The Story of Thach Sanh

In the dense forests that bordered the ancient kingdom of Vietnam, there lived a poor woodcutter named Thach Sanh. He was an orphan who had grown up alone in the wilderness, learning to survive by his wits and the kindness of the forest creatures. Though his clothes were patched and worn, and his hut was made of simple bamboo and leaves, Thach Sanh possessed something far more valuable than gold—a heart pure as mountain spring water and courage as steadfast as the ancient trees he worked among.

Each day, Thach Sanh would venture deep into the forest with his worn axe, cutting only the wood he needed and always thanking the trees for their sacrifice. The animals of the forest trusted him completely, for they knew he would never harm a creature without cause.

One misty morning, as Thach Sanh was gathering kindling near a hidden grove, he heard the most pitiful crying echoing through the trees. Following the sound, he discovered a magnificent eagle trapped beneath a fallen branch, its golden wing twisted and broken.

“Please, noble bird, let me help you,” Thach Sanh said gently, carefully lifting the heavy branch.

The eagle’s eyes were fierce and proud, but as Thach Sanh tenderly examined its wing, the great bird seemed to understand his good intentions.

“Your wing is broken, but I can help heal it,” Thach Sanh murmured, tearing strips from his own shirt to make a bandage. For weeks, he nursed the eagle back to health, sharing his meager meals and singing soft songs to comfort the injured creature.

When the eagle’s wing had healed completely, it spread its magnificent wings and spoke in a voice like wind through mountain peaks: “Kind woodcutter, I am the King of Eagles. You have shown me compassion when I was helpless, and I will never forget this debt. Whenever you are in need, call my name—Ngu Long—and I will come to your aid.”

Before Thach Sanh could respond, the great eagle soared into the sky, its golden feathers catching the sunlight like flames.

Not long after, while fishing in a quiet stream to supplement his simple diet, Thach Sanh noticed a large carp struggling in a pool that had become separated from the main river during the dry season. The fish was gasping, its beautiful scales dulling as the water grew shallow.

Without hesitation, Thach Sanh dug a channel with his bare hands, working through the heat of the day until the pool reconnected with the flowing stream. As the carp swam gratefully back to deeper waters, it surfaced near the bank.

“Generous human,” the carp spoke, its voice rippling like water over stones, “I am the King of Fish. You have saved my life when you could have easily taken it for your dinner. In return, I pledge my friendship and aid. When you need me, call the name Ngu Long, and I will answer.”

The pattern continued when Thach Sanh encountered a magnificent tiger caught in a poacher’s trap deep in the forest. Despite the danger, and ignoring the tiger’s fearsome growls of pain and rage, Thach Sanh carefully freed the great cat from the cruel metal jaws.

As the tiger’s wounds healed under Thach Sanh’s patient care, the beast’s anger transformed into gratitude. “Brave woodcutter,” the tiger rumbled, its voice like distant thunder, “I am the King of Tigers. You risked your life to save mine, showing no fear when any other human would have fled. I too will serve you. When danger threatens, call upon Ngu Long, and I will be your claws and fangs.”

For several peaceful years, Thach Sanh continued his simple life in the forest, unaware that his kindness had earned him three of the most powerful allies in the natural world.

Meanwhile, in the royal capital, King Hung Vuong faced a crisis that grew more dire with each passing day. A terrible monster had emerged from the depths of the Eastern Sea—a creature so massive and destructive that entire coastal villages had been destroyed by its rampage.

The beast had the body of a whale but covered in scales harder than iron, with nine heads that breathed poison gas and fire. Its name was Ngu Tinh, and it demanded that the king send his beautiful daughter, Princess Quynh Nga, to be its bride, or it would destroy the entire kingdom.

“My lord,” pleaded the king’s advisors, “perhaps we should consider the monster’s demand. One life, even a precious one, to save the entire kingdom…”

“Never!” King Hung Vuong declared, though his voice trembled with anguish. “I will not sacrifice my daughter to this abomination. Send word throughout the land—whoever can defeat this monster shall marry the princess and inherit half my kingdom!”

Brave warriors came from every corner of the realm. Knights in shining armor, masters of sword and spear, sorcerers with ancient magic—all tried to defeat Ngu Tinh. But the monster’s nine heads struck like lightning, and its poisonous breath killed even the bravest heroes before they could land a single blow.

The news of the king’s proclamation reached even the remote forest where Thach Sanh lived. At first, he dismissed the idea—what could a simple woodcutter do against a monster that had defeated the kingdom’s greatest warriors?

But as he sat by his evening fire, carving a simple wooden bowl, he thought of all the innocent people who would suffer if the monster wasn’t stopped. His three animal friends—the eagle, carp, and tiger kings—had taught him that even the humblest creature could make a difference through courage and compassion.

The next morning, Thach Sanh set out for the capital, carrying only his simple clothes, his woodcutter’s axe, and an iron rod he had forged himself in the forest. The journey took many days, and when he finally arrived at the royal palace, his appearance caused quite a stir.

“A peasant?” scoffed the palace guards. “You think you can succeed where the greatest knights have failed?”

But King Hung Vuong, desperate and willing to try anything, granted Thach Sanh an audience.

“Your Majesty,” Thach Sanh said, bowing deeply, “I am only a simple woodcutter, but I cannot stand by while innocent people suffer. Give me a chance to face this monster.”

The king looked at this humble young man—poor but dignified, simple but sincere—and saw something in his eyes that had been missing in all the proud warriors: genuine selflessness.

“Very well,” the king said. “But I warn you, this creature has killed many brave men. I will not blame you if you choose to flee when you see its terrible form.”

The next dawn, Thach Sanh stood on the rocky shore where the monster was known to emerge. As the sun painted the sea crimson, the waters began to churn and boil. With a roar that shook the very mountains, Ngu Tinh rose from the depths.

The monster was even more terrifying than the stories had described. Each of its nine heads was the size of a temple, with fangs like spears and eyes that glowed red as molten iron. Its body stretched longer than a dozen war ships, and when it breathed, poisonous clouds rolled across the water.

“So,” the monster spoke with nine voices that harmonized into one terrible sound, “another foolish human comes to die. I will make your death quick if you tell me where the princess hides.”

“I will never tell you,” Thach Sanh declared, though his heart hammered like a woodpecker against his ribs. “Face me honorably, or return to the depths and trouble this land no more!”

The monster’s laughter was like the sound of breaking ships. All nine heads struck at once, moving faster than arrows. But Thach Sanh had not forgotten his forest friends.

“Ngu Long!” he called, his voice carrying across sea and sky.

Instantly, the golden eagle appeared, swooping down to lift Thach Sanh into the air just as the poisonous breath swept across where he had been standing. From above, he could see the monster’s weak spots—places where the scales didn’t quite meet.

“Again, Ngu Long!” Thach Sanh called.

The King of Fish created a massive whirlpool that confused the monster and left several of its heads temporarily submerged, while the King of Tigers leaped from the cliffs with supernatural strength, raking his claws across the beast’s eyes.

Working together, Thach Sanh and his three allies fought for hours. The eagle carried Thach Sanh to strategic positions, the fish created water spouts to blind and confuse the monster, and the tiger struck at vulnerable points with lightning speed.

But the monster’s rage only grew stronger, and its attacks became more vicious. In a moment of terrible fury, Ngu Tinh managed to strike down the brave tiger with one of its massive heads. The King of Tigers fell to the rocky shore, grievously wounded.

“My friend!” Thach Sanh cried, his heart filling with rage at seeing his loyal companion hurt.

With a fury born of love and grief, Thach Sanh gripped his iron rod and leaped from the eagle’s back directly onto the monster’s central head. With strength he didn’t know he possessed, he drove the iron rod deep between the creature’s eyes.

The monster’s death roar echoed across the entire kingdom. As it thrashed in its final moments, Thach Sanh held on desperately, driving the rod deeper until the terrible light faded from all nine pairs of eyes.

Ngu Tinh crashed into the sea with such force that the waves reached far inland, but the kingdom was finally safe.

When Thach Sanh reached the shore, he rushed to his wounded tiger friend. The great cat’s breathing was shallow, and his golden eyes were growing dim.

“Do not grieve for me, brave brother,” the tiger whispered. “We have saved countless lives today. That is a worthy end for any warrior.”

With tears streaming down his face, Thach Sanh held his friend until the King of Tigers breathed his last, dying as bravely as he had lived.

The entire kingdom celebrated Thach Sanh’s victory. King Hung Vuong was true to his word—he offered his daughter’s hand in marriage and half the kingdom as reward.

Princess Quynh Nga was as beautiful as the stories claimed, with a heart as kind as her face was lovely. When she met Thach Sanh, she saw past his humble origins to the nobility of his spirit.

“Father,” she said to the king, “this man risked everything to save people he had never met. He is more worthy of honor than any nobleman I have known.”

Thach Sanh and Princess Quynh Nga were married in a ceremony that lasted for seven days and seven nights. People came from every corner of the kingdom to celebrate the humble woodcutter who had become their greatest hero.

But Thach Sanh never forgot his simple origins or his forest friends. He ruled wisely and justly, always remembering that true strength comes not from power or wealth, but from compassion and courage. He built a beautiful shrine to honor the King of Tigers, and the eagle and fish remained his trusted advisors and friends throughout his long and prosperous reign.

And in the deep forests where he had once lived as a poor woodcutter, the animals would tell their young the story of Thach Sanh—proof that the humblest heart, when filled with love and courage, can achieve the greatest victories of all.