Library

Is the Way of Medicine something that can be spoken of lightly? In the Confucian school, it is called a "minor art" (Xiao Dao); in the eyes of historians, it belongs to "technical skills" (Fang Ji). However, what is meant by "minor art" is merely small compared to the "Great Learning" (Da Xue)—the way of positioning heaven and earth and nurturing all things. The sages established it in the past, and the virtuous and wise expounded it afterwards. Since the Tang Dynasty, this Way has gradually declined. One cannot enter this realm unless one possesses true essence and spiritual profundity. Why is it that historical records show only a few individuals per generation? Figures such as Cang Gong (Chunyu Yi), Bian Que, and Hua Yuanhua (Hua Tuo) are even more rare, with no successive generations rising specifically. Jiang Genting said: "Confucius, being sage and universally competent, how could he not know medicine?" When Confucius held Zi Lu's hand through the window to take his pulse, yet when Confucius taught people to master the Six Arts, the "Master's Pulse Manual" mentioned in the commentary on the *Book of Rites* was never heard to have been transmitted to anyone. Was it truly because he despised technical skills? No, it was due to his caution.

I recall that in my childhood, I mistakenly took *Ephedrae Herba* (Mahuang, 麻黄) for Spring-Warmth disease, causing panic throughout my household. Later, in the Bingchen year of the Xianfeng era, having purchased the qualification of Vice-Chariot to become a Principal Secretary in the Ministry of Justice, I stayed in the capital. Suffering from cold-dysentery, I was wrongly treated by a physician who administered cooling agents. Subsequent physicians did the same, and critical conditions appeared repeatedly. Fortunately, a friend examined the prescriptions, identified the previous errors, and saved me, allowing me to remain safe. From then on, I began to resolve to study medicine. I frequently visited bookshops to purchase texts, placing them on my desk to read morning and night. Even when extremely exhausted, I hoped for divine revelation, ceasing only upon complete comprehension. Over time, I began treating others, occasionally succeeding by luck and stealing empty reputations. However, after changing office to County Magistrate in the Jiazi year, where I governed Jin-Qi and Wan-Shu—areas at major thoroughfares with continuous official duties—and without employing any gatekeepers, I personally handled every matter, large or small. Medical books were shelved away for eighteen years. When transferred to Xuyi in the Renwu year, believing myself lacking talent for complex administration, I immediately requested leave upon receiving the appointment and returned home. Hiding behind a humble door, with nothing to pass the days, I resumed studying various classics, deepening my research. I sighed and said: "My previous understanding of medicine was that of an outsider; now perhaps I may be considered to have entered the door."

The path of learning consists of nothing but "acquiring knowledge" (Zhi Zhi) and "practicing earnestly" (Li Xing); why should medicine be different? Books for acquiring knowledge, such as the *Suwen*, *Lingshu*, and *Shennong Bencao Jing*, are already profound. Yet the *Shanghan Lun* and *Jingui Yaolue* are works of practice written by Master Zhang Zhongjing based on acquired knowledge, encompassing the contents of the *Lingshu*, *Suwen*, and *Bencao Jing*. If scholars can immerse themselves in these texts with sincere devotion over years, they can indeed extend their understanding and apply it infinitely, though this is easier said than done. People know that distinguishing syndromes (Bian Zheng) is harder than distinguishing herbs; who knows that half the ineffectiveness of prescriptions stems from not recognizing syndromes, and the other half from not recognizing herbs? Even if the syndrome is recognized, inappropriate medication not only fails to work but also causes harm. I privately wonder why, among the dozens of commentaries on Master Zhongjing's works throughout history, few provide precise and clear explanations of formulas. The reason lies in the fact that the study of Materia Medica has rarely been deeply sought. Recognizing Materia Medica thus leads to viewing formula principles similarly. This distances one from the subtle purport of ancient physicians' treatment according to syndromes by thousands of miles. Reading Master Zhongjing's books without first distinguishing Materia Medica is like sailing in a dry canal and hoping to reach the sea.

Distinguishing Materia Medica is the foundation of medicine and the ultimate goal of acquiring knowledge. The Sages placed "clear discrimination" after "study, inquiry, and reflection," and its merit is certainly not easily achieved. How can someone as shallow and inferior as I discuss this? Nevertheless, striving to follow in the footsteps of the ancients, does joy not preclude fatigue? The light of holding a candle adds yearly. Since the spring of Wuxu, when *Six Qi Sensation Evidence Essentials* was printed, whenever I had insights into herb usage, I verified them through formulas; whenever I had insights into formula principles, I corroborated them with herbs. I do not stop until clarity is achieved, exhausting my talents. Now, six cycles of winter coats and summer clothes have passed. Reviewing my writings, I have collected 128 herbs. Tentatively arranging them according to the outline of the *Bencao Gangmu*, I have divided them into four volumes. Generally relying on the two books of Master Zhongjing, occasionally attaching other theories and herbs, these are random notes without strict format. I am old, facing difficult times, thinking of how many scholars have erred; only by inheriting the family craft can continuity be maintained. Thus, I ordered my grandson Zhi Jun to copy and submit for printing, to transmit to future generations and present to the world. If it involves judging figures to distinguish myself, that is the old habit of medical artisans, which I dare not imitate.

In the fourth month of summer, Jiachen year of the Guangxu 30th year, Zhou Yan, known as Lushan Mountain Man, wrote this preface in Weishang Studio, aged seventy-three.