The Tale of the Magic Mirror

In the royal court of the ancient capital of Thăng Long, there lived a princess named Linh whose outer beauty was renowned throughout the kingdom. Her skin was like porcelain, her hair flowed like silk, and her eyes sparkled like stars reflected in still water. Nobles and princes from distant lands came seeking her hand in marriage, bringing gifts of gold, jade, and precious gems.

But Princess Linh’s heart was as cold as winter frost. She spent her days admiring herself in polished bronze mirrors, dismissing servants who displeased her, and mocking anyone she deemed less beautiful than herself. Her vanity and cruelty were as famous as her beauty, though few dared speak of it openly.

“Look at that servant girl,” Princess Linh would say to her ladies-in-waiting, pointing at a young maid who was sweeping the courtyard. “How unfortunate to be born so plain. Thank the gods I was blessed with such perfect features.”

Her father, the King, was deeply troubled by his daughter’s behavior. He had tried to teach her kindness and humility, but Princess Linh dismissed his lessons as irrelevant to someone of her exceptional beauty.

“Father,” she would say with a dismissive wave, “why should I concern myself with the feelings of ordinary people? Beauty like mine is a gift from heaven, and I should not diminish it by associating with those less favored.”

In the mountain villages beyond the capital, there lived an old mirror-maker named Ông Gương whose skill in crafting bronze mirrors was legendary. But Ông Gương was no ordinary craftsman—he was actually an immortal sage who had taken human form to observe and sometimes guide human behavior.

One day, a messenger from the royal court arrived at his workshop with a commission from the King. “His Majesty requests your finest mirror as a gift for Princess Linh on her twentieth birthday. He has heard that your mirrors are the clearest and most beautiful in all the land.”

Ông Gương listened thoughtfully, for he had heard stories of the princess’s vanity and cruelty. “Tell His Majesty,” he said, “that I will create a special mirror for the princess—one unlike any she has ever seen. It will be my masterpiece.”

For three months, Ông Gương worked on the mirror, but not in the way one might expect. Instead of simply polishing bronze to create a reflective surface, he infused the mirror with ancient magic, blessing it with the power to reflect not just outward appearance, but the true nature of the soul.

When the mirror was completed, it appeared to be the most beautiful mirror ever created. The frame was crafted from silver and inlaid with precious stones that seemed to capture and reflect light from within. The surface was so perfectly smooth and clear that it seemed like looking into a still mountain lake.

On Princess Linh’s birthday, the royal court gathered for a magnificent celebration. The King presented his daughter with many gifts, but saved the special mirror for last.

“My dear daughter,” he said, “this mirror comes from the master craftsman Ông Gương, who has created it specifically for you. It is said to be the finest mirror in all the kingdom.”

Princess Linh was delighted. She immediately rushed to her chambers to examine her reflection in this new treasure, expecting to see her beautiful face enhanced by the mirror’s exceptional clarity.

But when she looked into the mirror, she gasped in shock and horror. Instead of her lovely features, she saw the reflection of an ugly, twisted creature with cruel eyes, a sneering mouth, and a face distorted by selfishness and vanity.

“This mirror is broken!” she cried, summoning her servants. “It shows a terrible monster instead of my beautiful face!”

Her ladies-in-waiting gathered around the mirror, but when they looked into it, they saw only their own normal reflections.

“Your Highness,” said one brave servant, “the mirror shows us exactly as we appear. Perhaps…”

“Silence!” Princess Linh snapped. “This mirror is cursed or defective. Remove it at once!”

But no matter where the servants moved the mirror or how they adjusted the lighting, it continued to show Princess Linh the same ugly reflection while displaying everyone else normally.

Word of the strange mirror reached the King, who came to investigate. When he looked into the mirror, he saw his own reflection clearly, showing his kind face marked by wisdom and concern for his people.

“The mirror appears to work perfectly for everyone else,” the King observed thoughtfully. “Perhaps, my daughter, you should consider what it might be trying to tell you.”

“What do you mean?” Princess Linh demanded.

“There is an old saying,” the King replied gently, “that true beauty comes from within. Perhaps this mirror shows more than just our faces—perhaps it reflects our souls.”

Princess Linh scoffed at this idea and demanded that the mirror be destroyed. But the King, sensing deeper wisdom at work, ordered that it be kept in the princess’s chambers.

Over the following days, Princess Linh found herself drawn to the mirror despite her revulsion at what it showed. Each time she looked, she saw the same ugly creature, but gradually she began to notice something else—the reflection seemed to change slightly based on her actions.

When she had been particularly cruel to a servant, the reflection appeared more twisted and horrible. When she showed even the smallest kindness, the image seemed fractionally less hideous.

Curious despite herself, Princess Linh began to experiment. One day, instead of scolding a clumsy maid who had spilled tea, she spoke gently: “Be more careful next time, but don’t worry—accidents happen to everyone.”

When she looked in the mirror afterward, she could swear the reflection’s expression was slightly less cruel.

Gradually, Princess Linh began to understand the mirror’s message. It was showing her not her physical appearance, but the spiritual ugliness that her vanity and cruelty had created within her soul.

“Could it be true?” she wondered. “Have I become so focused on outer beauty that I have allowed my inner self to become hideous?”

This realization began a slow transformation. Princess Linh started paying attention to how her words and actions affected others. She apologized to servants she had mistreated, began treating people with kindness regardless of their appearance, and gradually learned to see beauty in qualities like compassion, wisdom, and generosity rather than just physical features.

As her heart softened and her character improved, the reflection in the magic mirror began to change as well. The cruel expression became gentler, the twisted features became more harmonious, and slowly the reflection began to resemble her true face.

After a full year of this transformation, Princess Linh looked into the mirror one morning and saw herself as she truly was—still beautiful in appearance, but now with eyes that sparkled with kindness instead of vanity, and a smile that reflected genuine warmth instead of cold pride.

But even more importantly, when she looked around her chambers, she realized that her changed perspective had transformed everything else as well. The servants who had once seemed plain to her now appeared beautiful in their own ways—their kind faces, their diligent work, their loyalty and good humor all seemed like forms of beauty she had been blind to before.

The King was overjoyed by his daughter’s transformation. “You have become truly beautiful, my dear,” he told her, “beautiful in the way that matters most and lasts forever.”

Princess Linh kept the magic mirror for the rest of her life, but now she used it differently. Instead of admiring her appearance, she would look into it each morning to examine her soul, ensuring that her inner beauty continued to grow along with her wisdom and compassion.

She eventually married a kind prince who valued her character above her appearance, and together they ruled their kingdom with justice and mercy. The magic mirror became a symbol in their court, reminding everyone that true nobility comes from noble character, not noble birth.

Years later, when Ông Gương revealed his true identity as an immortal sage, he explained the mirror’s purpose to the royal family.

“Beauty of the face fades with time,” he said, “but beauty of the soul grows stronger with each act of kindness, each moment of wisdom, each choice to see the good in others. The mirror was meant to teach this truth.”

The tale of the magic mirror became one of Vietnam’s most beloved stories about the difference between outer appearance and inner worth. Parents would tell it to children who placed too much importance on physical beauty or who were unkind to those they considered less attractive.

“Remember Princess Linh,” they would say, “and remember that the most important mirror is not the one that shows your face, but the one that shows your heart. Make sure that when you look deeply within yourself, you see something beautiful there.”

And they say that somewhere in Vietnam, the magic mirror still exists, passed down through generations as a reminder that true beauty comes not from what we see in our reflection, but from what others see when they look into our souls—and that the most attractive people are not those who are beautiful to look at, but those who make the world more beautiful by their presence in it.