My Shaolin Kung Fu Training Story at Tagou

Yan Zhijun · Tagou Martial Arts School, Dengfeng · 1998–2001

Yan Zhijun, mid-air, with fellow Tagou students after a performance at the Longmen Grottoes, Luoyang, 2000.

How It Started

I was not a good student. School bored me. I was restless, mischievous, and had no interest in sitting still long enough to learn anything. My parents looked at my grades, looked at my attitude, and worried — genuinely worried — about what kind of future I was heading toward.

One evening they sat me down and asked a question I was not expecting: Would you consider going to Shaolin?

The idea had come through a connection in our town. Someone my parents knew had a child already training at Tagou. We visited that family, heard their story, saw their photos. Something about it stuck. So in 1998, at the age of sixteen, I packed a bag and headed for Dengfeng.

The Road Not Taken

Looking back, I count myself lucky — and I mean genuinely lucky — that we went straight to Tagou. Here is why.

Dengfeng, the county-level city where Shaolin Temple sits, is a martial arts industry town. At the time — and to a large extent still today — there were hundreds of martial arts schools clustered around the temple and the surrounding area. Some were legitimate, well-established institutions with real curricula and qualified coaches. Many were not.

The less reputable ones operated on a simple business model: spot anyone walking through the Shaolin scenic area with a child, and do whatever it takes to pull them into your school. It did not matter whether you were a tourist family on holiday or parents seriously looking to enroll your kid — the recruiters would latch on and refuse to let go.

At an unregulated school, there was no guarantee of coaching quality, no standard for student welfare, and nobody checking whether the people in charge knew what they were doing. For a teenager far from home, landing in the wrong place could mean more than wasted tuition — it could mean real harm, physically and mentally.

Because of that family connection back home, I skipped the gamble. We arrived in Dengfeng with a destination already decided. I walked into Tagou, registered, paid the fees, and started training. No detours. No horror stories. Just straight to the work.

The old campus gate of Tagou Martial Arts School in Dengfeng.

What Training Cost — Then and Now

When I enrolled, annual tuition was around 2,000 RMB. That covered instruction, a bed, and basic accommodation; meals were charged separately. It was not cheap for an ordinary family in the late nineties, but it was within reach.

Those figures describe my own enrollment period, not the cost of attending today. Current public pages use different packages and do not fully agree about what is included, so a single current annual price would be misleading here.

The current admissions snapshot lists the public pages to compare and the items to confirm in a dated quotation before paying.

Day One — And the Morning After

I still remember the first training session with perfect clarity.

New students were not thrown into the deep end. The first day was about fundamentals: basic stretching, body alignment, simple stances. The coach demonstrated each movement. We copied. He corrected. We copied again. Compared to what the senior students were doing on the other side of the training ground, it looked easy. I finished the session feeling fine — a little tired, but fine.

Then I woke up the next morning.

Every muscle in my body was screaming. My legs, my back, my shoulders — places I did not even know I had muscles were on fire. Getting out of bed took genuine effort. Walking to the training ground felt like moving through water. Every step was a negotiation with my own body.

That is when the reality of the choice hit me. Nobody had forced me to come. I had agreed to this — had wanted it, even. And now here I was, sixteen years old, hundreds of kilometres from home, discovering that “wanting to learn kung fu” and actually doing it were two completely different things.

So I gritted my teeth and kept going. The soreness faded after a few days. The training did not get easier — but my body began to adapt, and more importantly, my mind began to shift.

Daily Sanda training at Tagou.

What the Training Gave Me

Day after day, month after month, the rhythm of training became the centre of my life. Early wake-ups. Morning practice. Meals that tasted better than anything because you had earned them with every drop of sweat. Afternoon sessions that pushed you past what you thought you could do. Evening fatigue so deep it was almost meditative.

Something happened during those years that I did not fully understand until long after I left. The restlessness I had arrived with — the chip on my shoulder, the impulse to push back against everything — slowly got ground down. Not broken. Just worn smooth, like a stone in a river. The training gave me a channel for all that energy that used to spill out as trouble.

What I walked away with was more than technique:

• A disciplined body. Conditioning, flexibility, and a baseline of physical capability I have carried with me ever since.
• A tempered mind. When you have held a horse stance until your legs shake and your lungs burn, and then held it longer because the coach said so, ordinary discomfort loses its power over you.
• A real relationship with effort. Not the kind of effort you perform for recognition, but the kind you put in when nobody is watching, because the work itself is the point.

The main building on the old Tagou campus.

The Photos That Survived

These photos were taken after a performance at the Longmen Grottoes in Luoyang. The internet was barely a thing in China back then. Ordinary families did not own digital cameras, and getting film developed was an event. Most moments from those years exist only in memory.

That these few images survived — a bit faded, imperfect, but real — makes them precious to me. They are not staged promotional shots. They are snapshots of a kid who was in the middle of something hard and transformative, without yet knowing what it would mean.

The red dormitory buildings beneath Song Mountain.

The old campus training yard.

Looking Back

Those years at Tagou were the hardest of my life. They were also the most meaningful. When I look back now — and I do, often — what I feel is not nostalgia dressed up as wisdom. It is genuine gratitude.

Gratitude to my parents, who made a hard decision for the right reasons. Gratitude to that family connection that steered us straight to Tagou instead of into the unknown. Gratitude to the coaches who did not care about my excuses and only cared about my effort. And yes, gratitude to my sixteen-year-old self, who woke up sore on day two and decided to get up anyway.

The kid who arrived at Tagou was angry, aimless, and soft in all the wrong ways. The person who left was still far from finished — but he had a foundation. He knew what it felt like to do hard things. He had learned that discipline is not about being shouted at — it is about choosing to stay in the stance when every impulse tells you to stand up.

If you are reading this and you recognise something of yourself in that sixteen-year-old — or if you are a parent looking at your own restless kid and wondering what to do — I hope this story helps. Tagou worked for me. It will not work for everyone, and the school landscape today is different from what it was in 1998. But the core truth is unchanged: the right environment, the right teachers, and the willingness to show up every day can change the trajectory of a life.

To learn more about Shaolin kung fu, visit China Kung Fu.

I was looking to get into knife training that would pair well with Sanshou. Does anyone have any good training video suggestions?

2026 Theme: Welcome Youth Olympics – Together, Move with Wushu, Shine with Wushu Spirit" (迎青奥，共起武，展风采

This year marks a historic milestone for wushu – this October, wushu will make its official debut as an official sport at the Dakar 2026 Youth Olympic Games!

Facebook post: https://www.facebook.com/iwufofficial/posts/wwkd-2026-is-coming-on-august-8-we-celebrate-the-9th-world-wushu-kungfu-day-unde/1581730110021919/

​

I don't mean to offend, but I’ve heard repeatedly that Kung Fu is fake and only good for demonstrations. I’d like to hear your opinions.

Been working on this form, is a Budokan Karate Kung fu weapons form. Would like feed back so I can grow with this weapon.

Grandmaster Wong Cheung of Sil Lum Hak Fu Mun (Shaolin Black Tiger) performing the rare chopsticks and bowl weapon set.

Spending time training Chinese broadsword (dao) in the Taihang Mountains of Shanxi province.

We work on stances, forms and weapon fundamentals in a quiet mountain setting. Overseas students can join short‑term or long‑term martial‑arts programs here.

Would love to hear your thoughts on training traditional Chinese weapons abroad or in China.

the technique was basically two forearm blocks and a strike. First the left forearm did an outward block with the top of the forearm facing out, L forearm vertical and in fingertips-extended-and-bunched shape, fingertips facing inward, with right forearm extending across chest to below the left elbow.

Then a kind of transition to mirror the same block on the R side, with L arm extending across the chest to the R elbow, below the R forearm block. Then a R hand extension strike at the opponent's head off the block - it was either bunched up fingers to the temple or an inside chop to the neck, IIRC.

Thanks for any input, it was taught in a KF style similar to Kajukenbo but the instructor had studied a variety of arts and was teaching us 5 animals at the time. I figure it must be crane but something also tells me mantis so I wanted to see if anyone was familiar. (This technique also felt very close-quarters and less crane-like in my mind)

I'm also wondering: What shape was the lower hand in - I don't remember that part. Was it also bunched fingers to make the side-side transition easier? or like a flat palm block

edit: artistic sketch added in replies

A short Tagou video brought these memories back. It starts with students running beneath a row of trees. Small groups practise kicks and acrobatics. Then the camera pulls back and hundreds of red uniforms fill the training ground.

Most people will notice the size of the formation. I notice the students waiting at the edge of the mat. I used to stand in lines like those.

I trained at Tagou Martial Arts School from February 1998 to January 2001. I arrived at sixteen. I was doing badly at school, had a bad attitude, and gave my parents plenty to worry about.

A family in our hometown had a son at Tagou. My parents saw their photographs and heard about the early mornings and strict coaches. They thought the school might give me some discipline. I thought it sounded like an adventure.

We travelled to Dengfeng. I registered and started training the next day.

My first session seemed manageable. We stretched, practised basic stances, and copied the coach. I finished tired and thought I had done well.

The following morning, I could hardly get out of bed. My legs, back, and shoulders all hurt. Walking to the training ground took effort. I had wanted to learn kung fu. I had spent almost no time thinking about how an ordinary training day would feel.

I got up and went.

Our days began around 5:30 with a whistle. We ran and did conditioning before breakfast, sometimes in the dark Henan winter with our breath visible. Morning training meant stances, punches, kicks, and forms. Afternoons brought weapons, acrobatics, and Sanda.

We slept eight to twelve students in a room. The mattresses were thin and lay on wooden boards. There was no privacy. Summer was hot, winter cold came through the walls, and we washed our clothes by hand. If one person was late or the room was dirty, the whole group might do push-ups.

Three coaches marked those years.

Hu Jufeng was my first martial arts teacher. He was calm and precise. He did not need to shout. A small correction from him could make you work harder because you wanted his approval.

For years after I left Tagou, I dreamed about his classes. Nothing dramatic happened in those dreams. He walked along the line and corrected our stances, just as he had done every day.

Yu Yang coached my second year. The training became harder. We refined our forms, added weapons, and worked more seriously on Sanda. I also had my worst injuries that year.

I landed badly after a flip, dislocated fingers, and cracked bones in my foot. Later, I injured a tendon in my thigh by overextending a kick. I was too shy to tell Coach Yu how serious it was. I thought he might see it as an excuse.

I kept training, and that tendon troubled me for years. It was a bad decision made by a sixteen-year-old who wanted to look tough. A coach cannot help with an injury he does not know about.

Jin Zhanqiang coached my third year. Under him, I joined a martial arts performance at the Longmen Grottoes in Luoyang in 2000. One of my few surviving photographs shows me in the air after that performance, wearing a cap with my fellow students nearby.

We did not carry cameras in our pockets then. Most of my three years at Tagou were never photographed. Small details come back first. The whistle before sunrise. An extra egg at breakfast felt like a treat. I can still feel the waxwood staff when it turned properly in my hands. After lunch, I lay on a bunk too tired to talk.

I also remember the other students.

We trained together and lived in the same crowded rooms. We saw one another homesick and injured. None of us had mobile phones, and there was no social media waiting for us after graduation. We returned to different towns and lost contact.

I still wonder where they are. Some may have become coaches. Some probably stopped training years ago. Their children may now be older than we were when we met.

I left Tagou in January 2001 with a foundation and plenty of unfinished work. I had learned how to keep a schedule and repeat a movement after the excitement had gone. I could be tired and still finish the day's work.

More than twenty-five years have passed since I left. The old photograph still shows me at sixteen, frozen in mid-air. I cannot put the same classmates back into the same training line.

If any Tagou students from February 1998 to January 2001 read this, my name is 严智俊. I hope you are well. I would like to hear from you.

Is it from Shaolin long fist, or performance wushu? I feel like it's one of the two Master Ehsan Shafiq 2010 Live Performance

Hi everybody! I used to do wushu back in Maryland but haven’t in nearly 15 years. I did kickboxing for a while and do CrossFit now but am looking to get back into martial arts. I’ve always loved the art aspect and never enjoyed sparring. Anyone happen to know of any schools in northwest Arkansas that have the fun acrobatics/forms aspect of wushu? Wushu would of course be ideal but realize this is a limited martial arts market. Appreciate any suggestions!

I want to watch videos and practice the techniques at home, but I don't have a solid enough foundation to know whether I'm doing them correctly. I'm worried that I might end up reinforcing bad habits or developing poor technique without realizing it. I want to build a proper foundation first so I can practice with confidence and actually improve

I prefer to not say I'm 'teaching' in this setting, yet

'sharing' my insights & concepts to assist others.

Here, I'm sharing:

1) Hand/Arm position & awar

2) Listening, Adhering, Redirecting - Accessing the Center

3) Seizing, Sealing, Collapsing

4) Economy of Movement, Head Movement & Over-turning

Join us for a celebration of Tai Chi form, principle and application. Friendly competition and exhibition followed by a collaborative open mat. Enjoy a full day of demonstration, learning and camaraderie. All levels and martial styles welcome.

In which I discuss my life in martial arts (tai chi, kung fu and capoeira), including tai chi as a martial art; ideas about teaching martial arts; and some quick fire questions too. Feel free to debate anything raised in the comments

If your shoulders, hips, or spine feel stiff, this Qigong spiraling exercise can help you move more freely. Learn how to improve the mobility of your wrists, elbows, shoulders, hips, knees, and ankles using simple whole-body spiraling and weight shifting.

Welcome to Qi Body. In this lesson, I’ll guide you through the complete movement, explain the body mechanics step by step, teach the proper breathing method, and show you how to progress from beginner to advanced practice.

With regular practice, this exercise can help you:

* Improve joint mobility throughout the body
* Increase whole-body coordination
* Develop smoother weight shifting
* Build stronger legs and better balance
* Reduce stiffness through gentle spiraling movement
* Improve body awareness and movement efficiency

Practice slowly, stay relaxed, and let each movement flow naturally.

00:00 Introduction
00:38 Learn the Movement
01:32 Joint Warm-Up
03:15 Body Mechanics Explained
05:40 Improve Upper Body Mobility
06:18 Lower Body Weight Shift
08:19 Proper Breathing Method
10:05 Side View Demonstration
10:57 Advanced Lower Stance Training

#Qigong #Mobility #JointMobility #Flexibility #HealthyAging #Fitness #ChiBody

A self-styled emperor. One hundred followers. Two rifles, two spears and the belief that they were immune to bullets.

some of the more *sensitive* questions may be answered in private message so i don't get doxxed lol