Who poured the water
into the Well?

A man who has trained martial arts for over forty years. A teacher whose students do not quit. A lineage holder who received Liu He Ba Fa from Master Tao PingXiang.

His school is not famous. His name is not in magazines. But his students — we are his legacy.

Before I met Master Scrima, I thought I understood discipline.

I had earned degrees. I had worked twelve-hour shifts in ICUs. I had held the dying and comforted the grieving. I believed I knew what it meant to endure.

He did not correct me. He simply tested me.

Week after week. Month after month. The same forms, repeated until my body stopped arguing. The same corrections, until my mind stopped defending. The same expectation: Show up. Do not quit. Become worthy of what you are receiving.

He gave me my black belt on March 17, 2023. But that was not the gift.

The gift was every day before that, when I was not ready, and he did not send me away.

That discipline is not punishment. Discipline is love that refuses to let you settle.

That a black belt is not an ending. A black belt is a white belt who refused to leave.

That Liu He Ba Fa is not a style. It is the grammar of the internal arts — and he received it from his teacher, and gave it to me, and now I am responsible.

A master of Baguazhang whose skill with the Deer Horn Knives is legendary. The man who brought Liu He Ba Fa to America. A teacher whose students do not just learn forms — they win.

His school in Takoma Park is not a tourist destination. It is a forge.

I came to Shifu Liu already a black belt. I thought I knew what it meant to train.

He placed Deer Horns in my hands and said: Now learn to use both.

Most practitioners never attempt this weapon. It requires ambidexterity. Circular thinking. Total body coordination. One blade protects. One blade strikes. Both must move as one.

I failed. Repeatedly. Visibly.

Shifu Liu did not reassure me. He did not simplify the form. He simply said:

Months later, under his instruction, I stood on a competition floor. The Deer Horns in my hands. His technique in my body.

Grand Champion.

Not because I was talented. Because he refused to let me fail.

That victory is not the point. But training as if victory matters — that is the point.

That a weapon is not an extension of the hand. A weapon is an extension of the intention.

That a teacher's greatest gift is not technique. It is the certainty that you are capable of more than you believe.

Founder of Taiji Zhe Academy. Forty-five years of martial practice. Bearer of Taiji intangible cultural heritage. Beijing Wushu Association member. First-Class Social Sports Instructor.

A man who opens his home to students — and does not let them remain guests.

Three months. His home. Dali.

Every morning, form. Every afternoon, sword. Every evening, correction.

He did not teach me as a student passing through. He received me as someone who had come to stay.

I had trained Taiji before Dali. I had certificates. I had forms memorized. He did not praise my competence. He dismantled it.

That the sword is not a weapon. The sword is the spine extended.

That relaxation is not collapse. Relaxation is the absence of unnecessary tension — and there is always unnecessary tension.

That three months is not enough. But three months, fully received, is a foundation for a lifetime.

A senior teacher at Yuzhen Palace. A holder of Wudang's Daoist martial lineage. The man under whom Coach Zhang Wen Gao trained — and through whom I received transmission.

Yuzhen Palace is not the academy. It is the heart of Wudang's Daoist martial preservation.

I came to Yuzhen Palace seeking the source.

Shifu Yuan Xiugang received me within those sacred walls. He taught me not through curriculum alone, but through the lineage he holds and the tradition he preserves.

His student, Coach Zhang Wen Gao 张懋资开, placed hands on me daily. He corrected my posture. He guided my form. He showed me what alignment feels like when someone else adjusts it.

Coach Gao taught me under the authority of Shifu Yuan, within the sacred walls of Yuzhen Palace, as part of an unbroken thread of Wudang transmission. A teacher does not need a famous name. He needs faithful hands.

The complete Tai Ji 108 long form. Wu Xing Qigong — the Five Elements as movement and medicine. I trained until the sequence moved from memory into marrow.

I did not receive just a certificate. I received something that cannot be fully documented: correction, observation, the weight of a teacher's attention. A silence that was transmission.

That a master does not need to touch every student personally. The lineage touches through him.

That transmission requires both the source and the conduit. Shifu Yuan is the source. Coach Gao is the conduit. Both are necessary. Both are honored.

That some transmissions leave no paper trail. But the body remembers.

That the palace does not certify tourists. It receives pilgrims.

That a teacher's greatest legacy is not his own students — it is his students' students. That the source does not need to be claimed. It needs to be continued.

A Daoist priest. A teacher in a quiet school. A man who does not seek students — he receives those who find him.

Yunxi Caotang is not the main academy. It is smaller. Quieter. Closer to the mountain's original heart.

This is where I learned to walk in circles.

Wudang Baguazhang. Not technique alone. Circle walking as meditation.

He taught me in 2025. He certified me on September 14 of that year.

But the certification was not the gift. The gift was the silence between his instructions.

That the circle does not exhaust you. The circle returns you to yourself.

That a Daoist priest does not preach Daoism. He walks it. And invites you to walk beside him.

That the quiet schools hold the deepest water.