A CHINESE FAIRY TALE
by Laurence Housman · from The Blue Moon
Adapted Version
A small boy lived long ago. He lived in a big art studio. His name was Tiki-pu. He was a helper there. He worked very hard each day. The Boss made him clean. The Boss made him sweep. Tiki-pu was often sad. He wanted to paint. He wanted to paint so much. Art was deep in his heart. He dreamed of bright colors. He loved colors.
In the studio hung a big painting. It was a very big painting. A master made it. His name was Wio-wani. The painting showed a garden. It had tall trees. It had bright flowers. A small palace stood there. It had a little door. Tiki-pu loved this picture. He loved it very much. He knew its special story. Wio-wani went into the painting. He walked through the door. He never came out. He stayed inside.
At night, Tiki-pu painted in secret. He painted when no one saw. He found small paper pieces. He used old candle ends. These gave him light. He made his own colors. He used powders for this. He painted with a small brush. He wanted
Original Story
A CHINESE FAIRY TALE
Tiki-pu was a small grub of a thing; but he had a true love of Art deep down in his soul. There it hung mewing and complaining, struggling to work its way out through the raw exterior that bound it.
Tiki-pu’s master professed to be an artist: he had apprentices and students, who came daily to work under him, and a large studio littered about with the performances of himself and his pupils. On the walls hung also a few real works by the older men, all long since dead.
This studio Tiki-pu swept; for those who worked in it he ground colours, washed brushes, and ran errands, bringing them their dog chops and bird’s-nest soup from the nearest eating-house whenever they were too busy to go out to it themselves. He himself had to feed mainly on the breadcrumbs which the students screwed into pellets for their drawings and then threw about upon the floor. It was on the floor, also, that he had to sleep at night.
Tiki-pu looked after the blinds, and mended the paper window-panes, which were often broken when the apprentices threw their brushes and mahl-sticks at him. Also he strained rice-paper over the linen-stretchers, ready for the painters to work on; and for a treat, now and then, a lazy one would allow him to mix a colour for him. Then it was that Tiki-pu’s soul came down into his finger-tips, and his heart beat so that he gasped for joy. Oh, the yellows and the greens, and the lakes and the cobalts, and the purples which sprang from the blending of them! Sometimes it was all he could do to keep himself from crying out.
Tiki-pu, while he squatted and ground at the colour-powders, would listen to his master lecturing to the students. He knew by heart the names of all the painters and their schools, and the name of the great leader of them all who had lived and passed from their midst more than three hundred years ago; he knew that too, a name like the sound of the wind, Wio-wani: the big picture at the end of the studio was by him.
That picture! To Tiki-pu it seemed worth all the rest of the world put together. He knew, too, the story which was told of it, making it as holy to his eyes as the tombs of his own ancestors. The apprentices joked over it, calling it “Wio-wani’s back-door,” “Wio-wani’s night-cap,” and many other nicknames; but Tiki-pu was quite sure, since the picture was so beautiful, that the story must be true.
Wio-wani, at the end of a long life, had painted it; a garden full of trees and sunlight, with high-standing flowers and green paths, and in their midst a palace. “The place where I would like to rest,” said Wio-wani, when it was finished.
So beautiful was it then, that the Emperor himself had come to see it; and gazing enviously at those peaceful walks, and the palace nestling among the trees, had sighed and owned that he too would be glad of such a resting-place. Then Wio-wani stepped into the picture, and walked away along a path till he came, looking quite small and far-off, to a low door in the palace-wall. Opening it, he turned and beckoned to the Emperor; but the Emperor did not follow; so Wio-wani went in by himself, and shut the door between himself and the world for ever.
That happened three hundred years ago; but for Tiki-pu the story was as fresh and true as if it had happened yesterday. When he was left to himself in the studio, all alone and locked up for the night, Tiki-pu used to go and stare at the picture till it was too dark to see, and at the little palace with the door in its wall by which Wio-wani had disappeared out of life. Then his soul would go down into his finger-tips, and he would knock softly and fearfully at the beautifully painted door, saying, “Wio-wani, are you there?”
Little by little in the long-thinking nights, and the slow early mornings when light began to creep back through the papered windows of the studio, Tiki-pu’s soul became too much for him. He who could strain paper, and grind colours, and wash brushes, had everything within reach for becoming an artist, if it was the will of fate that he should be one.
He began timidly at first, but in a little while he grew bold. With the first wash of light he was up from his couch on the hard floor, and was daubing his soul out on scraps, and odds-and-ends, and stolen pieces of rice-paper.
Before long the short spell of daylight which lay between dawn and the arrival of the apprentices to their work did not suffice him. It took him so long to hide all traces of his doings, to wash out the brushes, and rinse clean the paint-pots he had used, and on the top of that to get the studio swept and dusted, that there was hardly time left him in which to indulge the itching appetite in his fingers.
Driven by necessity, he became a pilferer of candle-ends, picking them from their sockets in the lanterns which the students carried on dark nights. Now and then one of these would remember that, when last used, his lantern had had a candle in it, and would accuse Tiki-pu of having stolen it. “It is true,” he would confess; “I was hungry—I have eaten it.” The lie was so probable, he was believed easily, and was well beaten accordingly. Down in the ragged linings of his coat Tiki-pu could hear the candle-ends rattling as the buffeting and chastisement fell upon him, and often he trembled lest his hoard should be discovered. But the truth of the matter never leaked out and at night, as soon as he guessed that all the world outside was in bed, Tiki-pu would mount one of his candles on a wooden stand and paint by the light of it, blinding himself over his task, till the dawn came and gave him a better and cheaper light to work by.
Tiki-pu quite hugged himself over the results; he believed he was doing very well. “If only Wio-wani were here to teach me,” thought he, “I would be in the way of becoming a great painter!”
The resolution came to him one night that Wio-wani should teach him. So he took a large piece of rice-paper and strained it, and sitting down opposite “Wio-wani’s back-door,” began painting. He had never set himself so big a task as this; by the dim stumbling light of his candle he strained his eyes nearly blind over the difficulties of it; and at last was almost driven to despair. How the trees stood row behind row, with air and sunlight between, and how the path went in and out, winding its way up to the little door in the palace-wall were mysteries he could not fathom. He peered and peered and dropped tears into his paint-pots; but the secret of the mystery of such painting was far beyond him.
The door in the palace-wall opened; out came a little old man and began walking down the pathway towards him.
The soul of Tiki-pu gave a sharp leap in his grubby little body. “That must be Wio-wani himself and no other!” cried his soul.
Tiki-pu pulled off his cap and threw himself down on the floor with reverent grovellings. When he dared to look up again Wio-wani stood over him big and fine; just within the edge of his canvas he stood and reached out a hand.
“Come along with me, Tiki-pu!” said the great one. “If you want to know how to paint I will teach you.”
“Oh, Wio-wani, were you there all the while?” cried Tiki-pu ecstatically, leaping up and clutching with his smeary little puds the hand which the old man extended to him.
“I was there,” said Wio-wani, “looking at you out of my little window. Come along in!”
Tiki-pu took a heave and swung himself into the picture, and fairy capered when he found his feet among the flowers of Wio-wani’s beautiful garden. Wio-wani had turned, and was ambling gently back to the door of his palace, beckoning to the small one to follow him; and there stood Tiki-pu, opening his mouth like a fish to all the wonders that surrounded him. “Celestiality, may I speak?” he said suddenly.
“Speak,” replied Wio-wani; “what is it?”
“The Emperor, was he not the very flower of fools not to follow when you told him?”
“I cannot say,” answered Wio-wani, “but he certainly was no artist.”
Then he opened the door, that door which he had so beautifully painted, and led Tiki-pu in. And outside the little candle-end sat and guttered by itself, till the wick fell overboard, and the flame kicked itself out, leaving the studio in darkness and solitude to wait for the growings of another dawn.
It was full day before Tiki-pu reappeared; he came running down the green path in great haste, jumped out of the frame on to the studio floor, and began tidying up his own messes of the night and the apprentices’ of the previous day. Only just in time did he have things ready by the hour when his master and the others returned to their work.
All that day they kept scratching their left ears, and could not think why; but Tiki-pu knew, for he was saying over to himself all the things that Wio-wani, the great painter, had been saying about them and their precious productions. And as he ground their colours for them and washed their brushes, and filled his famished little body with the breadcrumbs they threw away, little they guessed from what an immeasurable distance he looked down upon them all, and had Wio-wani’s word for it tickling his right ear all the day long.
Now before long Tiki-pu’s master noticed a change in him; and though he bullied him, and thrashed him, and did all that a careful master should do, he could not get the change out of him. So in a short while he grew suspicious. “What is the boy up to?” he wondered. “I have my eye on him all day: it must be at night that he gets into mischief.”
It did not take Tiki-pu’s master a night’s watching to find that something surreptitious was certainly going on. When it was dark he took up his post outside the studio, to see whether by any chance Tiki-pu had some way of getting out; and before long he saw a faint light showing through the window. So he came and thrust his finger softly through one of the panes, and put his eye to the hole.
There inside was a candle burning on a stand, and Tiki-pu squatting with paint-pots and brush in front of Wio-Wani’s last masterpiece.
“What fine piece of burglary is this?” thought he; “what serpent have I been harbouring in my bosom? Is this beast of a grub of a boy thinking to make himself a painter and cut me out of my reputation and prosperity?” For even at that distance he could perceive plainly that the work of this boy went head and shoulders beyond his, or that of any painter then living.
Presently Wio-wani opened his door and came down the path, as was his habit now each night, to call Tiki-pu to his lesson. He advanced to the front of his picture and beckoned for Tiki-pu to come in with him; and Tiki-pu’s master grew clammy at the knees as he beheld Tiki-pu catch hold of Wio-wani’s hand and jump into the picture, and skip up the green path by Wio-wani’s side, and in through the little door that Wio-wani had painted so beautifully in the end wall of his palace!
For a time Tiki-pu’s master stood glued to the spot with grief and horror. “Oh, you deadly little underling! Oh, you poisonous little caretaker, you parasite, you vampire, you fly in amber!” cried he, “is that where you get your training? Is it there that you dare to go trespassing; into a picture that I purchased for my own pleasure and profit, and not at all for yours? Very soon we will see whom it really belongs to!”
He ripped out the paper of the largest window-pane and pushed his way through into the studio. Then in great haste he took up paint-pot and brush, and sacrilegiously set himself to work upon Wio-wani’s last masterpiece. In the place of the doorway by which Tiki-pu had entered he painted a solid brick wall; twice over he painted it, making it two bricks thick; brick by brick he painted it, and mortared every brick to its place. And when he had quite finished he laughed, and called “Good-night, Tiki-pu!” and went home to bed quite happy.
The next day all the apprentices were wondering what had become of Tiki-pu; but as the master himself said nothing, and as another boy came to act as colour-grinder and brush-washer to the establishment, they very soon forgot all about him.
In the studio the master used to sit at work with his students all about him, and a mind full of ease and contentment. Now and then he would throw a glance across to the bricked-up doorway of Wio-wani’s palace, and laugh to himself, thinking how well he had served out Tiki-pu for his treachery and presumption.
One day—it was five years after the disappearance of Tiki-pu—he was giving his apprentices a lecture on the glories and the beauties and the wonders of Wio-wani’s painting—how nothing for colour could excel, or for mystery could equal it. To add point to his eloquence, he stood waving his hands before Wio-wani’s last masterpiece, and all his students and apprentices sat round him and looked.
Suddenly he stopped at mid-word, and broke off in the full flight of his eloquence, as he saw something like a hand come and take down the top brick from the face of paint which he had laid over the little door in the palace-wall which Wio-wani had so beautifully painted. In another moment there was no doubt about it; brick by brick the wall was being pulled down, in spite of its double thickness.
The lecturer was altogether too dumfounded and terrified to utter a word. He and all his apprentices stood round and stared while the demolition of the wall proceeded. Before long he recognised Wio-wani with his flowing white beard; it was his handiwork, this pulling down of the wall! He still had a brick in his hand when he stepped through the opening that he had made, and close after him stepped Tiki-pu!
Tiki-pu was grown tall and strong—he was even handsome; but for all that his old master recognised him, and saw with an envious foreboding that under his arms he carried many rolls and stretchers and portfolios, and other belongings of his craft. Clearly Tiki-pu was coming back into the world, and was going to be a great painter.
Down the garden-path came Wio-wani, and Tiki-pu walked after him; Tiki-pu was so tall that his head stood well over Wio-wani’s shoulders—old man and young man together made a handsome pair.
How big Wio-wani grew as he walked down the avenues of his garden and into the foreground of his picture! and how big the brick in his hand! and ah, how angry he seemed!
Wio-wani came right down to the edge of the picture-frame and held up the brick. “What did you do that for?” he asked.
“I... didn’t!” Tiki-pu’s old master was beginning to reply; and the lie was still rolling on his tongue when the weight of the brick-bat, hurled by the stout arm of Wio-wani, felled him. After that he never spoke again. That brick-bat, which he himself had reared, became his own tombstone.
Just inside the picture-frame stood Tiki-pu, kissing the wonderful hands of Wio-wani, which had taught him all their skill. “Good-bye, Tiki-pu!” said Wio-wani, embracing him tenderly. “Now I am sending my second self into the world. When you are tired and want rest come back to me: old Wio-wani will take you in.”
Tiki-pu was sobbing, and the tears were running down his cheeks as he stepped out of Wio-wani’s wonderfully painted garden and stood once more upon earth. Turning, he saw the old man walking away along the path toward the little door under the palace-wall. At the door Wio-wani turned back and waved his hand for the last time. Tiki-pu still stood watching him. Then the door opened and shut, and Wio-wani was gone. Softly as a flower the picture seemed to have folded its leaves over him.
Tiki-pu leaned a wet face against the picture and kissed the door in the palace-wall which Wio-wani had painted so beautifully. “O Wio-wani, dear master,” he cried, “are you there?”
He waited, and called again, but no voice answered him.
Story DNA
Moral
True artistic talent and dedication will eventually be recognized and rewarded, while malice and envy lead to ruin.
Plot Summary
Tiki-pu, an abused apprentice, secretly yearns to paint, inspired by the legendary artist Wio-wani's masterpiece, which is said to be a portal. One night, Wio-wani emerges from his painting and takes Tiki-pu inside to teach him. Tiki-pu's jealous master discovers their secret and paints a brick wall over the painting's door to trap Tiki-pu. Five years later, Wio-wani and a now-skilled Tiki-pu emerge, and Wio-wani exacts justice on the master with the very brick he painted. Wio-wani then returns to his painting, leaving Tiki-pu to become a great artist in the world.
Themes
Emotional Arc
suffering to triumph
Writing Style
Narrative Elements
Cultural Context
The story draws on traditional Chinese art and folklore motifs, particularly the idea of artists creating worlds within their paintings and the concept of 'entering' art. The master-apprentice relationship and the materials used reflect historical Chinese artistic practices.
Plot Beats (15)
- Tiki-pu, a lowly and abused apprentice, secretly yearns to be an artist while working for a mediocre master.
- He is captivated by Wio-wani's masterpiece, a garden painting with a palace and a door, and knows the legend of Wio-wani disappearing into it.
- Tiki-pu begins to secretly paint at night, using stolen materials, enduring beatings for his supposed thefts.
- He attempts to recreate Wio-wani's painting but struggles with its depth and mystery.
- Wio-wani emerges from his painting and invites Tiki-pu inside to teach him the secrets of art.
- Tiki-pu spends a night learning from Wio-wani within the magical painting, returning to the studio by dawn, now with a deeper understanding of art.
- Tiki-pu's master notices a change in him and, suspicious, spies on him at night.
- The master witnesses Wio-wani emerge and take Tiki-pu into the painting, confirming Tiki-pu's extraordinary secret.
- Enraged by jealousy and fear of being surpassed, the master paints a solid brick wall over the door in Wio-wani's painting, believing he has trapped Tiki-pu forever.
- Five years pass, and the master lectures his students on Wio-wani's painting, boasting of its mystery.
- Suddenly, Wio-wani begins to dismantle the brick wall from within the painting, brick by brick.
- Wio-wani and a grown, skilled Tiki-pu emerge from the painting.
- Wio-wani confronts the master, using the brick he painted to strike him down, killing him instantly.
- Wio-wani bids farewell to Tiki-pu, sending him into the world as his artistic successor, and then re-enters his painting, disappearing forever.
- Tiki-pu, now a great painter, is left to carry on Wio-wani's legacy, occasionally calling out to the closed door in the painting.
Characters
Tiki-pu ★ protagonist
Initially a small, 'grub of a thing', suggesting a slight and underdeveloped physique due to poor nutrition. Five years later, he is described as grown 'tall and strong' and 'even handsome', indicating a significant physical transformation.
Attire: As an apprentice, he wears ragged, simple, and likely patched clothing, indicative of poverty and his low status. His coat has 'ragged linings' where he hides candle-ends. Later, as a returning artist, he would likely wear more refined, but still practical, scholar's or artist's robes, perhaps in muted silks or fine cottons, suitable for a respected painter in ancient China.
Wants: To become a great painter, driven by his innate love for art and his admiration for Wio-wani. He yearns for artistic expression and recognition.
Flaw: His initial low social status and poverty make him vulnerable to abuse and exploitation. His timidity initially holds him back from openly pursuing his art.
Transforms from a downtrodden, unrecognised apprentice into a skilled and respected artist, having been personally trained by the legendary Wio-wani. He gains confidence, strength, and artistic mastery.
Artistic, determined, resilient, humble, reverent, secretive. He possesses a deep love for art despite his circumstances and shows immense dedication to learning. He is also resourceful in his pilfering of candle-ends.
Image Prompt & Upload
A young Chinese boy, around 10 years old, with a very slender build and short black hair. He has a serious, focused expression, with dark, observant eyes. He wears a patched, faded grey cotton tunic and loose trousers, with a ragged, dark blue outer coat that appears too large for him. He is squatting on a wooden floor, holding a small, well-used brush in his right hand, dipping it into a small, chipped ceramic paint-pot. A single, flickering candle on a simple wooden stand provides dim light. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
The Master ⚔ antagonist
Likely of average build, perhaps a bit portly from a life of relative comfort compared to his apprentices. His appearance would reflect his self-importance and prosperity.
Attire: Wears the robes of a successful, albeit mediocre, artist in ancient China. These would be made of good quality silk or fine cotton, perhaps in muted tones like deep blue, green, or brown, with subtle embroidery. He would likely wear a scholar's cap or a simple head covering.
Wants: To maintain his reputation as an artist (despite his mediocrity), to profit from his studio, and to preserve his comfortable lifestyle. He is driven by envy and fear of being surpassed.
Flaw: His overwhelming envy and insecurity about his own artistic talent. His arrogance blinds him to his own flaws and leads to his downfall.
Begins as a seemingly successful artist, but his envy and cruelty lead to his demise. He is literally struck down by his own destructive actions, becoming a tombstone for his own folly.
Arrogant, envious, cruel, self-important, hypocritical, greedy. He exploits his apprentices, takes credit for others' work (or at least claims ownership of the studio's contents), and is quick to anger and violence when his authority or reputation is threatened.
Image Prompt & Upload
A middle-aged Chinese man of average height and build, with a slightly rounded belly. He has a stern, self-important expression, with narrow, dark eyes and a thin mustache. His black hair is pulled back in a neat topknot. He wears a dark green silk scholar's robe with subtle brocade patterns, a lighter green under-robe, and black cloth shoes. He holds a large, clean painting brush in his right hand, poised as if about to paint. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Wio-wani ◆ supporting
As an old man, he is described as having a 'flowing white beard'. After entering his painting, he appears as a small, far-off figure, but grows 'big' again when he steps out. His physical presence is tied to his art, suggesting a magical or spiritual essence.
Attire: Likely wears simple, elegant, flowing robes, perhaps in white or light blue, made of fine silk, befitting a revered master artist who has transcended the material world. These robes would suggest timelessness and purity.
Wants: To find peace and rest within his art, and to pass on his true artistic knowledge to a worthy successor. He is driven by a sense of justice and the preservation of artistic integrity.
Flaw: His initial withdrawal into his painting leaves his masterpiece vulnerable to desecration by others.
Initially a historical figure, he becomes an active, magical mentor to Tiki-pu, stepping out of his painting to deliver justice and send Tiki-pu back into the world as his 'second self'.
Wise, serene, powerful, protective, just, a benevolent mentor. He embodies the spirit of true art and acts as a guardian and teacher to those who truly appreciate it.
Image Prompt & Upload
An elderly Chinese man with a long, flowing white beard that reaches his waist and long white hair tied back. He has a serene, wise expression with deep-set, knowing dark eyes. He wears a simple, flowing white silk robe with wide sleeves and a subtle silver embroidery at the cuffs. He stands with a dignified, upright posture, holding a single, rough red brick in his right hand. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Locations
The Master's Art Studio
A large, cluttered studio with many apprentices and students. The walls are adorned with paintings, including a revered masterpiece by Wio-wani. Paper window-panes allow light to filter in. The floor is hard, often littered with breadcrumbs and art supplies.
Mood: Initially oppressive and mundane for Tiki-pu, later becoming a secret haven for his artistic practice, then tense and fearful for the master.
Tiki-pu's daily drudgery, his secret artistic practice by candlelight, the master's discovery of Tiki-pu's talent, and the master's ultimate demise.
Image Prompt & Upload
A traditional Chinese art studio, dimly lit by the soft glow of a single candle on a wooden stand. Vermilion lacquered columns support a dark timber roof with intricate carvings. Scattered around are rolls of rice paper, ceramic paint pots, and bamboo brushes. Paper window-panes, some patched, allow faint moonlight to filter into the dusty air. The large, revered painting by Wio-wani dominates one wall, its vibrant garden scene contrasting with the studio's muted tones. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
Wio-wani's Painted Garden and Palace
A vibrant, sunlit garden within a painting, featuring lush trees, high-standing flowers, and verdant paths. In the midst of this garden stands a palace with a low, beautifully painted door in its wall.
Mood: Magical, serene, peaceful, and inviting, a place of artistic refuge and learning.
Wio-wani's original disappearance, Tiki-pu's entry and five years of artistic training, and Wio-wani's final departure after avenging Tiki-pu.
Image Prompt & Upload
A breathtaking Chinese garden, rendered with exquisite detail, bathed in eternal golden hour sunlight. Verdant, winding paths lead through groves of flowering cherry trees and ancient gnarled pines. High-standing peonies and chrysanthemums bloom in vibrant hues. In the distance, a traditional Chinese palace with vermilion columns, a tiered roof, and intricate wooden carvings nestles among the trees. A small, intricately painted moon gate is visible in the palace wall. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
