In the thin, crisp air, there was an angel holding a flower from the garden of heaven as she flew high. When she kissed the flower, its petals fell onto a small piece of wood lying on damp ground. Immediately, it took root and grew among the other plants, sending out more shoots. "This is a ridiculous little shoot," the other plants said. Thistles and nettles did not recognize it. "This must be a long garden plant, like prada sneakers!" they joked, sneering at it. They thought it was just another plant in the garden to mock. But this plant was different; it kept growing, stretching its long branches in all directions. "Where are you going?" asked the tall thistle, each of its leaves covered with thorns. "You take up too much space! This is outrageous! We can't help you!"
Winter came, and the plant was covered with snow. But the snow glittered like sunlight beneath it. In spring, the plant bloomed, more beautiful than any other plant in the forest. Then came a botany professor, who had traveled many places to showcase his knowledge. He examined this plant but could not find it in his system of botany. He had no way to classify it. "It's a variant!" he declared. "I don't know it, it doesn't belong to any one category!"
"Not belonging to any one category!" echoed the thistles and nettles. The large trees overheard these words. They also saw it, and this plant didn't fit into their systems. But they said nothing—neither bad things nor good things. For the wise, this was a smart way to stay neutral.
Then a poor, innocent girl passed through the woods. Her heart was pure; because she was confident, she understood vitality. All her property was an old Bible with the words: "If someone wants to do bad things to you, remember the story of Joseph—they always think evil, but God turns it into the best." If you are wronged, misunderstood, or despised, you only need to remember God: He is one of the purest, kindest beings. He prayed for those who ridiculed him and crucified him: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
The girl stood before the wonderful plant—admiring its green leaves and fresh sweet aroma, its flowers shining like colorful fireworks under the sun, injecting light-like luster. Each flower sang music, as if it had a kind of music that sprang forth, not just thousands. With a pious heart, the girl looked at the creator of these beautiful creations. She easily pulled a branch closer, taking a closer look at its flowers, smelling the aroma of these flowers. Her mind felt at ease, experiencing joy. She wanted to take off a flower but couldn't bear to break it, knowing it would wither. She just picked a green leaf. She brought it home and placed it in the Bible. Leaves in this book always stayed fresh, never fading. This leaf remained in the possession of the Bible.
A few weeks later, when the girl lay in her coffin, the Bible was placed under her head. Her face assumed a quiet dignity, the death of a pious expression, as if she transcended the worldly dust. It showed that she was now with God. But the tree still bloomed as a strange plant in the woods. It would soon grow into a tree. Many migratory birds, especially storks and swallows, both flew here, bowing in tribute before it. "That plant is a foreigner, no doubt!" thistles and burdocks said. "We've never seen such plants grown here!" Black snails actually spat on this plant. Then came a swineherd. He was gathering nettles and shrubs to burn them for ashes. The odd tree and different plants had been uprooted and bundled together. "They will be useful too!" he said, and so he did.
However, the king of this country suffered from the deepest melancholy. He was very diligent and industrious, but this did not cure his illness. They read books to him deeply, or read some of the world’s most relaxing readings, but this did not help his illness. People asked one of the world’s most intelligent people, who sent a messenger. The messenger said that to alleviate and cure the king’s illness, there was only one prescription. "In the king’s territory, there is a wood with a plant from the sky. Its shape is unique, unmistakable." Here also came with a graphic of this plant, which anyone could recognize at a glance. "Whether in winter or summer, it is green. It only sheds a fresh leaf nightly. Placing it on the king’s forehead will refresh his mind. He will have a beautiful dream overnight and also have the spirit of the day."
This description was clear enough. All the doctors and professors of botany went to the woods—yes, but where was this plant? "I think I included it in the bundle of firewood!" the swineherd said, "It has long been burnt to ashes. Other things I do not know!" "You do not know!" everyone said in unison. "Ah, how stupid! How great you are!" The swineherd might feel very sad upon hearing this, for it was a man telling him to listen. They did not find a single leaf. That sole leaf was hidden in the dead girl’s coffin, and no one knew about it. So the king went in person to the melancholic spot in the woods. "The plant has been growing here!" he said. "This is a sacred place!"
So they put up a golden railing around the land. A sentry stood guard day and night here. The botany professor wrote an essay on the plant, calling it the Tree of Heaven. He was rewarded with paper decorations. This, he said, was a very pleasant thing, but for him and his family, it was proportionate. In fact, this was the most interesting part of the whole story, because the plant was gone. The king was still depressed and frustrated. "But he always has," the sentinel said.