Original Text
Zhang was a poor commoner from Yi County. One day on the road he encountered a Taoist priest skilled in physiognomy, who, after examining his features, said, "You can attain wealth through a certain craft." Zhang asked, "What craft might that be?" The Taoist looked at his face again and replied, "You can become a physician." Zhang said, "I barely know a few characters; how could I possibly be a physician?" The Taoist laughed and said, "How pedantic you are! Why must a renowned physician know many characters? Just go and practice it."
After Zhang returned home, he was so impoverished that he had no means of making a living, so he gathered some folk remedies and set up a stall in the marketplace, arranging medicine boxes shaped like fish teeth and beehives, earning his keep by his glib tongue, though people held his medical skills in low esteem. Just then, the prefect of Qingzhou fell ill with a cough and issued a proclamation summoning physicians from the subordinate counties. Yixian was a remote mountainous area with few doctors, and the county magistrate, fearing he could not fulfill the order, commanded each village to nominate someone. Thus, the people jointly recommended Zhang. The magistrate immediately summoned him. At that time, Zhang himself was suffering from phlegm and asthma, unable even to cure his own ailment, and upon hearing this command, he was filled with terror and repeatedly declined. The magistrate paid no heed and sent clerks and soldiers to escort him. Passing through deep mountains, Zhang became extremely thirsty, and his cough worsened. He went to a village to beg for water, but mountain water was as precious as nectar and jade; he traversed the entire village without anyone offering him a drink. Then he saw a woman washing wild vegetables; there were many vegetables but little water, and the basin's water was as murky as sticky saliva. Zhang, tormented by burning thirst, begged for the leftover dirty water from the washing. As soon as he drank a little, his thirst was quenched, and his cough and asthma ceased. He secretly thought: This must be a fine remedy.
Upon arriving in Qingzhou, he found that all the local physicians had already treated the prefect without any effect. Zhang entered and requested a secluded place, where he pretended to prepare a prescription, which he showed to others, and sent people to gather wild herbs from the countryside, washing them according to the mountain woman's method, then offering the leftover dirty water to the prefect to drink. After just one dose, the prefect recovered. The prefect was overjoyed, bestowed generous rewards, and presented a golden plaque. From then on, Zhang's fame spread greatly, his door was thronged like a marketplace, and with this remedy, he cured every ailment he touched. A man suffering from typhoid fever came, describing his symptoms and seeking treatment. At the time, Zhang was drunk and mistakenly gave him a medicine meant for malaria. When he sobered up and realized his error, he dared not tell anyone. Three days later, someone arrived with lavish gifts to thank him; upon inquiry, it turned out that the typhoid patient, after severe vomiting and diarrhea, had fully recovered. Such incidents were many. Thus Zhang grew wealthy and his status rose ever higher; he would not attend to any patient unless offered substantial gold and a fine carriage.
Han Weng of Yidu was a renowned physician. Before he became famous, he traveled about selling medicines. One night, having no place to stay, he sought lodging at a household where the son was gravely ill with typhoid fever and on the verge of death, and they begged him to treat the boy. Han Weng thought that if he refused, he would have nowhere to sleep, yet he had no effective remedy. Pacing back and forth in the room, he unconsciously rubbed his body, which was covered in grime, and the dirt rolled into little pellets. Suddenly it occurred to him that giving these pellets to the patient could do no harm, and even if the boy were not better by dawn, he would at least have earned a full meal and a peaceful rest. So he gave the pellets to the sick youth. In the middle of the night, the master of the house urgently knocked on his door. Han Weng, fearing the son had died and that he would be beaten or cursed, scrambled up in panic, leaped over the wall, and fled. The master pursued him for several li, and only when Han Weng could run no further did he stop. Only then did he learn that the patient had sweated and fully recovered. The master invited him back, treated him with great hospitality, and upon his departure, bestowed upon him a generous reward.
Commentary
This is a satirical tale about traditional Chinese medicine, comprising two short stories that both depict so-called renowned physicians achieving success through sheer luck. The absurd narratives are laugh-out-loud funny, yet they also provoke reflection on how traditional Chinese medicine is a medical discipline reliant on empirical experience. But Minglun once commented on this piece with these words: "As the saying goes, 'Ride my ten years of luck, and come early for treatment when ill.' Observing Zhang's case, the saying becomes even more credible. Yet the adage 'Do not take medicine from a physician whose family has not practiced for three generations' remains an unassailable truth." The first part suggests that luck plays a significant role in the success of traditional Chinese medicine. The latter part emphasizes that its success depends on experience and accumulation—that is, empirical evidence. This is both the precious essence of traditional Chinese medicine and the very aspect that has long been criticized and, in modern times, vehemently dismissed as unscientific.