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Refining the Mind

Even though the three Taoist wizards sat and talked among themselves, appearing to ignore the young visitor, they were covertly examining him with their inner perceptions. Ascertaining that the boy suffered from chronic migraine and eye trouble, the old masters set about curing him without making any overt indication of what they were doing.

In a gradual manner, Wang Liping became aware of an exceptional clarity of mind, and his eyesight also cleared. Now he knew those three old men were most certainly not ordinary people.

For their part, once the old masters had gotten a good look at Wang Liping, they realized he was indeed the one they had been seeing in their visions over the last three years, the one they had been looking for. Wang Liping was destined to become the eighteenth-generation Transmitter of Dragon Gate Taoism.

The eldest of the three men sat quietly for a while with his eyes closed. Then he slowly opened his eyes and turned his gaze to young Liping. “Hey there, schoolboy! It’s getting late, and you’re a long way from home! Aren’t you afraid of walking back in the dark?”

Without thinking the youth replied, “Afraid of what? When I play hide-and-seek with my friends, the darker it gets the more fun it is! What’s there to be afraid of?”

The three elders were delighted. Gu Jiaoyi pulled Wang Liping to him and said, “Come on, play hide-and-seek with us!” Taking him outside to a graveyard not far away, the men challenged the boy to a game of hide-and-seek, telling him they’d consider him the winner if he found even one of them out there in the darkness.

Liping readily accepted the challenge. He passed by there every day and knew every detail of the terrain; he thought there was no way the old men could hide from him.

The boy covered his eyes and began to count, waiting for the old men to hide. But Zhang Hodao pulled him over and said, “No need for that. Just stand here with your eyes open and watch us go hide. Watch carefully—we won’t go far!”

But the elders just stood there, so Liping urged them to go hide. They still didn’t move, but a voice said, “Better take a close look—we’ve already hidden!”

Hearing this, Liping strained his eyes to look, but couldn’t find a trace of the old men. How could they have disappeared even as they were speaking? Why didn’t their footsteps make any sound? Liping began to look all over the area, searching every nook and cranny, anywhere that someone could hide. Nothing. Not a sound. The whole place was deserted. Thoroughly stumped, after nearly an hour the boy returned to the tree where the game had started. There the old men suddenly appeared before him, inviting him to admit defeat! In reality, the wizards had never gone anywhere. They’d been there all the time, exercising the art of disappearance. These Taoist masters didn’t even need the cover of darkness; they knew how to disappear from the sight of ordinary people even in broad daylight. This is an art attained only in the middle range of realization.

Wang Liping knew nothing of this; he only knew his astonishment and growing awe of the three ancients. They told him to go home and come back after school the next day; and to tell no one what he had witnessed.

When Liping got home that night, his parents were concerned. Where had he been until so late? What had he been doing? But Liping hemmed and hawed, so they didn’t press him. Those were hard times in China, and everyone in the family had to look out for each other, but sometimes one couldn’t keep an eye on everything. Liping was the second son, after all, and his parents had to worry more about his little brothers and sisters. Much of the time, Liping came and went on his own.

As for the three old men, the local people were sympathetic toward them on account of their advanced years, and because they had made their way there from the heartland of the nation. Their healing skills were welcomed by the people, although the old men revealed comparatively little in order to safeguard their identities as Taoist wizards. Over a period of time, the people came to honor and respect the three ancients, who asked no reward for their services. They used to let Wang Liping do chores for them, and he also got to watch them treat people’s illnesses. In between times, they would talk to their young protégé about things that would help orient him on the Way.

Needing a quiet place to train their new disciple, the three teachers found an old smithy, long abandoned, quite out of the way of ordinary traffic. The masters cleaned the place up, planted some trees out front, and started a vegetable garden in back. The people of the mountain villages, being simple, rustic folk, pure and straightforward in their ways, were touched by the good deeds of the venerable old curers, and used to send them gifts of kindling, rice, and other necessities.

With the passage of time, Wang Liping gradually got used to the old masters, who began to guide him in subtle ways to prepare him for the long course of training he was to undergo.

One cold autumn night, as the four sat around a lone lamp the Grand Master Zhang Hodao began to tell stories about ancient Taoists and principles of Taoism. He went into greatest detail about Changchun, the Real Man of Eternal Spring, who lived in the time of Genghis Khan and was the founder of the Dragon Gate sect.

Changchun entered the Taoist path at the age of nineteen and became a disciple of the great Master Wang Chongyang when he was twenty. After his teacher passed away, Changchun traveled to Mount Zhongnan, an ancient center of spiritual studies.

Arriving in the dead of winter, Changchun was snowed in for five days and nights, holed up in a little shrine. In danger of starving or freezing to death, Changchun entered into a deep trance.

In the midst of his profound abstraction, Changchun suddenly heard a voice. Looking up, he saw an old man standing in front of him, bearing a gift of food. Placing the offering before Changchun, the old man turned and walked away.

Following the ancient to the door of the shrine, Changchun looked out to see nothing but a vast expanse of virgin snow. There was not a single footprint. When the snows had receded and travel was again possible, Changchun continued his journey westward, until he came to a huge valley known as Fa River Valley. The riverbed was very wide, and the water alternately rose so high and fell so low that it was impossible to build a bridge or establish a ferry. As a result, travelers had to wade across the river. Seeing the dangers to which people were thus exposed, Changchun resolved to stay there and serve travelers by carrying them across the river on his shoulders.

Fixing up an ancient shrine by the waterside, for six years Changchun lived there by the river, spending the nights in meditation and the days carrying travelers over the water.

During this period of time, Changchun experienced what Taoists call the Great Death no less than seven times, and went through what they call Minor Death countless times. Dying and returning to life, he succeeded in transcending the ordinary world of people, events, and things.

The grand master concluded his talk with these words: “Our spiritual ancestor Changchun had a saying: ‘When not a single thought is produced, that is freedom; where there is nothing on the mind, that is immortal enlightenment.’ This is how intensely the spiritual immortals and celestial wizards cultivated and trained themselves!”

Then the old man turned to Wang Liping and asked, “Were you listening?” Startled out of his reverie, the boy replied that he had indeed been listening. The old man asked him what he had understood from the stories.

Liping replied with clear assurance, “Only with a sincere heart and a firm will is it possible to learn the Way and develop real potential.”

The three old men smiled. The eldest master asked the boy, “Do you want to study the Way?”

“Yes,” replied Liping in a most serious and determined tone of voice, “but I don’t know how. I don’t have a teacher to guide me.” He still hadn’t realized just who the three old men were.

The grand master said, “If you want to study the Way, don’t worry about not having a teacher. Who do you think we are? I am the sixteenth-generation Transmitter of Changchun’s teaching, and these two with me are the seventeenth-generation Transmitters. Now that we’re old, we want to hand on what we’ve learned. If you want to learn the Way, just be ready to work hard. Otherwise, how can you rise above the ordinary human condition? The first requirement for learning the Way is hard work; then you need to learn to be a member of society, which means doing good and refraining from evil, building up character. When you have developed virtue and built up character, eventually you enter naturally into the Way.”

By now the three old wizards had satisfied themselves that Wang Liping did in fact have the potential, and that the timing was right. As in all things, however, they had to begin from the beginning, bringing the disciple along gradually in order to develop penetrating realization.

The Scripture of Eternal Purity and Calm says,

The Way includes clarity and opacity, movement and stillness. The sky is clear, the earth is opaque; the sky is in motion, the earth is still. The masculine is clear, the feminine is opaque; the masculine is active, the feminine is still. Descending from the root to flow into the branches, these produce myriad beings. Clarity is the source of opacity, movement is the foundation of stillness. If people can be clear and calm, the whole universe will come to them.

The human spirit likes clarity, but the mind disturbs it. The human mind likes calm, but desires pull it. If you can always put your desires aside, your mind will naturally become calm; clarify your mind, and your spirit will naturally become calm.

The difficulty in putting this teaching into practice lies in “setting aside desire, clarifying the mind, and entering into stillness.” This is particularly hard in the present day, when so many material and human resources are devoted to serving an endless procession of desires and ambitions, without ever really satisfying them, and without ever getting an objective understanding of the effects of this whole process on human society and its relationship to Nature.

The first exercise the old masters taught Wang Liping, therefore, was a practice called “repentance.” What this means in the context of Taoism is cleaning the mind, clearing away mundane influences already infecting the consciousness, getting rid of the rubbish.

The way this is done is by temporary isolation and self-examination. The process is subdivided into three parts. First the disciple stays in a dark room for two months with nothing to do. This is supposed to gradually reduce the crudity and wildness in one’s nature. The second stage of practice involves sitting still in a dark room for set periods of time, which are progressively lengthened. In the third stage, the disciple is shifted to an ordinary quiet room and required to sit still for at least four hours at a time.

One morning after breakfast, instead of going to school Wang Liping headed straight for the abode of the three old Taoist masters. By this time, Taoism interested the youth more than school did. He found the old men still engrossed in their morning meditations. In spite of their advanced age, the old wizards had youthful faces and dark hair. Their eyes shone with an uncanny light. Liping sat down to join in their exercise, but the grand master stopped him with a question: “Are you really positive you want to study Taoism with us? Are you sure you won’t change you mind?”

Liping insisted that he was most assuredly determined to proceed. So the grand master continued. “Once you have set your heart on learning the Way,” he said, “you must start from the beginning. Remember that you must not fear hardships. Today we will teach you the first lesson, which involves no explanation of principles, only actual practice. You must do as I say, for if you fail this lesson you needn’t come around looking for us anymore.” The old man was firm. With only this brief introduction, he had the youth follow him to the shed they had cleaned out for this exercise.

Pointing into the dark room, the grand master told Liping, “Go inside and stay quiet. Don’t start whining to get out, because we’re not going to let you out no matter what.” With that, the old wizard pushed the boy inside and locked the door.

Wang Liping had never thought the old man would actually do this. The shed was completely empty and totally dark. He couldn’t see a thing. Figuring the old man was testing his sincerity and would let him out sooner or later, the boy decided to wait it out calmly.

Easier said than done. After a while Liping began pacing around, groping along the walls after crashing into them a few times. Pacing around until he worked up a sweat, he sat down to rest. Then he got up and started pacing around again. As he kept repeating this over and over, his anxiety mounted; the morning seemed like a year.

Suddenly the door opened a crack, and a beam of light blinded the youth inside. He heard an old man calling him to come out, and he emerged, rubbing his eyes. The boy was extremely upset, but he pretended as if nothing had happened.

Wang Jiaoming asked him, “Can you take more, boy?”

Liping thought the teacher was testing him, so even though he’d already had enough, he said, “No problem. This lesson is easy. Did I do all right?” He wanted to get a good mark.

“All right,” replied the old master lightly, “but let’s have lunch.”

Liping had been unbearably nervous all morning and had already had to urinate in the corner of the shed. When he heard the teacher tell him he had done all right, he figured he had passed the test, though not with very good marks.

This lunchtime was not the same as usual. The three old men spoke very little; no one even brought up the question of how Liping had spent the morning. The boy figured they were feigning indifference, so he decided to play along. Gobbling up his food, he waited to see what the next test would be. He did not expect what happened next.

Wang Jiaoming casually said, “Liping, go back to the shed and stay there.” Without even casting a glance at the boy, the old man took him back to the shed and locked him in.

Young Liping had not anticipated this ordeal. He felt he had been tested enough.

Since the old man had given no specific directions as to what he should do, Liping decided to pass the time in sport, shadowboxing in the dark, sitting down to rest when he got tired. Before long, however, the boy realized with growing discomfort that he had not prepared himself properly for this test. The call of nature began to nag him until he thought he would burst. Growing more anxious as the minutes ticked by like hours, eventually Liping wound up pounding and kicking on the door, hollering and screaming for the old men to let him out. Finally he disgraced himself.

As for the three Taoist masters, even while they were occupied with treating the ailments of the local people, nevertheless they focused their inner attention on their young apprentice. By their power of second sight, they were fully aware of his struggle. Lao-tzu said, “Those who conquer themselves are strong.” The old masters were not being cruel; they were doing what was necessary to create a new human being. The I Ching says, “Faithfulness and trustworthiness are means of developing character.”

From that day on, Liping came back every three or four days to practice “repentance” in the shed. Each time, the length of his isolation was increased, from half a day to a day, from a day to a day and a night. After several sessions, he learned to control himself, and his heart and mind became calm and clear. Having achieved this, he began to use his brain to think about questions. His mentors told him that this “structured thought” was an extremely important subject in training the brain.

Lao-tzu said, “Movement overcomes cold, stillness overcomes heat; clear calm is a rectifier of the world.” He also said, “Effect emptiness to the extreme, keep stillness steady; as myriad things act in concert, I thereby observe the return.” The essential point here is in calm stillness; when stillness reaches its climax, it produces motion, whereby you observe the subtle. “Structured thought” means that after body and mind have reached the climax of stillness, the brain conceives a “thing,” be it a scene, a personage, or an event. One must think ahead or in retrospect, causing the thing to develop and evolve until a “result” is obtained. When this result contains a definite meaning, the exercise is said to have taken effect. This operation of a thought process is called “structured thought.”

Now Liping sat quietly in the dark room practicing structured thought according to the directions of his mentor. First he reflected on the fact that even though his body was restrained in a small dark room, his thought could not be locked up and prevented from going out and about.

With this in mind, Liping deliberately focused his thought on his father. What was he doing now? Liping pictured his father at work, his desk and everything on it—pencils, calculator, drafting tools, a cup half full of hot water, an ashtray containing several cigarette butts. Now Liping mentally saw his father, cigarette in his left hand, slowly exhaling a plume of smoke as he wrote on a large chart, making circular and square notations.

Right now his father was absorbed in his work, a job that was, however, terribly dull and boring. Still not finished even by lunchtime, his father continued on through the afternoon, dismayed by the realization that this task would take him days on end to complete. Such drudgery!

Liping decided to change the subject. Now he began to think of his schoolmates, now in class. It is second period, and the math teacher is lecturing. He is talking about the basics of accounting, bookkeeping, double entry, receivables and payables, balancing accounts, and so on. Also incredibly boring. Everyone is there in class except Liping himself. No one is listening very intently, especially Liping’s friends, who are looking at his empty seat and thinking how convenient for him not to have come to this torturous class. They are aching to get outside and play!

But none of this was very interesting either, Liping reflected, and here this thought stopped.

Now Liping began to go through books inside his brain. Here is a textbook, he began, and he started to look through it mentally from the first lesson. There is a picture of the Great Wall, very grand and impressive. Gazing at the Great Wall from a distant mountain ridge, Liping mentally saw it like an enormous dragon whose head and tail could not be seen, snaking through the fastnesses of the high mountains. He began describing it to himself. The wall is several meters in height, made of boulders and blocks, built along the spines of the mountains. Truly a breathtaking sight. The Great Wall is a crystallization of the blood, sweat, and skill of countless workers; it is a symbol of the Chinese people.

This was better. Liping concluded his exercise with the thought that he would climb the Great Wall one day, gaze upon the magnificent rivers and mountains of his native land, and take in the pride of being Chinese.

Wang Liping’s exercises in structured thought developed his intellectual power and enhanced both his physical and his mental well-being. The little dark room was no longer a confining prison, but an integral part of the whole universe of space and time. In this infinite expanse of space and time, thought can soar at will. Everything Liping “saw”—the people, the events, the things—was very concrete, very realistic, very lifelike. This was a universe full of life, a universe in which he no longer felt alone. And he no longer felt time as a burden, for there were far too many things to do for him to be bored.

Liping was often hungry, however, during his work in the shed, because the old masters didn’t bring him out for meals anymore. Instead they would show up suddenly at odd times and toss him something. Sometimes it would be nothing but a rock, as if the ancients were playing a joke on him. Sometimes it would be food, which the youth would wolf down in a few gulps.

It was also cold in the shed. The autumns in north China are cold, especially at night, when the chill gets into your bones. Based on the temperature changes and his bodily sensations, Liping had gradually worked out, through structured thought, first the ability to distinguish day and night, and then the ability to distinguish morning, noon, evening, and midnight.

There is a proverb that says, “It takes a hundred refinings to make solid steel.” So it is with human beings; they do not attain great capacity unless they are refined. In Taoist terms, if you want to become a realized human being, while the primal basis is of course important, temporal refinement is even more important, because there is no other way to attain realization.

In the course of two months’ isolation in the darkness, Wang Liping had his first understanding of the Way. The three ancients saw that his heart was sincere and his will was unshakable. Based on these qualities, they decided to take him on formally as a disciple.

They chose an auspicious date for the ceremony. That night the sky was clear, the full moon hanging in the eastern quarter, shining on the human world below. A gentle breeze was blowing, and a few flecks of cloud drifted by through the sky. The toil of the day ended, the people were now sleeping. The mountains in the distance were barely visible in the moonlight; they looked like a herd of sheep huddled together unmoving. The grains and pulses stood silently in the fields; occasionally the faint rustle of their leaves came whispering in the breeze, but their colors could no longer be distinguished.

The whole earth was plunged into a profound quiet; only the three elders and their young apprentice remained awake, carrying out the ceremony marking the formal initiation of Wang Liping as the eighteenth-generation Transmitter of the Dragon Gate branch of Taoism. He was given the Taoist name Yongsheng, which means Eternal Life, and the religious name Linglingzi, which means the Spiritually Effective One.

When the ritual was completed, the grand master gave the boy a brief summary of Taoist principles:

“The primal Way is formless and imageless, beginningless and endless, unnameable and indescribable. The word for the Way, which we use as a convenience, is pregnant with hidden meaning.

“First two dots are written. The left one symbolizes light, the right one symbolizes darkness, as in the symbol of the absolute wherein yin and yang embrace each other. These two dots represent the sun and moon in the sky, water and fire on earth, and the two eyes in human beings, which seem to reverse their light and gaze inwardly in the course of refinement exercises.

“Under these two dots is written a single stroke, meaning ‘one,’ which represents the totality of all things. Below this, the graph for ‘self’ is written, referring to oneself, meaning that everything in the universe is in one’s own body, and the Way is not apart from oneself. When the above pieces are assembled, they form the word ‘head,’ which signifies that practice of the Way is the best and most essential thing one can do in the world. Finally the sign for ‘walk’ is written, meaning to travel or operate, signifying the natural working of the teaching throughout one’s whole body, the Way being carried out in one’s own body, the Way being carried out in the whole world. These are the meanings contained in the structure of the character for the Way.”

The grand master paused for a moment, then went on: “Chinese Taoism was founded by Lao-tzu. The essences of its doctrines are all in this word ‘Tao,’ the Way. The methods of attaining the Way are based on stillness.

“The wonders of stillness are inexhaustible. It is possible thereby to participate in evolution and to embrace all things; heaven, earth, and humanity are all included within it.

“People of the world only know how to talk about stillness; they cannot enter into stillness truly, because they have not found out the source of stillness. The source of stillness is in emptiness. All things and the changes they go through are but temporary conditions, which finally return to nothingness, then revert to emptiness. As long as the human mind is not still and quiet, there will be thoughts of desire remaining, which create tremendous obstacles to the cultivation of refinement.

Once selfish desires arise, the primal spirit is disturbed, the primal energy is blocked, and training has no effect. Get rid of selfish desire, enter physically and mentally into quiet stillness, and the primal energy will be buoyant, while the primal spirit will be lively.

The way to get into quiet stillness is to gradually eliminate random thoughts of personal desires, sweeping away the obstacles to the growth of primal spirit and energy, making the pathway even. This principle of extinguishing one to enliven the other is the great achievement of stillness. When it comes to resting in the highest good, nothing surpasses stillness. Even though myriad things move it from without, one’s mind does not stir, even though one does not know why. Then when primal vitality, energy, and spirit are full, stillness climaxes and shifts into movement. Once outward movement is unfailingly sensed within, then one naturally knows how it happens. The enhancement and extension of human life are also accomplished in this way.

Once you have entered the door to the Way, you should understand this principle and apply it diligently. Then the work will naturally make great progress.

Having spoken thus, the grand master stood up and bade everyone good night. It was already one o’clock in the morning.

The next day, everyone rose early in the morning, and the three old men taught Liping some traditional shadowboxing exercises. After break-fast, the Wayfarer of the Infinite and the Wayfarer of Pure Emptiness went off somewhere, leaving the young apprentice alone with the Wayfarer of Pure Serenity. This old man had once been an instructor at a military academy and was adept at both inner and outer exercises. Vigorous and brusque, he was extremely strict and demanding toward students. He called Liping to him and spoke in the following terms:

Today you’re starting a new lesson. You’ve passed through repentance, so now you will go through the second barrier, which requires learning to sit cross-legged in a dark room.

The praxis of the Dragon Gate sect makes a particular point of seeing to it that the foundation is solid, and requires us to make it sturdy. This exercise of cross-legged sitting is essential training for beginners and must be practiced all your life. Every step of the training involves this exercise, so if you learn it properly you can derive endless benefit from it.

There are three styles of cross-legged sitting. One is natural sitting, which is also called informal sitting. Then there is single cross-legged sitting, in which you place one foot on the opposite thigh. Finally there is double cross-legged sitting, in which you place both feet on opposite thighs. Natural sitting is earth; single cross-legged sitting is humanity; double cross-legged sitting is heaven. When the diverse hand positions are added, the postures of cross-legged sitting are innumerably various. Today, though, I’ll just talk about natural sitting.

Once seated, keep your upper body straight, with both eyes looking directly ahead, gradually collecting the light of the spirit. With the tongue against the upper palate and the lips shut, let the teeth be lightly closed. Place your hands on your knees, palms down. Still the spirit and meditate quietly, gradually eliminating all random thoughts.

“There are few disturbances inside a dark room,” the mentor concluded, “so it is convenient for doing this exercise. Why not go there for now?” The old master’s manner was dry and sharp. When he had finished, he stared directly at young Liping. Getting the message, the boy realized he had no choice but to follow his mentor’s directions.

This time Liping first got a bunch of dry hay and spread it on the floor of the shack before locking himself in to practice cross-legged sitting. Luckily, the teacher had not presented him with a whole lot of other requirements, letting him suit himself. Being young and still in the process of developing physically, Liping was flexible enough to be able to do all three styles of sitting. He could not, however, maintain them for very long.

Having already cultivated hidden practice in this dark room for two months, although Liping still could not enter into total stillness, nevertheless he had learned to adapt to the environment. On this particular day, he slacked off quite a few times in the course of sitting, but on the whole he persevered, undergoing a variety of experiences as he sat. After a few days of practice, his work in sitting had progressed considerably.

One day the Wayfarer of Pure Serenity called Wang Liping to him and asked him what he had gained from his practice. After giving a detailed account of the process and his experiences, the youth finally said, “I can’t clear random thoughts from my brain, and I can’t attain stillness. Please teach me some method of handling this.”

This was precisely what the old wizard had in mind. “To clear away random thoughts,” he began in reply, “first use formal judgment to deal with them. As soon as a random thought arises, immediately pass judgment on it: either declare it right, or declare it wrong, or declare that this is as far as it goes. Having made this determination, stop right away and do not allow rumination to go on and on. Then random thoughts will vanish by themselves, and in this way you can enter into stillness.”

Returning to the dark room, Wang Liping sat cross-legged, adjusting his body and tuning his breathing, and began to quiet his mind. Now when he was assailed by random thoughts, he used this method to get rid of them. After repeating the process several times, he found that it actually did work. Liping felt happy inside. After another few days of practice, these random thoughts became fewer and fewer day by day, gradually tending to thin out as the exercise of entering stillness gradually developed. Even though he was only thirteen years old, with little experience of the world and relatively few desires—so his mind was much more pure and innocent than that of an ordinary adult—nevertheless he still had to get rid of random thoughts that occurred to him.

After seven times seven days sitting in the dark shed, Wang Liping had accumulated quite a bit of experience in quiet sitting and had learned an effective exercise. At this point, he had learned the better part of the exercise of repentance, and his wildness had mostly been reined in. Now in his everyday speech and behavior he was rather like a child of the Way. Within a few months, it was as if he had changed into another person.

On weekdays, Wang Liping continued to attend school, so that he would not foul up his ordinary education. After school, he’d go visit the Taoist masters to practice his exercises.

At first, Liping’s parents were worried about the change in their son, but when they found out the reason, they realized that the three old men were of impeccable character: they cured the boy’s ailments, taught him spiritual exercises, and initiated him into the true Way. When they learned all this, Liping’s parents were more than relieved: they were thoroughly delighted.

To return to the story, after Wang Liping had sat for seven times seven days in the dark shed, the three masters called him to them. “Today,” began the Wayfarer of Pure Serenity, “we are going to give you a new lesson. Sit here in this room for four hours. After you’re finished, you can go home.”

After forty-nine days of sitting in the dark, Liping thought, he would certainly have no problem sitting for four hours. Figuring it was just a test, he got up on the platform and sat in the lotus position facing his teachers. After adjusting his posture properly, he closed his eyes and began to sit quietly.

For the first hour, Wang Liping sat immobile as a statue made of stone. Another hour passed, and he still held firm. After that, however, he had to summon up his strength, wondering when the time would be up, telling himself he had to persevere because his teachers were watching.

The minutes crawled by. Liping’s legs began to go numb, just like the first time he had practiced sitting cross-legged. His aching thighs felt swollen, but his hips were still bearable, and as long as he kept his waist straight, there was no problem. After a while, however, even his hip bones began to ache, his waist and lower back began to burn, and his whole body broke out in perspiration. Sweating beads as he struggled to maintain his upright position, finally the youth blacked out and collapsed.

“Sit up right!” barked Wang Jiaoming, the Wayfarer of Pure Serenity, like an army drill instructor.

Coming to, the young apprentice sat up again, but his legs were so numb he couldn’t cross them.

“Resume the double cross-legged position,” demanded the mentor again.

But Liping’s legs would not even follow his own commands; he was at a loss. The two mentors took some rope and bound him hand and foot, tying him up into the proper position so that he could go on sitting cross-legged.

Although still a boy, young Wang Liping had a strong will. His eyes filled with tears, but he refused to let them out. Gritting his teeth, he went on sitting. Later in life his eyes would again fill with tears as he spoke with gratitude of the unsparing efforts, relentless severity, and spiritual kindness of his Taoist teachers.

After six months of strict training, the young Wang Liping completed his practice of the phase of repentance. He could now sit quietly all day and all night, his body steady and his mind still, inwardly and outwardly immune to disturbance.