Once there was an elderly widow, Chen Ma, who lived with her only son in a forest in Shanxi Province. Her son was a licensed tiger hunter, continuing the family tradition. His earnings from selling tiger parts provided for their small hut.
All was well until a bitter winter. During a snowstorm, Chen Ma's son was separated from his fellow hunters and was killed by a hungry tigress.
After her grief subsided, Chen Ma, now utterly alone, implored the local magistrate for support. He decreed she receive a small share of profits from each tiger killed. The hunters, with their own families to feed, were displeased.
When they killed the tigress that ate her son, they decided not to give Chen Ma her share. Instead, they brought her the tigress's newborn cub—a small, quivering ball of golden fur with wobbly legs. The rope around its neck was choking it, and its jade-green eyes glistened with tears. Chen Ma's heart went out to the helpless creature.
After the hunters left, the cub wobbled to Chen Ma and lay at her feet. She bent down to rub his ears, and he licked her shoes.
Chen Ma sighed. "They told me to butcher you for food and warmth," she said. "But how can I? You are so young and vital, while I am so old and frail."
She untied the rope and fed him a paste of cooked roots. When firewood ran low, she slept curled against the cub for warmth.
Women from nearby villages brought Chen Ma sewing work, paying her with food. At first, the cub, no bigger than a piglet, didn't alarm them. But by spring, he had grown to the size of a calf, with full teeth and claws. The women told their hunter husbands, who came to kill the young tiger.
Chen Ma armed herself with her son's spear. "I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is my only companion. I will adopt him as my son," she declared.
The hunters jeered but, fearing the magistrate, followed her to his hall.
"Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Are you not afraid he might revert to his wild nature and devour you?"
"What is there to fear?" Chen Ma replied with tears. "My only worry is being left alone. He has become like a son to me."
Moved, the magistrate agreed. He had a document drawn up for the tiger's adoption. To protect him, he ordered a large copper pendant engraved with "Fu Chee" (Tiger Son) to hang around the tiger's neck. Grateful, Chen Ma knelt and knocked her forehead three times before leading Fu Chee home.
By the next winter, Fu Chee had grown to his full size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsing when he played, so she reluctantly let him live in a nearby cave.
Yet, the affectionate tiger often visited, bringing gifts like a dead deer or a large branch. He still liked to lick her shoes and have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were cared for as if her own son were alive.
After Chen Ma died past the age of one hundred, hunters noticed Fu Chee guarding her tomb nightly. They left him alone, as he never attacked people or animals. This continued for years until one day he was seen no more.
Out of respect and admiration, the hunters erected a stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb, engraving Fu Chee's story. Thus, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi.