest man in the valley. Everyone came to him with questions. Except me. I already thought I had all the answers—until the day I spilled the tea.
It started with the big task. Grandfather was to meet with the village leaders. He asked me to prepare the tea tray, an honor I had never received. I was excited, careful, and proud. But as I carried the tray, my hand shook, and the last cup fell. It hit the stone path and shattered—pieces and drops flew everywhere. All that effort undone… by a single drop.
“I’ve ruined it,” I muttered.
Grandfather looked at the broken cup and smiled softly.
“Come,” he said gently. “Help me sit by the river.”
Confused, I followed him. By the water's edge, he sat quietly, watching the river flow. I waited, thinking he'd scold me—or at least talk about the importance of careful hands.
Instead, he said, “Jie, do you see that leaf?”
A yellow leaf floated down from a tree and landed on the river—it twirled, spun, and danced as the water carried it downstream.
“It let go,” he said. “Just like that tea cup did. And now it's part of the flow.”
“But I messed up,” I whispered. “I tried so hard to do everything right.”
Grandfather nodded. “And that effort was good. But today, you learned about the undone drop.”
“What does that mean?”
He picked up a droplet of tea still glistening on the rim of the fallen tray. “You’ve studied the book of Liezi, yes?”
I nodded. Liezi was one of the old Taoist sages. In school, we read tales of wind-riders and sages who spoke of freedom and flow.
“Liezi once asked what happens when you let go of controlling everything,” Grandfather said. “He learned that when we stop holding so tightly, the Tao—the natural way—carries us. Just like the river carries the leaf. That drop you spilled wasn’t a mistake. It was a moment. And moments pass.”
We sat quietly. The sun moved higher. The river kept going… never turning back, yet never rushing. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Later that day, we served the guests with four cups instead of five. No one minded. They laughed and talked. I smiled too.
That evening, I walked alone by the river. I bent down and tossed a small stone into the water. The ripples spread out… and disappeared.
I didn’t change overnight. But the next time something went wrong, I didn’t hold on so tight.
I remembered that drop.
And I let it go.
