Three thousand years of refinement. Distilled into three rituals. Carried from a wandering monk to a Parisian apothecary.
In 12th-century Hangzhou, a Chan Buddhist monk named Daoji left the discipline of Lingyin Temple to walk the streets in torn robes, drinking wine and breaking precepts. The villagers called him Ji Gong — Crazy Ji, the Mad Monk.
He could have lived as an abbot. He chose the dust. From his robe he pulled herbs for the sick, plasters for the broken, tonics for the heartbroken, and counsel for those whose minds outran their breath. He treated emperors and beggars with the same indifference, and the same care.
The monks at Lingyin called him a disgrace. The people he healed called him a saint. Eight hundred years later, both are still true.
“The medicine and the wine pour from the same gourd. Only the hand that holds it changes.” — attributed to Ji Gong
Ji Gong taught that the body is governed by three energies — morning, midday, and evening — and that each calls for a different discipline. We have inherited his framework as three modern rituals, each presided over by a monk.
"Sharp, acidic, awakening — the first light ritual."
Meet the dawn with intention. The Rising Monk carries the TCM hangover pharmacy — kudzu, pearl, watermelon frost, honeysuckle — to clear internal heat, rehydrate the body, and resurrect the morning after.
Enter the Rising →"Power, heat, protection — for those who train like monks."
Forged in the discipline of the training body. The Warrior Monk carries the warming oils, recovery balms, joint plasters, and cardiovascular powders for those who push hard and recover fast.
Enter the Warrior →"Floral, honeyed, the art of unplugging."
The slow descent. The Tranquil Monk carries the evening pharmacy — passionflower, jujube seed, reishi, lavender, lotus — softening the nervous system and ushering in deep, restorative sleep.
Enter the Tranquil →Mad Monk Apothecary was founded to do one thing: bring the Mad Monk's pharmacy into the modern morning. We source twenty-seven botanicals across the three rituals — He Shou Wu, Tiger Balm, Po Sum On, Yunnan Baiyao, Tong Ren Tang, and the rest — from the masters who have made them for generations.
Nothing is reformulated. Nothing is sweetened. Nothing is sold with a wellness story it cannot defend. The labels are quiet. The medicine is loud.
We prepare and ship from a small workshop in the 3rd arrondissement of Paris. The mark on every box —疯僧药局 — is a small bow to the man who carried the gourd.