It was one day in October 1961.
On that unforgettable autumn day when the sky is clear and blue and all kinds of cereals and fruits smell sweet, President
After calling at an ordinary farmhouse at the entrance of the village and taking a parental care of the family living, the President stopped his walking in front of a persimmon tree beside the office of the management board of the cooperative.
It was the tree with heavily laden branches full of appetizingly red ripe persimmons.
The President kindly asked members and officials of the cooperative to guess how many persimmons were on that tree.
The chairman of the cooperative management board answered that they might be 500 and the attending officials said it would be 600-700.
Listening to them with a bright smile on his face, the President slightly shook his head and said that it would be a little more than 800.
He continued to say that if they planted many persimmon trees and grew them well, they could increase their cash income and make their children have as much persimmons as they liked.
Some time after the President left, the farmers picked persimmons of the meaningful tree.
The farmers counted them one by one wit
The moment they counted the last persimmon they all burst out exclamation.
The persimmons were exactly 803.
The elderly people in the village said that 800 plus 3, the number of luck meant that the cooperative would have rich harvest of persimmons as predicted by the President.
All the villagers talked about the President, the heavenly great man, who guessed the number of persimmons whic
