Tales of Moxibustion in Extraordinary Times
I’ve finally found a quiet moment to share my moxibustion journey during this extraordinary period. Even now, as I write, I’m gently warming my abdomen—my skin feels tender from the detox reaction, but each puff of heat reminds me I’m on the path to healing.
I consider myself fortunate to have discovered moxibustion. Although I’m only in my thirties, I’ve battled chronic illness for years. A few years ago, I was a frequent hospital visitor—catching colds so often that no medicine seemed effective. As soon as my respiratory symptoms cleared, I’d develop a stomach bug and suffer dehydration from relentless diarrhea. Then one day, my right leg simply gave out. After a dozen doctor visits and no fracture to explain the agony, I felt abandoned. Sitting on a cold waiting-room bench, I wept, too exhausted to schedule more CT scans. Only later did I learn that my gallbladder meridian on the right side was blocked—I had ignored my body’s warnings. My strength drained away, and depression set in. Desperate to feel alive, I threw myself into work, even as my body protested.
When the Spring Festival arrived this year—and the epidemic froze all my commitments—I finally had time to explore moxibustion properly. Until then, I’d only done brief sessions that eased my menstrual cramps, but I hadn’t committed to sustained treatment. When my company insisted we work through New Year’s Eve, I panicked: my fragile body couldn’t withstand another illness. So I resolved to moxa every day. In the past, two mild colds had been so easily tamed by warming my Dazhui point that I never needed medicine. Armed with that confidence, I clung to moxibustion like a lifeline.
Volunteering in the freezing wind was brutal. Even layered in the thickest clothes, I returned home with a splitting headache. Recording projects paused as I devoted evenings to moxa. With nothing else to do, I hopped between livestreams—learning here and there—but only when work stalled could I settle deeply into JubuTang’s channel.
Ye Jie’s sincerity and warmth won me over immediately. I once teased her about the cost of her moxa rolls, and she reacted with such genuine surprise I couldn’t help but laugh—it was endearing. When I confided my dread of volunteering in bitter cold, she encouraged me: “It’s more blessed to give than to receive.” Those words rang true, and I stayed, absorbing every lesson in the livestream.
Meeting Ye Jie feels like a blessing sent at just the right time—for both my mother and me. During this special period, I haven’t caught a single cold. I follow her guidance faithfully, even enduring the sharp sting of neck-scraping Gua Sha because I know relief follows. What once felt like a 200-pound burden—insomnia, loss of appetite, chronic fatigue—has lightened daily. Moxibustion and cupping along my shoulders and neck have worked wonders: each morning I wake with more ease and a brighter spirit. I’m learning to recognize my body’s alarm signals and clear its blockages.
My mother, too, suffered from leg pain so severe she could barely walk. Every day, I moxibusted and cupped her legs—so much dampness and phlegm surfaced that blisters formed, which we gently pricked and re-cup. Each morning I’d ask, “How do you feel?” Her joyful response—“So much better!”—filled me with relief. As someone with a damp-phlegm constitution, she now welcomes the brief discomfort as the precursor to deep healing. Through these sessions, our relationship has blossomed. While I once immersed myself in work to pay off loans, ignoring family bonds, we now laugh together again—she even jokes, “You’re my greatest treasure!”
This is but a glimpse of my moxibustion story in these unusual times. Moxibustion has truly brought love and restoration into our home. Thanks to Ye Jie’s generous guidance, my mother and I are steadily rebuilding our health. Her honesty and warmth have rekindled my hope, and even now, as I write, I’ve been signed as an exclusive livestream host—an opportunity I never imagined. Health is everything, and I’m grateful for this journey.
To be continued…
