Bo Yi’s Quiet Cure

Once upon a time in the valley of Lu, there lived a man named Bo Yi. He was a healthy and hardworking man: rising early, resting late, singing songs while he worked in the fields, returning to his wife and children as the evening star shone and the sun spilled its final rays into the sky. Bo Yi was a happy man: and his family and animals and village were happy to have him. 

One day, however, he was struck by a strange disease. His left leg turned rigid and he had to swing it like a post; he became extremely fatigued, hunched up and weak; it was difficult to stomach the simplest of meals; and his normally balanced emotions became wild and scattered. In short, Bo Yi had become completely discombobulated: he was no longer his usual self at all.  

So he visited the town doctor, a relatively wise old man, who simply threw his hands in the air and proclaimed, “I can be of no help! But there is a mighty doctor in Jiang who is renowned for his deep knowledge and miraculous cures: I recommend you visit him.” Taking the doctor’s advice, with much effort Bo Yi set out on the long road to Jiang.

After many days, he at last arrived at the door of the mighty medicine man. He wore a great flowing garment embroidered with gold; he examined Bo Yi with brilliant, keen eyes. The doctor listened to Bo Yi’s tale and confidently proclaimed he would cure him of his disease. For twelve days he pressed and pulled and prodded Bo Yi’s sore body, stabbing him with needles and rough stones, burning him with mugwort, each time proclaiming this would resolve his complaints. But after several weeks, Bo Yi felt even worse than he had before. The doctor finally threw his hands in the air and said, “There is nothing I can do. But there is a powerful herbalist in Lin, who will be able to heal this disease.”

And so Bo Yi set off on the even longer road to Lin.

He was greeted by a confident old man who ushered him into a room overflowing with jars and scents. “This indeed is a strange disease,” he said, stroking his long beard. “But fortunately I have the medicines to cure it.” And for several weeks he boiled strong-smelling potions, and ground pungent powders from strange roots, leaves, horns and insects gathered from all around the Kingdom. Every morning, afternoon and night Bo Yi drank these concoctions, choking and spluttering — struggling, but eventually managing to get them down. But nothing ever changed. Finally, the herbalist conceded defeat. Throwing up his hands he shouted, “It’s no use: enough! This is a spiritual disease, and for that you require a powerful healer of the spirit. You must visit an immortal in the mountains of Shan. He is the only one who can help you now.” 

So once again Bo Yi limped off, this time on the arduous journey north to Shan.

He arrived at the temple exhausted and shaking. A number of disciples carried him in, through the golden archways and intricate carvings of dragons, tigers and celestial kings. He kneeled trembling at the feet of the great Immortal, who was quick to proclaim, “I can see clearly the cause of your malady. It is a simple matter. In a few days you will have fully recovered.” For twenty-eight days he chanted and prayed, and anointed Bo Yi in sacred oils and scents; and Bo Yi was made to perform various prostrations, rituals, recitations and prayers. But when the moon was once again full and no change had occurred, the Immortal’s ego was acutely dejected. He threw up his hands and shouted at Bo Yi, “Be gone with you! Take your devilish ways away from my sight! Truly, there is no hope for you now.” And poor Bo Yi, as sore and fatigued and anxious as ever, staggered out of the mighty hall, with its intricate carvings of dragons, tigers and celestial kings, all the while derided by the disciples — and deflated, began the long, long journey back to Lu.

He had been traveling on foot for several days and was feeling weak, on the brink of utter despair, when he suddenly heard whistling come winding down the path. He stopped and turned toward the source of this strange and dreamy song that vibrated through the mountain air. It faded into nothingness — and so he turned again and continued to limp on. Eventually, however, he heard the tune once more; and appearing from around a bend, a man came into view. He wore old, plain, faded clothes and carried a sack of firewood on his back. Catching sight of Bo Yi, he rounded off his whistling and smiled a friendly smile. 

“Hello there,” the stranger said. “It seems you’re in a spot of pain. Take my arm if you please, and we shall walk together.” 

He extended his arm, and Bo Yi lent upon it; and together they slowly descended the mountain path. Bo Yi was happy to receive this unexpected support, and mustered enough energy to share his story with the traveler. The other man listened intently, smiling all the while, occasionally making soft noises of “mmm”s and “aaah”s. So engrossed in conversation was Bo Yi, that he didn’t even notice the occasional deft movements the stranger made with his free hand, subtly touching various areas of Bo Yi’s body with a small implement which remained expertly concealed. 

Eventually they started to tire, and the stranger invited Bo Yi to lie down on the grass to rest a while. He did so, and instantly fell into a deep, refreshing sleep with pleasant dreams. When he woke again, the man was gone. And so too was his disease! Incredulous, Bo Yi jumped to his feet: his energy had returned, his legs were fit and strong, his mind was sharp and clear. He ran around searching for the stranger, but nowhere could he be found. Amazed and overjoyed, Bo Yi set off whistling down the winding road to Lu. 

And so it was that Bo Yi went back to his good old ways: rising early, resting late, singing songs while he worked in the fields, returning to his wife and children as the evening star shone and the sun spilled its final rays into the sky. Bo Yi was elated to be reconnected with his old self again, and his family and animals and village were elated to have him back. Every now and then he would remember that stranger on the road; but immersed in his old life once more, the memory began to fade, and soon he forgot about him completely. 

Thus it is said: like a gentle breeze or the vanishing footsteps of a sage, the greatest medicine leaves no trace.