ON a cloudy Sunday morning, 99-year-old Ling Hanxing walks into Shanghai’s Zhongshan Park, where one of his disciples teaches practitioners every week.

With clean-cut gray hair, a straight back and a red jacket, Ling walks slowly with a stick and is supported by his daughter on her arm. He greets the students. With the help of a looking glass, he autographs his training manual, published in 1994, inscribing on the first page with the old Chinese saying, “Continue to strengthen yourself.”

Ling’s calligraphy strokes are powerful with angular turns, as if the written characters might break through the thin paper. Those around him are in awe. He is the only living disciple of the legendary martial artist Lu Songgao (1873-1963).

Lu built his reputation from countless battles, where he is said to have defeated all his opponents, even those brandishing guns, with just a few quick movements. He was most active in the 1930s and 40s in Shanghai, an era when Chinese kung fu reached a peak of popularity among the general public.

Ling’s demeanor in the park is suddenly transformed when he is asked to instruct a young female disciple on how to improve her movements.

“Stop,” Ling says, disengaging himself from his daughter and throwing his walking stick to the group. “Why do you swing? You must not hesitate. When you put your foot forward, it must be sudden, with force.”

He imitates the swinging low kick of the practitioner and then follows it with the proper procedure. A kick that is forceful.

Observing more movements of the young woman, he changes the position of her left palm by a barely noticeable degree.

“You must not hit with your arm only,” he tells her, placing her hands on his waist. “The strength is here, from your entire body. Not just with the arms.”

Son of an affluent family, Ling was a graduate of the prestigious St John’s University in Shanghai. After graduation, he worked for foreign banks in the city.

“I am obsessed with martial arts,” he said during lunch with Shanghai Daily, where he wolfed down three large pieces of soy-sauced fatty pork along with other Shanghai specialties.

He still has all his teeth bar two. His daughter, gently chiding him, says he has been sneaking out of the house of late to buy and eat eight dumplings for breakfast.

“Young kids couldn’t begin to imagine how much money, time and energy I spent trying to find great masters to teach me,” Ling says. “It isn’t easy to find real kung fu.”

His father and uncles were martial art fanatics who began teaching him the movements when he was a child, but he wasn’t satisfied with his combat skills until he saw Lu performing at a public event when the old master was in his late 60s.

“I was utterly overwhelmed, even after having practiced all kinds of kung fu methods for more than 20 years,” he says, recalling vividly that first encounter. “He stretched his arms in a simple, powerful move and accidentally hit the stereo that was hanging above the stage. It came crashing down with all the cables.”

After the performance, Ling went backstage to ask Lu to become his mentor.

The old master had long earlier stopped taking new disciples, but he agreed to Ling’s request and continued to teach him until his death.

“You might think I’m strict with my students, but that’s because you have never met Master Lu,” Ling says. “You wouldn’t even dare ask him a question or he would hit you to the ground to remind you where the strength lay.”

From Lu, he learned Xin Yi Liu He (心意六合), literally meaning “heart consciousness in six harmonious styles.” The Chinese believe that the heart is not only the place where emotions originate, but also the source of ideas. Yi, or consciousness, is a quintessential term in many kung fu styles, referring to mindset, ideas and intent.

Legend credits the creation and the ancient boxing manual of the style to the heroic general Yue Fei (1103-42), who combined existing moves with that of the spear, a common battlefield weapon.

Noted for its remarkable explosive force, the style is considered among the most efficient, swift and powerful combat skill among thousands of Chinese martial arts styles.

“Fighting like you are kissing,” as the old saying goes, means the style is most effective at close range.

The “six harmonies” of the name include three external ones — the shoulder with hip, the elbow with knee, and the hand with foot. In practice, it means they should always be on the same vertical plane. The practitioner is required to crunch the body as much as possible to squeeze out the force of the entire body, attacking and defending simultaneously.

“A life is lost within the two characters — crunching and stretching,” the saying goes.

The three internal harmonies of the style include the heart and consciousness, consciousness and qi, and qi and force. As in other kung fu styles, qi refers not only to mysterious internal energy but also to breathing matching moves.

“Coordination of the entire body is key,” Ling wrote in his training manual. “How can one fight an entire body’s force with that of one fist or one kick? Even if you are smaller than your opponent, when you concentrate your entire body’s weight and force into one attacking point, with a speed fast as lightning, and hit your opponent’s weak spot, how can he maintain his balance without falling?”

While Western boxing mainly uses two fists, this style gives the practitioner 16 — both sides of the head, shoulders, elbows, hands, hips, knees and feet as well as belly and butt.

In Shanghai, the style is better known as the “Ten Shapes.” The movements mimic and are named after 10 animals. Many Chinese kung fu styles originate from observing and imitating animal movements.

In his training manual, Ling wrote that one should not only learn from the shapes and poses of the animals, but more importantly, the nature underlying such movements and the specialties of each animal.

“The dragon has its unique way of spiraling the body,” he says, listing a few. “The tiger pouncing on its prey, the monkey with swift hops, the eagle grasping with precision, the bear’s strength and the snake’s agility.”

Ling explains, “You have to be smart to learn martial arts well because you have to understand the ideas, but you won’t truly understand how to attack and defend, how to apply your force and how to combine the moves without patient and persistent practice.”

Then he adds, “Your mind won’t truly understand the idea until your body does, and when it does, it feeds back to your mind and you are at a more advanced level before noticing it.”

Ling can recite by heart the opening of the “History of the Three Kingdoms,” a record of the Three Kingdoms Period (AD 220-280). In the history, General Zhang Fei, who died in AD 221, is said to have frightened an enemy army away by shouting.

In many martial arts novels, the so-called “lion’s scream” is often described as a mysterious form of shouting kung fu. Xin Yi Liu He includes a “storming sound” meant to surprise and scare opponents during battle.

Ling gave an example. Its force sent my heart pounding.

“I may not have the physicality of a young person, but I have the confidence and courage that I can still fight one for a few moves when necessary,” he says.

Ling’s son, Xiao Lixing, is carrying on his father’s heritage through the family’s Xin Yi salon, where disciples meet for training. There’s also an Internet platform for them to discuss martial arts skills. In addition to the Ten Shapes style, Xiao also teaches Liu He Ba Fa (六合八法), a kung fu school that means “six harmonies, eight methods,” which Ling started practicing every morning since 60 years of age.

You don’t have to ask Ling the secret of his longevity. That’s obvious. He has never stopped practicing kung fu, though he admits that methods are altered by age.

“Even if you don’t practice kung fu, there are three characters that will bring you good health if you follow them: relax, calm and happy,” he says.