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From the transformation of Qi, one can reach the standard of Lu; from the transformation of Lu, one can reach the Dao (the Way). The rise and fall of the Dao are determined by nothing other than the changes in customs and morals. Only a person who is thoroughly versed in principles can weigh circumstances and adapt to changes, thereby remedying the defects of social customs.

As for the medical profession, its transformations have occurred twice and thrice; how could it be just once? I was born in the Ding-Si year of the Wanli era (1617). At that time, although worldly morals were declining, the ancient righteous path had not yet vanished. Practitioners of this art each specialized in their own fields and did not mix indiscriminately in practice. In the Jia-Shen year (1644), world events changed drastically, and the common people fled and scattered. Amidst displacement and hardship, patients sought medical help without choosing their doctors, and physicians attended cases as they arose. This marked the first transformation of the medical profession, beginning from this point.

At that time, remnants of war fires still lingered. I took refuge in the ruins associated with Lingwei Zhangren (a metaphorical reference to a hermitage or place of cultivation), passing the years relying on books regarding medicine and horticulture. For over ten years, I drifted along, my body bound like a gourd, finding only solace in writing books for self-entertainment. In the Ji-Hai year (1659), I returned to my hometown. From my chest, I compiled a collection of medical formulas. Since renowned physicians gathered there, the content largely adhered to established standards. Among them were various chapters passed down from antiquity, many of which failed to fully elucidate their meanings. I sequentially replaced these with refined expressions from later generations.

Once the draft was completed, colleagues urged me to have it printed. Feeling that much remained unsatisfactory and unfit for public display, I initially published only two treatises, *Zanshu of Shanghan* (Continuation of Treatise on Cold Damage), which received considerable approval from scholars across the realm. Since the Ren-Yin year (1662), eminent figures from the Confucian scholarly community began to lower themselves to study medicine. Enthusiasts within the medical community gradually established connections and mutual support, leading to widespread fame. Consequently, the medical ethos flourished, and nearly every household had a physician. This constituted the second transformation of the medical profession.

Alas, I am inherently narrow-minded and cannot shift with the times. Aside from responding to opportunities and interacting with things, I often felt as if I were conversing with the Sages in the same hall, receiving their direct guidance. Over the past years, my brushes have worn down half a bed, and the manuscript has undergone ten revisions. Unfortunately, my fate was ill-starred. Previously, while traveling to Sichuan at the invitation of Lord Geng Xiaobo, I lost the section on ophthalmology. Earlier, my nephew-in-law Gu Huiji had borrowed a volume on smallpox and measles, never returning it, so it became lost. Realizing that opportunities were not favorable, I placed the fragmented manuscripts on a high shelf, losing any desire to publish them.

Recently, I have heard that practitioners hanging the pot (physicians) and women practicing medicine behind curtains mutually refine the art of constant virtue. This aligns with the teachings of the Sage’s school and does not diminish the virtue of Yan and Huang. The third transformation of the medical profession is not merely starting now. Since my youth, when I set my mind to learning, I have focused on this art. Now, as I look towards my twilight years, having witnessed many historical changes, I often reflect that things grow old when they are strong, and prosperity inevitably declines. To remedy the defects of customs, how could I shirk the responsibility of editing and compiling? Therefore, I reviewed my previously written words from the beginning. I instructed my son Zhuo to supplement the section on ophthalmology, and my son Rou to incorporate the transmission of knowledge on smallpox and measles, thus completing the entire work. I changed the title to include "Tong" (Comprehensive/Unimpeded) and marked it on the label.

Before the book was finished, a guest happened to visit. Opening the box casually, he said to me, "Han Shi's *Yitong* (Medical Compendium) has been famous for a long time. Now you also name your work with this title. Do you not worry about confusion between name and substance?" I replied, "Not so. I have heard that Yuan Zhen's collected works are named *Changqing*, and Bai Juyi's collected works are also named *Changqing*. The two collections stand side by side, and later generations have never confused their substances because of their names. Why must one be so拘拘 (pedantic/constrained) about this?" The guest smiled and withdrew. Thus, the title *Yitong* was finalized. As for the techniques involved in these three transformations, and the methods beyond conventional rules, these cannot be described by words.

In the last month of summer in the Yi-Hai year of the Kangxi era (1719), Shiwang Zhang Lu, aged seventy-nine.