Night Time Story: When the River Sang

Old Man Wei had been fishing the Green River for sixty years. Every day at dawn, he would push his small wooden boat from shore and drift with the current, his fishing line trailing in the clear water.

Wei was known throughout the valley for catching the biggest fish, but few knew his secret. While other fishermen rushed from spot to spot, Wei moved slowly, patiently. And unlike the others, Wei listened to the river.

“The river sings,” he would say when asked about his success. “You must learn its song.”

Young Chen thought Old Man Wei was simply being mysterious. At eighteen, Chen was eager to make his fortune, and fishing seemed the quickest way. The city markets paid well for river fish, especially the large silver trout that hid in the deepest pools.

One spring morning, Chen approached Wei as the old man prepared his boat.

“Teach me to fish like you,” Chen demanded. “I want to catch the biggest fish and make enough money to leave this valley.”

Wei studied the young man’s eager face. “Why do you wish to leave? The valley is beautiful.”

Chen scoffed. “Beautiful doesn’t fill pockets. In the city, I could be rich.”

Wei nodded slowly. “Very well. Come tomorrow at dawn. Bring nothing. The river provides what we need.”

The next morning, Chen arrived to find Wei already in his boat.

“Where are the fishing rods?” Chen asked, looking around the empty boat.

“First, we listen,” Wei said, patting the space beside him.

For hours, they sat in silence as the boat drifted. Chen fidgeted impatiently.

“This is foolish,” he finally burst out. “We haven’t even put a line in the water!”

Wei smiled. “What have you heard while sitting here?”

“Nothing! Just water and birds and wind in the trees. When do we fish?”

“Tomorrow,” Wei said, guiding the boat back to shore. “Return tomorrow.”

For seven days, this pattern continued. Each day, Chen and Wei would drift down the river. Wei would ask what Chen had heard, and Chen would list the sounds around them with growing frustration.

On the eighth day, something changed. As they drifted into a quiet bend in the river, Chen suddenly raised his hand.

“The water sounds different here,” he whispered. “It’s… deeper. And there’s a pattern to the ripples against that rock.”

Wei’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. Without a word, he handed Chen a fishing rod. Chen cast his line precisely where the river’s song had changed. Within moments, he felt a strong tug – the biggest silver trout he had ever seen.

In the days that followed, Chen began to truly listen to the river. He learned that the morning song was different from the evening rhythm. He discovered that certain birds called when fish were feeding near the surface. He noticed how shadows and sunlight changed the river’s mood.

And Chen caught many fish – more than enough to sell at the market and save for his future in the city.

But something strange happened. The more Chen listened to the river, the less he thought about leaving. The rushing of water over rocks became more beautiful than the clink of coins. The sight of herons fishing at dawn became more precious than dreams of city wealth.

One evening, as they cleaned their catch, Chen asked Wei, “Have you ever been to the city?”

Wei nodded. “Once, when I was your age. I too dreamed of riches.”

“Why did you come back?”

Wei gestured toward the river, glowing gold in the setting sun. “I realized I was already rich. The city’s song was too harsh, too hurried. No one listened there – not to the wind, not to each other, not even to their own hearts.”

Chen thought about this as they worked. “The river has taught me to catch fish,” he said finally. “But that’s not really your secret, is it?”

Wei smiled. “The secret is not how to catch fish. It’s understanding why we fish at all.”

That night, Chen made a decision. He would stay in the valley, but not just to fish. He would teach others to hear the river’s song.

Years passed. Chen became a skilled fisherman, though never quite as good as Wei. But Chen found joy in teaching children to listen – not just to the river, but to the entire world around them.

When Old Man Wei finally passed away, he left his boat to Chen. Inside, Chen found a small wooden box containing a single smooth river stone and a note:

“The river’s greatest gift isn’t fish, but its song. True wealth comes not from what we take from the river, but what we learn from it. The river teaches us that life, like water, is always moving. Our joy must be found not in where we are going, but in the journey itself.”

Chen placed the stone back in the box and returned it to Wei’s boat. Each morning as he pushed off from shore, Chen would touch the box and remember.

And on days when his nets came up empty, Chen would still return home feeling rich beyond measure – for he had learned to treasure what no market could sell: the song of the river, the beauty of the valley, and the happiness that comes from being exactly where you belong.

By Marina Brooks