🌿 Folk Prescriptions

Reading "Dream of the Red Chamber," I once saw Jia Baoyu prescribe medicine for Lin Daiyu, concocting a bizarre formula where the main ingredient was pearls from the heads of wealthy people buried in ancient tombs. Young Baoyu, seemingly knowledgeable about medicine and herbs, is clearly a fictional creation by Cao Xueqin. According to Redology scholars, reading "Dream of the Red Chamber" is like reading an encyclopedia—everything you want to know is there. If you don’t believe me, try reading the recipes inside; you’ll immediately learn how to cook eggplant so it doesn’t taste like eggplant, gaining broad culinary knowledge. As for "politicians seeing anti-Manchu sentiments," that’s for those obsessed with political theory. Personally, I’d love to read medicine from "Dream of the Red Chamber," but Baoyu’s prescription makes me doubt medicine can be as simple as preparing chicken broth with eggplant. I can’t quite explain why I feel this way.
Using genuine pearls (pearls) in medicine isn’t strange. Pearls "enter the Liver Meridian (Jueyin), thus calming the spirit, stabilizing the mind, brightening the eyes, and treating deafness," confirming their status as common medicine. But using pearls from ancient tombs’ dead people’s heads seems odd. Li Shizhen, author of "Compendium of Materia Medica," specifically notes: "Do not use jewelry or pearls exposed to corpses; soak in human milk for three days, then boil..." Suggesting that in Li Shizhen’s era, doctors commonly used pearls from dead people’s heads, whose efficacy might surpass fresh pearls. Baoyu surely read Li Shizhen’s widely studied medical classic. Yet, treating Lin Daiyu’s congenital weakness, he likely didn’t follow the text literally but devised his own idea. "He prescribed medicine intentionally." Baoyu not only understood medicine but also excelled at innovation. He believed Daiyu’s yin energy was too strong, so he needed pearls soaked in tomb yin for years as the main ingredient to balance yin with yin. Don’t think Baoyu was joking—he took Lin Daiyu seriously, and the entire household took him seriously. Preparing this formula would be fine in the Jia family, but whether Lin Daiyu took it remains unmentioned in the novel—we needn’t speculate.
It reminds me of a similar story involving Southern Dynasties physician Xu Sibo. "Taiping Guangji" describes Xu Sibo as someone skilled in using tomb artifacts for unusual prescriptions:
Xu Sibo, styled Deshao, was eloquent and expert in medicine. Once, an old woman suffered from chronic stagnation, failing to recover for years. Xu diagnosed her: "This is a corpse affliction. You must boil a pillow from a dead person’s grave and drink it to cure." He found an old tomb pillow, half-decayed, gave it to her to drink, and she recovered immediately. Later, Zhang Jing, age 15, suffered from abdominal distension and yellow complexion, baffling all doctors. Xu said: "This is a stone worm. Boil a dead person’s pillow and drink it." Following instructions, he boiled the pillow and drank it, expelling dozens of hard, stone-like worm heads—her illness vanished. Then, Shen Zengyi suffered eye pain and hallucinations. Asked Xu, he replied: "Evil qi has entered the liver. Find a dead person’s pillow, boil and drink it. Afterward, bury the pillow where it was found." Following his advice, Shen recovered. Wang Yan, upon hearing this, asked: "Three different illnesses, yet all cured with a dead person’s pillow—why?" Xu answered: "Corpse affliction stems from ghost qi, dormant but not active. It causes lethargy. The dead person’s pillow forces the soul to flee, breaking its hold—thus curing the affliction. Stone worms, being rare and hard-shelled, resist ordinary medicine. Only ghostly substances can drive them out. Evil qi entering the liver causes eye pain and visions of ghosts. Only a ghostly object can lure the qi and remove it—hence burying the pillow where found." Wang Yan deeply admired his insight.
Looking at Xu’s bizarre prescriptions, Baoyu falls short. Actually, being a renowned doctor isn’t hard—but if Xu Sibo were alive, all one needed was repeated use of dead person’s pillows. In Xu’s era, the scholarly trend of refined discourse had permeated medicine, making such esoteric discussions fashionable. Medicine’s drift toward metaphysics required figures like Xu Sibo to push forward. Consequently, medicine increasingly strayed from its inherent material nature, exceeding common sense and rationality, becoming mysterious and profound. Of course, such odd formulas weren’t the work of individual doctors but reflected the era’s peculiar mindset. Linked to the contemporary cultural trend of "weird tales" (e.g., "Records of the Supernatural"), medical oddities represented a significant aspect.
Thus, let’s discuss a medical text from the Southern Song Dynasty—Zhang Gao’s "Yi Shuo." After the Eastern Jin and Southern Dynasties, medical development, viewed from a technical standpoint, especially in formula scholarship, became prominent. Sun Simiao of the Tang Dynasty elevated formula usage to new heights, while the Song Dynasty marked the summarization phase. Official and private medical writings collected nearly all previous formulas, naturally including numerous Xu Sibo-style odd formulas. "Yi Shuo," slightly later, stands as a representative private work. According to Luo Xu’s preface, the author "loved reading, recording every book mentioning medicine over fifty years," indicating the book’s breadth. "It extensively collects historical records, draws from ancient and modern sources, traces the legacy of past scholars, examines current rumors, deduces truth, enlightens future generations, compiling nearly a thousand entries—some inspired by dreams, some through spiritual communication, drawing on widely reported cures, matching symptoms and prescriptions perfectly, with no contradictions…" Because of this characteristic, accounts of odd formulas abound—almost concentratedly covering all strange medical practices from ancient times to Song China. Honestly, reading this book feels like reading a legend—fascinating, yet impossible to take seriously, often evoking a playful sensation. Zhang Gao came from a family of physicians—his grandfather, father, and uncle were all doctors. His grandfather studied under the renowned Northern Song physician Pang Anshi. By Zhang Gao’s time, he was reportedly even more proficient in medical theory. His contemporaries and disciples praised his work as "diligent in medical heart" and "exhaustive in medical theory," underscoring its seriousness. Yet our perception differs—our curiosity is simply too strong.
Luo Xu, in his preface as a friend of the author, declared:
Medical books are based on "Suwen" and "Ling Shu," expanded by "Nanjing" and "Maijue," with the sovereign, minister, assistant, and messenger of herbs all drawn from "Bencao." The world has never gone beyond this to practice medicine. Now, if someone presents a strange remedy to cure serious illness, everyone marvels, thinking it unprecedented. From a wise perspective, isn’t this akin to a “besieged army” strategy? Thus, I know this book is beneficial.
Interpreting Luo’s preface, the purpose of this book is to supplement classical medical texts by specially documenting extraordinary and unusual medical practices. Indeed, medicine lies in the application of odd formulas and unusual methods. The book’s effect was already confirmed among readers at the time. Another Southern Song figure, Xu Gao, said after reading it:
"Previously, reading the 'Thousand Gold Prescriptions,' I encountered rare cases, unable to identify them despite consulting many doctors. I kept wondering: Hua Tuo was a once-in-a-lifetime genius—would I never find anyone to clarify this? Then, I discovered Zhang Ji Ming’s 'Yi Shuo.' Suddenly, my doubts vanished, clarity dawned, and I sighed: This book truly benefits society immensely."
How much benefit this book brings to people remains known only to Luo Xu and Xu Gao. But for us, the importance lies not in assessing its impact but in understanding its perspective on medicine. When we read it as a legend, we see its narrative background as fictional and unknown. This doesn’t mean all odd formulas from ancient records are fabricated or useless as evidence—rather, behind these odd formulas lies a narrative structure and explanatory system built on Chinese yin-yang theory, which dissolves medicine’s empirical nature, rendering it fictional. Relying on yin-yang theory, Zhang Gao’s accounts of past medical feats inevitably enter realms of dream inspiration, spiritual communication, and other unknowable speculations. The book’s core thus becomes a compendium of medical oddities. Naturally, there are editorial choices—such as skepticism and rejection of immortal elixirs—clearly drawing a line between medicine and Daoist alchemy. Zhang Gao lived during the height of Neo-Confucianism in the Song Dynasty, self-identifying as a Confucian scholar. His medical views stemmed from Neo-Confucian new yin-yang theory. Though he rejected immortal elixirs, he unconsciously stood firmly on the yin-yang theory platform to narrate these strange medical stories. Here’s one example for discussion:
South of Shaoguan, about seventy miles away, lived a wealthy woman named Chen. She suffered from a strange illness: no discomfort otherwise, but whenever a slight breeze touched her, she experienced intense itching in her thigh, scratching uncontrollably. Soon, her whole body followed suit, culminating in a seizure lasting three days before regaining consciousness. Sitting up, she coughed audibly, her body swaying forward and backward like a rocking boat, repeating this hundreds of times before calming. After a day, she collapsed unconscious, remaining so for several nights, unable to leave home. Ten doctors failed to cure her. Physician Liu Dayong examined her and said: "I’ve identified the condition. First, give her one dose of medicine. Bring me a string of prayer beads." The family didn’t understand the purpose. When the woman began swaying, the number of movements was recorded—she felt slight relief. Then Liu said: "This is called ‘ghost affliction,’ caused by visiting a temple and being possessed by evil spirits, causing mental instability. The remedy is to boil a dead person’s pillow and drink the decoction. After drinking, she had multiple bowel movements, and her long-standing illness vanished instantly." Liu added: "After use, return the pillow to its original place. If retained, it may cause madness—because only its spirit is needed."
Again, using a dead person’s pillow as medicine—how clever, how marvelous? "Ghosts and gods are the excellent capabilities of yin and yang energies."