You must therefore work on all aspects and all strategies, practising them until they become your spontaneous way of acting.

This raises some very interesting points: if you practise a strategy that doesn’t work for you, that you cannot grasp, it is better to abandon it. Certain fundamentals are essential, but there are also many advanced strategies that each person chooses according to their nature and their way of practising martial arts.

Some will be better suited to a tall, slender person who likes to keep their distance, whilst others will be better suited to someone shorter and stockier who prefers close-quarters combat. It all depends on who you are.

It is far better not to use a strategy at all than to use one you haven’t fully mastered, because if you try something new during a serious confrontation, you put yourself in real danger.

The first stage of strategic training involves practising what you don’t know and using what you’ve mastered best. A fight is not the time for experimentation. Sometimes one feels the urge to try something out, but this introduces chance and risk. Experimentation must remain within the context of training, play, sparring or competitions, never in a real-life situation.

The way of combat is identical to the art of war. However advanced my technical mastery may be, how can I know that there is not someone more skilled than me? However perfect my method may be, how can I know that there is not a better one? The cycles of generation, control, restriction and transformation follow established principles; if two opponents face each other without understanding one another, how can either of them be assured of victory? That is why, when facing the enemy, one must ‘know oneself and know one’s opponent, so as to be invincible in a hundred battles’. Without this dual knowledge, the mind is not clear and the vision is not lucid; one is then like a blind man riding a one-eyed horse, shooting arrows at random.

In the art of war, the ability to foresee is paramount; the same applies when facing the enemy. When two people face each other: the mind is the sovereign, the body is the general, the eyes are the inspectors, the hands are the vanguard and the ears are the listeners. One must first focus one’s mind and gather one’s energy (Qi), observe the enemy and anticipate their intentions. ‘In any undertaking, preparation leads to success, unpreparedness to failure.’ Even before the enemy moves, their expression already betrays them: through their gaze and facial features, one can guess their inner state.

Is he cautious, arrogant, impatient, serene or terrified? If he attacks, one can then ‘await the movement in calm’ and observe his changes to assess the suppleness or rigidity of his body, his power and his technical skill. One can thus judge his movement or stillness, emptiness or fullness, strength or gentleness, haste or slowness, thereby attaining knowledge of oneself and the other.

Once this knowledge has been acquired, one must adopt the right strategy: exploit one’s own strengths to counter the opponent’s weaknesses, act without preconceptions, concentrate fully and dare to strike boldly. One should first choose favourable ground and position oneself at an oblique angle (in a triangle) to the enemy. Vital energy must flow through the four limbs; the heart must be bold but the mind meticulous, the appearance must remain benevolent whilst the intention is relentless. Intention (Yi) must permeate the entire body and the mind must be entirely focused on the opponent, reaching a state of self-forgetfulness. The eyes fix on the enemy’s chest whilst monitoring their hands and feet, attentive to the ‘five measures’: strength, angle, distance, speed and timing, which must vary as required.

When the enemy attacks, I must act at the opportune moment, strike at the precise instant and break their offensive as soon as it arises; this is the correct method. If one waits for his hand to withdraw before pursuing him, it will be too late. One must master the ‘mirror method’: if he strikes to the left, my mind reacts; if he strikes to the right, my left moves; if he strikes upwards, I move downwards; if he strikes downwards, I move upwards; if he strikes in the centre, both my sides move in unison. If he is hard, I am soft (softness following hardness); if he is soft, I am hard (hardness preceding softness). It is the harmony between the hard and the soft that is appropriate. If he is empty, I am full (fullness before emptiness); if he is full, I am empty (emptiness after fullness). The union of emptiness and fullness ensures superiority. If he is fast, I delay with cunning and strategy; if he is slow, I become swift as lightning. ‘As soon as our hands touch, the opponent is in trouble before they have even managed to reach me’; ‘Strike like lightning, aim as if threading a needle, and even upon hitting the target, realise that one is still too slow’; “Eliminate the methods that lead to defeat; determination is the key.”

The art of martial engagement relies above all on rigorous emotional control and an instant tactical analysis of the context of the confrontation. To engage an opponent effectively, it is imperative not to give in to panic and to maintain a neutral stance, firmly anchored at the centre of the space. This stability allows one to observe the opponent’s build and expressions with clarity, whilst keeping in mind the fundamental principles of defence and attack that govern combat.

The success of such a confrontation depends on a sophisticated strategy based on a deep understanding of oneself and one’s opponent, thereby enabling one to systematically pit one’s own strengths against the weaknesses identified in the opponent. The offensive must then be executed with the lightning-fast precision of a snake striking its prey, requiring a quickness comparable to the reflex of a body exposed to a sudden burn. Finally, responsiveness takes precedence over belated anticipation: if an opponent’s hand strikes, it must be neutralised at the precise moment of impact. Any attempt to pursue an action once the opportunity has passed proves not only ineffective, but potentially detrimental to the rest of the fight.

The effectiveness of close-quarters combat in our School’s style rests on a structural coordination where every part of the body becomes a versatile and unpredictable weapon. The shoulder strike, for example, perfectly illustrates the dynamic interplay between Yin and Yang. In practical terms, this means that a defensive retreating movement (Yin) instantly transforms into an offensive strike (Yang) through a rotation of the torso, whilst the hands act in unison, coming together with the stealth of two entities hiding in a cave to better surprise the opponent.

The engagement of the whole body is also crucial to maximising the impact of short strikes. The headbutt must never be an isolated movement, but must instead be driven by the overall intent and the dynamic thrust of the feet that dictate the movement. This synergy is found in the use of the elbow, which plunges directly towards the opponent’s chest to break their structure. By advancing fluidly, almost slipping through the opponent’s guard, the practitioner favours so-called ‘cold’ and sharp strikes. These strikes, characterised by an explosion of power without any prior movement, are virtually impossible to parry due to their suddenness and straight trajectory.

The management of space and levels of attack constitutes the final pillar of this strategy. A common tactic involves creating a diversion at the top whilst simultaneously sweeping the opponent’s footing at the bottom, all the while maintaining constant pressure along the centre line to give the opponent no respite. In this scenario, deflection techniques using compression and rolling prove superior, as they allow the opponent’s force to be transformed into a counter-attack opportunity. This fluidity is embodied by the ‘hide the flower beneath the leaf’ method, where the hands link together in a continuous cycle of circular movements and feints, rendering the origin and destination of the strikes completely indecipherable to the recipient.

Distance management and structural coordination form the core of Ziranmen’s tactical effectiveness, where each limb is selected according to the available space. At long range, the practitioner favours the reach of hands and feet to keep the opponent at bay, whilst in close combat, the fight shifts to the devastating use of knees and elbows to overwhelm vital areas. This targeting strategy is systematic: attacks simultaneously target the upper face to blind or stun, and the groin below to break the opponent’s resistance cleanly, creating an insoluble defensive dilemma.

The intelligence of the combat also lies in the constant alternation between direct attacks, known as ‘Zheng’, and surprise or unconventional attacks, known as ‘Qi’. This duality allows the opponent to be thrown off balance by concealing a complex intention behind a simple gesture, provided that every movement—whether an advance or a retreat—is executed with total sincerity and authenticity so as not to betray any weakness. To sustain this offensive, the kick must possess the power of a spring being compressed; its effectiveness does not come from the leg itself, but from the force of the surge generated by the dynamic thrust of the rear foot against the ground.

Mobility is the driving force behind this power, requiring footwork of extreme lightness and agility. Movements, whether offensive or defensive, mimic the speed of a tornado, allowing one to advance and retreat with a speed that is disconcerting to the enemy. By dodging sideways to the left or right, the practitioner manages to neutralise the opponent’s intentions whilst preparing a counter-attack where hands and feet strike in unison. Finally, supreme mastery is demonstrated by a punch that traverses the ‘three sections’ of the body without leaving any visible trace of its preparation. In this school, if the opponent can perceive the form or the onset of the strike before impact, it means that the technique lacks the subtlety required for true expertise.

Beyond mere physical technique, mastery of the confrontation rests on a psychological and spiritual dimension where the mind becomes the primary tool for destabilising the opponent.
It involves using one’s mental strength to impress and lull the other’s vigilance, whilst cultivating a rigorous inner discipline that excludes all greed, contempt or misplaced pride. By avoiding these emotional pitfalls, the practitioner preserves the clarity of judgement essential to not being blinded by one’s own impulses in the heat of battle.

This emotional stability enables one to attain a state of total cohesion, an inseparable unity modelled on the image of Taiji, where body and mind become one. In this state of fulfilment, the practitioner becomes indecipherable: the opponent finds themselves unable to penetrate the mystery of the alternations between emptiness and fullness, or between suppleness and strength, rendering the dynamics of Yin and Yang completely imperceptible. This harmony creates tactical confusion in the opponent, who finds no opening to exploit.

When martial arts are truly applied, one must use only what one knows to be effective, for the objective is not simply to strike the opponent, but to deliver a decisive blow that will end the fight. To do this, one must rely solely on what one has mastered.

We say: ‘One, piercing and final.’ In a combat situation, it is best to avoid a flurry of exchanges, punches or kicks. Instead, one should use what we call the ‘provocative hand’, intended to make contact. From this contact, one takes control, then concentrates all one’s energy into a strike that one is certain will hit the target.

The strike must be piercing: the impact surface must be small, so that the force is not absorbed or dissipated by the opponent’s body, but penetrates and inflicts injury. And it must be decisive: this strike must cause the opponent to stop fighting — either by choice or through incapacitation.

The idea is that you must not trade blows with the opponent as in a boxing match. You can stay at a distance to parry their attacks and slow them down, or conversely step into their guard to control them and land effective strikes. But boxing, trading blows, or ‘wrestling’ with them would be dangerous.

Anyone who has done a lot of sparring knows that even a complete beginner can land a hard blow by chance. You decide to step to the right, whilst they throw a hook ‘just to see’, and at that very moment your paths cross: you take a powerful blow, which can stun you or knock you out — purely by coincidence.

This doesn’t happen in close-quarters combat, because the body possesses a deeply ingrained natural reflex: the startle response. This reflex causes you to move instantly when you perceive a threat through touch. You may be caught off guard by a movement you don’t see, but not by one you feel. The following strategy is based on this principle.

We say: “Don’t train to change, train to improve. ’ The aim is not to alter our instinctive way of fighting, nor to change the startle reflex, the adrenaline or the spontaneity of movement — but to correct and refine these natural instincts. In other words, it is not a question of changing the body’s form or defensive structure, but of improving the alignment and effectiveness of what is already natural.

This is no easy task, for in training one can mimic a boxer, a Muay Thai fighter or a wrestler, but under the pressure of real combat, under threat, everything collapses: memory becomes inaccessible, and the frontal neocortex shuts down under the effect of stress and adrenaline.

Once again, our aim is to develop the raw movements we perform instinctively, like any animal – for we too are animals – and to make them anatomically and structurally perfect. But we do not seek to make these movements resemble any particular style of martial arts.
We must cultivate what is natural so that it becomes spontaneous, without attempting to replace it with habits derived from intensive training or heavy sparring. Qi Gong is for health, and combat is for defence – there is nothing in between.

We say: ‘Structure is everything; a perfect external structure is already internal.’
When you work on alignment, not just physically—tendons, muscles, bones—but also in terms of Qi and intention, when you work on the correctness of posture and the fluidity of movement, you are in fact doing internal work.
This type of work achieves something fundamental: it unites the tendons, which unite the bones, which in turn unite the muscles—the whole working in a single direction. This means that, whatever the movement—pulling, pushing, striking, slapping, hooking or throwing—you are expressing the body’s maximum potential for power.

This approach is always sufficient, as most people do not train in this way: they divide the body into several muscle groups and must therefore strengthen them separately. But very few people have the time to develop each group independently. If you have a unified body, simply maintained but consistent in its action, you will always have more power than someone with specialised muscles.

Let us remember that we are not talking here about sparring or competition, where one faces professionals specialising in combat. The purpose of our martial art is to defend ourselves, in order to preserve our peace of mind in the quest to build the inner temple, in our internal alchemy.

This is why we seek to unify the whole body, for if we can concentrate the entire body into a single strike, that strike will be sufficient to neutralise any opponent.

We say: ‘Look at the eyes, not the sword. ”
In combat, you must not allow yourself to be distracted by the opponent’s weapons—their fists, legs, knees or elbows. Either you seek to make contact, or you remain at a distance, destroying whatever they project towards you.

But as soon as you make contact, your attention must focus on the opponent himself, on his centre, and everything you do must be directed towards that centre.

We say: “If you have two, you will win; if you have three, you will be safe.”
This refers to the concept of the three powers.
The first is obvious power — heavy, solid, manifest. It is the one that impresses and frightens the opponent.
The second is hidden power — it gives the illusion of gentleness, but causes acute pain on impact. This is a higher level, often associated with what is known as penetrating power: when a strike of this kind hits the stomach, you feel it right through to your back. It cuts through the body like a blade, producing a sensation of visceral terror.
The third is shifting power: I can deliver any strike with great force, and if my opponent blocks it, I alter the trajectory of my movement whilst maintaining the same intensity of energy — which creates a major problem for them.
Between these three forms of power — manifest power, hidden power and shifting power — whoever possesses two will almost always win, even if the fight is sometimes difficult. But whoever possesses all three is secure: they no longer need to worry about the outcome, and can approach any situation with composure.
When you know you are safe, you can speak calmly to your opponent, without fear or aggression, because you know you are in control of the situation. This inner confidence allows you to go very far in discussion, negotiation and de-escalation, without fear of being caught off guard.
Conversely, the more one feels in danger, the more one becomes nervous or aggressive, ready to strike even before it is necessary.
Thus, with two well-integrated powers, one usually wins; but with all three, one is truly at peace, capable of facing any confrontation without worry.

We also say: ‘We need the six and the three.’
This phrase refers to the six harmonies and the three physical qualities.
The six harmonies refer to the ability to move freely, to channel or transform the impacts one receives. They involve control of direction and perception of the opponent’s movement.
Hands and feet must remain constantly rooted, whilst knees and elbows must be supple and relaxed.
Finally, one must unite integrated power and structural strength, of which the shoulders and hips are the essential pivots.

My energy and my essence are one. Thus, even when I project or express my energy outwards, my inner essence remains at the centre; this means I stay grounded.
I must therefore perceive everything that is happening without being disturbed, and my intention (Yi) must always take precedence over emotion. It is my clear intention that guides the Qi, and I must use it only when necessary, without dispersing it.
I can direct my Qi outwards — to strike, push or defend myself — whilst remaining centred, without stepping outside myself. This is the essence of the six harmonies and the three qualities.

We say: ‘Whatever strike I deliver, I return immediately as if it were burning.’
This expresses the idea that, when I strike, I do not rely on the strike itself. As soon as I feel it has been executed, I must put as much energy into the return as into the forward movement. This is the principle of the whipping motion.
The penetrating power of the strike will depend on the situation, but it must always be delivered as if the striking surface were burning hot, like a red-hot frying pan.

This approach applies to everything: strikes, locks, or Chin Na techniques. Whatever the action, you must go all out, then return immediately to the centre.
It is essential not to leave your limbs hanging after an action: if the hand or foot remains outstretched, the body’s structure breaks down, and power is lost.

We also say: “Hands and feet for defence, elbows and knees for destruction.”
Elbow Jin and Knee Jin are only used in dangerous situations. For ordinary defence, the hands and feet are sufficient.
Nevertheless, if the pressure becomes too great, or if survival is genuinely threatened, one must change distance and employ the elbows and knees. This is why they are trained intensively: they represent the second line of defence, reserved for extreme cases.

Mental balance must also be maintained regardless of the outcome of the encounter. In victory, the mind must remain perfectly calm and serene to avoid arrogance, whilst in defeat, it is crucial not to give in to discouragement in order to retain one’s ability to react. Ultimate success belongs to those who dare, for boldness and determination are the essential driving forces for translating technical superiority into action.
Every practitioner of Daxuan Boxing is therefore invited to study these precepts and apply them with careful consideration in order to grasp their full depth.

To be continued ...