Long ago or perhaps not so long, a young woman discovered she had gift. Enaji had a natural talent with clay, she could create plates and pots and vases and almost anything with the smooth motions of her hands. With a careful flick or drag of her stylus, she ornately decorated even the most mundane thing into something amazing. Carefully, she crafted, sharing her gift for all to enjoy while she gained nothing more than friendship and admiration. 

The a call went out from the empire. Brick makers were needed for a great project, only the best to build a great palace. Enaji stood in line with many others holding a sample of her brickwork. The sides were smooth as silk stretched on a loom, but the face was intricately carved, a work of art in fired clay. She knew surely it would be a great honor to aid in the construction of such an important project as the royal palace. For days, she prayed, until a message came. Her work was acceptable.

Enaji was chosen and so she began her work. Day after day, brick after ornate brick, wall after wall was built from the sweat her brow and labor of her hands. Each  brick she crafted as carefully as the last until thousands were made. Other brickmakers came and went but Enaji stayed and labored for her countrymen. Of those that labored, none had Enaji's spirit of joy and faithful attitude. It was contagious, and many flocked to her because she cheered the hearts of all she met. And everyday she made something wonderful for all to see. As word of Enaji's wonderful artistic brick spread, people from many provinces came to see them. 

One day, many years later, three of the emperor's courtiers came to see the work. Their heavy brocade spider-silk robes rustled as they strode haughtily through the nearly finished building. While many others had marveled at the artistic surfaces and excellent quality of the prolific number of Enaji's bricks, these three disdained what they saw. As the  three courtiers looked at the fifty rooms decorated with Enaji's labor, they became offended and ordered them razed. Helpless, Enaji could only watch a half-decade's worth of work reduced to rubble and dust. 

"What did I do?" She cried as her spirit was crushed with her sculpted bricks.

"You were supposed to make plain, boring brinks like everyone else. You didn't follow the rules." One bellowed at her.

"You deserve this ruin."  The second declared.

"But this is my life's work.. my dreams... my art..."

The third laughed and threw a handful of rubble and dust at Enaji, "Art... ha! It's just bricks."

Enaji was ordered banished from the palace worksite, never to return. She left, downtrodden and weeping that she who had been so devoted, given so much could be cast aside so easily in a single day.

Cleaning the rubble, a workman pocketed a few pieces of the beautiful broken terra cotta, another did the same, and another, and another... until hundreds, perhaps thousands of the workers carried a piece of Enaji's beautiful fired clay with them. Slowly, from highest worker to the poorest dust sweeper of the land, many began sending Enaja their thanks for the lovely fragments that even though the whole bricks were lost, the pieces still held with the happy memory of their maker. 

With the outpouring of love from her countrymen, Enaji's heart healed and soon her stylus was dancing over silky smooth surfaces of clay again. Her craft flourished and soon everyone could own one or a few of her wonderfully ornate bricks.