Newsletter #17

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What Does "Kung Fu" Really Mean?

We often associate "kung fu" with martial arts—but in Chinese culture, the term gōngfū (功夫) has a much deeper meaning. It refers to any skill earned through time and dedicated effort. Whether your are a master chef, painter, or practitioner martial arts, gōngfū is about refinement through repetition.

In today's fast-paced world, shortcuts are tempting. Advertisements offer instructor titles after just a few seminars. Social media can make a beginner look like a seasoned expert. But real gōngfū cannot be rushed. It isn't conferred by a certificate or self-declared status—it shows in how you move, how you live, and how deeply you've trained.

In traditional Chinese arts, titles like "teacher" (lǎoshī) or (shīfù) were earned slowly and often humbly. Students might spend months just standing or repeating one form before moving on. There was no race—because the process itself was the teaching.

This isn't to discourage modern students, many of whom are sincere and devoted. It's to remind us that true skill takes time. Gōngfū is a quiet accumulation of dedication and practice, built day by day.

So the next time you wonder if you're "good enough" or "ready to teach," consider this: the real mark of gōngfū is not what you've achieved—it's how deeply you're still learning.

China's Female Bodyguards

Though seldom mentioned in history books, female bodyguards (nübiaoshi 女镖师) were a real part of late Qing and early Republican China. In an era of political unrest and dangerous roads, wealthy families sometimes needed protection for daughters, wives, or high-status women—and only another woman could safely accompany them.

These bodyguards trained in martial arts styles suited to speed and agility, like White Crane or Emei. Many carried concealed weapons: hairpins, fans, short blades, even whip chains. Their skills included not just striking, but qinna—joint locking and control techniques perfect for close quarters.

Training came through martial families, nunneries, or escort agencies that saw the value of discreet female protectors. Their role demanded more than strength: it required loyalty, calm under pressure, and the ability to move through both public and private spaces without drawing suspicion.

While romanticized in films and stories, these women were real—and formidable. They left behind little fanfare but an enduring image: the quiet figure in silk robes, moving like wind, guarding with steel.

Qi Journal Updates:

Our Summer 2025 Journal is at the printer and we will be preparing our first mailings to current subscribers soon. If you are not a current subscriber, please consider purchasing either print or digital issues at www.qi-journal.com/subscriptions.

Feature articles include: "The True Wellness Approach To Diabetes" by Catherine Kurosu, MD, LAc & Aihan Kuhn, CMD, OBT; "Microcosmic and Macrocosmic Taiji" by Master Waysun Liao; "Formation of the Universe According to Dao" by Dr. Bernard Shannon; and "Taijiquan and Tensegrity" by Luo Shiwen.

Department articles include: "Ginseng in Folklore" by Sarah Chen; "Lesser-Known Facts About the Dragon Boat Festival"; "Taijijian: The Elegant Blade of Martial Tradition" by Steven Luo; "Xu Zhenjun: A Daoist Immortal" by Jose Rodriguez; "East vs West: Historical & Modern Health Data" by Hayao Yamada, BA; "Meditation: Many Paths, One Stillness" by Kaitlin Sommers; and "The Role of Breath in Taijiquan and Qigong" by Dr. Daniel Ming Ph.D. And of course, our tidbits and news.

Online Bonus: We have released another interactive website feature for our visitors. It is a learning Quiz to help a user learn some basic Chinese mandarin words and phrases. The user can control how many questions and the level of difficulty. It also includes pinyin and audio to correct tones, one of the most difficult aspects of learning Chinese. Try it out at www.qi-journal.com/quiz and let us know what you think.

徙木立信 (xǐ mù lì xìn)

The idiom 徙木立信 (xǐ mù lì xìn) literally means "to move a tree in order to establish trust." It comes from a famous story during the Warring States period, illustrating the importance of integrity and credibility, especially for rulers.

The story appears in Han Feizi (韓非子), a foundational text of Legalist philosophy. When King Xiao of Qin appointed the reformer Shang Yang as his chief advisor, the people were skeptical of the new laws. To gain their trust, Shang Yang ordered a large wooden log to be placed at the south gate of the capital and declared that anyone who could move it to the north gate would be rewarded with ten gold pieces. No one believed he would pay that much. He raised the reward to fifty, and a man stepped forward, moved the log—and was paid immediately. This seemingly trivial act became a powerful public demonstration: Shang Yang kept his word. His subsequent reforms, though strict, were accepted because he had first shown he could be trusted.

Thus, the idiom "to move a tree in order to establish trust" refers to building credibility through visible and honorable actions. In Confucian contexts, it emphasizes moral leadership. In modern usage, it's often cited in business, politics, and personal relationships to stress that trust must be earned through concrete deeds, not empty words.

Stillness in Motion: Why Qigong Matters More Than Ever

We live in an era of urgency. Notifications interrupt our thoughts, calendars fill faster than empty, and even rest is often scheduled, measured, or guilt-laced. Against this backdrop, the quiet, flowing movements of Qigong offer something increasingly rare: stillness.

But this stillness is not the absence of motion—it is the presence of awareness.

Qigong practice cultivates jing (静), or inner calm, not by removing us from life but by changing how we move through it. With each slow breath and mindful gesture, the nervous system begins to shift from fight-or-flight reactivity toward a more regulated, parasympathetic state. The body softens. The breath deepens. The mind gradually settles into rhythm rather than rush.

This physiological reset is no small thing. Chronic stress has been linked to inflammation, poor sleep, cardiovascular strain, anxiety, and a host of other modern ailments. Qigong provides a non-invasive, side-effect-free method of intervention—one that doesn't just treat symptoms but re-educates the system.

Unlike a gym workout or productivity hack, Qigong doesn't demand that we perform or produce. Its "success" lies in presence, not achievement. In a world that often equates value with speed and output, this shift in focus is quietly radical.

Yet Qigong isn't passive. It's active stillness—cultivated through intent, structure, and deep listening. As posture aligns and breath anchors awareness, practitioners often discover a surprising sense of strength, not from tension but from clarity.

Daoist philosophy reminds us that the sage stays centered while the world moves around them. In this light, Qigong is not a luxury—it's training for modern life. It teaches us to move with less waste, to act without excess, and to pause without fear.

When practiced regularly, even ten or twenty minutes a day, Qigong can serve as both anchor and compass. In these quiet moments of motion, we remember what it feels like to be whole—and from that place, we can meet the day anew.