---
title: "I will teach you - Chapter 6"
description: "Chapter 6: I will teach you. Mingzhu's story in Guangdong about teaching Kung Fu with empathy and breaking barriers."
keywords: "teaching, mentorship, empathy, Kung Fu, Guangdong, potential"
url: "https://empathyisallyouneed.com/i-will-teach-you"
language: "en"
---

# I will teach you

The strength of the heart

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![Mingzhu teaching Tángláng Quán](https://46stkanv8b.koniglecdn.com/images/mingzhu-kung-fu-lesson.webp)

In the lush hills of the western Guangdong province, the Yang family tulou stood as a testament to Hakka ingenuity and resilience. Its circular walls housed generations of tradition, none more revered than the art of Tángláng Quán – the Southern Praying Mantis style of kung fu. Among the clan's younger generation, none showed more promise in this ancient martial art than Yang Mingzhu. 

At twenty-two, Mingzhu moved through the flowing forms of Tángláng Quán with a grace that belied the style's deadly efficiency. Her father, Yang Zhenyi, watched from the second-floor balcony, nodding approvingly. Words were rarely needed between them when it came to martial arts. 

But even as Mingzhu honed her skills, she couldn't help noticing the wistful glances of other children - those deemed less talented, watching from the shadows. She saw their enthusiasm, their desire to be part of the clan's proud tradition, and something stirred in her heart. It was a curiosity, a question that would shape her future: Why should the art be limited to only those with natural talent? 

Life in the tulou followed age-old rhythms — communal meals, toiling in the fields, and the constant hum of families chatting inside and outside the tulou walls. Yet change was coming, riding on winds from distant shores and whispering in the markets of Jiayingzhou. 

It was during one of her training sessions in the eastern grove that fate intervened. A cry echoed through the bamboo, and Mingzhu discovered a starving, limping foreigner - a girl her age with hair the color of straw and eyes as blue as the summer sky, that to Mingzhu’s surprise spoke Mandarin and cantonese. Against the warnings of her uncle but with careful support of her father, Mingzhu made the fateful decision to help the stranger by sneaking her in to stay in their home, in the tulou until she recovers from her injury. The foreigner introduced herself as Theresa Adler. 

As Theresa recovered in secret within the tulou, Mingzhu spent several nights with her in quiet conversations. Though both sides stumbled with rusty Mandarin, Mingzhu’s world was opened as she learnt about Theresa’s turbulent journey in China. 

Her father first came to Guangzhou’s main city as a Christian missionary. He later brought young teen Theresa and his wife as the family, determined to make a home for themselves in this strange new land. Through great difficulty, Theresa slowly learnt the local languages and way of life, assisting with her father in his missionary efforts over the five years. 

Theresa never questioned her religious upbringing, or how her actions would have played a small part in history in the growing unrest from increasing western influence. Until one fateful day while traveling with her father on their usual preaching routes, he got into a fight with a group of local confucians and was murdered in the struggle. She fled the village they were at with nothing but her clothes on her back. Theresa has since been traveling from village to village for months, trying to get back home to her mother in Guangzhou’s main city. 

Theresa felt an immense guilt to survive what transpired. And every night of her endless journey through different provinces she wondered if her next day would be her last. But at the same time her hope was renewed by the unexpected help she received from strangers along the way. And through her encounters, she learnt so much from the people who’ve risked their life to help her. 

“My family was brought here to bring change. But in the end it was I that was changed even more.” 

Mingzhu in turn shared about the lifestyle and traditions of Hakka life in the Tulou, to which Theresa listened with great interest. She dismissed Mingzhu’s claims that her life was not as interesting or eventful as her own. 

Over time and with great care from Mingzhu and her father, Theresa’s strength began to recover quickly. The two girls’ friendship blossomed as they continued to learn from each others’ very different lives. But one day Mingzhu was surprised with an unexpected request from Theresa.“Could you teach me Tángláng Quán?” 

Teaching the clan's secret art to an outsider was unthinkable, let alone a local that shows no talent in the art, so Mingzhu refused at first. But she recalled the wistful looks of her younger peers every time she trained in the tulou courtyard. 

After some nights of pondering, Mingzhu eventually agreed. 

“Okay, but just the basics. And quietly.” 

As she guided Theresa through beginner forms, Mingzhu experienced a profound joy in sharing her knowledge with her new friend. Despite her weak movements and stiff footwork, Theresa’s eyes shone with determination. Unencumbered by any thought of being unworthy, Mingzhu watched as her foreign friend tried earnestly to follow her steps. 

“Your form is very bad indeed.” 

Theresa fell to the ground with muffled laughter, her grin shining through her newfound body aches. 

Mingzhu began to question the rigid traditions that dictated who could and couldn't learn. 

Their time together however, was short-lived. News of unrest spread through the province - rumors of the Taiping rebels are looking to usurp the reigning Qing dynasty. When Manchu imperial troops arrived unannounced one day to search the tulou for suspected rebels, Mingzhu's quick thinking saved Theresa from discovery, but it became clear she couldn't stay. 

The decision to smuggle Theresa to safety out of their village in Guangzhou was not made lightly. It meant leaving the safety of the tulou, venturing into a world teetering on the brink of conflict. Yet, as they made their perilous journey, Mingzhu's eyes were opened to the vastness of the world outside her family home, and how times are changing rapidly even within her own province. 

Their farewell at the edge of the village was bittersweet, an unlikely meeting of East and West fraught with the weight of impending change looming on both sides. As Mingzhu made her way back to the tulou, she carried with her not just memories, but a new perspective on her art and her place in the world. 

Returning home, Mingzhu found the tulou unchanged yet herself irrevocably altered. She saw with new eyes the rigid hierarchies, a changing world, and the missed potential in those deemed unworthy of learning the family's art. 

"Father," she said one evening, kneeling before the clan elders, "I wish to teach Tángláng Quán to all the children who desire to learn, regardless of their natural talent." 

Her words were met with shock and disbelief. Yang Zhenyi was the first to speak. "The art is sacred, Mingzhu. We cannot dilute it with those who lack ability." 

But Mingzhu stood her ground. "What of heart, Father? What of dedication and love for our heritage? Surely these are as important as innate skills." 

“Enough\!” Yang Zhenyi interrupted. “We have more crucial matters at hand.” He then quickly changed the subject to a different community matter. At the end of the meeting with the elders, Mingzhu’s father pulled her aside and said “Your conversations with the foreigner have gone to your head. We have uncertain times ahead, and our entire village is at risk. Some things should stay firm while we navigate them.” 

But Mingzhu did not relent. Days turned to weeks as Mingzhu brought the idea up repeatedly with the elders, each time with a different angle on how she saw its potential to benefit the community at large, even prepare them against the challenges of the future. Privately with her father, she shared her ideas more deeply about how strength can be built within the community through shared knowledge rather than only funneling them to competent successors. In the later meetings, Yang Zhenyi began to support his daughter when she would bring up her request yet again to the elders. Slowly, reluctantly, the elders began to listen. 

When permission was finally granted, it came with skepticism. As Mingzhu gathered her first class - a motley crew of eager but uncoordinated children - whispers followed her through the tulou. 

"Why waste time on those who will never excel? They’ll disgrace our ancestors." some muttered. 

"She coddles them," others said. "It will only lead to disappointment." 

Mingzhu heard the doubts but chose to focus on the shining eyes of her students. There was little Mei, the blacksmith's daughter, whose enthusiasm far outweighed her coordination. Chubby Lin struggled to touch his toes, while shy Huang flinched at sudden movements. Yet all of them shared a burning desire to learn, to be part of the clan's proud tradition. 

Months passed, and progress was painfully slow. Mingzhu adapted her teaching methods, breaking down complex movements, celebrating small victories. She taught them not just the physical forms, but the philosophy behind Tángláng Quán – patience, observation, the importance of inner strength. 

The skeptics didn't relent. "Look how they flail about," one elder commented, watching a practice session. "Is this what our art has come to?" 

But Mingzhu saw what others missed - the determination in Mei's eyes as she tried a form for the hundredth time, the way Lin's breathing steadied as he found his center, the growing confidence in Huang's stance. She recognized in their struggles the true spirit of Tángláng Quán - perseverance in the face of adversity. 

A year into her experiment, fate tested the Yang clan once more. As adult warriors rushed to defend their fields from a rival clan's raid, a group of bandits seized the opportunity to attack the seemingly vulnerable tulou. 

What followed would become legend in the Yang clan for generations. Led by Mei, no longer clumsy but moving with purpose, Mingzhu's students put their training to use. They worked together seamlessly, using the environment as Mingzhu had taught them. Lin, still chubby but now strong, braced the door. Huang, his shyness forgotten, called out warnings and directions. 

The other children darted and struck, not with great power but with precision and teamwork. 

By the time the adult warriors returned, the bandits had been deflected, driven away by a group of children they had underestimated. The tulou erupted in celebration, and the once-skeptical voices fell silent in the face of undeniable proof. 

Yang Zhenyi approached his daughter, his eyes moist with unshed tears. "You saw in them what we could not, Mingzhu. The strength of Tángláng Quán lies not just in the skill of a few, but in the heart of many." 

In the years that followed, Mingzhu's teaching methods for the common people spread. The Yang clan became known not just for their martial prowess, but for their unity and adaptability. Other Hakka clans sent their children to learn, and the tulou buzzed with the energy of young minds and bodies learning and growing together. 

A decade after she began teaching, the Yang family tulou hosted a grand demonstration of Tángláng Quán. Clans from across the region came to watch. As Mingzhu stood to the side, her heart swelled with pride. On the central stage, Mei led a group of younger children through a complex form, her movements fluid and precise, joy radiating from her face. 

Lin, his powerful physique a far cry from the chubby boy he had been, demonstrated the art's effectiveness against multiple opponents, his strategies clever and unexpected. Huang, once so shy, now confidently explained the philosophy behind each movement to the fascinated audience. 

As the demonstration ended to thunderous applause, Mingzhu felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Uncle Fei, now stooped with age but his eyes bright. 

"You have done more than teach them to fight, niece," he said softly. "You have taught them to live, to believe in themselves, to be part of something greater. This is the true legacy of our art." 

Mingzhu smiled, watching as her students, past and present, mingled with the crowd, their faces shining with pride and belonging. She thought of the long journey that had brought her here: of her brief and unexpected learnings from Theresa and the world beyond her family’s tulou, of the questions that had since burned within her, driving her to look beyond the surface, to see the potential in every child. 

It was this curiosity, this desire to understand and explore, that had first led her to help Theresa, to question the rigid traditions of her clan, and ultimately, to see the spark in every child who wished to learn. Her empathy, born from this curiosity, had allowed her to connect with each student, to understand their struggles and nurture their growth. 

As the crowd began to disperse, Mingzhu noticed a small figure lingering at the edge of the courtyard. A young girl, perhaps seven or eight years old, was watching the departing students with longing in her eyes. Mingzhu recognized that look - it was the same one she had seen in Mei, Lin, and Huang all those years ago. 

Smiling softly, Mingzhu approached the child. "Hello there," she said gently. "Did you enjoy the demonstration?" 

The girl nodded vigorously, her eyes wide with admiration. "It was amazing\! I... I wish I could do that." 

"And why do you think you can't?" Mingzhu asked, kneeling down to meet the girl's eyes. 

The child looked down, scuffing her foot in the dirt. "My father says I'm too clumsy. That I'll never be any good at kung fu." 

Mingzhu felt a familiar surge of empathy, remembering all the children who had been told they weren't good enough, that they didn't have the talent. But she also remembered the joy of discovery, the thrill of seeing potential bloom where others saw only limitations. 

"Tell me," Mingzhu said, "what do you feel when you watch Tángláng Quán?" 

The girl's face lit up. "I feel... like I'm flying\! Like I could do anything\!" 

Mingzhu nodded, her heart warming at the child's enthusiasm. "That feeling, that passion - that's the true heart of Tángláng Quán. Everything else can be learned." 

Hope dawned in the girl's eyes. "Really? Do you really think I could learn?" 

Mingzhu stood, offering her hand to the child. Her voice was firm, now filled with the certainty of years of experience and the excitement of another new journey about to begin. 

"I don't think," she said, smiling. "I know. And I will teach you." 

As the girl's small hand clasped hers, Mingzhu felt a surge of emotions, remembering her own journey of discovery. Her mind wandered back to those hushed moonlit conversations with Theresa Adler. It was during those moments that Mingzhu had first felt her world expand beyond the confines of tradition. 

Theresa's endless questions about her culture, her art, and her beliefs had sparked something within Mingzhu - a desire to understand not just the how of Tángláng Quán, but the why. Why did some excel while others struggled? Why did the elders cling so tightly to old ways? And most importantly, why had she never before questioned these things herself? 

It was this newfound curiosity that had opened Mingzhu's eyes to the struggles and potential of others. She recalled the day she first truly saw Mei's determination, not as a futile effort, but as a strength in itself. She remembered recognizing Lin's persistence and Huang's quiet courage, qualities she might have overlooked before her perspective had been broadened. 

Mingzhu realized that her empathy had grown from this curiosity. By seeking to understand others, by asking questions and truly listening to the answers, she had learned to see the world through different eyes. It was this ability that now allowed her to connect with each student, to understand their unique challenges and nurture their individual strengths. 

As they walked towards the training area, the setting sun casting long shadows across the courtyard, Mingzhu saw not just one child, but reflected in her the image of Theresa, of Mei, of Lin and Huang - all those whose struggles and triumphs had taught her the true meaning of strength and the power of empathy. 

"You know," Mingzhu said softly to the girl, "The greatest strength in Tángláng Quán lies not in perfection, but in persistence and determination. And by relentlessly seeking to understand others, we can become not just better fighters, but better people." 

The girl looked up at her, eyes wide with wonder. "Will you teach me that too, Sifu Mingzhu?" 

Mingzhu smiled, her heart full. "Yes, little one. That, perhaps, is the most important lesson of all. In Tángláng Quán, we learn to observe, to adapt, to persevere. But beyond the forms and techniques, we learn to understand and empathize. That is the true spirit of our art." 

As they reached the training area, Mingzhu knew that her journey was far from over. Each new student would bring new challenges, new questions, and new opportunities for understanding. And she would meet each one with the curiosity and empathy that Theresa had awakened in her, long ago. 

The spirit of the Lotus of Jiayingzhou lived on, not just in the precise movements of a martial art, but in the open hearts and minds of those who practiced it. It flourished in the questions asked, the struggles shared, and the connections forged. And Mingzhu knew that as long as there were those willing to learn and those ready to understand, this spirit would continue to grow, adapting, enduring, and always blossoming anew. 

### Further Exploration

  * [Fujian Tulou](https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1113/) \- UNESCO World Heritage Centre. Explore the unique earthen structures built by the Hakka people \(Web Page\). 
  * [Southern Praying Mantis](https://chinesemartialarts.eu/southern-praying-mantis/) \- Understanding the history and principles of this Hakka martial art style \(Article\). 
  * [The Taiping Rebellion](https://www.britannica.com/event/Taiping-Rebellion) \- Encyclopedia Britannica's overview of the massive mid-19th century conflict in China \(Historical Context\). 

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