In the West, stories tell of Hippocrates, the "Father of Medicine," who treated patients with calm reason and gentle care, believing that healing began with understanding nature itself. In China, during the late Eastern Han Dynasty, a man of equal brilliance walked the same path — though his wisdom would cost him dearly. His name was Hua Tuo, and his hands worked miracles where others saw only fate.
Eastern Han Dynasty, around 200 CE
The warlords of China tore the land apart, and with every battle came the wounded — soldiers groaning in pain, peasants struck by disease, the air thick with despair.Yet in a small thatched house outside Xu Province, a single oil lamp still glowed long after midnight.There, Hua Tuo sat, preparing his medicines — a blend of herbs, steel, and quiet faith.
One night, a messenger arrived from the camp of the mighty general Guan Yu, whose arm had been pierced by a poisoned arrow.When Hua Tuo entered the tent, he found the general sitting upright, calm but pale."I can endure pain," Guan Yu said, "but the poison must be removed. Do what you must."
Hua Tuo nodded. Without hesitation, he prepared his knife, the faint scent of anesthetic herbs drifting through the tent.Outside, drums rolled; soldiers whispered.Then steel met flesh.
As Hua Tuo cut to the bone, scraping away the poison, Guan Yu played chess with his other hand — his face serene, his gaze steady.Not a tremor, not a cry.When it was done, Hua Tuo bowed deeply."You have the heart of a sage," he said. "Few men can conquer pain as you have."
But beyond that tent, whispers spread.A healer who could cut into the body and bring life again — surely he held the power of spirits.In an age ruled by superstition and fear, such brilliance became dangerous.
Later, when the warlord Cao Cao summoned Hua Tuo to treat his chronic headaches, the physician arrived reluctantly.Cao Cao demanded a cure; Hua Tuo advised patience and rest.When the pain persisted, Hua Tuo suggested surgery — to open the skull and release the pressure.
Cao Cao recoiled."Sorcery!" he shouted. "You mean to kill me!"
Hua Tuo was thrown into prison. There, deprived of herbs and tools, he continued to write down his medical knowledge on scraps of cloth.Before he could finish, the guards destroyed his notes.When he died, a lifetime of healing vanished with him —a candle extinguished before dawn.
Years later, travelers still spoke of the healer who treated both body and spirit with fearless compassion. Yet not all who pondered life sought to mend its wounds. Some turned instead to words — to poetry and song —using rhythm and emotion to cure what medicine could not. Among them was Liu Yong, a poet who listened not to pulses or pain,but to the sighs of the human heart.