Opening the Dragon Gate

In this enlightening episode of Hope is Kindled, we journey into the hidden world of Taoist alchemy, inner cultivation, and ancient Chinese mysticism through Opening the Dragon Gate: The Making of a Modern Taoist Wizard by Chen Kaiguo and Zheng Shunchao. This extraordinary biography tells the true story of Wang Liping, the 18th-generation master of the Dragon Gate lineage, trained in secrecy through the spiritual upheaval of Twentieth-Century China.

We explore the psychological and philosophical insights of Taoist practice, its relevance in our modern age, and its remarkable parallels to other works we've studied—The Alchemist, The Story of My Experiments with Truth, Osho, Catch-22, and even Doctor Who. From historical persecution to spiritual perseverance, Wang Liping’s journey reminds us that wisdom survives when it is lived.

Hope emerges here not from action, but from stillness. Not from revolution, but from resonance. This episode is for anyone seeking calm in chaos, strength in surrender, and light in the deep places of the soul.

Transcript

Hello, and welcome back to Hope is Kindled, the podcast where we walk together through stories that shape the spirit, challenge the mind, and nurture the soul. Today’s journey takes us deep into the misted peaks of Taoist tradition, through the remarkable true story of Wang Liping, the modern Taoist wizard at the center of Opening the Dragon Gate.

Opening the Dragon Gate is a biographical narrative that tells the extraordinary true story of Wang Liping, the eighteenth-generation transmitter of the Dragon Gate branch of the Quanzhen (Complete Reality) Taoist school. The book was written by Chen Kaiguo and Zheng Shunchao, two Chinese journalists who were given rare access to Wang Liping’s life and teachings.  

This is not a work of fiction. Nor is it a linear, conventional biography. It is structured more like a sacred text—blending mythic storytelling with mystical training manual, and it invites the reader into a secret spiritual lineage that has long been hidden from public view.

It is more than a biography. It’s a living doorway into the esoteric world of Taoism, a tradition that dates back thousands of years, yet pulses with vital, surprising relevance for today.

The story begins in Northeastern China, where a young boy, Wang Liping, is living a simple life in a small town. He appears unremarkable—quiet, physically weak, often sick—but unknown to him, his destiny has already been written.

Three elderly Taoist masters—Zhao Bichen, Xu Zhenji, and Wang Jimei—have been waiting. They are the seventeenth-generation lineage holders of the Dragon Gate school and are nearing the ends of their lives. They have been searching for a successor in secret, especially dangerous during the anti-religious fervor of the Chinese Cultural Revolution.

The Chinese Cultural Revolution, launched by Mao Zedong in 1966 and lasting until his death in 1976, was a decade-long political and social upheaval aimed at preserving communist ideology by purging remnants of capitalist and traditional elements from Chinese society.  The result was a cultural and spiritual catastrophe, as centuries-old traditions like Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism were violently suppressed, temples desecrated, and scholars imprisoned or killed. It led to widespread fear, chaos, and the loss of priceless historical and cultural heritage. The Cultural Revolution fundamentally reshaped modern China’s relationship with its past, and its traumatic legacy still lingers in both public memory and private pain.

In Opening the Dragon Gate, the three elderly masters are guided to Liping through visions and signs. He is chosen not by birth or merit, but by fate.

Wang Liping is taken under the wing of the three masters and begins intense and secretive training in Taoist practices:

• Internal alchemy (neidan), 
  
  
  
• Breath cultivation (qigong),
  
  
  
• Meditation and energy movement,
  
  
  
• Dietary restriction and fasting,
  
  
  
• Sexual energy control,
  
  
  
• Silence and isolation,
  
  
  

Much of the training is brutal. Liping is taken into the wilderness, pushed into icy rivers, forced to fast for days, and left to meditate alone in caves. He is made to confront not only his body’s limits, but the illusions of his own ego.

Throughout the book, Wang faces spiritual and physical tests designed to provoke transformation. His mind begins to open, and he learns how to move energy within his body—eventually developing what is known in Taoist tradition as supernatural abilities, including:

• Remote perception,
  
  
  
• Dream control,
  
  
  
• Reading people’s energy fields,
  
  
  
• Healing through intention,
  
  
  

These powers are not the goal, however—they are byproducts of discipline and surrender.

Wang also learns how to communicate wordlessly with his masters and with nature. This recalls Zen koans or the silence of mystics throughout history: it’s about achieving unity with the Tao, not intellectual understanding.

As the masters grow older and begin to die, they formally pass the lineage to Wang Liping. This transmission is spiritual and energetic, involving intricate rituals and final teachings that bind him to centuries of ancestral wisdom.

But with the passing of the masters, Wang must find a way to live in the modern world. He becomes a kind of hidden sage, continuing his practice while also teaching selected students, occasionally revealing his story to those who are ready.

Eventually, Chen Kaiguo and Zheng Shunchao hear about Wang Liping and seek him out. After being tested themselves for sincerity and readiness, they are allowed to record his story, under the condition that the spiritual truths be told authentically—not sensationalized or commodified.

And, the ferryman?  Who is he?

In Taoist storytelling and mysticism, the ferryman is a symbol of one who guides a soul across a threshold—often from ignorance to knowledge, or from the mundane to the sacred. In the context of Opening the Dragon Gate, the ferrymen are the three Taoist masters—Zhao Bichen, Xu Zhenji, and Wang Jimei.

They identify Wang Liping, guide him, and carry him across the spiritual "river" into the realm of Taoist wisdom. They test him, train him, and ultimately pass him the torch. Without them, the ancient wisdom would die out.

Symbolically, they represent the last link in a chain of tradition, much like Charon in Greek myth, or the Hermit in the Tarot. They do not seek glory. Their job is to guide one worthy soul to cross the invisible threshold—from time to timelessness, from chaos to clarity.

First, Tradition versus. Modernity.

The entire book is set during the Cultural Revolution, when Taoism was outlawed, and all forms of ancient spiritual wisdom were under threat. This tension, between the mystical and the material, the sacred and the scientific, gives the book urgency.  It asks: what if something sacred still lives, hidden in plain sight?

Second, The Ego Must Die.

Wang Liping’s path is not about achievement. It is about surrender. The story shows how ego must be dismantled, how control is an illusion, and how the deepest truths are not learned—but remembered.

Third, The Hero’s Journey must take place.

Like Odysseus, Santiago, Frodo, or Siddhartha, Wang Liping embarks on an inward journey full of obstacles. His “dragons” are hunger, fatigue, confusion, fear. The final “elixir” is self-realization, and the return to the world with new wisdom.

In a world of constant noise, Wang Liping teaches silence.

In a culture of instant gratification, he embodies patience and surrender.

In a time of disconnection, he reminds us that nature is not something we visit—it’s something we are.

Let us now turn to the text itself, where the poetry of Taoist practice breathes through the pages like mist through pine. One of the most striking early images in Opening the Dragon Gate comes during Wang Liping’s foundational training, where his masters instruct him in what they call “mountain meditation.” The line reads,...

“When you meditate in the mountains, you must forget even that you are a person. You are simply the mist, the breeze, the stone. You’re not in nature—you are nature”,...

This deceptively simple passage holds the key to understanding not only Taoist cosmology, but the fundamental psychological transformation the tradition demands. It’s not enough to escape into nature as a tourist seeking peace. One must dissolve the barrier between self and world, until there is no separation—until breathing and breeze are one.

From this entry point, the story of Wang Liping unfolds not as a linear biography but as a sequence of revelations—rituals and hardships through which identity is stripped away, and spirit revealed. Let’s follow the trail of these insights, each one a stepping stone toward internal alchemy, and examine how the text not only documents a Taoist’s path—but invites us to find our own.

This passage also emphasizes how immersion in nature can spark awakening—not merely by sight, but by resonance with something greater than oneself. It reflects the idea that nature is not a backdrop, but a teacher.

One of the most profound passages in Opening the Dragon Gate speaks to the Taoist understanding of unity between the self and the cosmos—a core theme throughout Wang Liping’s journey of cultivation and transformation. The text states:,...

“Below this, everything in the universe is in one’s own body, and the Way is not apart from oneself. The Way being carried out in one’s own body, the Way being carried out in the whole world.”,...

This passage reminds us that Tao is not an abstract or distant force—it is within us. The Chinese character for “Tao” conveys a truth both cosmic and intimate: that the Way flows through the universe and is embodied in each person. To live in accordance with the Tao is not to reach outside ourselves, but to awaken what is already present. Aligning with nature, then, is not an external pursuit—it is a return to our inherent reality.

Then, the text shifts our focus from the cosmic to the internal. 

The Chinese character “Tao” is interpreted as meaning that the Way permeates the universe and is embodied within each person. It illustrates that aligning with nature is not an external aspiration—it is our inherent reality.

Stillness is not escape—it is participation in the quiet pulse of existence. By embracing emptiness, not as nihilism, but as spaciousness, we quiet desire and return to harmony. This is not about rejecting change, but recognizing it as part of the dance. True peace, the Taoists tell us, arises not from controlling life’s flow, but from moving with it.  The text reads as follows,...

The source of stillness is in emptiness. All things and the changes they go through are but temporary conditions… As long as the human mind is not still and quiet, there will be thoughts of desire remaining,...

This insight suggests that stillness isn’t withdrawal from life, but a profound alignment with nature’s rhythms, where every change is natural, and emptiness leads to peace, not void.

Together, these passages affirm that nature is not an external domain but the ground of our being:

• 
  By meditating in nature, Wang Liping, and Taoist tradition, teaches that the boundary between self and world dissolves.
  
  
  
• The concept that the Way resides within us illustrates that the natural world isn’t merely observed.  It’s lived within.
  
  
  
• Through cultivating emptiness and stillness, one synchronizes body, mind, and cosmos, a clear expression of unity with nature.
  
  
  
  

So while the exact phrase might not appear in the text, the essence is deeply embedded in its spiritual practice, nature moves from being a location to becoming a relationship to live within.  Wang Liping’s path invites us to recognize that we are nature. To sit, listen, and breathe it. And in doing so, discover that we have never been separate.

From a psychological perspective, the story of Wang Liping is one of extreme discipline and transformation. Each stage of training, from internal alchemy to breath control, from sexual transmutation to fasting and meditative isolation, is a confrontation with the ego.

As modern readers, we may initially feel estranged by some of the rigorous practices, but they hold psychological truth: true change does not come easy. It requires death to old habits, surrender of control, and communion with forces greater than oneself.

This reminds us of what we explored with The Alchemist, how following one’s personal legend requires sacrifice and faith. Yet in Wang Liping’s journey, there is no Santiago-like shepherd’s naivete. The process here is brutal, precise, and measured, but the goal is the same: the refinement of the soul into something luminous, liberated.

Wang Liping’s path also draws clear parallels to Jungian individuation—the deep psychological journey in which the unconscious becomes conscious, the shadow is integrated, and the Self emerges whole. Like the hero in Joseph Campbell’s monomyth, Wang does not merely learn—he descends, suffers, and is reborn. The Taoist “elixir of immortality” is not literal, but symbolic: it’s the capacity to live in balance and consciousness amid a world of illusion.

This work stands in beautiful resonance with so many episodes we’ve already explored.

Like Gandhi’s Story of My Experiments with Truth, Opening the Dragon Gate is part spiritual autobiography, part sacred manual. Both are about discipline and devotion to a path higher than oneself.

Like The Four Agreements, it reminds us that true mastery of the self requires a dismantling of social programming, be impeccable with your word, don’t take things personally, and question everything.

As in Osho’s writings, the body is not seen as the enemy—but rather as the temple through which consciousness is cultivated. However, where Osho often delights in paradox and rebellion, the Taoist sages in Dragon Gate emphasize humility, quietude, and patient alignment with the natural world.

The journey of Wang Liping also echoes the plight of Jerry in The Zoo Story, or even Bromden in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest—individuals isolated by insight, whose awareness places them in opposition to society’s machine. But where Jerry’s pain erupts into confrontation, Wang’s awakening flows into serenity.

And where Carl Lee in A Time to Kill is driven by anguish to act outside the system, Wang Liping retreats from systems entirely, to change the world not with action, but with vibration.

 It is tempting in our modern world to associate influence with loudness, with presence, with disruption. But Taoism, and Wang Liping’s journey, argue the opposite: that stillness may be more transformative than noise, and that a single aligned person can change the energy of a room—of a life—without uttering a word. This is power without aggression. Mastery without dominance. Transformation without spectacle.

So where is the hope?

Hope lives in stillness. In silence. In the possibility that ancient knowledge, nearly lost, still breathes. Hope is found in the thought that a young boy—raised during Mao’s China—can still become a wizard.

Not the wizard of fantasy stories, but a true channel of energy, compassion, and alignment.

Wang Liping’s story tells us that no system can destroy the spirit—not even one built on materialism and suppression. Taoist practice offers us tools: to restore breath, to soften anger, to reduce fear, to harmonize with nature and with others.

And perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that there is wisdom older than power. Older than money. Older than even books.

In a fitting twist of time and spirit, Doctor Who offers us a beautiful metaphor. The Doctor—especially in his Eleventh and Twelfth incarnations—is not a warrior, but a sage. He travels not to conquer, but to understand. Like Wang Liping, he balances immense power with moral restraint. The Doctor’s TARDIS hums with the kind of alignment the Taoists speak of: moving without effort, arriving without movement.

Imagine Wang Liping and the Doctor sitting on a cliffside, drinking tea, watching a sunrise. Neither would speak for a long while. And when they did, the words would be few—but just enough.

As with so many works we’ve explored, from The Odyssey to Don Quixote, from 1984 to Frankenstein, the journey is never just about the destination. It’s about transformation.

Opening the Dragon Gate asks us not to follow Wang Liping, but to awaken our own path. Not to abandon the world, but to become so centered within ourselves that the chaos of the world can pass through us without destroying us.

 And in that way, it offers one of the clearest blueprints we’ve encountered for healing the human condition. Whether through breath, intention, or awareness, we are reminded that every person carries within them a small dragon gate, a threshold to cross, a place where the old must die and something wiser, gentler, more enduring is born.

In a time of noise, distraction, and acceleration, Taoist wisdom gives us a whisper: slow down, listen, breathe, wait.

And there, between the breath and the step, is where hope is kindled.

Good journey.

Bibliography:

Chen, Kaiguo, and Zheng Shunchao. Opening the Dragon Gate: The Making of a Modern Taoist Wizard. Translated by Thomas Cleary, Tuttle Publishing, 2000.

Cleary, Thomas. The Taoist Classics: Volume One. Shambhala Publications, 2003.

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. New World Library, 2008.

Gandhi, Mohandas K. The Story of My Experiments with Truth. Translated by Mahadev Desai, Beacon Press, 1993.

Don Miguel Ruiz. The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom. Amber-Allen Publishing, 1997.

Osho. The Book of Secrets: 112 Meditations to Discover the Mystery Within. St. Martin’s Griffin, 1998.

Kesey, Ken. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Penguin Books, 2002.

Albee, Edward. The Zoo Story. Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 1960.

Grisham, John. A Time to Kill. Wynwood Press, 1989.

Jung, Carl Gustav. The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Translated by R.F.C. Hull, Princeton University Press, 1981.

Hesse, Hermann. Siddhartha. Translated by Hilda Rosner, New Directions Publishing, 1951.

Coelho, Paulo. The Alchemist. Translated by Alan R. Clarke, HarperOne, 1993.

Baum, L. Frank. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. George M. Hill Company, 1900.

Orwell, George. 1984. Harvill Secker, 1949.

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Robert Fagles, Penguin Classics, 1996.

Cervantes, Miguel de. Don Quixote. Translated by Edith Grossman, Harper Perennial, 2005.

Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Edited by Maurice Hindle, Penguin Classics, 2003.

BBC Studios. Doctor Who. Created by Sydney Newman, performances by Matt Smith and Peter Capaldi, British Broadcasting Corporation, 2010–2017.

Masters of the Universe. Directed by Gary Goddard, performances by Dolph Lundgren and Frank Langella, Cannon Group, 1987.