With his renewed enthusiasm, Danny’s practice seemed to enter a momentous phase. From time to time, while he was meditating, his vision would fill with an image like a black screen with a blinking white dot. It reminded him of a TV not tuned to a channel. As he continued practicing, it became an image of numerous stars blinking in the dark evening sky. But as soon as he started to think about it or got excited, the image would immediately disappear.

Gradually, Danny learned just to observe, without reacting, so that the image would stay for a longer period of time. After several more weeks, the image of the star field was replaced by an image of fog, and later, of clouds or mist floating in the sky. He thought it must be some kind of progress, so he asked Master Wang about it. Again, his response was a subdued, “Good.” But Danny no longer felt discouraged by Master Wang’s minimal comments.

Danny found himself feeling lighter and cleaner after every meditation, and he had begun to enjoy the practice so much that he did not need Master Wang’s encouragement to keep going. Even though Danny had no specific time constraints, he knew he could not stay in China forever. He knew he needed to return to Seattle sooner or later. But what he had been learning and experiencing was so far beyond his initial plans and expectations that he decided to stay as long as he possibly could to study with Master Wang. After four months of working together, their relationship became less formal. Master Wang seemed now more like an uncle than a teacher. Danny had noticed that, although Master Wang did not talk much, he actually had a keen sense of humor. He loved that Master Wang’s remarks often seemed to explain something while at the same time opening up new questions.

Because he so revered Master Wang, Danny had never probed him about his personal life and background. He had no idea how old he was, what kind of family he came from, or if he had ever been married. He was obviously alone now, but it is unusual for Chinese not to marry. He was so curious about how Wang ended up becoming a master of Taoist Inner Alchemy and about who his teacher was. Back in the United States, Danny would probably have asked these questions a long time ago. Yet in China, it did not seem appropriate to ask these sorts of question directly, and he didn’t have any way to find out indirectly.

One day, after returning from a visit to the White Cloud Temple with Master Wang, Danny sensed he was in a more talkative mood than usual. He decided to take a chance and asked casually, “So, Master Wang, have you ever been married?” He looked at Danny with surprise and said, simply, “No.” Then he poured them both tea. Danny took a sip and pressed on. “Would you tell me about how you came to learn this tradition? When did you start learning, and from whom? I have heard that you are a lineage holder of the Lungmen tradition; just what does that mean?” After this sudden rush of questions, Master Wang sat in silence for a long while, one hand flat on the table and the other around his cup. Danny thought he might have offended him, but didn’t know how to remedy the situation.

Finally, Master Wang said cryptically, “There are things that are not important for you to know, but there are some things may be worthwhile for you to know.” After a long pause, he began to speak again. “I grew up in a worker’s family in Beijing. My father was a craftsman who specialized in the ornamental carvings on wooden lantern frames. My mother worked at an embroidery factory making embroidered handkerchiefs.”

Just as Danny wondered if he had brothers or sisters, Wang said, “I was the only son. Actually, I was told that I had an older brother who was born long before I was, but he died shortly after birth. Since my father was the only son in his family, it was crucial that he have a son to carry on the family lineage.” Danny could hear in his voice the weight of tradition. In traditional China, it was said that, of the three most unfilial failures, the worst was to have no son to carry on the family lineage.

“After their first child died, my parents were unable to have another for many years. At that time, they were living in the suburbs of Beijing. Finally, they went to a temple and prayed to Guan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, for a son. Shortly afterward, my mother became pregnant with me. So my parents always told me that Guan Yin had sent me to this world.”