The Illness Communicator: Yu's Reincarnation Story (Part 2)
Continued from "The Illness Communicator: Yu's Reincarnation Story (Part 1)"
Here is a story.
One day, an illness communicator (one of Yu Menglong's secondary souls) and his disciple were invited by a great household to examine the master of the house.
This patient was a wealthy gentleman who, in ordinary times, treated people with kindness, often giving alms to the poor and destitute, building bridges and paving roads. The neighborhood all called him "the great benefactor."
But several months earlier, the gentleman had inexplicably fallen ill overnight, and from that illness he could not rise.
Soon, festering ulcers grew one after another upon his body, putrefying and giving off a foul stench. The dreadful odor caused the personal attendants nursing him to cry out in misery without end.
The illness communicator entered the stage of communication. He said that no more than four persons could remain in this room: the patient, the cultivator, the disciple, and the patient's family (spouse and children).
The meditating cultivator quickly entered the state of ding. To enter ding means that one's whole being attains the realm of no-thought, no-form, and no-self. At this moment, wisdom opens fully, and the Law-power of the deities flows in through the crown of the head.
Just then, the cultivator's whole body emitted a golden radiance, leaving all those present struck dumb!
Next, from the patient's body there emerged a weeping woman holding an infant in her arms, her whole form giving off black vapor—and the family was struck with terror!
The communicator inquired of the woman as to the cause and the consequence. The disciple's brush, held at the ready, never paused either, emitting a steady "shua, shua, shua" sound of transcription.
It turned out that this patient had married the daughter of a wealthy household to obtain vast resources, and combined with success in commerce, had grown rich.
But before he had married this wealthy young lady, this man had already been a husband to another wife, and the two of them had a child together—the very infant in her arms.
The family member at the side, the gentleman's wife, was furious. She rushed forward in her agitation, trying to refute these words, only to be intercepted by the disciple.
The disciple led the gentleman's wife out of the room, asking her not to make any sound that might disturb the communication—for if the communication were interrupted at this moment, the patient's life would be in danger.
The gentleman's wife indicated that she would make no further sound, and the two of them returned again to the room.
"You lie! If you do not confess the truth, I will use my Law-power to beat you back into your original form!"
A person who fails to guard against lust, and who even goes so far as to abandon wife and child, falls ill in most cases in the form of feng disease (cerebrovascular obstruction).
In severe cases of feng disease, this leads to pian ku (hemiplegia), but it does not manifest itself through festering ulcers.
The woman was thrown into a panic! She knew that what this cultivator said was true—that there truly was a deity behind him, infusing him with surpassing Law-power.
In an instant, she transformed, becoming a white doe, and the infant in her arms became a fawn. Then, from each and every ulcer there sprang forth a deer—stags and does, large and small.
At last the cultivator understood the cause. The gentleman, although he treated people with kindness, was fond of going up into the mountains to hunt.
In the beginning, he would shoot only such game as he and his household intended to enjoy that day, and so the animals of the mountains had no fear that their lives were in constant danger.
But one day, a great many wild deer arrived in the mountains, encroaching upon the living space of the other animals.
When the gentleman and his attendants came up the mountain to hunt, they found the place was full of deer, and they could not catch the animals they wished to eat.
Enraged, his murderous intent rose up in him. He commanded his attendants to bring bows and arrows, and slew a great many of the wild deer—among them this white doe and her fawn.
In truth, the herd of deer was only sojourning in that place for a time.
They could communicate with the other animals of the mountain, and if they had truly been encroaching upon another's living space, the herd would have moved on of itself.
The white doe was the leader of the herd, and they were already preparing to depart, which was why she had assembled all the deer together.
She had never imagined that this disaster would come to pass.
The cultivator asked the white doe: if there was a grievance, she had only to speak it; why should she lie to him?
The white doe said that the herd had been wantonly slaughtered, innocent of any wrong, and that her heart was filled with such bitter resentment that she did not wish for the patient to receive proper treatment.
And so she had caused the physicians to misdiagnose, so that they could never find the true cause of the illness.
The cultivator concluded the communication. The disciple handed the record of the proceedings to the patient's wife, and told the gentleman that he must reflect deeply upon his transgressions, repent his sins from the heart, and conduct rites to deliver the souls of the slain deer. The gentleman, with tears in his eyes, agreed.
The gentleman's wife wished to bestow wealth upon them, asking them to stay long, offering to entertain them with fine food and wine—and all of these the cultivator declined.
He laughed and said that the next time they returned, he would only ask her for two bowls of plain rice. The words had scarcely left his mouth when master and disciple were already striding swiftly away into the distance.
A year later, the cultivator and his disciple, returning from their itinerant practice, passed by the gentleman's home. The gentleman was now able to walk about with the support of a cane, and with a face full of smiles he received them in welcome.
The cultivator and his disciple did indeed ask for nothing more than two bowls of plain white rice. Then, each holding a bowl in his hands, they departed like the wind.