“Gumbei” said Master Sun as he held up his glass of beer. “Gumbei” I responded, clinking glasses before consuming half the contents. Master Sun, in the true style of an advanced Taiji practitioner, downed the whole glass in a few brief seconds. A smile broke out upon his features. A smile for Master Sun was a slight narrowing of the eyes and the most minuscule curl of the lips, maybe a sixteenth of an inch, maybe less. The Master was the very quintessence of Eastern inscrutability.
I had met Master Sun the day before at morning Taiji practice. He had strolled in amongst us quietly, not even needing to announce his presence. He wore Western style clothes on his thick-set body and even sported a pair of Nike sneakers on his feet. If I had to estimate, I would have said he was around 5 feet 9 inches, perhaps a fraction more. It was not so much his height that was impressive as the sheer solidity of his frame. He was build like an extremely solid out-building....a brick one at that!
I was asked if I would like to practice with Master Sun, just a simple exercise known as 'push-hands', it would have seemed churlish to decline. The Master took up position opposite me and I crouched a little to bring my much taller frame into line. The procedure starts with the two practitioners opposing the backs of their hands. One then turns his palm inwards, attempting to push into the opponent's chest whilst the opponent using the back of his wrist to turn the blow to one side and then return the attack to the other person. In theory, the power for the deflective movement is not supposed to come from the hand or even the arm, but originate from the shoulder and the turning of the hips. The arm should actually stay relaxed during the process. In practice, this is easier said than done...
Facing Master Sun that morning I could feel the power of the man. It seemed as if he were rooted to the ground, a seemingly immovable object that I nevertheless had to attempt to move. Within a few passes the muscles of my upper arm ached and were sending urgent messages to my brain, begging me to stop. I tried to remain impassive and ignore the steadily raising levels of discomfort and pain, attempting to give no clue to my opponent of the difficulties I was experiencing. Master Sun looked totally impassive, almost a little indulgent, as if he were playing with a small child rather than a six foot eight, 100 kilo opponent. Strength just seemed to ooze from the man, each movement so sparingly economic yet so profoundly powerful.
Rumour was that Master Sun's lineage was from the famous Sun family. The family are known throughout China for their martial expertise, both in the sense of their military involvement and in the sense of specialising in the martial arts. Master Sun himself had served in the military with distinction, teaching the receptive soldiers of the People's Liberation Army the skills of Taiji and Kungfu. The Sun's were a family whose due was immense respect and reverence.
It was even rumoured to be the case that Master Sun himself may have been related to the same branch of the family that produced Sun Tzu, the author of 'The Art of War'. This volume was penned some fifteen hundred years ago by General Sun Tzu of the Wu Kingdom. Under threat from a neighbouring and much larger kingdom, his strategy guided his king to a great and resounding victory and, more importantly, a productive peace. Sun Tzu's strategy did not stop at the cessation of hostilities but continued on into the nature of occupation. Throughout history, Sun Tzu's treatise has guided many a fine military leader in both war and peace. Unfortunately, these lessons, ancient and venerated as they are, seemed to have bypassed more modern American thinkers in campaigns such as Iraq. That particular case could be held as a fine exemplar of how not to execute a war, particularly in regard to the occupation phase.
Not all Americans were as ignorant as those in power at the time of the Iraq war. Perhaps the greatest American general of all time, General Douglas MacArthur, was a well-known student of Sun Tzu's masterpiece. He applied the lessons of war very successfully in the Philippines campaign of World War Two and again the lessons for peace in his reconstruction of the defeated Japanese nation.
The greatest exponent of all though has to be the renowned Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen Giap who sadly died at the beginning of this October 2013 at the venerable age of 102. He successively defeated the Japanese in the Second World War, the French in the 1950's and the Americans in the 1960's and 70's. During the Vietnam conflict, after achieving considerable success against the Americans using the methods advocated by Sun Tzu, the politicians forced him to adopt different tactics during the Tet Offensive of 1968. This turned out to be one of his few defeats. After that, the politicians left the strategy and tactics to Giap, resulting in a victory against perhaps the most powerful military nation on the planet at that time.
Meanwhile, my own struggles against Sun Tzu's descendant were not going that well. My arm felt like it was about to desert my body, it ached so much. Not a flicker of expression from Master Sun though. After about three minutes, the Master relented. I think he knew he could defeat me with even the slightest extra push at this stage but was gracious enough to forego the victory. We shook hands and he walked away to talk to the other practitioners. After a few moments he returned, card in hand, inviting me to come to him for further instruction in the subtler aspects of Chinese martial arts, if I so desired.
Back in the restaurant the next day I glanced across at the table to my right. The empties of the previous seven litres of beer stood there as evidence of our session. Master Sun may well be far more proficient in martial arts but I can still drink with the best if called upon. The more we drank the more I found myself enjoying the process and going from a 'ban bei' (half glass) to the full amount each time by the end. I still made sure that I gulped it down slightly slower than the master – this as a measure of the respect he was due – but enjoying the competition and the feelings of camaraderie it engendered. Indeed, the whole meal was turning into a very pleasant experience. Although we shared barely any language my friend Huang Mengxue was able to make some of the more important points and body language and gesture seemed to cover the rest.
One final bottle to consume – two last glasses to fill. Master Sun's expression, still the essence of inscrutability was, at the same time, warming considerably.
We clinked the glasses together one last time, each of us echoing one of the few words we both understood:
“Gumbei!”
I had met Master Sun the day before at morning Taiji practice. He had strolled in amongst us quietly, not even needing to announce his presence. He wore Western style clothes on his thick-set body and even sported a pair of Nike sneakers on his feet. If I had to estimate, I would have said he was around 5 feet 9 inches, perhaps a fraction more. It was not so much his height that was impressive as the sheer solidity of his frame. He was build like an extremely solid out-building....a brick one at that!
I was asked if I would like to practice with Master Sun, just a simple exercise known as 'push-hands', it would have seemed churlish to decline. The Master took up position opposite me and I crouched a little to bring my much taller frame into line. The procedure starts with the two practitioners opposing the backs of their hands. One then turns his palm inwards, attempting to push into the opponent's chest whilst the opponent using the back of his wrist to turn the blow to one side and then return the attack to the other person. In theory, the power for the deflective movement is not supposed to come from the hand or even the arm, but originate from the shoulder and the turning of the hips. The arm should actually stay relaxed during the process. In practice, this is easier said than done...
Facing Master Sun that morning I could feel the power of the man. It seemed as if he were rooted to the ground, a seemingly immovable object that I nevertheless had to attempt to move. Within a few passes the muscles of my upper arm ached and were sending urgent messages to my brain, begging me to stop. I tried to remain impassive and ignore the steadily raising levels of discomfort and pain, attempting to give no clue to my opponent of the difficulties I was experiencing. Master Sun looked totally impassive, almost a little indulgent, as if he were playing with a small child rather than a six foot eight, 100 kilo opponent. Strength just seemed to ooze from the man, each movement so sparingly economic yet so profoundly powerful.
Rumour was that Master Sun's lineage was from the famous Sun family. The family are known throughout China for their martial expertise, both in the sense of their military involvement and in the sense of specialising in the martial arts. Master Sun himself had served in the military with distinction, teaching the receptive soldiers of the People's Liberation Army the skills of Taiji and Kungfu. The Sun's were a family whose due was immense respect and reverence.
It was even rumoured to be the case that Master Sun himself may have been related to the same branch of the family that produced Sun Tzu, the author of 'The Art of War'. This volume was penned some fifteen hundred years ago by General Sun Tzu of the Wu Kingdom. Under threat from a neighbouring and much larger kingdom, his strategy guided his king to a great and resounding victory and, more importantly, a productive peace. Sun Tzu's strategy did not stop at the cessation of hostilities but continued on into the nature of occupation. Throughout history, Sun Tzu's treatise has guided many a fine military leader in both war and peace. Unfortunately, these lessons, ancient and venerated as they are, seemed to have bypassed more modern American thinkers in campaigns such as Iraq. That particular case could be held as a fine exemplar of how not to execute a war, particularly in regard to the occupation phase.
Not all Americans were as ignorant as those in power at the time of the Iraq war. Perhaps the greatest American general of all time, General Douglas MacArthur, was a well-known student of Sun Tzu's masterpiece. He applied the lessons of war very successfully in the Philippines campaign of World War Two and again the lessons for peace in his reconstruction of the defeated Japanese nation.
The greatest exponent of all though has to be the renowned Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen Giap who sadly died at the beginning of this October 2013 at the venerable age of 102. He successively defeated the Japanese in the Second World War, the French in the 1950's and the Americans in the 1960's and 70's. During the Vietnam conflict, after achieving considerable success against the Americans using the methods advocated by Sun Tzu, the politicians forced him to adopt different tactics during the Tet Offensive of 1968. This turned out to be one of his few defeats. After that, the politicians left the strategy and tactics to Giap, resulting in a victory against perhaps the most powerful military nation on the planet at that time.
Meanwhile, my own struggles against Sun Tzu's descendant were not going that well. My arm felt like it was about to desert my body, it ached so much. Not a flicker of expression from Master Sun though. After about three minutes, the Master relented. I think he knew he could defeat me with even the slightest extra push at this stage but was gracious enough to forego the victory. We shook hands and he walked away to talk to the other practitioners. After a few moments he returned, card in hand, inviting me to come to him for further instruction in the subtler aspects of Chinese martial arts, if I so desired.
Back in the restaurant the next day I glanced across at the table to my right. The empties of the previous seven litres of beer stood there as evidence of our session. Master Sun may well be far more proficient in martial arts but I can still drink with the best if called upon. The more we drank the more I found myself enjoying the process and going from a 'ban bei' (half glass) to the full amount each time by the end. I still made sure that I gulped it down slightly slower than the master – this as a measure of the respect he was due – but enjoying the competition and the feelings of camaraderie it engendered. Indeed, the whole meal was turning into a very pleasant experience. Although we shared barely any language my friend Huang Mengxue was able to make some of the more important points and body language and gesture seemed to cover the rest.
One final bottle to consume – two last glasses to fill. Master Sun's expression, still the essence of inscrutability was, at the same time, warming considerably.
We clinked the glasses together one last time, each of us echoing one of the few words we both understood:
“Gumbei!”
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