Demon Hand, Buddha Heart: My Journey into Chu Gar by Kevin Wikse.

"I'm giving you every opportunity to make a better decision here." -Kevin Wikse

"Wrath makes a poor king, but an exceptional guardian." -Kevin Wikse

I started my journey in martial arts over 40 years ago in Chinatown, Los Angeles, California, under the tutelage of initiated members of the Hop Sing Tong Benevolent Association. Amused—and perhaps a little annoyed—by the endless questions I asked about Kung Fu after watching countless martial arts films, I imagine they eventually decided it would be easier to teach me and give me something constructive to do than to continue answering, explaining, or ignoring my relentless curiosity.

Before the Hop Sing Tong established itself in the United States around 1875 in San Francisco, California, many of its future members had spent years battling for control of the streets of Hong Kong. From them, I learned the modernized elements of Hung Gar—namely the Tiger and Crane Combined Set and the Cat, Snake, and Crane Combined Set—as well as Bak Mei (White Eyebrow) and Hakka Southern Dragon. These were small fighting sets of only nine to twelve movements each, but they were clearly designed to send your opposition into the next world.

I began studying Xingyiquan, Baguazhang, and the combined methods of Xingyi Bagua in my early teens before moving to Boise, Idaho. There, I continued my martial education under a remaining member of the Boise chapter of the Hop Sing Tong in nearby Garden City. From 1992 to 1996, we met regularly to train until, one day, he simply never arrived at our appointed meeting place. I never heard from him or saw him again.

Sadly, it wasn't until 2017 that I discovered Chu Gar, or Chu Family Fist, a Hakka system of Kung Fu reportedly taught to two brothers by a renegade Shaolin Buddhist monk named Saam Dot, a man with a formidable reputation as a fighter.

According to tradition, the system was originally known as Vampire Boxing or Hungry Ghost Boxing because of the way its distinctive hand positions resemble the grasping hands of the Hungry Ghosts found in Chinese folklore. It was described as five hard and five soft, blending external striking methods with internal energy cultivation. The story goes that Saam Dot taught on a mountain, with different systems being passed on at different elevations. Chu Gar was taught midway up the mountain. At its base, Saam Dot reportedly taught a system that became known as Iron Ox, described as nine hard and one soft because of its overwhelming emphasis on external power. Legend also tells of a single student who trained with Saam Dot at the very summit. That system's name has either been lost or deliberately kept secret. It is remembered only as one hard and nine soft—a system devoted almost entirely to internal energy cultivation with martial application.

The Chu brothers are said to have eventually fled Saam Dot's notoriously brutal training. As they descended the mountain, they witnessed a praying mantis mauling a lizard slightly larger than itself, consuming it while it was still alive. Inspired by what they had seen, they renamed their art Mantis Boxing, believing it to be a more socially acceptable name than Hungry Ghost or Vampire Boxing. While the hunting methods of the praying mantis bear an unsettling resemblance to those of a vampire—seizing, holding, and consuming a living victim—the image of the mantis carried far less stigma.

I immediately recognized Chu Gar's capacity for sudden violence and its close relationship to both Bak Mei and Southern Dragon, themselves Hakka systems forged in southern China. Chu Gar struck me as slightly softer, more patient, and more compact in its structure, yet no less powerful—or cruel. I knew then that I had to learn it.

Sifu Roger D. Hagood devoted decades to preserving the traditions, history, and philosophy of Chu Gar Southern Praying Mantis Kung Fu. His instruction, writing, and mentorship continue to influence practitioners around the world.

From 2017 to 2022, I was in weekly contact with Sifu Roger Hagood, founder of the Hakka Mantis Courses website. Over those years, we developed a genuine friendship that extended well beyond teacher and student. In 2020, he was forced to leave Guangxi, China, amid the Chinese Communist government's response to what it called COVID-19. Based on the reports and information available to me at the time, I came to believe the outbreak behaved far more like a weaponized hemorrhagic virus than the public narrative suggested. Whatever the truth may ultimately prove to be, the human cost was undeniable, and Sifu's life was turned upside down.

We explored the possibility of my relocating to Texas, California, or Florida so I could live with him as both a student and caretaker. Unfortunately, his health deteriorated before any of those plans could become reality. He was hospitalized and eventually came under the care of his sister in Alabama, where he fell into a coma. At least once, he emerged from it and appeared to be recovering. During that time, we exchanged a series of emails—which I still have—in which we discussed my progress and the possibility of my beginning to teach. I told him I wanted several more years of training before taking on the mantle of Sifu, and he agreed that patience would serve me well.

The last time I heard directly from him was in 2022. Since then, I have been told that he was hospitalized again and, sadly, passed away. Not long afterward, I recorded a dream in my journal in which I helped him cross a river. Before departing, he asked me to watch over him and deal with any enemies who might attempt to follow him across. Whether symbolic or something more, I have always felt that dream was Sifu's way of letting me know he had crossed over.

Sifu Roger Hagood welcomed me into the Dragon Tiger Bamboo Forest Temple Brotherhood/Friendship Association and bestowed upon me a Chinese name that translates to "Mantis Who Can Devour a Mountain," a reflection of my hand strength and my capacity for violence when circumstances demand it.

Here I am at 48 years old in 2026, and I still feel I am a few years away from teaching. I cannot speak to the relationships Sifu Hagood had with his other online students, but I will say this with absolute certainty: if you encounter someone teaching Chu Gar today, there is a very good chance their knowledge can be traced back to Sifu Roger Hagood's online courses. His curriculum is exemplary.

I have discovered several individuals now teaching Chu Gar online. Naturally, I find myself wondering what conversations they had with Sifu. Did he personally encourage them to teach? Did he feel they had reached that point? I honestly don't know. What I do know is that I have yet to see many of them acknowledge the man who introduced so many Western students to this remarkable system. That, to me, is disappointing.

So much for:

Benevolence.
Righteousness.
Self-Cultivation.
Respect Your Ancestors.
Respect Your Sifu.
Respect the Boxing Transmission.

Those six virtues are worth preserving.

I intend to keep them alive within my Temple.

Chu Gar is not a flowing or particularly graceful-looking system. At first glance, its movements can appear almost jerky, yet they are incredibly fast, economical, and alive. Imagine the way a jumping spider stalks its prey—small adjustments, patient observation, then explosive commitment. At other times, Chu Gar reminds me of an exterminator quietly walking toward a mouse with a giant circus hammer hidden behind his back.

The softness in Chu Gar is really the softness of relaxed, natural power. A rounded, or dragon back, brings the full musculature of the upper body into play, creating a kind of living shield of bone and muscle. Strong, frog-like legs and deeply rooted feet provide exceptional mobility without sacrificing stability. The hands are explosive and adhesive, constantly reaching out to seize, tear, and draw some part of the opponent back with them as they recoil. Chu Gar dominates the centerline, where the body's most vulnerable targets reside, defending its own center with a nearly watertight structure while attacking and controlling the opponent's with unnerving efficiency.

"You don't come, and I won't start."
— Chu Gar proverb

Chu Gar feels almost uncomfortable when used to provoke violence. It is exceptionally well suited to defensive fighting and counterattacking. Rather than initiating conflict, it invites the opponent to commit, intercepts the attack as it develops, and uses that incoming force as the bridge from which its own offense is launched. The "big hammer" appears with startling speed in Chu Gar, a system well known for its fondness for Gow Choi, or the Hammer Fist.

For years, I practiced Big, Medium, and Small Hammer strikes 333 repetitions each, three or four days a week. I supplemented that training by swinging heavy clubs and kettlebells to increase the power behind my Gow Choi. The resulting impact is difficult to appreciate until you've felt it. It generates a level of force that most people never imagine exists, much less prepare themselves to defend against.

Chu Gar also makes extensive use of the Phoenix Eye Fist, a protruding index-finger knuckle formed by curling the fist and securing it with the thumb. It is a deceptively small but formidable weapon that concentrates force into an exceptionally narrow striking surface, allowing the practitioner to target vulnerable soft tissue with remarkable precision. After thousands upon thousands of repetitions, delivering a Phoenix Eye strike becomes second nature. It is a weapon that demands both discipline and accuracy, rewarding precision over brute force.

Made up of 18 "hands," Chu Gar consists of 9 offensive and 9 defensive hands. The practitioner is expected to train each one individually, as well as in combination sets of 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, and 12, in accordance with the numerological traditions observed by the Hakka people. Chu Gar understands that perfection is built through repetition. Performing a single hand—or a combination of hands—counts as one repetition. Practicing that set 9, 18, 27, 36, 45, 54, 63, 72, 81, 90, 99, or 108 times quickly adds up. Imagine performing a nine-count combination 108 times. That's an ordinary training day in Chu Gar, and you'll often work through three, five, or even seven different combination sets during a single session. Many of these drills are extracted directly from Chu Gar's forms. Afterward, practitioners typically perform each form they have learned three times before moving on to supplemental conditioning and internal energy cultivation.

Chu Gar, by itself, is capable of producing exceptionally competent martial artists with remarkable levels of strength, endurance, and structural power.

At close range, Chu Gar is an unforgiving system of finger strikes, headbutts, knees, elbows, and its own distinctive method of clinching—one that strongly calls into question the supposed superiority of the Muay Thai clinch.

In Tucson, Arizona, a Thai boxer who had spent more than a decade fighting professionally in Thailand once told me that my clinching was unorthodox and "disrespectful."

Well... I found it disrespectful that he bled all over my shirt.

I suppose we both walked away with something to think about.

I have also been told that Chu Gar resembles a more relaxed expression of Lethwei, the traditional bare-knuckle fighting art of Myanmar. Over the years, I developed a lasting friendship with a Lethwei practitioner who showed me how to refine my elbow, knee, and headbutt combinations while still keeping them unmistakably Chu Gar.

That being said, Chu Gar is not a sport.

Nothing inherent in its training is concerned with making an opponent comfortable or earning points. Quite the opposite. Yet, despite its extraordinary capacity for violence, Chu Gar traces its lineage to a Shaolin Buddhist tradition and carries within it a profound philosophy:

"Demon Hand, Buddha Heart."

Prepare yourself to perform terrible violence if circumstances demand it—but instead choose radical compassion whenever you can.

That lesson, more than any technique, was Sifu Roger Hagood's greatest gift to me. Over the years, his example instilled in me a far deeper appreciation for that philosophy until, eventually, it became part of my own nature.

A funny thing happened as I consciously directed the wrathful aspects of my nature to stand behind me like Vajrapāṇi or Vajrakīlaya, watching the Buddha's back—or like the great Nāgarāja, the King Cobra, unfolding his hood to shelter and shade a meditating Buddha.

Those wrathful aspects became sharper, faster, and stronger the more they witnessed just how precious kindness and compassion truly were. They seemed to understand what they had been created to protect.

Let wrath lead, and it eventually cools, grows dull, and loses its purpose.

At present, I have dedicated myself to the exhaustive study of Chu Gar's:

• Single Bridge Form
• Double Bridge Form
• Soft Bridge Form
• Hard Bridge Form
• Three Steps and Three Scissors Form
• First Generation Som Bo Jin (Three Steps) Form
• Ten Hooks and Ten Elbows Set
• Searching for Insects Set
• First Generation Combination Hands Set
• Second Generation Combination Hands Set
• Eighteen Buddha Hands Set
• Shaking Bridge Form

I hope to begin teaching sometime in 2027 or 2028. Until then, I wholeheartedly recommend that anyone interested in learning Chu Gar begin by studying the Hakka Mantis Courses. Spend no less than six months with each course before moving on to the next. The system rewards patience far more than speed.

I sincerely wish Sifu Roger Hagood were still here to offer his guidance and his infectious enthusiasm for both Chu Gar and the cultivation of its Six Virtues. His skill becomes immediately apparent the moment you watch him move. The snap, precision, and explosive power he demonstrated were no illusion.

If anyone knows who is currently operating the Hakka Mantis Courses website, I would be genuinely grateful to hear from you.

— Kevin Wikse

Hakka Mantis Courses

Kevin Wikse is an investigative author and lifelong martial artist whose work bridges traditional Chinese martial arts, martial philosophy, consciousness studies, folklore, and high strangeness. Drawing upon more than forty years of training and decades of independent research, he writes with the perspective of both practitioner and investigator, preserving forgotten traditions while exploring the deeper ideas that shape them. Whether discussing Chu Gar Kung Fu or the mysteries of human consciousness, Wikse approaches every subject with disciplined curiosity, respect for lineage, and a storyteller's eye for the extraordinary.