Bidding Farewell to Five Years of a Comfortable Study

Heaven has always treated me kindly; it let me live five very comfortable years. For the past five years I have had a separate study. Although the study was rented, I nevertheless kept it thriving and spotless. Walking into this study was like stepping into another world; it shut the dusty world outside.

I grew many green plants in the study; they made my study as quiet as a deep mountain forest, yet full of life. Four bookcases were filled with all kinds of books, and those books filled my life with pleasure. I also had a seven-string qin zither, which I could play from time to time. The qin has no resentful notes; music teaches harmony. Amid this austere, antique music, all the unhappiness of life vanished without a trace.

Although I am not a Buddhist, I have read many Buddhist scriptures, and can recite some of them by the passage. So the Buddha is to me like a kind teacher and friend. In my study I placed some Buddhist ornaments; I also bought a singing bowl and a qing (gong) as used in temples. When I grew tired from study or work, I would strike the singing bowl and the qing. The bowl’s tone is melodious, the qing’s tone crisp and pleasant, like morning bells and evening drums, making the mind as empty and clean as washed. Listening quietly to the bowl and qing, facing the Buddha image, and silently reciting a few more passages of scripture in my heart, the greatest waves can be calmed.

But now, because of the impact of the pandemic, my income cannot support such large expenses, and I have had to close this study. I spent a full five years here; most days of the past five years I spent here—reading, teaching, writing and working. Now that I must give up the lease and leave it, my heart is very reluctant. Before leaving I took many photographs as a keepsake.

I do not know whether in this life I will ever again have such an independent space in which to devote myself to research. These past few days I have thrown away many idle things at home, only to make room to move all my books back. The small fifty-square-meter home where my family of three lives will once again be stuffed full of my books. Fortunately I am a person who, with books, wants for nothing; without this study, finding a corner at home in which to put a desk, I can still, without distraction, continue reading and writing.

With the Buddha accompanying me, I will never feel lonely at any time. It is just that, about to leave this spiritual home, I am truly reluctant to part with it. The Buddha "did not sleep under the same tree for three nights", for fear that staying too long would breed attachment to that nest beneath the tree—attachment indeed. It seems there was good reason for that.

"What should a human life resemble wherever it goes? It should resemble a lone swan’s footprint on snowy mud. On the mud it accidentally leaves its claw print; the swan flies on—how could it care whether east or west?" This cloud-like heart of the lone swan is not easy for a person to cultivate. As one sentient being among others, I am indeed somewhat unable to let go of the study where I spent five years. But to save expenses, I have nevertheless reluctantly let it go. From now on, just as the elderly Mr. Zhou Youguang said, "having books but no study", I will carve out a corner at home and continue reading and writing.

Over the past year or more, because the pandemic has cut off visits, the number of visitors has dropped sharply; the number of patients, however, has only increased, except that consultations and follow-ups have moved online. So the value of this study has diminished; giving up the lease can ease my financial pressure, and also that of my patients—after all, the rent for the study was supported by their service fees.

Hit by the pandemic, most patients’ family incomes are poor, so over these two years I have waived fees for many patients; for some old patients who are utterly destitute, I have done my best to help them obtain medicines. Having the art of saving lives but not the heart for saving lives cannot save patients.

My medical skill is limited, and I cannot guarantee that treatment will be effective for every patient; but now and then I can treat a few patients fairly well. If, because of financial problems, they cannot continue treatment, that is as good as letting them die when I could have saved them. The study rent was five or six thousand a month; by cutting this expense, I can always help a few more patients. Buddhism says that saving one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda; a mere study, compared with a human life, is insignificant.

Some readers, on learning I was giving up the study, felt it a great pity, and even offered to pay to help me rent it; I politely declined. One more study would certainly make work and life more comfortable and more poetic, but I believe that without it the impact will not be great. A person like me who loves life will, before long, have tidied up the corner at home set aside as a study, filling it with life. I can still, as before, read, write, play the qin, plant flowers and grass, and continue helping patients online. I will also leave a small space for my Buddhist ornaments, from time to time striking the singing bowl and the qing, quietly talking with the Buddha by myself—even though the space my family allows me at home will no longer be as roomy as before.

At my age, one pursues the outer world less and less. I once visited Li Shizhen’s hometown; his home was only dozens of li from mine. Li Shizhen lived by a lake; the lake beside his home was called Yu Lake. Yu Lake is so large it cannot be seen across; I have walked along its shore. Li Shizhen took the name Binhu ("lakeshore"), and his pulse study was titled Binghu Maixue; both names relate to this lake. Li Shizhen did not settle down to writing until after the age of forty; devoting the rest of his life’s energy, he finally completed the great work Bencao Gangmu.

Having such a sage from one’s own hometown is like a bright lamp guiding me forward. In this life I can hardly hope to follow in Li Shizhen’s footsteps; but after passing forty, I too have calmed down, and wish to quietly do research and complete some writings. During his lifetime, when Li Shizhen grew tired from reading and writing, he must often have walked by Yu Lake; Yu Lake was his spiritual home. My spiritual home, by contrast, is within a few li of my house; I no longer have any desire to rush about in the rest of my life, and only wish to do research at home and complete some writings.

Spring blooms and autumn bears fruit. If life is divided into four seasons, my present age belongs to early autumn. I once blossomed as colorfully as spring flowers, and flourished as luxuriantly as summer growth; now, like the branches of autumn, it is time to gradually bear some fruit.

In addition, during this period many readers have sent me messages, hoping I will continue, as in the past, to now and then write articles on subjects beyond medicine, because they have found peace in those articles. Considering that many of my readers are cancer patients with terminal illness who truly need spiritual support, I will continue this kind of writing in the future. It is only that, because my energy is limited, most of my efforts will now go into reading medical literature and writing medical articles; I hope readers will forgive me.

Many people also want me to offer online courses or make videos teaching medicine. I am very grateful for the trust of my readers, but I am sorry to say that my speaking ability falls far short of my writing; oral expression is not my strength, so I must play to my strengths and avoid my weaknesses. Besides, I have no wish to add too many more elements to my life; I only want to make life simpler and simpler, and to be able to focus more and more on research and writing. My family and my beloved also do not have high expectations of me; as long as food and clothing are secure, they ask no more. So let me continue my clinical research and medical popularization in the way I like!