Wang Zongyue’s Taijiquan Treatise — Translation With Commentary

In classical Chinese philosophy, Taiji (not the martial art, but the concept) is the origin of all things in the universe; and Wuji is the empty, still and undifferentiated state before the birth of heaven, earth, and all creation.

Before the emergence of Taiji. In Taijiquan, Wuji represents the preparatory stage before movement begins. The mind is calm and steady, centered and unified, without thought, desire, or grasping, resting in an open and formless state.

From Wuji arises movement. Movement stirs Yin and Yang into being, and from their interplay Taiji is formed. Even before any visible motion begins, the seeds of movement and stillness, Yin and Yang, hardness and softness, advance and retreat, opening and closing are already contained within. This is why Taiji is called the “mother” of all things.

In Taijiquan practice, one preserves stillness within movement and senses movement within stillness. When stillness reaches its extreme, it turns into movement; when movement reaches its extreme, it returns to stillness. Each is the root of the other.

Each posture holds both movement and stillness, and within them the patterns of Yin and Yang, emptiness and fullness, can be discerned in every direction.

Forward and back, up and down, left and right, in the hands and feet, elbows and hips. Thus, when movement occurs, these aspects separate and differentiate;

this is “movement causes separation.” When in relative stillness, without visible motion of the limbs, Yin and Yang, emptiness and fullness still remain present; this is “stillness causes union.”

Both overreaching and falling short are mistakes that disrupt the central balance and upset the harmony of Yin and Yang.

Without balance, the two sides cannot unite as one. Excessive force creates stiffness and resistance. Insufficient force causes loss of connection and structure.
The goal is to remain neither too close nor too far, maintaining precise distance and timing.

One should bend along with the opponent’s bending, and extend along with the opponent’s extension, adapting fluidly to change instead of clinging to fixed methods or personal will.

The path in Taijiquan follows a gradual progression. As the sayings go, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” one must advance step by step; haste will only lead to failure.

In Taijiquan, training begins with imitating the teacher’s postures until they are correct. Once the positions are stable, one works on connecting the movements fluidly so that the form flows as one continuous whole. With the sequence familiar, attention shifts to practical applications.

From here, push-hands practice is used to test and refine understanding, learning to detect the opponent’s light and heavy forces, their speed, direction, size, and point of application. Over time, one’s sensitivity becomes so keen that nothing escapes perception. There is no place where jin is not understood. At that point, force is no longer applied consciously; jin aligns naturally with intention (yi), intention aligns with qi, and the spirit (shen) commands all. This is the stage of mastery (Shenming), where the mind leads effortlessly and nothing can resist. Achieving such a level requires decades of sincere and unbroken practice.

The “crown” refers to the fontanelle — the soft spot on a newborn’s head, known in Daoist tradition as the Upper Mud Pill Palace (Niwan Gong), the residence of the spirit. In Daoist cultivation, the upper field trains the spirit.

In Taijiquan, the principle is to unite body and mind so that both spirit and flesh are cultivated together. In movement, the head should feel as if gently suspended, round and light, creating a sense of openness and lift, as the crown governs the entire body.
When it is properly lifted, the spine is naturally aligned, the muscles and tendons are free of obstruction, and the body can move as one without restriction in any direction.

The dantian here refers to the lower dantian, located at the intersection between the line from the crown (Baihui) to the perineum (Huiyin) and the line from the navel (Shenque) to the lumbar point (Mingmen). Deep, relaxed breathing brings the qi down to this point, nourishing vitality and strengthening internal power.
Laozi said, “Between heaven and earth, is it not like a bellows?” and “Empty the mind, fill the belly.” Both speak of expelling the old and drawing in the new, returning to the root.

In the long term, this nourishes life, prevents illness, and builds stability. Sinking the breath should be natural and unforced; forcing it can cause harmful pressure, including the risk of hernia.

At advanced levels of Taijiquan, sensitivity becomes so keen that the slightest touch is detected instantly. Even something as light as a feather or a fly landing would be felt, prompting immediate adjustment to avoid harm and seize advantage.
This demands deep stillness, extreme sensitivity, and a body that is relaxed and responsive. Without long and careful training, softening the body and sharpening the senses, such skill cannot be achieved.

As Sunzi wrote: “Know yourself and know your opponent, and you will not be defeated in a hundred battles,” and “The skilled attacker cannot be resisted; the skilled defender cannot be attacked.”
In Taijiquan, the ability to remain calm, unite Yin and Yang, and sense with great subtlety makes it possible to detect every movement of the opponent, while they cannot perceive my intentions. This mastery of timing, position, and force is what makes the practitioner unstoppable.

The phrase “Four ounces deflect a thousand pounds” illustrates that small force can overcome great force through leverage and redirection, much like how a small weight on a scale can balance a much heavier load.

This principle is in line with the laws of mechanics, such as the lever and inclined plane. This is not because of quick reflexes or great strength, but because of refined sensitivity, timing, and the ability to use an opponent’s force against them.

“Leaning and sinking” means tilting off-center, which makes one unstable and easy to uproot. “Double-weighting” means placing equal weight on both legs, making it hard to move. Taijiquan emphasizes distinguishing empty and full — Yin and Yang — so that weight shifts fluidly and there is always one leg ready to move.

Laozi said, “Those who straddle cannot walk,” meaning that a stance locked equally on both legs is immobile. To remove the fault of “double-weighting”, one must clearly understand and apply the alternation of emptiness and fullness.

Controlling the opponent’s force is “sticking” (zhan), and neutralizing it is “yielding” (zou). These are two sides of the same coin and cannot be separated.

To control is to neutralize, and to neutralize is to control; one cannot exist without the other.

Yin and Yang are interdependent and mutually transforming — like the two poles of a magnet, they cannot be divided. The one who has grasped the essence of Taijiquan understands both self and opponent, softness and hardness, emptiness and fullness. By letting Yin and Yang complement each other without breaking their connection, one maintains the right moment for change. This is the true meaning of “understanding jin.”