Longevity Mountain held an abbey called Five Villages, and the abbey grew a tree, and the tree was a problem waiting for the right idiots to walk under it.
It was a ginseng-fruit tree, and the arithmetic on it is the kind this book loves: three thousand years to flower, three thousand to set fruit, three thousand to ripen. Nearly ten thousand years for one crop, and one crop is thirty fruit, and the fruit look — this is the whole trap — exactly like newborn babies. Little limbs, little faces, eyes and mouth complete, hanging in the leaves. Smell one and you live three hundred and sixty years. Eat one and you get forty-seven thousand.
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