The Essential Foundation Missing from Modern Taiji Training

I teach Wudang Taiji. This is important to understand from the start—what we practice at Wudang Mountain is our own style, our own lineage that comes through Daoist temples and the internal arts tradition. We're not connected to the family styles like Chen, Yang, Wu, or Sun. Our roots are different.

But here's the thing: we share the same internal principles. The same understanding of yin and yang. The same focus on naturalness, softness overcoming hardness, and internal power. These principles don't belong to any one style—they're universal truths of the internal martial arts. And there's another truth we share: every legitimate internal martial art came from people who could actually fight.I've been teaching for many years now, and I keep seeing the same problem. Students come to me with beautiful flowing movements, but something's missing. When I ask about their basic training—their jibengong—I usually get blank looks. This worries me. Let me share what I've learned by looking at the history of the major family styles. Not because we practice these styles at Wudang—we don't. But because their history proves something important: every great Taiji tradition, including ours at Wudang, came from warriors who emphasized foundational training.

Our tradition at Wudang Mountain has always been tied to real martial skill. The Daoist monks weren't just meditating—they were protecting temples, traveling dangerous roads, and sometimes defending against bandits or serving as advisors to military leaders.

Zhang Sanfeng, whether you see him as historical figure or legendary symbol, represents this warrior-sage ideal. The internal martial arts developed at Wudang were never purely spiritual exercises. They were complete fighting systems that happened to align with Daoist philosophy about natural movement and minimal effort.

The monks I learned from could fight. Not in theory—in reality. They tested their skills. They understood body mechanics at a deep level. And they all emphasized the same thing: jibengong comes first.

Chen Wangting lived from 1600 to 1680. He wasn't a peaceful monk or a health teacher. He was a military commander during one of China's bloodiest periods—the fall of the Ming dynasty. The man fought in real battles, led soldiers, and knew what combat actually meant.

When he retired to his village, he didn't just teach meditation. He took everything he learned on the battlefield and combined it with General Qi Jiguang's military training methods. That's how Chen style was born.

Here's something that tells you who Chen Wangting really was: people called him "Equal to Guan Yu." Guan Yu was the legendary warrior from the Three Kingdoms period, famous for his guandao—that massive blade on a long pole. That's not a compliment you get for doing slow forms in the park.

And it wasn't just Chen Wangting. For generations, the Chen family worked as bodyguards and armed escorts. They were protecting merchant caravans through bandit country. If their Taiji didn't work, they'd be dead. Simple as that.

Yang Luchan (1799-1872) has my deepest respect. He earned the name "Yang Wudi"—Yang the Invincible. Why? Because he never lost a fight. Not once.

Think about that. He was teaching in Beijing's Imperial Court, surrounded by the best fighters in China, and nobody could beat him. The emperor hired him to train the elite Palace Guard. These weren't students learning for health—they were professional soldiers who needed to protect the royal family.

I love this story about Yang Luchan: A famous boxer challenged him to a sitting contest. They sat in chairs and pressed their fists together to test strength. Yang just sat there, calm as could be, while the other guy started sweating and his chair literally started breaking apart. When it was over, Yang said, "Your skill is excellent. Only your chair isn't as good as mine." That's class.

You know what else impresses me? Yang Luchan spent eighteen years learning in Chen Village before he started teaching. Eighteen years! Today, people take a weekend workshop and think they're ready to teach. That's not how it works.

I need to mention Zhaobao because it's often overlooked. Zhaobao Village is close to Chen Village, and their Taiji tradition is strong. Chen Qingping (1795-1868) was the key figure here. He was skilled in both fighting and scholarship—a true warrior-scholar.

What I find interesting about Zhaobao style is how practical it stayed. They focused heavily on joint locks and throwing techniques. Students from this lineage won pushing hands competitions. The style emphasizes direct martial application more than almost any other Taiji style.

Wu Yuxiang, who founded another Wu style, learned from Chen Qingping. That connection shows how all these styles are linked through real martial ability, not just theory.

Wu Yuxiang (1812-1880) founded what we call Wu (Yuxiang) style, also known as Wu/Hao style. Now, this can be confusing because there's another completely different Wu style—Wu (Jianquan) style—founded by different people. Same surname, different Chinese characters, totally different lineages. I'll talk about that other Wu style in a moment.

Wu Yuxiang came from money and education. His family were Confucian scholars and government officials. But here's the thing—they also had a martial tradition. His grandfather was a martial warrior who passed military exams. In his family, you studied books AND you learned to fight.

Wu Yuxiang gave up his government career to focus on Taiji. He studied with Yang Luchan and Chen Qingping, then spent years developing his understanding. His nephew Li Yiyu continued this path, and you know what Li Yiyu did? He regularly challenged strong young men to test what he'd learned. Not in friendly pushing hands—real challenges.

These weren't guys playing at martial arts. They were scholars who took the fighting aspect seriously.

Sun Lutang (1860-1933) might have been the greatest fighter of all the Taiji founders. Before he even touched Taiji, he'd already mastered Xingyiquan and Baguazhang. People said nobody could match his skill in those arts.

Think about this: Sun and his teacher used to hit their palms against an old cannon every day. Not a punching bag—a metal cannon. That's serious conditioning work. When Sun finally learned Taiji at age fifty, he already knew how to fight. He just added Taiji's principles to what he already had.

He created Sun style by combining the best of three internal arts: the direct power of Xingyi, the circular footwork of Bagua, and the flowing energy of Taiji. That's not something a theoretical martial artist could do.

Now here's that other Wu style I mentioned. Wu Quanyou (1834-1902) and his son Wu Jianquan (1870-1942) founded what we call Wu (Jianquan) style. Completely different from Wu Yuxiang's lineage—different family, different approach, but both ended up called "Wu style."

These two were both Manchu Banner officers. That means they were professional military men. Wu Quanyou was head of the imperial bodyguard squad.

When your job is protecting the emperor, you can't mess around with theory. You need skills that work. Both of them were already trained fighters before they learned from the Yang family. They brought that military mindset into their Taiji practice.

Do you see the pattern?

Chen style: military commander who fought in wars.

Yang style: undefeated fighter teaching the Imperial Guard.

Zhaobao: village tradition with practical fighting emphasis.

Wu (Yuxiang): scholar family with martial tradition, tested themselves constantly.

Sun: proven master in three internal arts.

Wu (Jianquan): professional soldiers protecting the emperor.

Different families. Different villages. Different approaches. But one truth: they could all fight.

At Wudang, our lineage is different. We don't trace back to these family masters or village traditions. Our roots go through the Daoist temples and mountain monasteries. But the truth is the same. The monks who developed Wudang martial arts weren't just philosophers—they were warriors who understood combat.

We share the same internal principles with these family styles: understanding of qi, yin-yang transformation, softness overcoming hardness, rooting and structure, internal power generation. These principles work because they're based on reality, tested through real martial application.

Whether you trace your lineage through families in villages or through monks on mountains, the foundation is the same: warriors who did the basic training.

Here's where I see the big problem in modern Taiji. Jibengong is disappearing.

Jibengong means "basic skill" or "foundational work." It's the training that prepares your body to actually do Taiji. I'm talking about:

Standing practice (zhan zhuang)
Stance training
Basic stepping drills
Conditioning exercises
Single movement repetition (doing one movement 100 or 200 times)
Strength and flexibility work

In the old days, students spent months or years on this before learning any forms. I've read accounts of students holding horse stance for hours. They'd practice a single kick hundreds of times in one training session. One old master was known for turning students away after watching just two or three movements of their form—he could see immediately that the foundation wasn't there.

Why does jibengong matter so much? Let me explain what happens without it.

Your body fights against itself. If your joints are stiff, your muscles weak, and your structure poor, you can't do real Taiji. It doesn't matter if you memorize every movement perfectly. Your body will absorb the power you try to generate, wearing you down instead of expressing force.

Everything becomes abstract. Without proper physical foundation, the movements are just gestures. They look like Taiji, but they don't feel like Taiji. The form becomes a dance instead of a training method.

The martial art disappears. There's a huge gap between slow form practice and actual fighting. Basic training is the bridge. Without it, you can't cross that gap. You're left with something that's nice for health, sure, but it's not the complete art.

You miss the depth. Here's something people don't understand: there are no "advanced" techniques in Taiji. The advanced stuff IS the basics, just done at a higher level. Masters keep practicing basics their whole lives because that's where everything is. There's nothing beyond the basics—only deeper understanding.

People always ask me: "Which Taiji style is best for fighting?"

Or sometimes: "Is Wudang style better than the family styles?" or "Are the family styles more practical than Wudang?"

I'll be direct: these are the wrong questions. These questions reveal a misunderstanding of how martial arts work.

Look at the history. Chen style? Warriors and bodyguards. Yang style? Yang the Invincible teaching the Imperial Guard. Zhaobao? Competition fighters and martial applications. Wu (Yuxiang)? Scholars who tested themselves constantly. Sun? A proven fighter in three different arts. Wu (Jianquan)? Professional soldiers. Wudang? Daoist warrior-monks.

Every legitimate internal martial art came from someone who could fight. Every single one.

The style doesn't make you good at fighting. The lineage doesn't matter. What matters is:

Proper jibengong (building your foundation)
Understanding the principles (not just copying movements)
Training applications with partners (push hands, drills, techniques)
Testing yourself (pressure testing, resistance training)
Time and dedication (years of consistent practice)

A Chen stylist without foundation can't fight. A Yang stylist without foundation can't fight. A Wudang practitioner without foundation can't fight. But any practitioner from any legitimate lineage with strong basics can be effective.

It's like asking which hammer is best for building a house. The hammer doesn't matter if you don't know how to use it.

Look at what I've shown you. Chen, Yang, Zhaobao, Wu (Yuxiang), Sun, Wu (Jianquan)—every one came from warriors. Different villages, different families, different approaches to the same internal principles.

At Wudang, we have our own lineage, our own tradition passed through temple and mountain. We don't practice Chen family forms or Yang family forms. What we practice comes from the Daoist understanding of natural movement, internal power, and the cultivation of qi through martial training.

But the principle is universal: real internal martial arts came from people who could fight.

The Daoist influence is important to understand. Daoism teaches us about natural movement, about yin and yang working together, about using minimal effort for maximum effect. These aren't just philosophical ideas—they're fighting strategies that work. This is what connects all legitimate internal arts, even though our styles and lineages differ.

When we honor the Wudang tradition and the internal arts, we have to remember: every great master could fight. Not because violence is good, but because the ability to fight proves the principles are real. Combat is the test. If your structure is good, your rooting is real, your sensitivity works, and your power is efficient, these things will show up when tested.

I'm not saying everyone needs to become a fighter. I'm saying we need to respect where these arts came from and maintain their completeness—whether you practice Wudang style like us, or any of the family styles, or any other legitimate internal art.

Here's what I believe all practitioners should do:

Don't rush. Take your time with basics. If your teacher wants you to hold horse stance for ten minutes, do it. If you need to practice one kick 100 times, do it. The foundation matters more than learning new forms.

Invest in jibengong. Before you worry about advanced techniques, build your base. Get strong. Get flexible. Condition your body. Train your structure.

Find the complete training methods. Look for teachers who know the conditioning work, the supplementary exercises, the old training methods. At Wudang, we maintain these practices. Good teachers in other styles do the same.

Practice applications. Don't just do the form. Learn what the movements mean. Practice with resistance. Get honest feedback. Push hands isn't a game—it's where you learn to apply the principles.

Remember what the masters did. Yang Luchan trained eighteen years before teaching. Sun Lutang hit a cannon every day. Chen family members put their lives on the line as bodyguards. Wudang monks trained for years before they were considered skilled. That's the level of dedication we're talking about.

The style you choose doesn't matter as much as whether you're willing to do the work. Wudang, Chen, Yang, Zhaobao, Wu (Yuxiang), Sun, Wu (Jianquan)—we all come from different roots, but we share the same internal principles. And we all understand that real training produces real results.

Taiji without jibengong becomes abstract. It might look beautiful, but it's disconnected from what the founders created—whether those founders were family masters in villages or Daoist monks on mountains.

With proper foundation, any legitimate internal style becomes a vehicle for real skill, real understanding, and real capability.

At Wudang, we maintain this tradition. We keep the warrior training alive alongside the spiritual cultivation. They're not separate—they're two aspects of the same path.

The question isn't "Which style is better?" or "Which lineage is correct?"

The question is: "Are you willing to build the foundation that every great master built?"

That's the path I teach. That's what I believe. Basic training—jibengong—is where the real art lives. Everything else is just decoration.

Every Great Taiji Master Could Fight

Why Basic Training Matters

The Warriors Who Created Our Styles

Wudang's Own Warriors

Chen Style: A General's Art

Yang Style: The Invincible

Zhaobao Style: The Village Warriors

Wu (Yuxiang) Style: Scholar Meets Warrior

Sun Style: The Ultimate Internal Artist

Wu (Jianquan) Style: Professional Soldiers

The Universal Truth

The Missing Piece: Jibengong

The Myth I Keep Hearing

What We Share Across All Internal Arts

My Advice to All Practitioners

This is what I believe: