Great River Taoist Center » The Art

When most people think of taijiquan (tai chi chuan), the first image that comes to mind is one of individuals moving in slow, peaceful silence, their minds and bodies in a state of meditative relaxation. The powerful strikes and skillful parries of “Yang the Unsurpassable,” the foremost martial artist of Beijing in the mid-19^th century, are a far less common association. Yet taijiquan (tai chi chuan) is no less a martial art than a systematic method for promoting health, relaxation, and meditative calm.

In the United States today, the “civil” aspect of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) (health, meditation, and relaxation) has generally been emphasized. Indeed, some practitioners have completely neglected the martial aspect of the art. Yet this reveals more about the preferences – some would say the errors – of modern practitioners than it does about the limitations of the practice. For taijiquan (tai chi chuan) explicitly aims to balance the civil and martial aspects of human existence, developing both to their highest potential simultaneously. Even for practitioners who are not primarily interested in building martial skills, focusing exclusively on the civil aspects of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) is contrary to the spirit of the art. In the words of Yang Chengfu, the turn-of-the-century martial arts genius from whom many of today’s most popular taiji forms are descended: “Learning self-defense applications is indispensable in taijiquan (tai chi chuan). Students who are primarily interested in exercise must also study applications.”

Qing officials burning opium

Why, then, do so many modern practitioners fail to acknowledge the martial aspects of taijiquan (tai chi chuan)? Indeed, why are so many only vaguely aware of the very existence of taijiquan’s martial side? To a large extent, the answer lies in history.

The Origins of Taijiquan

The historical roots of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) are ó to commence the story with a shameless cliché ó lost in the mists of Chinese history. Martial arts lore attributes the creation of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) to the legendary taoist saint Zhang Sanfeng (Chang San Feng), a figure whose dubious historicity is evidenced by the enormous certainty about when he actually lived. According to the myth, the art was picked up and developed by Wang Zongye (Wang Tsung Yueh), another figure about whom little concrete historical information is available, and to whom astounding feats of martial prowess have been attributed.

Taiji emerges from the fog of myth into the (still somewhat dim) light of history in the Chen village in Henan province in the late 18^th century. The Chen clan practiced a martial art ó known as Chen boxing ó that resembled modern taiji in some respects, while differing from it significantly in others. Most obviously, Chen boxing retained elements of the “external” or “hard-style” martial arts that have been discarded in the subsequent development of taijiquan (tai chi chuan): sudden changes of speed, shouts, high kicks, leaps, and so on.

Chen boxing emerged in a time and a place where martial arts were practiced not for sport or self-cultivation, but as a practical means of self-defense in a violent social milieu. Henan and its neighboring North China provinces of Hebei, Shandong, and Shanxi were home to a strong martial tradition, for a variety of historical and social reasons. First, they lay in the path of repeated waves of barbarian invasions from the north, the latest of which ruled from Beijing as the Manchu, or Qing (Ching), dynasty. Second, the area was riven by clan and sectarian rivalries which often turned violent. Third, the region was rife with banditry and crime. Barriers to class mobility and the practices of polygamy and female infanticide had created a huge surplus of destitute, single, and alienated young men; to many of them, the attractions of a swashbuckling life of crime and pillage proved irresistible.

The factors contributing to endemic violence in North China grew worse throughout the 19^th century, as the corrupt and declining Qing dynasty proved increasingly unable to provide a modicum of stability in the face of swelling waves of rebellion and unrest (such as the Taiping rebellion of 1850-1864), not to mention the encroachment of new “barbarian” hordes from Russia, Japan, and the West. It was an unwise traveler indeed who took to the roads of North China at the time without an armed escort ó or at the very least, a sword of his own and the skill to use it effectively.

Yang Luchan

It was in this time of social breakdown that Yang Luchan (1799-1872) of Yungnien county in Hebei province traveled over 400 kilometers to the Chen village to study the Chen masters’ renowned art. Yang is the pivotal figure in the development of modern taijiquan (tai chi chuan). Not only did he initiate a softening of the Chen style that eventually resulted in the elevation of the civil aspect of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) to a position of equality with the martial aspect, but without Yang, it is possible that taijiquan (tai chi chuan) never would have become widely known outside of the Chen clan. The millions today who benefit from the practice of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) have Yang Luchan to thank, for it was he who initiated the widespread dissemination of the art.

Yang Luchan (1799-1872)

Reliable information on Yang Luchan is scanty, even though he lived well within what Westerners regard as the modern historical period. Certainly, far more is known about contemporaneous Western figures of comparable historical import. The contrast arises because, in two important respects, Chinese attitudes toward history differed significantly from those in the West until well into the 20^th century. First, Chinese history in Yang’s day was written by and about a literate elite. Despite some lingering questions about his social status, it now appears certain that Yang was of peasant origin, and thus not considered a worthy subject for historical inquiry. No matter how great his achievements, Yang was doomed by the accident of his birth to always be regarded as a “hired hand” by the gentry, and therefore outside the scope of respectable written history.

Thus, most of our information about Yang Luchan comes from oral and informal historical accounts, much of it transmitted by disciples of Yang family taijiquan (tai chi chuan). This brings us to the second distinctive feature of the traditional Chinese approach to history: in such quasi-historical accounts, fact and myth tend to be blended in unknown proportions. The greater the real achievements and the more distant in time the figure in question, the greater the element of myth. For example, taijiquan (tai chi chuan)’s legendary founder Zhang Sanfeng is credited in 19^th century writings with being “seven feet tall,” and “able to cover a thousand miles in a day” ó a feat which, if literally true, would require maintaining racehorse speeds for 24 hours without rest! Even a source as recent as Yang Chengfu’s 1934 training manual, Complete Principles and Applications of Taijiquan, inserts descriptions of “historical” incidents that are dubious or obviously false ó such as a dialogue between the author and his grandfather Yang Luchan, who died over a decade before Chengfu’s birth. Such fabrications do not reflect an intent to mislead the reader so much as a cultural disposition to honor revered figures of the past, and to stress timeless ideas and principles over literal fact.

Thus, accounts of Yang Luchan’s life, and particularly of his years at the Chen village, are informal and inconsistent, and they tend to contain a generous portion of myth. The extent to which these accounts differ on specific points is so great that confidently reconstructing the details of Yang’s apprenticeship under the Chen masters is impossible. According to the most credible accounts, Yang went to the Chen village as a young adult and stayed for well over a decade, possibly two. However, some dissenting accounts have Yang travelling to the Chen village as a child. There also appears to be a distinct possibility that Yang was sold as a bond servant to the Chen clan, although some accounts insist that he sought out the Chens of his own free will. Most accounts agree that he left the Chen village on good terms; but even here, some sources disagree, maintaining that he stole away by stealth with the Chens’ secrets. Another major discrepancy concerns the question of whether Yang learned the Chen family art primarily by spying and solo practice, and was accepted as a student by Master Chen Chang Hsing only after displaying his prowess in combat against Chen’s senior students; or whether he was accepted as a student after several years of loyal service to the Chen clan, and learned the art in the usual student-teacher context. Some accounts even have Yang disguising himself as a mute beggar to weasel his way into the inner circles of the Chen clan.

Two common elements emerge from these various accounts. The first is the difficulty experienced by Yang in gaining instruction from the Chen masters, and his need to spend many years in the Chen village before learning enough of the art to venture out on his own. Taken in the context of the times, this is not surprising. The Chens evidently had a fighting style that worked ó it was widely renowned and respected, to the extent that martial arts enthusiasts such as Yang from distant regions were willing to go to great lengths to learn it. Considering the practical value of a superior fighting system in such dreadful times, the Chens were understandably loath to disseminate its secrets outside of their own clan. Consequently, an outsider such as Yang would no doubt have had to display extraordinary perseverance, skill, and dedication to the Chen clan to have any hope of reaching high-level instruction; to establish such credentials would naturally involve an extended period of time.

Guangping city where the Yang family lived, was a battleground during the Taiping and Nien rebellions.

The second common element among the otherwise widely varying accounts of Yang’s sojourn in the Chen village is that all agree Yang was there to learn to fight. While any martial art claiming kinship with modern taijiquan (tai chi chuan) would have had to contain some of the spiritual, meditative, and medicinal elements emphasized by current practitioners, the Chen family art was esteemed first and foremost as a practical fighting system, and this is what attracted Yang to it. In fact, the emphasis remained squarely on the martial aspect of the art throughout Yang Luchan’s lifetime, as well as those of his two sons, Yang Qianhe (Chien Ho) and Yang Panhe (Pan Ho). These early masters did not neglect the civil aspect of taijiquan (tai chi chuan); but circumstances did not allow them to adopt the passive attitude toward development of its martial applications that prevails among many modern enthusiasts.

After his return to Yungnien, the historical facts about Yang Luchan come into better focus. One of Yang’s first students and an early patron was Wu Yuxiang (Wu Yu Hsiang, 1812-1880), a local aristocrat and an accomplished martial artist in his own right. Through Wu and his brother Ruqing (Ju Ching), Yang was introduced to influential patrons of the martial arts within the Manchu nobility in Beijing, ending up as a private martial arts instructor to a number of noblemen and a trainer of imperial soldiers in various military academies and institutions.

During his time in Beijing, Yang gained a reputation as perhaps the foremost martial artist of his day, earning the title “Yang the Unsurpassable.” While accounts of Yang’s exploits through his middle and late years continue to be highly embellished, we have no concrete reason to doubt the bottom line that they all share: after his return from the Chen village, Yang met an endless series of challenges from renowned martial artists seeking to capture his great reputation, and never suffered a single loss. While all martial arts styles have their tales of an invincible forebear who defeated all comers, it is interesting that no high-profile martial arts style claims a predecessor who triumphed over Yang Luchan. His training days in the Chen village aside, Yang Luchan may well have gone to his grave without tasting defeat in a martial contest.

The Second Generation: Yang Qianhe and Yang Panhe

A Boxer Poster. Second generation teacher Yang Qianhe and his son Yang Chengfu all lived through the Boxer Rebellion, 1900

In the years following Yang’s return from the Chen village, taijiquan (tai chi chuan) developed along divergent paths. Yang’s student and patron Wu Yuxiang, his appetite whetted by Yang’s instruction and example, went on to train directly under a Chen master, Chen Qingping, and to develop a form sufficiently different from Yang’s to be classified as a separate style. It was Wu who later “discovered” (and very possibly authored) the core taijiquan (tai chi chuan) literary classics attributed to the legendary figures of Zhang Sanfeng and Wang Zongye. Wu’s style is today generally known as the Hao style, to distinguish it from the better-known “new” Wu style, created much later by Wu Qianquan (1870-1942), who learned the art from a student of Yang’s older son, Panhe. Another more-recent derivative of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) is the Sun style, created Sun Lutang (1861-1932), whose lineage extends back to Yang Luchan indirectly, through Wu Yuxiang and his students. Thus, of the major existing styles, all save the Chen style itself are in some way descended from Yang Luchan.

Yang Luchan had two sons who carried on the martial tradition of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) after his death. Both were subjected to exceedingly rigorous training under their father from a very early age, went on to achieve the highest level of skill, and earned their keep as martial arts instructors to the military and civilian elites of the Qing dynasty. However, their dispositions were famously different. Yang Panhe (1837-1892), who inherited his father’s nickname, “The Unsurpassable,” was renowned for his brutality with students and opponents alike, and failed to win much of a following ó although one of his limited circle of students occupies an important place in the historical development of taijiquan (tai chi chuan): Quan Yu (1824-1902), father and teacher of “new” Wu style founder Wu Qianquan. Panhe’s own son declined to follow in his father’s footsteps as a martial artist, and Panhe’s personal style remains a matter of some speculation. By contrast, Yang’s younger son, Qianhe (1839-1917), was an affable and popular teacher who attracted many students, a number of them of the highest caliber. Yang Qianhe was therefore the primary channel through which Yang Luchan’s art was conveyed to future generations.

The Third Generation: Yang Chengfu

Yang Qianhe had two sons, Shouhe (Shou Ho, 1862-1930) and Chengfu (1883-1936), both of whom ascended to the loftiest peaks of martial arts mastery. Of the two, Chengfu is of greater importance in the development of the art. Like his uncle Panhe, Yang Shouhe had a reputation for roughness that limited his appeal as a teacher, and ultimately reduced his influence on the art’s development. Chengfu, however, inherited his father’s gentle disposition, attracted many students, and became a pivotal figure in the history of taijiquan (tai chi chuan).

Despite living until well into the 20^th century, Yang Chengfu remains a larger-than-life figure in every sense. Tipping the scales at 300 pounds and notorious for his carousing, Chengfu studied taiji with relative indifference until the advancing age of his father caused him to awaken to his responsibility for preserving and transmitting the family art. Once committed to mastery, Chengfu made such progress and reached such a high level of skill that, despite his lack of social graces, he became arguably the most respected and sought-after martial arts master of his generation. When the State Physical Culture and Sports Commission of the People’s Republic of China decided in the 1950s to promote a standardized taijiquan (tai chi chuan) form to bring some order into the chaos of proliferating forms and styles, it was Yang Chengfu’s form to which they turned.

It was also under Chengfu that a movement toward greater stress on the civil aspects of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) is first apparent. While the styles of his brother, father, uncle, and grandfather retained hard-style elements inherited from Chen boxing, Chengfu’s style was notable for its external softness and relaxed postures. This softness could be quite deceiving to challengers, whom Chengfu regularly thrashed with reputed ease and, evidently, also with great courtesy. It was with Chengfu’s style that the description of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) as “steel hidden in cotton” or “a bullet in cotton” began to be heard. Thus, while Chengfu continued to teach taijiquan (tai chi chuan) as a martial art, he was also first of the Yang style masters to explicitly stress the elements of softness and relaxation that figure so prominently in the civil aspect of the art.

A Boxer during the 1900 Rebellion in Beijing.

Again, the reason for this shift in emphasis can be explained, at least in part, by considering the circumstances in which Yang Chengfu taught. Chengfu’s teaching career was short, as he was not a martial arts prodigy, and died at the age of 53 ó the health benefits of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) practice perhaps being insufficient in the end to offset the effects of his hard-drinking lifestyle. His teaching career was therefore confined to approximately two decades prior to his death in 1936.

Now, nothing could be further from the truth than to claim that the chaos and violence of China’s 19^th century had subsided in Yang Chengfu’s day, or even that the situation was changing for the better. However, solo martial arts were becoming an increasingly impractical means of self-defense. Guns and other Western military technologies had become common in China, and violence was increasingly taking the form of large-scale conflict among national or ideological entities, rather than small-scale banditry or clan feuds. Thus, as Douglas Wile argues in the insightful first chapter of his compilation of Lost T’ai Chi Classics from the Late Qing Dynasty, Chinese martial arts in the late 19^th and early 20^thcentury began to take on more of their modern character as a means of promoting self-discipline, health, and personal strength, rather than as a practical set of combat skills. This is not to say that the link between martial and military arts was completely severed; as Wile notes, skill in martial arts continued to be prized among military elites well into the era of modern military technology ó but more for the sake of demonstrating these elites’ superior power, competence, and discipline vis-à-vis the rank-and-file than for the sake of learning techniques that practitioners regularly expected to use in combat.

TaijiQuan Comes to America: Zheng Manqing

A list of Yang Chengfu’s senior students would read like a who’s-who of prominent Yang style masters of the early and middle 20^th century. Yet even in this elite company, the name of Zheng Manqing (Cheng Man Ching) stands out. Zheng’s towering reputation rests on several foundations, one of them being his high level of martial skill. However, Zheng is better remembered as the figure whose practice, teaching, and writing brought the fusion of the civil and martial aspects of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) to its highest expression. Zheng was arguably the first ó and certainly the most articulate ó master to explicitly set about the task of combining the major elements of Chinese philosophy, medicine, spiritual discipline, and metaphysics with the practice of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) as a martial art. Yet most ironically, given Zheng’s own martial prowess, Zheng’s success in achieving this fusion laid the foundation for the modern tendency to downplay, neglect, or even dismiss the martial aspect of taijiquan (tai chi chuan).

Zheng was also the man who brought taijiquan (tai chi chuan) to America. In 1965, Zheng set up shop in New York City, teaching his first students at a tiny hole-in-the-wall school in Chinatown. By this time, he had already taught a generation of Taiwan’s finest taijiquan (tai chi chuan) practitioners, including three well-known masters who later followed their teacher to the new world: Ben Lo, T. T. Liang, and William Chen. Zheng had also taught his first American student before his move to New York: Robert Smith, who arrived in Taiwan in 1959 and spent three years there, researching and learning the various Chinese fighting arts. Smith judged Zheng’s taijiquan (tai chi chuan) to be the most sophisticated of the dozens of styles to which he was exposed. By the time of his death in 1975, Zheng had trained a generation of first-rate American taijiquan (tai chi chuan) practitioners at his New York school, many of whom continue to teach and disseminate Zheng’s art to this day. While other styles of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) have made inroads in the United States in recent years, the Yang style remains the most widely-practiced variant, and Zheng Manqing’s form remains the most prominent of the Yang style forms. Further, practically all Yang-style practitioners in the United States as well as many practitioners of other styles have been influenced by the ideas and example of Zheng Manqing, whether directly or indirectly. It is difficult to overestimate Zheng’s influence on taijiquan (tai chi chuan) in America.

Postscript: The Martial and the Civil

Among the prominent followers of Zheng Manqing in the United States, some have continued to carefully balance the martial and civil aspects of taijiquan (tai chi chuan); William Chen, a wushu sparring champion in his native Taiwan in 1958 who continues to teach in New York City, remains at the forefront of this group. But another, arguably larger group of American taiji teachers has chosen to place almost exclusive emphasis on the civil aspect, in some cases taking their students no further than fixed-step push hands or even, in some cases, no further than stylized push-hands drills. (Fixed-step push hands, while an indispensable component for building practical self-defense skills, is inadequate in itself for fully developing such skills, and must be augmented by moving-step push hands, da lu, applications drills, and, ideally, sparring practice.) Even more surprising, many modern teachers of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) eschew two-person exercises altogether, focusing exclusively on the form and solo exercises.

Zheng Manqing, whether intentionally or otherwise, left the door open for this shift to a disproportionate focus on the civil aspects of the art. While cannily balancing the martial and civil components in his own life and practice, Zheng’s writings often tend to emphasize the spiritual, meditative, and medicinal aspects of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) (although the martial aspect was never absent in his works). Further, when teaching in New York, Zheng adopted a relatively passive attitude toward the development of martial skill among his students. This has led some to conclude that martial skill is developed in taijiquan (tai chi chuan) through a process of “osmosis,” whereby diligent practice of the form and fixed-step push hands over a long period of time subconsciously instills this skill in the practitioner’s mind and body. Whether this reduced emphasis on the martial aspect reflected a shift in Zheng’s own philosophy in later life or a generous concession to the expectations of his American students (who were largely youngish individuals drawn from the ranks of New York’s 1960s subculture, many of whom shared an ideological commitment to non-violence), it became a hallmark of Zheng’s teaching, and the teaching of many of his disciples and followers.

It remains an open question whether this passive approach yields usable martial skills after a lengthy period of intense practice. What is beyond question, however, is that such an approach is an extremely inefficient way to develop these skills, if that is one of the practitioner’s goals. Moreover, Zheng did not develop his own sublime martial skills by such a curiously roundabout route. Despite Yang Chengfu’s concern for incorporating the civil element of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) in his teaching, Yang was unambiguously a teacher of martial arts; Zheng himself was knocked unconscious by his teacher on more than one occasion.

Is there any harm in downplaying the martial side of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) in this way? Surely, it would be ungenerous for taijiquan (tai chi chuan) martial artists to begrudge the dissemination of their art among those who do not aspire to martial proficiency. Indeed, many modern practitioners of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) including some serious ones are simply not interested in the martial aspects of the art, and may not have been drawn to it in the first place had they been aware of the centrality of the martial element in its history. Considering the enormous benefits of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) in the areas of health and relaxation, it is surely better that such individuals are offered the opportunity to study a strictly civil version of taijiquan (tai chi chuan).

However, students of purely civil taijiquan (tai chi chuan) should at least be aware that they are learning a truncated version of the art, and should at least have theopportunity to study the martial aspects, should their growing skill and interest in taijiquan (tai chi chuan) eventually turn their attention in this direction. Teachers who do not provide their students with this awareness and opportunity are therefore doing their students a disservice. Moreover, for individuals who are interested in martial arts, taijiquan (tai chi chuan) offers a style that is arguably unique in the extent to which it explicitly develops health, relaxation, and spiritual insight along with fighting skills. It is extremely unfortunate if such individuals lack the opportunity to study taijiquan (tai chi chuan) in its more comprehensive and traditional variant. The disassociation of taijiquan (tai chi chuan) from its martial component has reached the point in the United States today where many individuals with an interest in pursuing martial arts study may not even consider taijiquan (tai chi chuan) as an option. Both from a historical perspective and from the perspective of the individuals who miss the opportunity to study a martial art that ranks as one of the great achievements of Chinese culture this is an irony of the highest order.

A Brief History of the School’s Lineage

grtc — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 17:16:23 +0000

Yang Lu-Ch'an

According to legend, the originator of Taiji Quan was a thirteenth century Taoist monk named Chang San-feng. Chang invented a soft-style martial art that developed internal energy to catalyze natural body movements, and is credited with authorship of the oldest of the Taiji Chuan classics.

The style of Taiji Quan practiced at Great River descends from Yang Lu-ch’an, a nineteenth century martial artist of legendary skill. In his time, Yang became the foremost martial artist in Beijing (earning the sobriquet “Yang the Invincible”), and was retained by the ruling Manchu princes as their martial arts teacher.

For political reasons, Yang kept his original Taiji Quan form secret. However, he created a public form that has become the most widely-practiced Taiji Quan form in the world. This public form was popularized in the United States by Cheng Man-ch’ing, a fourth generation master who condensed (from 108 to 64 movements) the form he learned from Yang Lu-Ch’an’s grandson, Yang Ch’eng-fu. One of Cheng Man-ch’ing’s senior students was Robert Smith, from whom Great River Director Scott Rodell learned Cheng’s form. Rodell also studied with two of Cheng’s other senior students, learning sword and push hands from Master T.T. Liang, and san shou and push hands from Master William C.C. Chen.

Yang’s original, secret form is known as Yang Jia Michuan Taiji Quan (Yang Family Hidden Taiji Quan). It was passed on to only one person for the first four generations. Scott Rodell learned the Michuan form and Taoist Nei Gong meditation as a disciple student of Master Wang Yen-nien, the current head of the World Yang Jia Michuan Association.

Scott M. Rodell has, for the past fifteen years, taught the Cheng Man-ch’ing, Michuan, sword, and spear forms. He also teaches san shou, push hands, a women’s self-defense class, and Nei Gong meditation. His main goals include keeping Taiji Quan’s martial tradition alive, and disseminating the many other benefits of Taiji Quan, such as improving overall health and physical fitness, and promoting relaxation, flexibility, and concentration.

Taijiquan, t’ai chi ch’uan or Tai chi, what’s the difference?

grtc — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 17:15:43 +0000

Only the spelling. There are two major systems for the Romanization of Chinese characters. The older Wade-Giles system transliterates the three Chinese Characters for this art as T’ai Chi Ch’uan. This is often misspelled without the appostropies, which are used to indicate the “T” is pronounce as a t and not a d, for example. The more contemporary pinyin system transliterates these three characters as taijiquan. This system has the advantage of not confusing words such as qi (energy) with the ji in taiji, which are written ch’I and chi in the Wade-Giles system, simply by forgetting to use the appostrophy.

The pinyin system has been the internationally accept system for many decades now and is the standard for international organizations, libraries, etc. the short hand, Tai chi, is a bit of a misnomer because it simply refers to the Chinese symbol we know as the yinyang symbol. The quan in taijiquan literally means fist of martial art. Taijiquan means the art based on the ideas of alternating yin and yang, yield releasing power etc.

Yang Family Taiji Quan – The Hidden Tradition

grtc — Sun, 06 Feb 2000 17:16:57 +0000

By Scott M. Rodell
Originally published in Inside Kung-Fu magazine and republished in the Ultimate Guide to T’ai Chi, 2000

Master Wang executes ji (press) Circa 1965

Yang Lu Chan is undoubtedly the most well known Chinese martial artist in the world. The story of his obtaining the secret art of taijiquan in the remote village of ChenJiaGou and his fame as “Yang the Unbeatable” (Yang Wudi) are common stories amongst taiji players the world over. Yang Lu Chan’s reknown comes as little surprise when we consider that the art he created – Yang Style TaijiQuan – is the most popular form in the world today and is practiced all around the globe. What is more surprising is that he made a little known Chinese family art into a common exercise practice in America in less than one hundred years.

The familiar story of Yang Lu Chan being challenged by the Emperor’s Head Guard presented him with the opportunity for lasting fame overnight. It also offered ruin as quickly if he lost. Yet to prevail would not mean peace, for the Imperial Guard would have lost face and could never have let the Yang family rest. The Master reasoned the only way out, preserving his reputation as “Unbeatable” yet avoiding retribution, was to fight to a stalemate. To do this Yang felt a fighter’s skill must be three time greater than his opponents. History records that the bout did indeed end with a draw.

Master Wang executes zou (elbow)

That major obstacle over come, another fell in Yang Lu Chan’s path. The Imperial family decided Yang would teach them his art. Today it is difficult to see how this created a problem for the Master. But China’s rulers at the time were Manchu’s from the North. The Chinese thought of them as invaders and outsiders. Patriotism in mind, Yang did not want to give his art to outsiders. Yet an Emperor’s wish is dangerous to deny. So Yang Lu Chan created a New Yang Style, similar in posture to the Chen family’s style, but leaving out many parts of his personal style. This was the beginning of what we now know as the Yang Jia (Yang Family) Mi Chuan (Hidden Tradition) or Lao (Old) and Xin (New) Yang styles. One style kept within the family and the other open to the public.

Later when Yang Lu Chan’s sons , Chien-ho and Ban-ho, and Grandson, Chen-fu began to teach all Chinese they secretly continued this two form tradition out of necessity. For if the aristocracy learned of Yang Lu Chan’s earlier deception, trouble would soon arrive. Many martial artists (particularly non-Yang stylist) claim that the New Yang Style is useless martially, and that Yang Lu Chan purposely made it so. This claim is completely without basis as even a quick review of Chinese martial history and contemporary masters shows. Yang Lu Chan’s grandson, Yang Chen-fu never studied the older MiChuan form, yet was well known as a boxer. Many of Chen-fu’s students, notably Chen Wei-ming and Cheng Man-Ch’ing, are taiji legends today. And America’s most well known exponent of taijiquan’s martial component, William CC Chen, studied the New Yang Style form exclusively.

Yet what then remains of the Yang tradition and what does the MiChuan form hold that the New form lacks? Amazingly the Mi Chuan part of the Yang style was within one teacher of extinction. The story of its preservation is typical of the twists and turns of Chinese martial history.

Master Wang executes ban (twist)

Yang Lu Chan had long been dead when his son Chien-ho decided to pass the secret art outside the family for the first time. In that era reputations were made through challenges not workshops. Yang Chien-ho once had a bout with a master from the ZiRanMen (Natural Style School), Du Xing-wu *, which had been a draw and remained unsettled. A student of Du’s decided to re-challenge the Yang family for his teacher. This student’s name, Wan Xing-wu, was fast becoming known in China as he traveled making and winning challenges.

When Wan arrived at the Yang family training center, the students inside were all concerned that they would be called upon to go out and face this challenger. As they stood in the court yard looking at each other one spoke up, Zhang Qin-lin. “Okay, I’ll go see what Wan wants,” said Zhang and he went out the gate.

Master Wang practices dalu with student

To everyone’s amazement he returned in a few minutes unhurt and Wan was gone. Zhang told them Wan had “asked for a lesson so he could learn of the Yang style” (the polite way of issuing a challenge). To which Zhang agreed. Knowing that the ZiRanMen fighters were particularly good with their feet, Zhang was on his guard when Du began with a right kick. Zhang swept it to the side and threw his punch into the opening. Wan at the same time also threw a strike and their hands collided. Wan immediately stopped and bowing shouted “Gao Ming (great)!” Zhang assumed Du’s wrist had been so hurt that he could not continue.

Zhang at that time had been studying the New Yang Style with Yang Chen-fu. Chien-ho, having seen Zhang’s loyalty and love of his teacher called him into his personal quarters to look him over. Chien-ho noticed that Zhang truly had the body of a martial artist. He was short and heavy with hands and feet that were twice as big as normal. He had ventured to the Yang family’s home at the age of fourteen after his parents death to pursue his love of martial art. Chien-ho seeing this decided to secretly teach Zhang the MiChuan form never before seen outside the Yang family.

Master Wang performing a movement from the Yangjia Michuan Taiji Sword form Taipei, Taiwan, 1971

Zhang Qin-lin was later to become famous by winning the All China Fighting Championships in 1929 in the unarmed division. T.T. Liang (Cheng Man-ch’ing’s senior student) described Zhang as having amazing abilities. During the Second World War, Cheng ran into Zhang in Nanjing. They had both studied under Yang Chen-fu and the younger Cheng must have wanted to test himself and challenged Zhang to push hands. Liang described the encounter with a wave of his hand, “Zhang just pushed him down.” The story goes that Cheng bowed to Zhang and studied push hands with him for nine months. In the end, Cheng challenged Zhang to a fight and was knocked out.

What made Zhang so strong? Liang said “He learned something in the mountains from a Taoist.” It was Zhang’s Taoist lifestyle which lead him to choose a quiet life instead of one teaching martial arts. In all Zhang only taught seven students (Cheng Man-ch’ing, Wang Shan-zhi and Li Yun-long of Hebei, Hu Yao-zhen, Liu Zhi-liang, Su Qi-geng and Wang Yen-nien of Shanxi) . Of these seven only one remains alive; Wang Yen-nien living in Taiwan teaches the MiChuan Taijiquan.

Wang was able to study with Zhang only after he received an introduction from his father who was studying Taoist Mediation at the same Dao Guan (Taoist study center) as Zhang. Today at 86 Wang is the last and youngest of Zhang’s students. No one knows what ultimately became of Zhang Qin lin.

Du Xing-wu later became Sun Yet-sen’s personal body guard.

Taiji for Life, Surviving Stroke

grtc — Sat, 09 Aug 1997 20:33:07 +0000

By Ferne M. Horner
Tai Chi Magazine, Vol. 21, No. 4, August 1997

It’s 6:00 a.m., I am dragging through some warm-up exercises before I start my daily Taiji practice. “Why am I doing this?” I ask myself. I could have slept another half hour, I need to wash my hair, those goons at the office will probably be on my case again today, this hurts. Why am I doing this?

Here’s why I’m doing it and will keep on doing it no matter how much it hurts.

On March 30, 1995, I had a stroke. I subsequently spent ten days in the hospital (five of them in intensive care), and was away from work and Taiji for four months. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Once I was told that I had had a stroke and was going into the hospital, I knew I had to accept what had happened and work from there. I insisted on going home first. There were a few things I wanted to do to prepare–smoke some last cigarettes, pack some “sick person clothes,” my CD player and music and most of all my copy of T’ai-chi Touchstones: Yang Family Secret Transmissions.

The first thing I said when I awoke in intensive care was that I wanted my book. Actually, I didn’t say it, I wrote it. There was a large tube stuck down my throat to facilitate my breathing, which made talking impossible. I couldn’t see to read it, so I held onto it for ten days–day and night–like a security blanket. I couldn’t eat because I couldn’t swallow, I couldn’t watch television because of double vision. One of the nurses gave me an eye patch so I could squint through one eye and look at the pictures of our form.

Taiji stresses patience and perseverance. I was certainly patient as I listened to the entire score of Richard Wagner’s “Flying Dutchman” on my trusty CD player while parked in the hallway awaiting the angiogram and other tests to determine the extend of the damage. George Washington Hospital had decided someone else’s stroke was more important than mine, so I waited. “Just park me next to an outlet,” I told the man who wheeled me upstairs–in my reduced state, I was unable to find the battery pack for my portable CD player.

Once out of intensive care, it was time to get down to the business of healing. There was a great deal of time to think, to breath, to meditate and to pray. I did them all. The classics say that Taiji is 90 percent mental–your ability to relax, to surrender to the moment as it is, to be aware. They say the physical moves we do are natural–like a child. As we age, we loose that relaxed, easy way and become tense and rigid. I needed all of my mind now that my body was down. Over the next four months, I grew to understand the mental discipline of Taiji Quan and knew it would take every ounce of mental strength I could summon to overcome my illness, to get well and to stay well.

Taiji teaches us to yield, find another way around the problem. That’s what my brain was doing–finding different pathways to route the old needs. Finding a way to show my paralyzed throat to swallow, my left leg to hold me steady, my eyes to focus. Was I afraid? Not until two months later; before that I had been too busy reclaiming my humanity.

I was the last person anyone expected to crash. I weighed 105 lbs., looked, felt and acted as healthy as a race horse. The combination of a congenital condition, which weakened the blood vessels in my neck and a high-stress job did me in. Taiji saved my life.

Taiji Quan is a Chinese martial art based on Taoism. Its origin is vague, but the most common thought is that it was developed by Chang San-feng about 300 years ago. Taiji Quan translates as “grand ultimate fist” and has become popular in the West not only as a martial art but as a means of maintaining and improving health.

Taiji is not about big egos and pounding someone silly. It’s about you–you are constantly dealing with you–your ability to deal with and handle yourself and to be sensitive to others. It doesn’t matter whether you are in the office, at a party or in a fist fight, It teaches you to instinctively question your own actions and to understand the actions of others.

My doctor told me that if it were not for my Taiji practice, my stroke probably would have been much worse or I would have died.

Since the burst artery had been on the right side of my brain stem, the stroke affected my left side (here they were, those meridians we talk about in Taiji). I couldn’t swallow, I lurched to the right, my balance was gone and I had double vision. Most of this went away over the four months of my recuperation. The only lingering sign of my stroke is the numbness and coldness I feel from time-to-time in my left leg and arm. Even this is disappearing as I return to my daily practice.

At the end of May, my Taoist patience was tested to the limit. I jumped out of bed, forgetting that I had a weak side, landed on my left foot and broke my ankle. An operation, six weeks in three different casts, and six more weeks in a leg brace followed. I did my standing meditation, to strengthen by legs and my mind, in the hall where two sturdy walls could stop me if I fell forward or backward. I learned to do my practice, albeit poorly, in a leg brace. Patience and perseverance is what Taiji teaches and I was experiencing it first hand.

Would I ever get back to life as I knew it? Did I want to was the real question? And if not, then what? I’m still not sure exactly what all the changes are that I will make–some come easily and some do not. The further I get from my illness, the more difficult it is to remember how bad things were and to discipline myself. I stopped doing Taiji for a while; life got busy, I felt depressed and overworked–that only made matters worse.

I tried practicing on my own but my form got sloppy and I got lazy. I tried yoga, but my identity with and belief in Taiji were so strong that I couldn’t commit to it. I missed Taiji, I felt lost. Now, almost two years after my stroke, with the lesson learned the hard way, I’m back to classes and daily practice. I feel good again–about my Taiji, myself and my decision.

My teacher, Scott Rodell, has been a man of infinite patience, good advice and support. He slowed me down when I wanted to come back too soon, suggested that I participate in the formal get-togethers at our school to give me a sense of community and has been there with understanding and encouragement.

I’m told I’ve recovered completely though the condition remains and will always be there. On the rare occasion when I stop to think about it, I feel a bit like a walking time bomb. I’m too busy living to dwell on this too much. My recovery has been the Taiji way. I’m back to life now. My Taiji is okay, not great; my strength and balance are greatly improved. Some days it is still an uphill battle–one I am very willing to fight. Like I said, I’m lucky. One thing I do know, I will do Taiji every day.

Ferne Horner is a freelance writer who lives in Washington DC and practices Taiji at the Great River Taoist Center.

Great River Taoist Center » The Art

Other Taiji related websites

Recommended Reading

…On Taiji Quan:

…On the Martial Path:

The Martial and the Civil in Yang Style Taijiquan