The root cause of most diseases in the human body comes from an individual's habits.
Habits of thought and habits of daily life.
I wonder if you have heard of those people who, after being diagnosed with a terminal illness, saw through the vanity of the mortal world and embarked on cultivation.
After they began cultivating themselves, their illnesses gradually healed or stopped spreading, thereby extending their lives.
At the root of it all, they changed their own perceptions and daily routines.
Let me use my own experience as an example.
In December 2019, an accident tore three ligaments in my right leg, shattered one meniscus which had to be removed, and left permanent steel plates and screws in my bone.
Back in my hometown, this counted as the most serious surgery in history.
Since the local doctors did not have such extensive surgical experience, my family invited the director of an orthopedic hospital in a certain province to be my attending physician.
After the surgery, I asked whether I could still recover completely and bounce around as energetically as I had before.
But to my utter surprise, after hearing the specialist's answer, I was struck like lightning and plunged into despair.
The conversation went like this:
"Doctor, will I still be able to exercise in the future?"
"Exercise? What kind of exercise?"
"Like running and stuff."
"That definitely won't be possible! Your injury is far too serious. You definitely can't do those things anymore, though normal walking won't be a problem."
"What? I can only walk normally?"
"That's right. Do you realize how serious this is? I originally thought you had only torn two ligaments, which would have been somewhat better. But you tore three. At first, I wanted to take ligaments from your injured leg, but there weren't enough, so we had to take them all from your good leg. Tell me, isn't that serious?
"And one of your menisci was shattered and removed. Didn't I show you? That meniscus is like a car's shock absorber. Without it, you definitely can't be like you were before."
"Fuck, doesn't that make me useless? How is that any different from being disabled?"
"No difference. You are disabled. Even with the best possible recovery, your leg will only be able to bend to ninety degrees. Any more than that will be difficult. Walking definitely won't be affected, but climbing stairs, going up tall buildings, hiking, and things like that will definitely be impossible. And you can't do overly strenuous work."
After hearing that, my heart shattered completely. I was finished. If I could only walk for the rest of my life, then what the hell was the point of living?
Throughout my recovery, I was deeply depressed. I even had thoughts of ending my life.
I felt that from that moment on, my life no longer had any meaning. I had once been extremely confident and physically strong enough to do dozens of squats in one breath while carrying someone on my back.
I felt as if my sky had collapsed. I would never be able to do anything again. I was a damn gorilla that couldn't even be called a gorilla—completely useless.
Until one day, my blood suddenly surged, and that unyielding will to refuse defeat rose again.
Everyone died sooner or later. I would leave sooner or later. What difference was there between leaving early and leaving late?
Then why shouldn't I leave later? What if I could recover? What if I got better?
Besides, just because he said I couldn't recover meant I couldn't recover? I didn't believe it. I believed I could get better, and get very, very well.
I might not recover completely to exactly how I was before, but it definitely wouldn't be far off. Because I wasn't ordinary. Just because ordinary people couldn't recover didn't mean I couldn't.
I would definitely recover. I was so damn awesome. I had been awesome since I was little—what couldn't I do?
That's right! I could definitely do it. Besides, I still had decades left to live. How would I know I couldn't make it if I didn't give it a shot?
I had to leave sooner or later anyway, so I would fucking wait a little longer. Even if I only recovered right before leaving, I would still be damn awesome.
Besides, I felt it wouldn't take that long. Three years at most. I would definitely recover well enough to run and jump. I could definitely do it.
After thinking this through, I began deliberately training myself. I was rather lazy and did not like getting up to practice. Since my leg had already become unable to bend, getting up to exercise felt extremely awkward. So I tied an eight-pound sandbag to my leg and did not take it off even while sleeping, all to train my leg strength.
During the day, I would rest my injured leg on my good leg and swing it around, using the weight of the sandbag to press the injured leg downward.
My idea was simple: as long as it could help train my leg to bend again and regain strength, it was enough. I did not remove it when sleeping because I believed that while asleep, I would instinctively turn over. With an eight-pound sandbag attached, it would still train me without my knowing it.
Just over two months after the injury, I was already able to get out of bed and walk, though anyone who looked closely could still clearly see that I had difficulty walking.
At that time, I got in touch with some friends. They were making short videos then, going everywhere every day to film skits.
Using the excuse of going out to have fun with them, I went everywhere with them. My purpose was to train myself by walking around more.
Or rather, if you asked me to wander around at home alone, I really fucking wouldn't want to walk. I was too lazy. But when I went out to have fun and walk around with a whole group of people, I would not refuse to walk.
Three months later, no one could tell from my appearance alone that I had suffered such a serious injury, as long as I was merely walking.
And at that time, I rather liked drinking. Actually, I had always liked drinking; we could discuss the reason another time.
Sometimes after drinking, I would deliberately use the dulled sense of pain from being drunk to practice squatting. Even when using the toilet, I would deliberately shift my weight onto my injured leg. At first, it was rather agonizing—not because it hurt, but because it felt uncomfortable. Still, I treated it as playing rather than training.
By persisting like that over time, three years later, my leg had already recovered seventy to eighty percent. I could run and jump, though I still deliberately took some precautions.
My leg's range of bend was only about two centimeters short of being exactly the same as before.
I truly achieved something that awesome. If I did not tell people I had once suffered such a serious injury, not a single person would be able to tell.
Of course, the purpose of telling you all this was not merely to brag. I also wanted to explain the fundamental reason people could reverse a hopeless situation.
To do this, you first had to change your perception—what you thought. If I had listened to the specialist and those around me back then, wouldn't I have become what they said I would become?
It was precisely because I refused to believe them, truly did not believe them, and only believed in myself—believed that I could do it, that I was awesome, that I would definitely make it.
That was why I could truly create a miracle.
This was how the heart was used: after changing your perception, you put it into practice and verify it by moving in the direction your heart envisioned.
Why did I say cultivation could cure illness?
It was precisely because I changed the behavior of my mind that I could climb out of the abyss from a desperate situation. That power could be called the power of cultivation.
Change the behaviors of your thoughts, and the habits of your daily life.