Like other old soldiers of his generation, Wang, born in 1926 in Shandong's Zibo, tells a story that starts with being uprooted amid the chaos of war: From a poor family, he was forced to enlist in the army after graduating from junior high school at 18. The following year he, alone among his family, went with the Nationalist army to Taiwan. The silver lining in the cloud was that he was selected by his commanding officer to become a lieutenant.

Wang served as a fitness officer. He was reliable and hardworking, and apart from organizing teams and putting on matches, he would often be asked to resolve disputes, arrange VIP visits, and write speeches for his superior officers.

Recalling his days in the military, he says self-deprecatingly: "I never had a day of military training and never served as a real soldier. Yet I was able to retire as a lieutenant colonel. Despite never studying physical education, I was able to serve as a fitness officer. Pretty impressive, no?"

When he retired at 49, although he received a monthly pension of NT$40,000, it was insufficient to pay his mortgage and the tuitions of his four children. To make ends meet, Wang opened a noodle shop in Taichung's Shuinan with his wife, who is 14 year his junior and who had formerly taught dressmaking. Eight years later, they closed the noodle shop, and he followed his wife to work at Taichung Veterans General Hospital, where he was employed as an orderly. It wasn't until his children had all graduated from university and were supporting themselves that he formally retired at the age of 70.

Wang finds great joy in his grandchildren's occasional visits.

After retiring, he signed up for a calligraphy class-both aiming to add some interest to his retirement and also hoping for some mental and spiritual cultivation. During the first two terms he widely studied the calligraphy of masters. It wasn't until he had gained inspiration from them that he picked up a brush himself. At that point he became so engrossed with his calligraphy that he would forget to eat and sleep.

Much to people's surprise, within four years Wang had become quite skilled. He was first invited to teach calligraphy at a branch of Dharma Drum Mountain, and then went on to establish classes in Taichung's Shalu and Longjing.

Wang opens his classes with these remarks: "It's never too late to learn calligraphy. Before I turned 70, I was just a retired soldier who had been working as an orderly for 12 years. Now I'm called a master teacher. It seems strange to me too. My daughter puts it like this: 'Papa always looked like someone running a beef noodle stand, but suddenly he's become a teacher, the very picture of respectability!' The truth is I'm not taken with the idea of being a teacher; I just want to share the knowledge I've gained about calligraphy with friends!"

Yet, when asked if there are any secrets to his self-study of calligraphy, his answer startles: One night Wang was tossing and turning in bed because he felt that his brushwork wasn't smooth enough. He fell into a dream state and in a haze saw a wispy old man in a white shirt floating on a cloud. The man held a calligraphic brush and explained in detail the principles of moving the brush, offering encouragement. After Wang awoke, he immediately started practicing, feeling that "the rays of light that had pierced the darkness were wonderful beyond words."

Setting aside the mysterious nature of this epiphany, the life principles that Wang hopes to express through teaching calligraphy are the following: "No matter what one studies, one should aim to go beyond proficiency to mastery."

Wang has taught all kinds of people calli-graphy: common workers, university professors, housewives and doctors. Consequently, he is often paid in kind with fresh vegetables or free dental care. A student of Chinese medicine even put him on a regimen to strengthen his qi. And he rewards his students not only by teaching them calligraphy but also with talks about life principles. Wang has converted his living room into a workshop where he can both practice his craft and receive guests. He welcomes calligraphy enthusiasts to stop by at any time.

Yet no matter how wide his social circle, he never neglects the home front. He has always been a very amenable househusband, repairing plumbing, building bookshelves, cooking and doing the laundry. When asked about his many domestic talents, he quips: "Apart from giving birth, just leave the rest to me!"

Recently, however, those around Wang have finally had a chance to show some care for him. In March, Wang was appearing on the television show Xiao Yan Zhi Ye by virtue of his being one of the "grand riders" on that motorcycle trip, which has become the subject of a documentary. When he returned to Taichung by high-speed rail on the night after filming, he suddenly felt extremely weak and had to be put in a wheelchair.

Li Yi-ying, the executive director of the Hondao Senior Citizens' Welfare Foundation, immediately delivered him to the hospital. The following day came the surprising diagnosis: gallstones.

Over the course of two months he had two operations. It was the first time he had ever gone under the knife in his entire life. "I've lived to this ripe old age without any regrets," he thought to himself. "If I should happen to slip away peacefully while anaesthetized, that would be a fine way to go."

Nevertheless, his wide circle of friends certainly felt differently. He had a steady stream of visitors to his hospital room. And as for the health food they brought by his house, "We could live for a year off it!" he declares.

In order to repay everyone's kindness, on the very day that he got out of the hospital, Wang returned to his calligraphy class, where he made an important announcement: "Starting today, I'm accepting no fees for teaching calligraphy. As long as you are willing to study, I'll teach you!"