Is traditional Chinese medicine still popular in China?

After six years living in Shanghai, I still vividly recall the awe I felt upon first stepping into a neighborhood TCM clinic: wooden medicine cabinets gleaming with patina, herbalists' fingers flying over the shelves, copper weights on the scales clacking up and down with each measure; in the consultation room, a white-haired TCM doctor took a patient's pulse, eyes closed in deep concentration, as if engaged in some mysterious dialogue. Back then, as a newcomer to China, I was utterly baffled by concepts like “yin and yang” and “qi and blood.” Yet I was instinctively drawn to this healing approach so distinct from Western medicine. Now, as I navigate the streets of Beijing, Chengdu, and Guangzhou, or chat with Chinese friends of all ages, one question lingers: Is traditional Chinese medicine truly still “prevalent” in this rapidly modernizing nation?

I. It Never Left: Traditional Chinese Medicine Hidden in Life's Creases

If Western medicine is the “skeleton” of China's healthcare system, traditional Chinese medicine is more like the “bloodstream” permeating daily life.

At Hangzhou's wet markets, I often see elders carrying poria, goji berries, and dried tangerine peel as naturally as selecting ingredients; In Shenzhen's internet company break rooms, the aroma of astragalus and red date tea mingles with coffee—young professionals call it their “essential wellness ritual.” Even the convenience store downstairs stocks individually packaged “dampness-clearing tea” and “night-owl pills,” their labels proudly proclaiming “TCM formula.” Hospitals offer an even more vivid picture: The affiliated hospital of Beijing University of Chinese Medicine perpetually has long queues. In acupuncture rooms, young people lie with eyes closed receiving electroacupuncture, while college-aged interns record pulse patterns beside them. Outside the pediatrics clinic at Shanghai Longhua Hospital, parents cradle feverish children, waiting for veteran specialists to prescribe antelope horn powder, saying it's “gentler than fever reducers.”

The “popularity” of traditional Chinese medicine may not lie in slogans, but in its seamless integration into daily life. My neighbor Aunt Zhang has a saying: “Western medicine treats emergencies; Chinese medicine addresses the root cause.” She's endured knee pain for a decade, faithfully undergoing moxibustion every week without fail. Her niece, fresh out of college, would rather wake up two hours early to secure an appointment at the TCM gynecology clinic than take ibuprofen for menstrual cramps. Even my Western-trained Chinese boyfriend keeps Xiaochaihu Granules at home—“Take a couple packets during seasonal changes to prevent colds. It works better than vitamins.”

II. Young People “Rediscovering” Traditional Chinese Medicine: From Skepticism to Acceptance

A friend once asked me, “Do young Chinese people think TCM is outdated?” But my observations suggest the opposite.

In Chengdu's trendy “national-chic” cafes, I see Gen Z girls snapping photos of their “herbal lattes,” their cup sleeves emblazoned with “Formulated according to the Compendium of Materia Medica”; On Bilibili, videos like “Luo Xiang Explains Traditional Chinese Medicine” and “TCM Doctor Discusses Body Constitutions” have surpassed a million views, with comment sections filled with “Ah, so that’s how it is!” reactions. On Xiaohongshu, posts about “TCM beauty treatments” and “classical formula therapy” garner over 100,000 views, with post-95 bloggers sharing stories like “Three months of clinical observation cured my chronic insomnia.”

This shift stems from TCM’s integration into modern discourse. My student Xiao Zhou, a sophomore majoring in TCM, shared: “I used to think studying TCM meant memorizing ancient texts. Now our professors guide us in using AI to analyze tongue coating photos, employing big data to track classical formula efficacy, and teaching us to explain ‘heatiness’ as an inflammatory response to foreign patients.” Crucially, when Western medicine struggles with chronic fatigue and insomnia, TCM's holistic approach emerges as a distinct advantage. My British friend Lucy developed “sub-health” symptoms in Shanghai. After three Western doctors all declared her “normal,” she took Xiaoyao San at a TCM clinic for four weeks. She remarked, “I can finally sleep through the night. While I can't pinpoint which herb worked, results speak for themselves.”

III. Controversies and Challenges: Rational Reflections Behind Its Popularity

Of course, the “popularity” of traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) is not without its critics.

The most frequently debated issue is its “scientific validity.” At a forum on Chinese and Western medicine, a Western medical expert stated bluntly: “Herbal medicines have complex compositions, and the efficacy of some formulas cannot be verified through double-blind trials.” “ TCM practitioners countered:' Western medicine also studies hard-to-quantify fields like ‘gut microbiota’—why the double standard for TCM?“ This very debate demonstrates TCM's resilience—it need not become Western medicine but seeks ways to validate itself within modern scientific frameworks. Today, China's top TCM hospitals widely employ mass spectrometers to analyze herbal ingredients, while universities offer ”Integrated Chinese and Western Medicine" programs to bridge the two medical traditions.

Another challenge lies in succession. I interviewed a 78-year-old nationally renowned TCM master who sighed, “Fewer young people are willing to dedicate themselves to memorizing the Shanghan Lun these days. Many rush to learn techniques that promise ‘instant results with a single needle.’” Yet in his clinic, I witnessed over twenty interns crowded around his desk, recording his diagnostic reasoning with voice recorders. “Master always says the soul of TCM lies in observation, auscultation, inquiry, and palpation—machines can't replace the warmth of human fingers,” one intern told me.

Conclusion: Prevalence is a testament to cultural resilience

Before leaving China, I revisited that first community TCM clinic. The herbal scent lingered, the pharmacist's scales remained precise, but the queue now included young people in trendy streetwear. Clutching their herbal packets, some debated whether “this formula mixes with fitness supplements,” while others scrolled through “modern pharmacological studies on astragalus.”

The “prevalence” of traditional Chinese medicine in China may never have been merely about preserving tradition. It embodies a cultural resilience—one that safeguards ancestral wisdom while embracing contemporary interpretations; one that heals physical ailments while soothing modern anxieties. For foreigners, it offers a window into China: how this nation, while sprinting forward, still cherishes its roots.

And I find myself already anticipating my next visit to the herbalist—wondering if he might slip me an extra mint candy to soothe my throat. That's the kind of warm, unconventional remedy unique to traditional Chinese medicine.

Document dated 2025-11-04 10:25 Modify