In Guilin, Guangxi, Chen Guifang, a scholar who had passed the provincial exams in 1837, was returning from Henan with his uncle when their ship was stalled on Dongting Lake by sudden, fierce headwinds. All around them, other vessels were stranded, including small boats carrying wandering refugees. Many aboard these boats were sick, and some had already succumbed to illness, their lives hanging by a fragile thread.
Chen had brought with him simple remedies — pills of huoxiang and liuhe — which he offered to the sick. To everyone’s astonishment, the medicine worked quickly. Word spread, and soon long lines of the ill came pleading for help. As the supply dwindled, Chen hesitated, uncertain whether he could spare more. At that moment, his uncle gently reminded him: “Medicine is meant to save lives. Wouldn’t it be wrong not to share it?” Moved by these words, Chen gave away every last pill. Dozens survived, saved by an act of simple, unwavering compassion.
The next morning, the wind shifted, and all the ships resumed their journey. But by dusk, near Xiangyin, it reversed again — this time fiercer than before. The great boat rocked violently, tossed high on the waves, and could not reach the shore. The sailors tried everything, yet the storm could not be mastered. Fearing disaster, they sent everyone aboard to shore in a small boat, then fastened two massive cables in a desperate attempt to pull the great vessel to safety. Still, it was helplessly dragged toward the center of the lake.
Just then came a cry: “Quickly, let us save them!” From behind the hills, 70 or 80 men poured forth. They plunged into the lake, gripped the heavy ropes, and with one mighty heave, pulled the boat safely to shore. Astonished, Chen asked who these rescuers were. They replied: “We are the very ones who took your medicine yesterday. Without it, we would not have lived to save you today.” Their small boats had sailed near the shoreline and had arrived earlier. In that moment, Chen understood a profound truth: To save others is, in a very real sense, to save oneself. Heaven itself had arranged this circle of grace.
Justice returned as protection
In Hanyang, today part of Wuhan, there lived an elder named Song, a scholar who had earned his title during the Daoguang era. Upright and incorruptible, he often defended traveling merchants — people who came to trade for modest profits but were frequently harassed by local officials.
One day, in the bustling market, a merchant named Huang from Guangdong was being extorted and faced financial ruin. Song stepped in, restored fairness, and then quietly walked away without even asking Huang’s name. Yet Huang never forgot the generosity and courage he had witnessed that day.
Years later, Song moved to Wuchang, where — by providence — Huang became his next-door neighbor. Soon after, a rebellion erupted. Soldiers stormed the city, and Song sealed his doors and prepared to die with his family rather than face dishonor.
When Huang received word of the danger, he broke through a wall into Song’s home and pleaded: “The soldiers are from Guangdong. I speak their tongue. Let me protect you. If I fail, you may still take your life — but give me this chance.” Together, they built a hidden space between the houses to shelter Song’s family and relatives. Huang stationed one of his men from Guangdong at the gate, keeping watch day and night. For two months, as chaos consumed the city, Song’s family remained untouched. When the rebels finally retreated, Song and his household had been saved. Later, Song’s son passed the examinations, became a county magistrate in Shanxi, and served with integrity.
Summary
These two tales whisper the same eternal teaching: compassion is never wasted; justice plants seeds that blossom into protection. When we lift others from peril, unseen hands may one day lift us. To save a life is to safeguard our own destiny, for Heaven remembers every act of mercy.
Translated by Katy Liu and edited by Tatiana Denning
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