Nei kung the secret teachings of the warrior sages danaos, kosta

above God. The last ten thousand years have been a mere heartbeat in the chronicles of evolution, a split second in the timeless eyes of heaven. The effects of our loss are not yet firmly established; there is still time to turn things around. Yet many great teachers of the past have tried to do just that and failed, not the least of whom was Mo Tzu, the founder of the lineage headed in this generation by my own master, John Chang. (Please see appendix 1, note 2.)

Which brings us back to my mountaintop. I was at a loss for what to do with the knowledge I had been blessed with. How could I hope to succeed where men who had been truly remarkable had faltered? I was no shaman. I was not a hsien, an immortal, like John Chang.

I wasn’t even that great a martial artist or scientist. I was Mr. Mediocre, the Jack-of-All-Trades, the average man; I could do all things but excelled at none.

Yet I was willing. God, was I willing. I would fight as hard as was necessary to have the truth put forth once again. Timeo Danaos et dona ferentis, Virgil had written in his Aeneid—”Fear the Greeks even when they are bearing gifts.” I would use my wiles against the system by turning their own weapons against them, beginning with hard science. I knew that the yin field, that dark energy of chaos that coexists with our space-time, would be a difficult thing to prove to the scientific community. But I reckoned that if my master was willing, I could confirm to the world at large that we have a very distinct and specific dynamism that courses through our bodies and fuels our life force—the force of the yang ch’i, solar fire.

The difficult part would be getting John to cooperate. I had set up meetings three times with noted scientific authorities—once with a Harvard professor and twice with a Nobel Prize-winning physicist.5 In the first case,