Story of Selfheal

There was once an old woman who contracted scrofula (a chronic tubercular swelling of the lymph glands in the neck). Her son was extremely worried. One day, a herbal doctor came to the village and was asked to examine the old woman. . "I wonder if the herb I need to cure this illness grows in the mountains hereabout? I'll go and look. "

The herbalist brought back a wild herb with purple flowers.  He cut off the blossoms and used them to make a decoction, which he gave the old woman to drink.  In a few days, the pus was completely gone from her sores.  The old woman earnestly invited the herbalist to stay in her house.  Under the herbalist's influence, the woman's son became interested in medicinal herbs.

After a year, tile herbalist wanted to return home.  "I've impinged on your hospitality for so long, I want to do something to show my gratitude. . . . "  "Not at all! You saved my mother's life; it's we who should thank you. "  "As a token of my thanks, I will teach you something useful. " The herbalist led the woman's son up a mountain.  He pulled a wild herb with long oval leaves and purple flowers.   "This herb is a special cure for scrofula, but never forget that once the autumn winds begin to blow, it withers. "

Two months had passed since the herbalist left for home, and the summer was drawing to a close.  Just at that time the mother of the county magistrate contracted scrofula. The magistrate had notices posted everywhere searching for a doctor who could cure the disease.  The old woman's son immediately went to see the magistrate.  "Your honor, I know of a herb which is very effective. "  The son led the way up the mountain, but the herb was nowhere to be seen.  The magistrate accused the unfortunate son of fraud, and had him punished with 50 strokes of the bamboo stave.

Summer came around again, and one day the herbalist suddenly came to visit. The son told him how he had been punished when he could not find the herb.  The two went up the mountain. The purple-flowered herb was blooming everywhere.  "That's odd! Now that you've come back, the herb has reappeared. . . . "  "Didn't I tell you to not to forget? This herb withers as soon as summer is over. If you want to pick it, you have to pick it now. "  "Oh! It's my own fault I got those 50 strokes. I didn't remember what you told me."  So I won't forget again, I'll call the herb xia-ku-cao ( it means the herb withers in summer).