Yang Jilao, the famous physician of Yangzhou, had a great reputation for his art.
A scholar of the same prefecture — who looked as though something were wrong with him, listless, taking no pleasure in anything, and nobody able to say what manner of ailment it was — went to consult him.
“Your heat-syndrome is at its extreme,” said Yang. “Your qi and your blood are burnt away and all but exhausted. Within three years of this you will die of a tumour on the back. Nothing can be done.”
The scholar went away unhappy.
Then he heard it said among his acquaintance that there was a Taoist at the temple on Maoshan who was inspired in medicine — but that he would not have his skill spoken of, and could not be relied upon to bestir himself for anybody.
The scholar’s mind was set on this with a kind of desperation. He put on the clothes of a serving-boy, went up the mountain, and bowed to the Taoist, asking only that he might be allowed to carry water and firewood at his feet. The Taoist was pleased, and kept him among his disciples, teaching him to read the scriptures. Morning and evening he waited on him, answering to a movement of the chin.
After two whole months the Taoist noticed he was not like the ordinary servants, called him in, and asked where he came from. Then at last the scholar bowed twice, apologised for the deception, and told him the truth of it.
The Taoist laughed.
“Since when,” he said, “was there a disease in the world that cannot be cured? Let me see your pulse.”
He examined it, and laughed again.
“You may go back down the mountain. I have no medicine for you either. But buy one good pear every day. When the fresh pears are finished, take dried ones, steep them in hot water and drink it — and eat the dregs as well. This illness will settle of itself.”
The scholar went home and followed the instruction exactly.
A year later he went again to Yangzhou. When the physician Yang saw him he was astonished at the fullness and bloom of his face and at a pulse that was quiet and even.
“You must have met an extraordinary man,” he said. “Otherwise how could there be any question of your being cured?”
The scholar told him. Yang at once put on his cap and gown, lit incense, and bowed towards Maoshan — for he blamed himself that his learning had not gone far enough.
The Bei Meng Suoyan records that a certain courtier was dangerously ill, and the physician Zhao E said: “There is only one way. Eat good pears constantly, as many as you like; if you cannot get them chewed, twist out the juice and drink it, and there may be one chance in ten thousand.” He followed the advice and recovered. The idea is exactly the same.
