Master Bao and the Poisoned Boy

When to help and when to wait on the Will of Heaven

A story from the Tang Dynasty (618–907 CE)

Master Bao rode his great ox, Xi, along a road that ran through a burned over forest. His pupil, Ping, walked alongside.

“This providence of Jiannan has suffered a long drought, Ping. The trees became dry and a fire last year burned this large area. Many people and animals perished in the blaze.”

Ping sniffed, smelling charred wood. “Many trees and plants died, also.”

The monk smiled at his pupil’s awareness of all life, and the universality of suffering.

Soon, the travelers reached the village of Pang Li, spared from the fire by the river Que that ran between the town and the forest. “Ahead is the Inn of Forever Light, Ping. We’ll see if they have a room available.”

Before they reached the inn, however, they became aware of a group of villagers gathered at the door of a hovel, speaking quietly among themselves.

“There is a monk,” one of the men on the edge of the crowd shouted. “Perhaps he can save little Meng Kee.”

Master Bao dismounted. “What is the trouble?”

Just then the door flew open and a woman, crying uncontrollably, rushed out. “Oh, Master Monk. You must save my son,” she said, sobbing. “He is dying. He ate poison berries from a plant along the river.”

The woman tugged Master Bao’s sleeve, pulling him into her hovel. After handing the reins of Xi to one of the villagers, Ping followed. A man with a short beard, dressed in the leather apron of a craftsman, sat on a mat next to a fireplace where a single-log fire burned. He held a small boy on his lap who appeared to be sleeping. Tears, glistening in the firelight, ran down the man’s face.

The monk examined the boy and saw purple spots covering his face and chest. He noted that the boy was breathing shallowly, his limbs slack.

“Place the child on his back on the table, Craftsman,” Master Bao said. “Ping, go to the well and get a fresh pot of water, and get my pouch from Xi. Then, this kind woman will boil the water.”

When the child was lying on the table, Master Bao, starting at the his head, made a motion with two fingers as if chopping the air above the boy. He then worked his way down the child’s body, finishing just after Ping returned. Then, the monk moved his open hands back and fourth above the boy.

“Ping, watch closely to what I am doing. The poison blocked his Qi channels, so I first broke up the blocks. Now I’m pouring Qi into him.”

“Are you using your own Qi, Master?”

“I am but a tube, like a bamboo shoot. The Qi is from the Universe, running through me. I’m merely directing its power.”

Within minutes, the boy’s spots began to disappear. Then, he opened his eyes. His mother and father, crying out with joy, attracted the villagers who poured into the house and surrounded the family.

“Here are some tea leaves, my good woman,” the monk said. He took a small package from his pouch. “Let your son rest, but give him a cup of tea twice today. That will complete his healing.”

The mother and father dropped to their knees and knocked their foreheads on the floor three times, wailing their gratitude, tears streaming down their faces. “Our little Kee is all we have, and we thought we had lost him.”

The rest of the villagers also kneeled in front of the monk.

“There is no need to kneel,” Master Bao said, “I’m just a poor monk, not an official of the Dragon Throne.”

After they left the home, the travelers walked to the inn, leading Xi. “There is a stable behind the inn, Ping. We’ll get Xi settled down, then register at the inn.

“It will then be time for our evening rice, and my nose tells me this inn has a fine restaurant.”

While they were rubbing down Xi, Ping said, with a deep bow, “Life and death are both in the flow of the Dao, Master. Yet, you saved the life of that sick child. How do we know when to act and when to await on the Will of Heaven?”

“Ah, Ping. As followers of The Way, we must do our best to relieve pain. We must be kind, caring and, when able, bring our knowledge of healing to those who suffer. The Dao, being the flow of all nature and therefore life, demands we help.

“Tomorrow, we will check on the boy, Student Ping, but right now, the scent of spiced rice calls to us.”

This story is an original draft. Never published anywhere before.