Now we can say, with great relief, that kung fu is not the deadliest martial art. The UFC and Pride League have proven that, like any art, combat is performed best by those with international perspective. Now we can put to rest a debate burning age-long  in Chinese hearts: which is better, Shaolin or Wudang kung fu? If "better" means "better for winning fights", then the answer is neither.

 And that's just as well. Both schools of kung fu featured butt-whipping as the very last link in a long chain of added value. Thanks to the ill-fated David Carradine, Shaolin kung fu always got the press west-side. The mysteries of initiation, the proud tradition of rebel resistance, all the bare-fisted romance drove numbers to an IPO last year . Figures Shaolin would be the one to break big. Brasher, bolder, Shaolin soaks up the attention while its deep dark brother Wudang watches calmly, stage left, in keeping with its principles: soft over hard, internal over external.

What's more Chinese than Shaolin kung fu? Wudang. The former has its roots in Taoism, sure, but got its start with monks repurposing Bodhidharma's  yoga moves. The earliest learning began from two books they discovered among their guru's possessions, The Marrow Cleansing Classic and The Muscle Changing Classic. No shame in being part Indian import; Buddha and Tao are like bacon and eggs. But Wudang's tradition has a holy father, too, human deity Zhenwu. Zhenwu mastered Tao alchemy and transcended dualistic ‘reality', turning into golden light. Therein lies the metaphor for Wudang: not toughening - refinement, not exercise - innercise, and not dealing death, but achieving immortality.

No wonder Zhang San Feng settled at last on Wudang mountain.  Born late in the Yuan Dynasty, Zhang was healed of his childhood blindness by Tao priests and became a life-long follower, mastering  different Taoist fighting techniques along the way. But not until a mystic experience on Wudang Shan did he achieve Tao and create Tai Ji Quan, the basis of Wudang kung fu. The numbers behind his "internal boxing" bear celestial favor: thirteen forms, regulating inner organs by the five-element theory, symbolizing  the eight trigrams, utilizing the nine directions.

If the math seems grandiose, the three core principles are pure metaphysical beauty. Wuj, the utmost void, the formlessness behind material illusion. Taiji, the utmost high, resolution of the void's opposing forces, yin and yang. Finally, liang yi, the manipulation and separation of yin and yang, also called sixiang, the four elephants, the pillars on which all development rests.

The philosophy found physical expression in Taoist arts, breathing and stretching methods, as wells as herbal medicine, collecting and nourishing. Most fantastic was the practice of qi gong, the manipulation of sublime energies.  All contributed to Wudang's development as a meta-art, rather than a martial art. The goal is to overcome the self and its limitations, starting from the inside out. Fighting prowess is but a fringe benefit compared to being a crackling field of qi potentiality.

Predictably, however, Wudang's fighting prowess was the component that spread down from the mountain and into the hearts of the secular Chinese.  Perhaps fighting  hardness with softness, motion with motionlessness, and quickness by slowness appealed to those dismayed by the external rigors of Shaolin. Still, over time Wudang has evolved into more than two-score lineages, from Cyclone and Thunder Boxing to the Heavenly Eagle School. The moves all flow from Taoist touchstones such as the Ba gua and Theory of Five Elements, but their physical effects are all business. The sterling vitality, as well as the puissance of Wudang practitioners won the style of kung fu a reputation as big as Shaolin's. The saying was always "In the North, Shaolin holds sway. In the South, Wudang rules."

Neither rules, not for beating people up, anyway. But for giving physical expression to the soul of Taoism, yeah, Wudang rules.

The mountain itself also impresses itself as a nonpareil. Springing from the verdant heart of Hubei, Wudang Shan is a classic painter's fantasy of cliffs and pools, caves and springs, peaks and wells. Mist and sunlight do an eternal yin-yang dance over the 300 plus kilometers covered by the mountain. The first Tao temples appeared on its slopes back in the Tang Dynasty. But the Ming kings were the ones to realize fully Wudang's gifts, the final prize, the sweetest elixir.

 It was under Emperor Zhuli that the construction of the sublime road began, stretching from the Temple of Purity at Wudang's foot to the Golden Palace at its peak. It took three hundred thousand workers some 13 years to construct the 70 kilometer path, score after score of temples, palaces, halls and bridges. Today, one finds a profusion of schools, students, and seekers dotting the mountain and its environs. No IPO in the offing for Wudang as of yet, but your tourist dollar will take you closer to the heart of kung fu there than at other locations we could name. Henan, say.

Ernie's blog

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