Each one has its own treasure
Each one has its own treasure
There was such a shrewd jeweler, who was very good at identifying and collecting all kinds of rare treasures, and by the time he was forty years old, he had become a well-known connoisseur. However, the jeweler's life is not rich, because he has a hobby, that is, he is never willing to show the jewelry in his warehouse to outsiders, and it is even more wishful thinking to buy a piece of jewelry from him! Because, no matter how much you pay, he will not sell you a single piece of jewelry. Later, many people in order to get the jeweler's jewelry, exhausted all kinds of extraordinary means, but one by one ended in failure, so those who envy his treasures have only one way, that is - wait.
Finally one year the jeweller got word that he was going to sell part of his collection. Once the news came out, although the price was frighteningly high, there were still a large number of people to go. Seeing so many people gathered in front of his house, the jeweler ordered a notice to be put up, promising to sell his treasures to only one person per day to whom he was satisfied.
So, on the first day, a rich Jewish man walked into the jeweler's house.
As soon as he sat down, the Jew pointed to a $100,000 piece of jewelry on the jeweler's "for sale list" and said, "I have planned to buy this piece of jewelry from you, can I see the treasure first and have a full eye?"
At the Jew's words, the jeweler did not answer, but shook his head. The Jew asked, "Why? If I don't look at your jewelry, how can I be sure it's not a fake?" As soon as he finished, the jeweler brushed and laughed.
At this moment, one of the Jew's attendants tugged at the corner of the master's coat, suggesting that the master was speaking too impolite. The Jew suddenly saw the light of day and quickly recovered, saying, "Excuse me, Sir, but I meant that if you think the price is too low, I can add fifty thousand more!"
But, to the confusion of the Jews, the jeweler still shook his head. So, the Jew hurriedly said: "If the master is not satisfied, I can add another fifty thousand, a total of two hundred thousand, then the general line?" The jeweler, however, smiled and waved his hand in denial.
Now the Jew became angry and spoke much louder. He cried out, "Why? Do you make it clear that you have a trick on me, and that you have no intention of selling your jewels, why do you put up a notice and ask me to come to your house?"
At this time, the jeweler quickly pulled the Shouting Jew outside the door, and then explained softly: "Originally, I have no intention of selling the treasure, but because my father suddenly got a strange disease, headache all day long, even at night can not sleep. I spent nearly all of my meagre family fortune to treat my father. Fortunately, now that my father's illness has improved, and I don't want to let the treatment fall by the way, I am willing to sell my beloved jewelry. Just now, the reason why I couldn't show you the jewels was because my father was taking a nap, and he was the one who held the key to the jewels warehouse! He is so old, and has this strange disease, and just fell asleep, and no amount of money you give me can buy my father an hour of rest! You treasure your jewels, but I treasure my father, and we should each treasure our own!"
Hearing the jeweler's words, the Jew was momentarily moved and speechless. Later, the Jews not only made friends with the jeweler, but also found a miracle doctor from their own people, and finally cured the jeweler's father.
Every time I read this story, the jeweler's filial piety always causes me to reflect a lot. At this point, we may wish to ask ourselves: in today's materialistic society, if you are a jeweler, you can like him, in order to love the father and not hesitate to look at wealth, see the daughter as dirt? It is true that jewelry can make a person rich; However, if we are born as human beings, if we cannot "treasure our family", even if we are rich, our soul will be poor and penniless! Dear friends, in fact, the real priceless treasure is in our hearts, the daughter is gone back, but the beautiful time once missed, priceless affection once lost, let you be rich, also can not buy back a mountain of father's love!
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from writers in Criminal and other communities.
The 60 Second Servant ©️
This kill had to be done in 60 seconds, and recorded for the payment. This was an easy task. The setup was in play. I was the Wheelman and the Poi was a thief better known as Johnny Rocket. (I'm sorry, Poi is *Person of Interest*). Johnny was widely known as a ruthless bank robber in the small towns of European Cities. He would enter the bank, rob at gunpoint and then exterminate the teller and beeline to the getaway car with an experienced Wheelman. He was never convicted, and that was remarkable in this circuit of crime. His previous job was at a random bank in Bogota. Unknown to him the bank was Cartel owned. He never had a chance from the minute he went through the bank doors. First off, he didn't research this heist enough. No one escapes the Cartel. Well, needless to say he hit the bank and killed the young female teller and got away. The problem was the teller, a niece to the Capriano Cartel's underboss, whom he had executed. Stick a fork in Johnny, as he is cooked. Now by cooked, I mean walking Deadman. Still no damn clue as to what he did. In his mind it was just another payday. Johnnys’ ticket was punched from the moment he stole from the Cartel, let alone killing the underboss's niece.
By Matthew Mikituk4 days ago in Criminal
Inside the Story of Nurse Heather Pressdee — How she killed her patients with Lethal Insulin
Insulin is a drug used in the management of diabetes. It reduces the blood glucose level. When given in excess, it causes excessive low levels of blood glucose level and eventually leads to the patient's death.
By Rare Storiesabout 17 hours ago in Criminal
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
OF MOTHERHOOD.
Dear mother-to-be, I wanted to let you know how very, very special I think you are. I don't think there can be any job that is more meaningful than the one you are about to begin, that of being a mom. You are the most important person in the world to your precious unborn baby, and you will be for many years.
By Catherine Nyomenda4 days ago in Writers
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.