Once upon a time, at the edge of a green forest, there lived a young woodcutter. He was poor, but he was honest and kind. His most precious thing was an old iron axe that his father had given him. The handle was worn smooth, and the blade was dark and a little rusty, but it chopped dry branches very well.
Every morning the woodcutter walked into the forest singing, and every evening he carried home a bundle of dry wood to sell at the market. Chop, chop, chop went the old axe. "Thank you, old friend," he would say, patting the handle.
One day he was cutting branches from a tree beside a deep, wide river. Chop, chop... whoosh! The old axe slipped from his hands, spun through the air and, plop, sank into the water. The woodcutter hurried to the bank, but the river was too deep, and he could not see the bottom. He sat down on a rock and sighed. "Oh, my father's axe. How will I cut wood now?"
Suddenly a soft glow shimmered on the water, and a kind old man with a long white beard appeared. It was Ông Bụt, the gentle helper of old Vietnamese stories. "Why are you so sad, my child?" he asked. The woodcutter told him what had happened. Ông Bụt smiled. "Wait here."
Ông Bụt dipped his walking stick into the river, and when he lifted it, a golden axe hung from the end, shining like the sun. "Is this your axe?" The woodcutter shook his head. "No, Grandfather. My axe is not golden." Ông Bụt dipped his stick again and brought up a silver axe, shining like the moon. "Is this your axe?" "No, Grandfather. Mine is not silver either." The third time, Ông Bụt brought up an old iron axe with a smooth, worn handle. The woodcutter jumped up. "Yes! That one is mine! Thank you, thank you!"
Ông Bụt laughed a warm laugh. "You told the truth, even with a golden axe right in front of you. An honest heart is worth more than gold. Please keep all three." And with a soft glow, he was gone.
The woodcutter went home happily. His neighbour, a rich man who always wanted a little more, saw the golden and silver axes and asked where they came from. The woodcutter told him everything. The rich man thought, "I want a golden axe too!" The next day he went to the same river and, on purpose, tossed his own axe into the water. Then he pretended to cry: "Boo hoo, my poor axe!"
Ông Bụt appeared and lifted a golden axe from the river. "Is this your axe?" "Yes, yes! That is mine!" said the rich man quickly. Ông Bụt looked at him gently and said nothing for a long moment. The rich man's cheeks turned pink. Then Ông Bụt said kindly, "This golden axe is not yours. But this one is." He lifted up the rich man's own plain axe and placed it in his hands. "Telling the truth is harder than finding gold, but it is worth much more."
The rich man looked down at his own axe. He felt embarrassed, and then he felt something better: he wanted to be honest. "I'm sorry, Grandfather," he said. "I told a fib. I won't do it again." Ông Bụt nodded and smiled, and the river sparkled.
From then on, the two neighbours became good friends. They walked into the forest together, singing and chopping, chop, chop, chop. The woodcutter sold the golden and silver axes and used the money to plant young trees around the village and to build a new well that everyone could share. And the old iron axe? It still chopped wood every single day, with its smooth, worn handle, the most precious axe of all.
Parent tip: Pause after each 'Is this your axe?' and let your child answer 'No!' or 'Yes!' before you read the woodcutter's reply.
Ask your child: After the story, you can ask: “Who was kind in this story, and what did they do?”
This gentle retelling has no harsh punishment: the greedy neighbour gets his own axe back and learns to be honest.