A country has its national emblem, a school has its school badge, and a factory has its factory logo. My family also has its family crest. Is that strange? The crest is a design of a fish carved on a wooden door. The design of the fish was drawn so clumsily, with the lines rather messy and rough, that one could only make out a hint of a fish. However, the crest had quite an unusual origin.
My grandpa lived with my father and his three brothers, all tall and strong men. During the early 20th century, wars were incessantly fought and the family could only eke out a living through all the men doing hard physical labor.
One night, my father got up to urinate. He saw a shadowy figure dart into the kitchen, so he shouted and immediately blocked the kitchen door. All his brothers got up, grabbed oil lamps, carried big sticks and hatchets, and carefully searched every corner of the kitchen.
At that time, food equaled the chance to live, so all of them swore to maim the thief, if not kill him. They searched every nook and cranny of the kitchen, yet found nothing. My father’s brothers reckoned that my father must have gotten delusional at night, but my father swore that someone was there.
While they were still arguing about this, my grandpa came over. He asked all his sons to go back to bed. After they had all left, my grandpa went to the water vat and knocked on its lid, saying: “Come out, they’re gone!” From the vat rose a man, dripping with water. Trembling all over and looking rather pale, he gripped the wooden lid of the vat with one hand and clutched a sack of rice with the other.
Looking at the thief, my grandpa sighed: “Well, off you go! If my sons had found you, you would have lost an arm or a leg for sure.”
The thief gawked at my grandpa in surprise hardly believing my grandpa would let him go so easily. However, he did clearly see that my grandpa was talking calmly with him. He climbed out of the vat. My grandpa gave the wet sack of rice to him and said, “Take it with you. It should support your family for a few days.” The thief tried to say something, but his eyes turned red. He bowed his head and walked toward the door, carrying the rice sack. “Wait a minute,” my grandpa said, stopping the thief and slipping a string of copper coins into his hand. “Start a small business with this money. Don’t do such immoral things anymore!”
The thief flopped down to his knees. He kowtowed to my grandpa and then left.
One morning a while later, my grandpa pushed open the door and found a fresh fish weighing more than one kilogram hanging on the door knocker. At first, he was a bit confused, but soon he realized that it was probably the thief who had sent it to them. That man had probably started to sell fish for a living.
From then on, fresh fish often appeared on our door knocker, which helped my family improve our diet. My father and his brothers were surprised, so my grandpa gently told them the story of the fish.
After receiving and eating dozens of free fish, my grandpa felt quite uneasy, saying the frequent gifts of fish would hurt the thief’s small business and family. So, during the following nights, my grandpa watched the door and waited for the gift giver to come. On the third night, he finally saw the man. However, it was not the thief, but a young fisherman. He was the thief’s son. The thief, from his deathbed, had ordered his son to keep sending fish to my home. Hearing this, my grandpa and his sons repeatedly nodded. Out of respect for the thief’s final wish, my grandpa gave a knife to the young man and asked him to carve a fish on our wooden door. He asked the young man not to send fish anymore, since the carved fish would serve as a good substitute. My grandpa also told his sons to keep the carved fish well and to engrave the story in their minds. In accord with my grandpa’s words, my family has always preserved the design of the fish.
That design, as time passed, naturally became the crest of my family. 
Selected from A World Away from Fairy Tales, compiled by China Flash Fiction Society, and published by New World Press.
