The Inkstone Master
A poor scholar finds an old inkstone that writes its own lines as the ink dries; an old man within teaches him to prize ink, and proves to be its maker from a former age.
A poor scholar, Liu, loved books but could not afford a fine inkstone. At a market he found one in a pile of castoffs—stone black as ink, ringing when struck. Pleased, he took it home to copy texts.
Each time the ink neared its end and he set the brush aside, the wet marks would shift on their own, and a few small lines appeared at the ink pool's edge, like verse yet not verse. At first he thought his eyes deceived him; he wiped them, and they came again. He read closely: eight characters, "Treasure ink as gold; then grasp its spirit."
From that night the stone spoke nightly in words, now warning, now urging, each fitting his plight. Astonished, he lit a lamp and peered in; faintly he saw within an old man, a kerchief on his head and deep robes, brushing by the pool. The man looked up and smiled: "When I made this stone, I knew its future owner would come."
Liu asked in alarm, "Sir, who are you?" The old man said, "I was an inkstone worker of a former dynasty, nameless. After death my spirit clung to what I made. Seeing you poor yet pure of heart, I lent a little guidance—not to flatter."
Liu bowed thanks. The man said, "Ink is not endless, nor is the heart without a lord. Many splash ink like water; that you can treasure it suffices me." With that he vanished, and the stone wrote no more.
Later Liu passed the local exam and his house grew easier, yet he kept the stone, spending every drop and wasting none.
It is said: that a thing has a spirit is no marvel—it is the maker's sincerity lodged in the vessel, waiting for a kindred ear to sound. What Liu gained was not the stone, but a heart that prizes the written word.