Authored by Zhào Zérén (赵泽仁) and Zhāng Yún (张云). Translated by Geoffrey Thompson
Here, we will discuss various issues encountered in form training in a comprehensive manner. The Tàijíquán form is the body of Tàijíquán. The transformation, reconstruction and strengthening of all abilities in Tàijíquán start from the form training. Therefore, the form is the foundation of all techniques, and it is also the part that requires the greatest investment and the most time in Tàijíquán training. Tàijíquán boxing contains a lot of content and is very detailed, especially the exercises related to internal strength, which are difficult to understand and appreciate. You must practice and comprehend it with an extremely serious attitude and not ignore any details. Form training is a long, gradual process of accumulation; one must adopt an attitude of “effort without rest” and “carefully observe and diligently seek to understand.” In daily training, the most serious mistakes are, first, going through the motions — practicing every day but without genuine focus. The quality of practice directly determines the degree of progress. Second, failing to persevere — practicing irregularly, like “fishing for three days and drying the nets for two.” Such inconsistent effort prevents real improvement and wastes one’s hard work.
The relationship between fundamentals and techniques
Many people, when learning the techniques of Tàijíquán, are unable to clearly distinguish the relationship between fundamentals and techniques. When a technique is not performed well, people often focus their attention on the technical aspects — such as the movement of the arms or legs — whereas, in fact, the problem is more likely due to a weak foundation. All techniques require a certain foundation. For example, if you already have the strength to lift a 180-pound barbell, and you then ask a weightlifting coach to teach you proper technique, you might be able to lift 200 pounds or even more. However, if you only have the strength to lift a 100-pound barbell, no matter how good the technical guidance is, you will not be able to lift 200 pounds. This is because your own strength foundation is not enough. The techniques of Tàijíquán require a special kind of foundational ability — for example, unique bodily coordination during movement, the ability to relax, and the ability to sense and perceive.
If these fundamental abilities have not yet been well developed, it is impossible to ensure the correct execution of technique. Therefore, when learning Tàijíquán, it is very important to train step by step and in proper order. If you haven’t yet trained the form properly, don’t practice tuīshǒu (pushing hands). Before you have mastered fixed-step tuīshǒu, don’t ask about jìn (internal force) or free-style tuīshǒu. Any attempt to achieve quick results in haste will ultimately yield half the result with twice the effort.
The correct feeling during boxing practice
When the practice of Tàijíquán enters the intermediate stage, the practitioner will begin to experience certain special sensations, such as the feeling of “transforming between insubstantial (xū) and substantial (shí)”. As one progresses into the advanced stage, these sensations gradually intensify, and new kinds of feelings also begin to arise. The essence of internal skill training is precisely to develop these sensations and to rely on them in seeking practical application. Therefore, whether one can attain these sensations, and whether those sensations are correct, is one of the important issues that must be addressed in training.
For the practitioner, at the beginning there may be much confusion about these sensations and a lack of ability to judge them. So, what should the correct sensations be like? This is a difficult question to answer, because no one can clearly express or demonstrate what they feel in a way that others can fully understand. Especially when the listener has not yet experienced it themselves, they often find the explanation incomprehensible. That is why it has long been said that such things can only be grasped through insight (felt, sensed or experienced), not explained in words. It’s not that they are kept secret—it’s truly very difficult to express them clearly. “Grasping through insight” means, under the teacher’s guidance, coming to understand through one’s own practice and experience. In the process of practicing the quánjià (form), what is needed is mutual exploration, inference, and experience between teacher and student—what is called “silently understanding and intuitively pondering, gradually reaching the state of acting as the heart desires”. Below we describe several common feelings with examples based on our personal experience, hoping that it will be helpful to readers. In fact, only when the practitioner personally experiences the corresponding sensations can they truly understand what is being described here. Only when training reaches the higher levels within the advanced stage can one begin to understand these sensations rationally and apply them with ease.
1. Fluctuation (sway or swing) of the central qì
Zhōng qì refers to the body’s upright central alignment, with the head as if suspended from above, the spirit lifted upward, and the qì sinking downward—where the upper and lower energies meet and unite. There is lightness in calmness, so it is steady and not rigid; there is calmness in lightness, so it is flexible and not impetuous. "Swaying" refers to the slight and gentle rocking back and forth between the front, back, left and right directions. It is the rocking of the body while maintaining a state of zhōngzhèng (中正, “upright balance”) that arises from the head being suspended (顶头悬, dǐngtóu xuán). Here we need to pay special attention to the meaning of the character 晃 - huàng (sway). This kind of swaying motion has no fixed direction, rhythm, or pattern — it seems as if it is being moved by the surrounding air. When the qì sinks to the point of complete relaxation and purity, it then begins to return upward, creating the momentum of “qì téng rán” (the qi rising and surging). At this moment, one feels the zhōng qì (central energy) gently swaying within. At first, it feels as though you are standing on a small boat floating on calm water, gently and naturally swaying. Later, the body becomes like a fishing float — the lead weight below keeps it steady and sinking, while its own lightness makes it rise. Moving up and down, it maintains central balance (zhōngzhèng), while the slight ripples of the water cause it to sway slightly. This sensation is a sign of experiencing the mutual support and transformation of Tàijí yīn and yáng — the interplay of the two within the body.
2. A ball floating on water
Imagine yourself as an inflated, elastic rubber ball placed in water — its weight causes it to sink halfway below the surface. When an external force tries to press the ball down to the bottom of the water, the air inside prevents it from being flattened or dented, so the force cannot control it. At the same time, the softness of the water allows the ball to sink, rise, turn, or drift freely — its state of balance constantly changing. Therefore, the external force cannot remain applied at a single point and inevitably fails. When this sensation is combined with the central qì’s swaying and the rotation of the dāntián’s qì, one can achieve lightness, liveliness, and natural adaptability in Tàijíquán practice. This is also a metaphorical application of the concept of “maintaining balance in whatever situation arises".
3. Connecting throughout (贯串 - Guànchuàn)
Guànchuàn is a feeling of coordinated movement within the body — a sensation of qì. It is as if there is a flow of air or energy moving inside the body. This sensation arises through training and can be strengthened through continued practice. “Connecting each segment" refers to using this sensation of qì flow to connect all parts of the body, allowing them to work together in coordination according to the technical requirements of Tàijíquán. Guànchuàn (Integration) is essentially the coordinated use of sōng (release/relaxation). In Tàijíquán, if you can only relax, you basically can’t do much—what’s needed is the integration of the relaxed body during movement. Therefore, guànchuàn is sometimes also called “zhěng” (wholeness) or “hé” (unity). Guànchuàn (Integration) is one of the fundamental skills of Tàijíquán techniques. For example, principles such as “forget the point of contact,” “shift intention,” “use intention rather than force,” and “stick and lead accordingly” are all built upon this foundation. In practice, if guànchuàn is not done well, then any supposedly perfect technical theories or brilliant designs are nothing but empty talk.
4. 鼓荡 - Gǔdàng — “to swell and surge,” or “to billow and pulsate”
Gǔdàng describes a gentle, elastic feeling of expansion and contraction that arises from within and spreads outward through the whole body. It is also a type of qì sensation—what is meant by "qi should be expansive and flowing." Imagine it's like wind blowing into a tent, causing it to swell and sway in waves. This gǔdàng sensation always carries an intention to move simultaneously in all directions—up, down, forward, backward, left, and right—and it is continuous without any gaps, embodying the idea that “the qì pervades the whole body without the slightest stagnation.” Only when the gǔdàng sensation is present can one truly understand the meaning of “softness within hardness” and “hardness within softness.”
5. 弹簧 - Tánhuáng — “spring” (as in a metal coil spring)
Tánhuáng (Spring) means that the body must have elasticity. The saying “the whole body is spring-like everywhere” includes what traditional teachings refer to as the “bow.” When practicing Tàijíquán, what we refer to as relaxing and tightening or expanding and releasing all pertain to the issue of elasticity. Many people who practice Tàijíquán talk only about relaxing and do not understand tightening; as a result, their “relaxation” turns into weakness and slackness. This is a common mistake. Especially when one lacks real combat experience, this mistake often goes unnoticed. A common problem for many people in training is that they do not pay enough attention to the elasticity of the lower limbs, often assuming that the main function of the legs is simply to provide one-directional support. If at this moment the upper limbs also use force, it will create a one-directional, rigid resistance. If the upper-limb technique is weak, then the waist will immediately become compressed and unable to change flexibly. Imagine that your hip, knee, and ankle joints are all springs; when the upper limbs receive force, each joint in the lower limbs vibrates elastically. Now, imagine there are springs under your feet, like stepping on a soft Simmons mattress—it's yielding but not sluggish, stable yet with a slight swaying motion.
6. 脚下之感 - Jiǎoxià zhī gǎn — “the sensation under the feet”
During training, the sensations under the feet are not always the same. Initially, it's like planting a tree and letting it take root, through slow and relaxed practice, aiming for the feeling that both your feet can instantly sink three feet into the ground, achieving a sense of stability and groundedness. After that comes the sensation of lifting and lengthening. The upper body remains stable while you can easily lift the knee, step forward, spring upward, or leap, giving rise to a feeling of lightness and lively agility. Next comes the sensation of swallowing and spitting in the center of the foot. Imagine that when the yǒngquán point beneath the foot “swallows,” it becomes hollow, allowing the foot to lift. When the yǒngquán point “spits,” it becomes convex, and the foot can spread out like a giant suction cup with a three-foot diameter. This produces the feeling of lifting and placing the foot freely and naturally. Then, imagine each foot stepping on a ball, producing the feeling of seeking stability within movement and maintaining movement within stability. Finally, all of these sensations must be integrated into one. Only then can you truly understand the real meaning of “root” in the saying “its root lies in the feet”. In Tàijíquán, the source of all techniques lies in the yīn–yáng transformations that occur beneath the feet. It must be noted that issuing power through whole-body force driven by pushing from the feet is one technique in Tàijíquán, but it is not the main focus, and certainly not the core technique. If one focuses mainly on this in training, it is very easy to go down the wrong path.
7. 刚柔相济 - Gāngróu xiāngjì — “the mutual blending of hardness and softness”
On one hand, you feel that your whole body’s energy and physical power are abundant—what is called “qì is strong”—with a sense of not fearing collision or confrontation with any force. On the other hand, you feel yourself to be light, agile, and floating, with a sense of emptiness, such that even the slightest external force can move you; you follow it, yet without becoming scattered or disorganized. In Tàijíquán, the interplay of hardness and softness is like water; the internal power and momentum are immense, but the external expression is gentle. Being able to adapt to shapes and follow the momentum is its softness; not being compressible reveals its hardness. Once this feeling becomes clear, the body begins to feel like a spring: when the opponent’s force arrives, you can either instantly rebound it back, or you can let it enter like a mud ox sinking into the sea, completely softening and absorbing it. [Note: “A mud ox sinking into the sea”, means it will be dissolved into the water and seems to become nothing. So, in Tàijíquán, it means the opponent’s coming force can be dissolved but not resisted.]
8. 神意引领 - Shényì yǐnlǐng — “the spirit-intent leads”
By using spirit to lead intent, one may feel as if even eye expression can communicate with the opponent. By using intent to guide qì and move the body, one may feel as if intent alone can influence or maneuver the opponent. Shényì (spirit-intent) can expand and gather freely, giving rise to the feeling that one can strike using spirit-intent alone. What is meant by “what the mind intends is accomplished” is that actions are carried out purely by intent. This is the meaning of “first in the mind, then in the body.” “…when it is in the body, one is unaware of the hands as they dance and the feet as they step.” In training, through the guidance of shényì (spirit-intent), one can experience feelings of ease, grace, natural freedom, and lightness, producing a sense of openness and joyful clarity.
9. 内外相合 - Nèi–wài xiāng hé — “the internal and external harmonize with each other”
The entire body, both internally and externally, exhibits a high degree of coordination based on relaxation and suppleness, characterized by the principle of "when one part moves, all parts move; when one part is still, all parts are still," encompassing everything from spirit, intention, and energy to physical movements. You feel that the movement of the whole body, inside and out, has no obstruction at all—gentle, smooth, rounded, lively, light, graceful, and free. It is like a jellyfish swimming in the vast ocean: drifting and floating with the waves yet never losing its own control.
All of the above are sensations commonly experienced during training. The descriptions are not necessarily precise—they are offered only as references. Readers may often compare these descriptions with the sensations that arise in their own training. In this regard, it is impossible to have the correct understanding from the very beginning; one must continually study, feel, experience, and correct oneself throughout training.
Refine essence into qì, refine qì into spirit, refine spirit and return to insubstantial
“Refining essence into qì, refining qì into spirit, and refining spirit to return to emptiness” originally describes the process of internal alchemy in Dàoist health-cultivation arts. It refers to using methods such as regulating kǎn (water - kidneys) to fill lí (fire - heart) and returning essence to replenish the brain to cultivate the body’s three treasures—essence, qì, and spirit. The fundamental aim is the dual cultivation of xìng (inner nature) and mìng (life force). Tàijíquán is based on Dàoist thought; therefore, many concepts and methods from Dàoist health-cultivation practices naturally became integrated into Tàijíquán training. Because Tàijíquán encompasses both martial arts and health cultivation, concepts related to health preservation are also imbued with meaning in the context of martial arts techniques. In Tàijíquán training, “refining essence into qì, refining qì into spirit, and refining spirit to return to emptiness,” in addition to their original meanings within Dàoist health-cultivation methods, are also used to describe internal training related to martial technique and combat.
“Refining essence into qì” in health-cultivation practice refers to transforming the body’s material essence into qì or energy, so that qì becomes abundant and the body becomes strong and healthy. In martial arts internal training, the goal is to transform direct physical exercise—that is, movement and exertion based on innate natural abilities—into internal energy-guided movements that are more rational and efficient; in other words, it's the training of transforming brute force into refined power (jìn or trained force). In this process, through physical training such as stance work and tuīshǒu (push hands), the sensation of qì becomes stronger and bodily movements become increasingly smooth and natural in coordination with this energy, ultimately achieving the effect of using qì to move the body.
“Refining qì into shén” in health-cultivation practice refers to transforming the body’s internal energy into functions that strengthen the body and nourish the brain, resulting in a full spirit and abundant energy. In martial internal training, it means using practice to transform qì-guided internal movement into a more efficient kind of internal movement guided by shén (spirit-awareness) and yì (intent). In this process, through physical training that uses intent rather than force—such as stance work and tuīshǒu (push hands) — the influence of shén and yì on the body’s movement grows stronger. As the body’s movements become naturally connected by qì, their coordination with shén and yì becomes increasingly natural, ultimately reaching the state of the heart moves intent, intent guides qì, and qì moves the body.
“Refining spirit to return to emptiness” in health-cultivation practice refers to the stage of internal alchemy where one enters a transcendent, formless state—embracing unity, maintaining original wholeness, residing between being and non-being, realizing one’s true nature in emptiness, and merging spirit with the Dào. In martial internal training, it means using practice to transform highly efficient internal movement guided by shén and yì into completely natural movement that is “formless and without appearance” ("wúxíng wúxiàng"). In this process, through physical movement training naturally guided by shén and yì—such as form practice and tuīshǒu—the sensations of shén, yì, and qì leading the movement become increasingly natural, existing between being and non-being. The coordination of physical movement with shén, yì, and qì also becomes more and more natural, reaching the state of being able to respond to things spontaneously. At the same time, one achieves a comprehensive and profound understanding of the Dào on the level of thought and awareness. At this point, the entire transformative training process of Tàijíquán is complete.
After completing the above stages of training, there is still further cultivation to continue—namely, “refining insubstantial and uniting with the Dào.” This means cultivating in accordance with the natural way of the Dào, attaining great clarity and great awakening.
When practicing the form, should one clearly distinguish insubstantial and substantial in the physical body?
This book has already discussed the issue of clearly distinguishing insubstantial (emptiness) and substantial (solidity) many times—so why is it still being discussed here? Because this issue is very special: on the one hand it is extremely important, but on the other hand it is especially easy to be overlooked. Regarding clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial (insubstantial and substantial), there are a number of descriptions in the old manuals, such as: “Insubstantial and substantial must be clearly distinguished; each part has its own substantial and insubstantial — everywhere follows this single principle of insubstantial and substantial”. "The strength of the whole body is cultivated as a unified entity, clearly distinguishing between substantial and emptiness". “One must have appropriately regulated opening and closing, with insubstantial and substantial made clear”. “When changing insubstantial and substantial, one must be attentive, so that qì circulates throughout the body without the slightest stagnation”. “If one practices boxing without understanding the principle of insubstantial and substantial, all effort is wasted and nothing is accomplished”. All of these illustrate the importance of clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial in both Tàijíquán training and actual application. So then, what is “empty,” what is “solid,” and what does it mean to clearly distinguish insubstantial and substantial? Chén Wēimíng, a disciple of Yáng Chéngfǔ, in his book Tàijíquán Shù written in 1925, presents the “Ten Essentials of Tàijíquán.” In it, he gives clear and specific descriptions of how clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial is manifested in bodily movement:
Four, Distinguish insubstantial and substantial
In the art of Tàijíquán, distinguishing insubstantial and substantial is regarded as the most important principle. If the entire body is resting on the right leg, then the right leg is considered "solid" and the left leg "empty"; if the entire body is resting on the left leg, then the left leg is considered "solid" and the right leg "empty". When you can distinguish between substance and void, your movement and turning become light, agile, and effortless; if you cannot make this distinction, your steps will be heavy and sluggish, you will be unstable on your feet and easily swayed by others.
In the martial arts training passed down within our school, we place particular emphasis on clearly distinguishing between the substantial and insubstantial aspects of the legs in physical movements, exactly as described above. Just as explained earlier, during the process of practicing the form, every shift of the center of gravity must be completed one hundred percent—that is, the entire weight must fully settle on the solid leg, while the empty leg bears no body weight at all.
Here, we will explain why it's important to distinguish between substantial and insubstantial movements in terms of physical form, and why this distinction is one of the key principles of Tàijíquán.
First, it must be explained that when we speak here of clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial in bodily movement, we are mainly referring to movements in the initial and intermediate stages of training and also includes the movements in the forms and fixed stance pushing hands exercises in some advanced stages. Secondly, what is being discussed here is a question of training methodology, rather than the technical principles that bodily movement must necessarily follow in actual application.
The importance of clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial in bodily movement during training must be fully recognized, and it must be conscientiously carried out in practice. This is because, firstly, this kind of training is the foundation for developing agility, liveliness, and stable balance in footwork and body movement. Second, this kind of training is the foundation of Tàijíquán’s basic ability to neutralize and transform movement, for example in maintaining balance in changing situations. Third, this kind of training is the foundation of martial technique for achieving “using intention rather than force” through yin–yang and insubstantial - substantial transformations. Fourth, this training in clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial in bodily movement is the foundation for establishing internal skill sensation and for further developing insubstantial - substantial transformation training within internal work.
In training that distinguishes insubstantial and substantial through the method of shifting the center of gravity, special attention must be paid to the unity of opposites (re., yīn yáng) between insubstantial and substantial—namely, what is meant by: “solid does not mean standing dead; within substantial there is emptiness; empty does not mean having no strength; within insubstantial there is substantial". Here, "completely rigid and immobile" refers to something stiff, stagnant, fixed, and lacking flexibility; while "substance within emptiness" means using "focused mental concentration" to bring life to the solid stance, specifically referring to elasticity, especially the kind of elasticity that involves small movements but allows for rapid changes in frequency.
“Completely without strength” refers to a state of looseness, weakness, and non-function; whereas “within insubstantial there is substantial” means using “a dynamic, mobile energetic momentum” so that the empty leg can move in coordination with the whole body. Specifically, this includes drawing in the kuà and lifting the knee, lightly raising the foot, and placing the step down lightly. All of these are the most important aspects of training to clearly distinguish insubstantial and substantial. According to Tàijí theory, within this concept of insubstantial and substantial, insubstantial is yáng and is active, while substantial is yīn and is passive. “Insubstantial containing substantial” is a point of yīn within yáng, and “substantial containing emptiness” is a point of yáng within yīn. Therefore, clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial is, in essence, the yīn–yáng transformation of Tàijí beneath the feet.
A common phenomenon is that although many people know the importance of clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial in training, in daily practice they often do not pay attention to it, and even frequently neglect it altogether. This training must be carried out with great care: at every step you must conscientiously check yourself, and you must ensure it reaches complete thoroughness. For example, when shifting the center of gravity forward to form a bow stance, one must first ensure throughout the entire movement that the crown is lifted and the body method remains upright and centered; then, by directing the tailbone toward the heel of the front foot, the center of gravity is moved onto the front leg. During the process of movement, one must be especially careful to maintain rounding the insides of the thighs and crotch (guŏdāng) and tucking in the buttocks (liūtún), avoiding either the lower abdomen protruding forward or the buttocks sticking out backward (see Fig. 4-1). When you feel that the weight transfer is almost complete, continuously test whether the rear leg is completely free of weight by relaxing your waist and withdrawing your hip. If the back foot cannot move easily while keeping the rest of the body completely still, it indicates that the weight transfer is not yet complete, and the distinction between solid and empty stances is not yet clear; therefore, further practice is needed. There are two sensations in the solid leg that require special attention: first, the muscles of the thigh—especially the quadriceps—should feel distinctly taxed, with a burning sensation and a trembling, elastic quality; second, one should feel the body relaxing and sinking all the way down to the soles of the feet—the more relaxed and the more sunk it is, the greater and tighter the contact between the sole and the ground, as if the foot itself were becoming larger. The clearer the sensation of relaxed sinking in the solid leg, the more obvious the feeling of lightness and agility in the empty leg becomes. The entire process should be carried out evenly and slowly. When practicing the form at the beginner and intermediate stages, special emphasis is placed on evenness and slowness: only by being even can problems be discovered, and only by being slow can one gain clear and deep experiential understanding. Evenness and slowness are also the best and most effective methods of self-examination; if insubstantial and substantial are not clearly distinguished, then evenness and slowness cannot be achieved. It's important to note that the momentum generated by fast movements during practice can often cause people to overlook the sensations involved, and the alternation between fast and slow movements can also frequently mask underlying problems. In this exercise, the most common problem is taking steps that are too large, which forces the body to lean forward or requires the rear leg to push against the ground in order to lift the back foot, resulting in the complete loss of overall feeling. There are also beginners who, due to insufficient leg strength, have an inadequate degree of leg bending, which results in being unable to use a standard step length. All of these require clear understanding and must be continuously improved through training. Clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial is also related to the rhythm of form practice. If the transformation between insubstantial and substantial is not thorough, the overall movement will inevitably fail to achieve slowness and evenness. From a long-term perspective, any lack of thoroughness in each practice session will have a significant impact on future progress. It must be clearly understood that this kind of training should be conscientiously carried out starting from the beginner stage, yet it is only at the advanced stage that its effects become relatively obvious.
In Tàijíquán, there are many training methods that don't yield immediate results; the lack of instant gratification is precisely why many details are overlooked during training.
Although training to clearly distinguish solid and empty (or substantial and insubstantial) is considered the primary principle of Tàijíquán, it is easily overlooked. Examining many of the schools that are popular today, one finds that when many people practice form routines, they mostly do not carry out this kind of clear empty–solid distinction in bodily movement; instead, the distribution of body weight between the two legs is roughly 30–70 or 20–80. This might be the reason why many people practice martial arts for years but make little progress. Here there is an issue that needs special clarification: the design of Tàijíquán postures and the methods of practice are meant to fulfill the technical requirements of Tàijíquán, not to satisfy the viewing or aesthetic expectations of others. Sometimes people say that Tàijíquán is not difficult—so long as one practices conscientiously according to the requirements, it can be mastered without taking a very long time. But in fact, Tàijíquán is very difficult—the difficulty lies in the fact that this kind of training, which does not produce immediate results, is often not taken seriously. With requirements such as clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial, if they are done incorrectly in training—for example, only achieving a 20–80 weight distribution—you will not necessarily feel that there is a problem; and even if they are done correctly, you will not immediately feel that they are effective or producing results. Therefore, whether one’s practice is correct is not clearly discernible through immediate sensation or judgment during practice; the effects of training must be verified through long-term accumulation. Whether it is difficult or not lies entirely in this. This is precisely why the martial arts treatises say: “If one does not pursue this path of inquiry, all effort will be wasted, leaving only regret and sighing”.
虚实转换中的要点 - Xūshí zhuǎnhuàn zhōng de yāo diǎn - Key points in the transformation between insubstantial and substantial
"Shifting between substance and emptiness" or "transforming between substance and emptiness" is the most important technical principle in applying Tàijí yīn–yáng theory in real combat situations. One of the key aspects of Tàijíquán training is progressing from distinguishing between substantial and insubstantial movements in the beginner stages, to developing internal energy fluctuations in the intermediate stages, and finally achieving dāntián rotation in the advanced stages. Ultimately, this allows for the seamless transition between substantial and insubstantial movements during combat, which is fundamental to understanding and applying internal force (jìn).
From a technical standpoint, in pushing hands or actual combat, this alternation between solid and empty (or substantial and insubstantial) manifests in the hands but originates from the feet. The moment you make contact with an opponent, insubstantial and substantial, hardness and softness—whether to stick or to disengage—all depend on the changes of insubstantial and substantial beneath the feet. After training in clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial, the feet develop a sensation that is both relaxed and sunk, yet light and agile. This gives rise to a kind of random, non-fixed, opponent-following empty–solid change, resulting in a sense of overall body fluidity and movement. It is just like a sphere that is half floating in water: no matter how great the external force is, or how fast it comes, it cannot be pressed down to the bottom of the water. When responding to an opponent, one must constantly maintain this state—drifting, floating, and rotating along with the opponent’s force. When responding to an opponent, one must constantly maintain this state—drifting, floating, and rotating along with the opponent’s force. This is the initial state of “following” (随 - suí) and “moving away” (走 - zǒu) and it is the foundation for being able to "abandon oneself and follow the other" (舍己从人 - shě jǐ cóng rén). At this point, intention is then used to guide “sticking” (黏 - nián) forming the Tàijí principle in which sticking and moving away correspond to each other.
When performing the transition between solid and empty movements, two key points must be observed due to the need for coordinated hand and foot movements: one is that the upper and lower body mutually follow each other, and the other is that the hands and feet move independently. On the surface, these two points seem somewhat contradictory, but essentially, they form a unity of opposites (yīn - yáng).
“Upper and lower following each other”, refers to the issue of whole-body coordination; through training, one must achieve qì circulating throughout the entire body, with all joints linked and connected one by one. In the human body, the waist serves as the dividing line between the upper and lower parts. Because the main parts of the upper limbs—the hands and arms—and the main parts of the lower limbs—the legs and feet—both have a wide range of motion and high flexibility, coordination between the upper and lower body is not easy to master. Therefore, in training, “upper and lower following each other” is a principle that must receive special attention. Here one must avoid a misunderstanding—namely, thinking that “upper and lower following each other” means concentrating the mind in one place and exerting force in one direction. Some people also often start from a force-support structure perspective, analyzing how force from the feet is supported up to the hands. This misunderstanding probably originates from what is stated in the martial arts treatises: “Its root is in the feet, it is issued through the legs, governed by the waist, and expressed in the fingers”. “From the feet to the legs to the waist, it must be one complete qi.” In fact, if we carefully study this passage and its surrounding context, we will find that its essence is to explain whole-body coordination in terms of qì permeating the entire body and joints being linked segment by segment, rather than talking about the transmission of force within the body.
“Separation of hands and feet”, means that the hands have the hands’ work, and the feet have the feet’s task; the hands and feet should not be doing the same thing at the same time. For example, when the hands are subjected to an opponent’s pressing force, one should respond with pěng jìn (a bracing, expansive force); at this time the feet should be relaxed, like a ball floating in water. If the hands are also relaxed, it is like a deflated ball—no matter how relaxed the feet are, it will also become weak. Conversely, if one transmits force from the feet up to the hands to increase opposing force, it will cause the whole body to become stiff and blocked, unable to transform, thereby resulting in “double weightedness”. As shown in Figure 4-2, this illustrates how to respond to an opponent’s straight pushing force using this state of empty–solid transformation. Here, I don't need to use the strength of my legs to directly confront my opponent. What is shown in Figure 4-3 is an even more extreme form of practice. Because it is done standing on a single leg, it requires an even greater degree of relaxation and elasticity in the body. The demands on empty–solid transformation are higher and stricter, and it becomes even more impossible to rely purely on strength to contend with an opponent. Note that Figures 4-2 and 4-3 illustrate practice methods. During practice, you should try to maintain this state to develop the correct feel, but in actual application, only a brief moment of this state is usually needed.
The interplay between solid and empty (or substantial and insubstantial) is the foundation of almost all Tàijíquán techniques; hence the warning, "If you practice boxing without understanding the principles of solid and empty, your efforts will be wasted, and you will ultimately achieve nothing." This should not be taken lightly.
Empty–solid transformation practice
The transition between substantial and insubstantial is so important, but understanding and mastering it is not easy. This is because it involves an internal feeling, and the development of this feeling is necessarily a slow, cumulative process, a process of gradual change leading to a qualitative transformation. Moreover, for a long period at the beginning of training, practitioners themselves often lack sufficient ability to judge, and frequently are on the wrong path without realizing it. This leads to a situation where many people train for years but ultimately achieve nothing.
In the previous chapters, we have already introduced the different training methods for empty–solid transformation at each stage of training. Here, we will once again present a concise, outline-style comprehensive description.
1. From insubstantial and substantial in physical movement to insubstantial and substantial in internal skill
Starting from form practice in the beginner stage of training, using one-hundred-percent transfer of the center of gravity as the method, and taking clearly distinguishing insubstantial and substantial as the standard, one carries out empty–solid transformation training at the level of bodily movement. This is precisely the yīn–yáng transformation of Tàijí beneath the feet. Through this kind of practice, the body will develop a lively sensation of light, agile stepping in physical movement, together with a feeling of centered uprightness and comfortable ease, as well as relaxed and steady stability that provides support in all directions. After a further period of correct practice, an internal sensation gradually arises within the body, known as “central qì oscillation”—that is, the integration of insubstantial and substantial with qì. This is an important sign that external movement training has triggered internal functional changes and produced internal-skill responses, and it is also a marker that training has entered the intermediate stage. At this stage, changes between insubstantial and substantial shift from being purely changes in physical movement to changes that are primarily sensation-based, though they are still accompanied by physical movement. When this sensation of insubstantial and substantial combining with qì gradually strengthens and becomes natural, everything at the level of physical form is no longer important. All changes between insubstantial and substantial are primarily changes of mental intention centered on the rotation of qì in the dāntián, and these naturally reflected as changes in jìn (trained force). This is one of the signs that training has entered the advanced stage (Fig. 4-4). This entire training process is an example of using external physical movement practice to drive and trigger the emergence of internal sensations, thereby activating internal skill training.
Throughout the entire training process, ensuring a clear distinction between insubstantial and substantial in bodily structure is the most important step. However, in actual practice, beginners—and even some people who have already practiced for many years—are unable to respect this conscientiously and strictly. This is because, during the actual performance of the form, whether the weight transfer is 100% complete or only 90% complete does not, at that moment, produce any very noticeable difference in feeling. If the practitioner is not serious and attentive enough, they will overlook this point. Because this kind of skill must be cultivated over a long period of time, bit by bit, it is especially difficult—before results appear—to distinguish what is correct from what is incorrect. Whether one is practicing correctly or not, the results may only become apparent after three years, five years, or even ten years. If the practice is correct, sensations will first arise beneath the feet, and then sensations will also arise throughout the body. These sensations make the application of techniques become clear; if one practices incorrectly, however, there will often be no sensation indicating that something is wrong. Because this kind of incorrectness still falls within the range of one’s “innate natural ability,” people cannot naturally sense it as an error, and therefore are unable to recognize their own problems.
A very awkward situation is this: if one fails to pay sufficient attention to this issue at the beginning of training and only discovers it several years later, then time has already slipped away, leaving nothing but regret. This is because such errors cannot be corrected immediately simply by adjusting physical movements; they require being re-cultivated from the ground up. To avoid future regret, learning Tàijíquán must, from the very beginning, cultivate the good habit of focused attention and serious practice, neglecting no detail—so that one may truly “allow no place for flaws”.
2. Principles involved in the exercises
Underlying the entire training of empty–solid transformation is the principle of the body’s extraordinary meridians (The Eight Extraordinary Meridians). In other words, the whole practice process is about training how to use mind–intent to guide action, and—through the function of these meridians—bring about a proper application of qì and jìn.
In the initial stage of training, the practice focuses on distinguishing between substantial and insubstantial movements of the body. This actually trains the lifting and lowering of energy in the Rèn and Dū meridians, allowing the energy to rise along the Dū meridian and descend along the Rèn meridian, forming a cycle. In the intermediate stage, the practice utilizes the swaying of the central energy. This actually trains the Chōng meridian as the core, combining the energy of the Dāntián with the ascending and descending actions of the Yīn and Yáng meridians to create the function of driving the transformation between substantial and insubstantial states. At the advanced stage, guided by mind–intent, what is trained is empty–solid transformation at the level of jin (trained force). At this point, physical movements already follow naturally. In essence, this is the use of the Girdle meridian (带脉 - dài mài) to constrain and integrate the Rèn, Dū, Yīn Qiāo, Yáng Qiāo, Yīn Wéi, Yáng Wéi, Chōng meridians, bringing the eight extraordinary meridians into coordination. Internally, this forms rotation of dāntián qì, uniting inside and outside, so that in responding to an opponent the body can transform freely like a ball floating in water. Thus, the principles of “abandoning oneself to follow the other” and of “sticking and yielding in mutual correspondence” naturally come into being.
In this book, the transformation between insubstantial and substantial is repeatedly emphasized. First, because it is an extremely important yet easily overlooked form of training: it requires long-term accumulation, and during that process it is difficult to distinguish correctness from error. Second, because it is the foundation of all Tàijíquán techniques—what was traditionally called the internal skill of “opening and unblocking the Eight Extraordinary Meridians.” On this basis, other techniques may be regarded as the application of qì and jìn along the Twelve Primary Meridians. This represents the complete significance of internal-skill training in Tàijíquán as it relates to martial application.
The advantages and disadvantages of practicing a low frame (low stance)
In form-practice training, in most cases one should use a standard frame. This means adopting either a standard forward stance with one foot-length forward and one foot-length across, or a standard corner stance with half a foot-length forward and one-and-a-half foot-lengths across. While maintaining an upright posture and keeping the body centered, the weight-bearing leg should carry one hundred percent of the body weight. At the same time, on the front of the body the tip of the nose, the tip of the knee, and the tip of the foot should align with one another, while on the back of the body the waist is relaxed, the hips are settled, and the tailbone is aligned toward the heel of the weight-bearing leg. This posture represents the lowest level the body can maintain while still ensuring that the seven torso-related requirements among the “nine essentials of body method” (shēnfǎ) are all correctly met; in other words, it is the maximum degree to which the weight-bearing leg can bend. Because the human body’s skeletal structure and proportions are fixed, when the weight-bearing leg bends further and the body lowers, certain requirements of body method—or the requirement that the weight-bearing leg carry one hundred percent of the body weight—will be compromised. Therefore, rather than saying that the standard frame is the lowest stance that can maintain correct body method, it is better to say that the lowest stance that maintains correct body method is what is called the standard frame. As discussed earlier, in the beginner stage, one-hundred-percent transfer of the center of gravity is the foundation for understanding empty–solid changes at later advanced stages and maintaining correctness of body method (shēnfǎ) is the foundation of all techniques. In training prior to the advanced stage, both of these must be considered; therefore, in daily practice, using the standard frame should be the main approach.
A low frame refers to a type of training in form practice in which the body’s center of gravity is lower than that of the standard frame. When practicing a low stance, the weight-bearing leg bends further, causing the body’s center of gravity to lower. This change makes the weight-bearing leg work harder, thus promoting training of the legs—especially the thigh muscles—and at the same time providing some assistance to the training of relaxation and sinking. Low-frame practice also often gives observers the impression of strong skill, and therefore many people who are willing to put in hard work, or who are enthusiastic about performance, like to practice low frames. However, it must be clearly understood that low-frame practice also has its drawbacks. When the overall stance is lower than the standard frame, it will inevitably cause deviations in certain aspects of correct body method. For example, the length of the thigh bone determines that if the knee of the weight-bearing leg bends further while one also tries to keep one hundred percent of the body weight on that leg, the body will inevitably have to lean forward or stick the hips out backward, thereby losing correct body method (shēnfǎ); otherwise, balance cannot be maintained. Conversely, if one insists on maintaining upright alignment, raising the crotch (guǒdāng), and settling the hips (liūtún) — i.e., correct body method—then it is inevitable that one cannot keep one hundred percent of the weight on the supporting leg, which in turn affects clear distinction of insubstantial and substantial. This contradiction is unavoidable.
From the overall perspective of Tàijíquán training, maintaining correct body method while also maintaining one-hundred-percent transfer of body weight is far more important than strengthening the thigh muscles, because these are the foundation for establishing correct internal-skill sensations. Practicing with low stances is not helpful for developing the correct internal energy feelings and may even be detrimental. Therefore, overall, practicing with a low stance does more harm than good. Of course, this does not mean that it must never be practiced at all; however, one must clearly understand the principles involved, properly control the amount and degree of practice, and absolutely must not let it take over as the main focus (反客为主 - Fǎnkèwéizhǔ).
The significance of practicing a fast frame (form)
The early forms of the Tàijíquán form cannot now be determined with certainty. Based on some existing records, it can generally be believed that when Yáng Lùchán first arrived in Beijing to teach boxing, there was only a single form routine. Its basic structure was likely the Thirteen Postures attributed in the old manuals to Zhāng Sānfēng. This is traditionally referred to as the "Old Form”. According to some later accounts, when Yáng Lùchán taught martial arts, he made modifications to the practice of the form, mainly removing actions such as issuing explosive force and jumping. Here, we do not discuss the reasons for the changes but only compare the substance of those changes. When examining the arrangement of the postures, one can see that it reflects the early forms of the fast or old-style routines found in some martial arts schools today, or perhaps a variation of the old-style routines. Regardless of which situation it is, the core issue is the direction in which Tàijíquán is developing.
Since Yáng Lùchán began publicly teaching Tàijíquán in the mid-19th century, Tàijíquán has gradually matured in both theory and practice. People’s understanding and comprehension of Tàijíquán also became increasingly clear, and the training content grew richer and more refined. This can be seen in the boxing manuals and treatises that have been passed down from that time. From this perspective, the practice form of Tàijíquán naturally developed toward a direction characterized by softness, slowness, lightness, and evenness. This direction of development has led to continuous improvements and new approaches in training methods. This can be seen in the later improvements made by Wǔ Yǔxiāng, Yáng Bānhóu, Yáng Jiànhóu, or Quán Yòu, Yáng Shǎohóu, Yáng Chéngfǔ, Wáng Màozhāi, and Wú Jiànquán in their practice methods, as well as in the development of some new training techniques. These improvements formed the basis for the various schools of thought that emerged later. From the essential nature of Tàijíquán training, Tàijíquán places greater emphasis on inner substance—that is, internal-skill training. Because the experience of internal-skill training differs from person to person, this is the fundamental reason why people modify the form based on their individual experiences. Naturally, whether a person's personal experience is accurate directly affects whether the modifications to the martial arts form are reasonable.
The external form of Tàijíquán training is very different from the martial arts forms people are familiar with. As Tàijíquán developed toward a more advanced mode of training characterized by softness, slowness, lightness, and evenness, its health-preserving effects became more apparent. As a result, most people gradually formed a mistaken understanding: they came to believe that Tàijíquán’s soft, slow, light, and even manner of movement exists solely for health exercise; and that when it comes to martial combat, one must rely on leaping, bounding, and fast, forceful striking. This is precisely the reason why some people today place great emphasis on issuing force and advocate practicing fast boxing. It also shows that those who promote fast boxing in this way do not truly understand the training methods or the martial principles of Tàijíquán. In addition, behind the advocacy of fast boxing there is also a kind of “esteeming the ancient while disparaging the present” mindset at work. Some people do not understand the laws of development of things and always assume that the older something is, the better it must be. When we say that Tàijíquán represents the highest stage in the development of Chinese martial arts, we mean that starting from its fundamental theories it has already formed new concepts and training methods. Especially in terms of martial application, both its theory and practice differ from what people commonly understand as martial arts. If one still evaluates Tàijíquán’s combat skills using the standards applied to other martial arts, believing that practicing fast forms helps improve combat ability, the inevitable result will be a distorted understanding of Tàijíquán. From the perspective of Tàijíquán’s development, so-called fast boxing has already lost its original meaning, or rather, it has lost its necessity. If one enjoys it, of course one may practice it, and regard it as a form of respect for tradition. However, if fast boxing is practiced for the purpose of improving combat ability, then it is unnecessary and may even cause confusion. If one believes that without practicing fast boxing one cannot fight, this shows an overly superficial understanding of Tàijíquán, and such an understanding will inevitably lead to the degeneration of Tàijíquán technique.
Competition routines cannot yield genuine Tàijíquán skill.
Taijiquan competition routines developed out of martial arts competitions. Since it is a competition, it naturally requires pursuing the best results in accordance with the competition’s rules, standards, and requirements. The common characteristic of this type of scored competition is that it turns martial arts—which are originally about offensive and defensive combat and even life-and-death struggle, as well as cultivation that takes internal skill as its highest realm—into a form of visually oriented physical movement performance. This characteristic therefore determines that competitions can only compare those things that are visible—external, outward aspects. As the core of advanced martial application, internal skill (nèigōng) is, by its very nature, almost impossible to judge directly or to formulate into competitive formats and rules. Consequently, it cannot receive attention, much less be included within the scoring criteria of competitions. From this perspective, it is inevitable that martial arts forms competitions will become detached from the essence of martial arts, and Tàijíquán forms competitions are no exception. Therefore, both the offensive and defensive meaning and the application of internal skill in martial techniques, as well as internal cultivation for health and longevity, are not included in routine competitions. As a result, for competitions these advanced skills become meaningless, and for competitors it is only natural not to pay attention to them. From this, the development trend of routine competitions can only be toward pursuing visual attractiveness, novelty, and high difficulty in external movements; this is precisely what we see in competitions today.
Authentic Tàijíquán skill is based on form training, with internal energy cultivation as the core element. Although there are strict requirements regarding physical appearance, these do not involve obvious, highly difficult, or visually impressive physical movements. To develop genuine Tàijíquán skill, one must follow the accumulated experience of generations of practitioners, tested through practical application, and train in accordance with Taijiquan’s own inherent principles. For example, the “Nine Essentials of Body Method” (“身法九要” - “shēn fǎ jiǔ yào”) which serve as the basic standards for physical movement, must be strictly observed. Likewise, in order to establish a correct internal feeling of empty–solid transformation, one must begin in form practice with a clear physical distinction between empty and solid; and in order to truly understand the application of Tàijí yīn-yáng principles within boxing methods, one must engage in a large amount of internal-skill training at various levels, guided by intention. These aspects are generally impossible to clearly demonstrate through physical movements and therefore cannot be used as scoring criteria. In essence, Tàijíquán form practice is a kind of personal self-cultivation, not something performed for others to watch.
The aims and pursuits of routine competitions first determine that competition routines neither need to consider, nor are able to consider, the requirements of genuine Tàijíquán skill, and may even ignore them entirely. Second, they determine that movements within competition routines will inevitably develop toward the pursuit of visual attractiveness, novelty, and high difficulty—and that this pursuit of movement is necessarily meant to satisfy general aesthetic expectations, such as those found in dance or gymnastics. In fact, looking at the course of development of routine competitions, one can see that before the 1990s, competition routines basically still followed the forms of traditional routines. It goes without saying that the Tàijíquán competitions at that time lacked any dramatic twists and turns or difficult techniques, and therefore, for most spectators, the competitions seemed dull and lacked entertainment value. Therefore, from the perspectives of increasing competitiveness between athletes and enhancing spectator appeal, competition routines inevitably pursue novel and high-difficulty movements. This direction of development, in itself, is not inappropriate for either competitors or spectators. Some people are willing to compete this way, and some people enjoy watching it; these are all matters of personal choice. There is only one point here that needs to be clarified: modern competition routines and traditional Tàijíquán routines are now two completely different things. Although they may still share some similarities in outward form, they have long since diverged greatly in training purpose, training methods, and overall aims. Therefore, if one practices only competition routines, it is impossible to develop genuine Tàijíquán skill.
We are not opposed to Tàijíquán form competitions; rather, we want to make it clear that this kind of training, which is aimed at competition, has already developed into something completely different from the training of genuine Tàijíquán skill, and the two must not be confused. If you want to participate in competitions and care about your performance, then you naturally need to practice the competition routines diligently according to the requirements; however, if you hope to understand and acquire genuine Tàijíquán skills, then please return to traditional training methods, otherwise success is impossible. This is because many principles and requirements that are crucial to Taijiquan technique cannot be taken into account within competition routines. For example, common competitive routines often use low stances and large strides to demonstrate what is considered graceful and expansive movement. However, once the body method is lowered, upright central alignment, wrapping the crotch (guǒdāng) and settling the hips (liū tún), and clear distinction between empty and solid will inevitably come into conflict and cannot all be achieved at the same time. This is determined by the human body’s physiological structure and cannot be changed. Because the purpose and goals of competitive martial arts differ from those of authentic martial arts, the requirements of competitive routines inevitably contradict, and are even detrimental to, the requirements of authentic Tàijíquán. If one wants both to compete and achieve good results, and at the same time to train according to traditional methods to develop genuine skill, this is almost impossible.
Because all genuine skill requires long-term, arduous training, eventually reaching the state of “through long persistence, naturalness emerges”. The “naturalness” referred to here first of all means establishing muscle memory through purposeful training. Training with different purposes will establish different kinds of muscle memory. If one carries out two training programs with completely opposite aims at the same time, muscle memory will become confused, and neither will be done well. More importantly, genuine Tàijíquán skill must be developed through correct physical-movement training, thereby establishing accurate internal sensations. If the physical movements are incorrect, the corresponding sensations will naturally not arise. Because genuine Tàijíquán trains a new capacity that runs counter to innate, instinctive abilities, it requires the establishment of new muscle memory and the corresponding internal sensations; from this, new patterns of movement and response are formed. The current approach to competitive routines involves strengthening and enhancing natural abilities. It is precisely because of these differences in philosophy and training methods that if one attempts to practice both competitive routines and traditional forms simultaneously, it is certain that the traditional forms will not be mastered properly. A person cannot, on the one hand, train to strengthen innate, natural abilities, and at the same time train to develop a new capacity that runs counter to those innate abilities.
Today, the development of Taijiquan competition routines has already completed a transition from quantitative change to qualitative change. Apart from a few basic movements that still resemble the traditional form, they are no longer related in any way to genuinely traditional Tàijíquán. This represents the extreme outcome of the overall degeneration and distortion of traditional Tàijíquán. Sadly, due to various man-made reasons, this modified version of Tàijíquán has, in the minds of many, become the representative of authentic and advanced Tàijíquán. Meanwhile, genuinely traditional Tàijíquán often has to add qualifiers such as “genuinely traditional” in front of its own name in order to distinguish itself. This cannot but be called a tragedy in the transmission and development of Tàijíquán.
"Practice the form ten thousand times, and the principles will naturally become clear"
"Practicing a technique ten thousand times leads to understanding" is a martial arts proverb, also expressed as "After practicing a technique ten thousand times, its principles will become clear." It emphasizes that practice makes perfect and highlights the importance of putting in the effort when practicing martial arts.
This way of thinking is basically correct for certain boxing styles that take physical conditioning as their foundation and technical familiarity as their means of application; but for Tàijíquán it is basically incorrect and may even mislead practitioners. Because this way of thinking places excessive emphasis on training the physical form and techniques, it assumes that as long as one puts in effort practicing the form, one will naturally understand Tàijíquán—completely ignoring the role of theory within Tàijíquán. Tàijíquán skill is absolutely not something that can be obtained merely through immersing oneself in diligent practice, nor can the technical principles of Tàijíquán naturally arise simply from mere repetition. Practicing Tàijíquán requires a combination of theory and practice. Alongside diligent practice, one must also engage their mind and think critically. Although people often hear stories about elder masters who practiced with great hardship, these are mostly meant to encourage younger people to work hard. In reality, not a single truly accomplished Tàijíquán master achieved success solely through hard practice alone. Grandmaster Wáng Péishēng once said: “In Tàijíquán circles, those who put in hard work but don’t use their brains, and those who use their brains but don’t put in hard work — neither type can succeed”. Without proper theoretical guidance, practicing Tàijíquán will inevitably remain at the level of innate natural abilities, and the more effort one puts in, the further one will stray from the true essence of Tàijíquán.
"Lowering the head and curling/arching the waist like a cat". Is it "advanced" or "not advanced"?
A boxing proverb says: “Lowering the head and hunching the waist means one’s skill will not be high”. Tàijíquán emphasizes “suspending the head from above,” “lifting the crown and lengthening the neck,” and “maintaining an upright, centered body.” These are common requirements in practice, and they are the main factors that ensure one can be both light and agile, and at the same time stable and well-balanced. "Lowering the head" is equivalent to "losing one's upright posture" and “hunching the waist” means losing one's balance; both are major taboos in martial arts training.
Once, when Grandmaster Wáng Péishēng was explaining hand techniques to us, he said: “People usually say, ‘Lowering the head and hunching the waist means one’s skill is not high.’ But when you truly understand martial arts, it becomes ‘Lowering the head and hunching the waist means one’s skill is very high’ ”. He then cited the example of his senior brother, Grandmaster Zhāng Lìtáng, to explain the meaning of “lowering the head and hunching the waist” in actual combat.
In fact, the meaning of “lowering the head and hunching the waist” is different when one understands boxing and when one does not. When one does not understand boxing, “lowering the head and hunching the waist” refers only to external physical movement. Such movement causes slackness in the body and is incorrect. In particular, it interferes with establishing the feeling of central uprightness and also affects the maintenance and adjustment of balance and stability in push-hands practice. This kind of “lowering the head and hunching the waist” will have an absolutely negative impact on the improvement of overall skill; therefore, it must be avoided—otherwise it is impossible to truly understand boxing. Through correct training, one must achieve qualities such as “the head suspended from above,” “lifting the crown and lengthening the neck,” and “upright, centered posture,” thereby reaching the level of understanding (dǒng) jìn—which is to understand the boxing itself. At this stage, what appears to be “lowering the head and hunching the waist” is in fact a fully drawn bow. Although the body appears bent in outward form, internally it is still lifted upward at the top and sinking downward with qì, seeking straightness within curvature and filled with elasticity. Energy is accumulating, and at this moment what looks like “lowering the head and hunching the waist” actually poses a great latent threat to the opponent. Being able to achieve this kind of “lowering the head and hunching the waist” truly means that one’s skill level is very high.
Flowery forms and the postures within set routines
In most traditional martial arts styles, practicing forms and routines is an important component of training. A common viewpoint is that practicing martial arts forms is useless, because most of the movements in these forms don't seem to be directly applicable to actual combat, especially those movements that are large in amplitude and look aesthetically pleasing. When a routine contains many movements of this type, it is called a “flowery frame” (large, graceful, or flashy movements) — what is known as “flowery fists and embroidered legs” (techniques that look impressive but lack real practical value). This view became entrenched when martial arts forms competitions were popularized and promoted, and choreographed routines were considered the main content of martial arts.
Although for various reasons some schools’ boxing forms have been used for performance, with many postures becoming standardized, dance-like, or theatrical, this is not the essence of boxing-form training. Within the overall training of traditional martial arts, practicing forms and stances is fundamental; after that come partner breakdown drills and actual combat training. If you only practice the forms without engaging in sparring drills, you naturally won't understand the specific applications, variations, and meanings of the movements within the forms in actual combat. Similarly, if you only explain and demonstrate sparring techniques without engaging in practical combat training, it will be difficult to truly apply the various technical principles and skills in real-world situations. Therefore, within a complete training system, form practice, breakdown drills, and combat training are closely linked to one another, and none of them can be omitted. Judging whether a martial arts form is merely for show requires examining the entire training system; criticizing the form in isolation is biased. Although it's an oversimplification to think that practicing martial arts forms is the entirety of martial arts training, it's also true that many martial arts practitioners genuinely don't understand the purpose of these forms and end up practicing them as mere empty displays.
It goes without saying, in the course of the development of martial arts, some routines in certain schools have indeed been deliberately transformed into flowery forms meant specifically for performance—for example, routines choreographed in modern martial arts competitions to pursue so-called novelty and high difficulty. Tàijíquán also faces this situation; therefore, it is necessary to have a correct understanding of traditional Tàijíquán forms, to be able to distinguish between genuine techniques and a “flowery frame”. In traditional Tàijíquán forms, some postures indeed cannot be applied in real combat as directly and efficiently as free-fighting techniques, because they were not originally designed for that purpose. The main purpose of practicing the postures and movements in Tàijíquán forms is to change the physical state, seeking internal and external harmony, relaxation and coordination, the smooth flow of energy, and the development of higher levels of sensory perception and new patterns of behavior and reaction. During training, explaining the combat applications of the movements within a form is essentially just providing illustrative examples in combat practice, and does not represent actual fighting techniques.
Within Tàijíquán forms, certain movement shapes and their soft, slow method of practice often lead to misunderstanding, and are therefore labeled with the tag of being “flowery frames”. The foundational requirements for Tàijíquán’s combat effectiveness are higher and more complex than those of other martial arts styles. This includes many special movements that are not directly related to specific fighting techniques. Therefore, while Tàijíquán form training is crucial, it is less intuitive. It's necessary to understand the relationship between form training and fighting techniques; there is no necessary connection between whether a specific movement in the form can be directly applied in combat. Just as strength is a crucial foundation for those who practice Sǎndǎ (Chinese kickboxing), most methods of strength training, such as push-ups and weightlifting, are not directly used in actual combat. Therefore, it is unreasonable to criticize push-ups as useless in real fighting situations. Here, precisely because the gap between foundational training and real combat application is very large, the issue actually becomes clearer: hardly anyone would question the fact that strength-training exercises are not used directly in combat. By contrast, as foundational training, the technical movements within boxing forms being closer to and resembling combat techniques is originally an advantage—but it also creates confusion.
Prejudice about “flowery frames (forms)” is very widespread, mainly because many people who practice traditional martial arts themselves do not truly understand the issue and have not explained it clearly. Some even believe that once they have learned the forms they can fight in real combat, or that form practice itself constitutes the core of martial arts. The result of such thinking is extremely poor fighting ability. If one is still confused oneself, then one can hardly blame others for criticizing.