There is a single character that calligraphy students in Japan and China have been writing, over and over, for more than a thousand years: 永, the character for “eternity.”
Not because eternity is a profound thing to contemplate while you practice, although it is. The reason is mechanical, and much more interesting. The character 永 happens to contain, in its eight strokes, one clean example of each of the eight fundamental brushstroke types in standard-script calligraphy. Learn to write 永 well, and you have practiced every basic stroke you will ever need.
This teaching has a name: 永字八法 (eiji happō), the Eight Principles of Yong. It is one of the oldest pedagogical ideas in East Asian calligraphy, and it is still how shodō is taught today. This is what it means, and how to use it.
Where the idea comes from
The Eight Principles are traditionally traced back to Wang Xizhi (王羲之, 303–361 CE), the Chinese calligrapher so revered that he is still called the “Sage of Calligraphy” sixteen centuries later. The story — likely more legend than history — is that Wang spent years studying the single character 永 because he recognised that it held all the essential strokes. The system was formalised and named in later centuries, and travelled to Japan along with the rest of the calligraphic tradition.
Whether or not Wang personally originated it, the insight is real and verifiable: write out the character 永 stroke by stroke, and you will produce, in order, the eight basic moves of the brush. It is the most efficient practice character ever identified, and no one has improved on it in a thousand years.
Why one character can hold everything
Standard-script (kaisho) calligraphy is built from a surprisingly small number of basic stroke types. Different teachers count them slightly differently, but the classical system fixes the number at eight. Every kanji you will ever write is assembled from these eight moves, in different combinations, proportions, and orders.
Most characters use only three or four of the eight. 永 is special because its particular structure requires all eight, each appearing exactly once, with no wasted repetition. It is, in effect, a complete syllabus compressed into one character.
This is why a beginner who can write a genuinely good 永 — not a passable one, a genuinely good one — has, without realising it, demonstrated control of every fundamental stroke in the script.
The eight strokes, one by one
Here are the eight, in the order you write them, with their classical names and what they actually are. Each classical name is a vivid little image — the old teachers named strokes after physical actions, not abstract categories.
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側 (soku) — “the side”: the dot. The opening stroke at the top. Not a simple dab; a proper calligraphic dot has a direction, an entry, and a settle. The classical name means “leaning to the side,” describing the angle of the brush.
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勒 (roku) — “the bridle”: the horizontal stroke. A controlled horizontal, held back like a rider restraining a horse with the bridle — hence the name. It is never a straight ruled line; it enters, travels with slight tension, and finishes with a small press.
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努 (do) — “the effort”: the vertical stroke. A strong downward vertical, written with sustained downward energy. The name means “effort” or “exertion” — this is the spine of many characters and must feel powered, not dropped.
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趯 (teki) — “the leap”: the hook. Where the vertical stroke reaches its base and flicks upward into a hook. The name means “to leap.” This is the stroke that, in the heart kanji 心, gives beginners the most trouble — the sudden change of direction at the end of a stroke.
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策 (saku) — “the whip”: the rising stroke. A short stroke that rises to the right, written with a quick upward flick like the crack of a whip. Often found where a character needs a light, ascending connection.
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掠 (ryaku) — “the sweep”: the long left-falling stroke. A long diagonal sweeping down and to the left, thinning as it goes, like a comb drawn through hair (the literal sense of the name). One of the most expressive strokes in the script — it is the entire second stroke of the kanji 力 (strength).
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啄 (taku) — “the peck”: the short left-falling stroke. A short, sharp diagonal to the lower left, written quickly like a bird pecking. Shorter and more abrupt than the sweep above.
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磔 (taku) — “the cleave”: the right-falling stroke. The long diagonal down to the right, pressing gradually heavier and then releasing in a held, broadening finish. The classical name refers to a method of splitting — this is the stroke with the most dramatic change in width from start to finish, and the hardest to control.
Eight strokes. One character. Every fundamental move of the brush.

How to practice 永
The traditional method is simple and unforgiving: write 永 repeatedly, slowly, paying attention to one stroke at a time.
A practical first-month routine:
- Learn the stroke order. 永 is written top to bottom: the dot first, then the horizontal-and-hook structure, then the strokes branching out to the sides. Follow a stroke-order chart precisely; do not invent your own order.
- Write it slowly, full size, on hanshi. One character per sheet quarter. Resist the urge to write small or fast.
- Each session, pick one of the eight strokes to focus on. Today, only the hook (趯). Write ten 永 characters paying attention to nothing but the quality of that hook. Tomorrow, the right-falling cleave (磔).
- Compare to a model. Keep a printed kaisho 永 beside you. After each character, look — not at whether it “looks like” 永, but at whether each individual stroke matches the model’s entry, body, and finish.
A good 永 is the work of months, not days. That is not a discouragement; it is the point. The character is a measuring stick. The version you write in month six will quietly reveal how much your hand has learned since month one.

Why this matters for a beginner
There is a temptation, especially for self-taught beginners outside Japan, to skip “boring” single-character drills and go straight to writing words and phrases that look impressive. The Eight Principles are the argument against that temptation.
Every phrase you will ever write is built from these eight strokes. If your hook is weak, every character with a hook is weak. If your right-falling cleave collapses, every character that uses one collapses with it. Practising 永 is not practising one character; it is practising the components of all characters at once, in the most concentrated form available.
This is also why teachers return students to 永 again and again. It is not a beginner’s character you graduate from. It is a diagnostic you carry for life. Masters still write it. So should you, from your first week.
Where to go next
To put the Eight Principles into practice:
- Set up correctly first — How to Hold a Japanese Calligraphy Brush covers the grip without which none of the eight strokes will behave.
- The full first-month plan — Japanese Calligraphy: The Complete Beginner’s Guide places 永 practice within a structured beginning.
- The script these strokes belong to — all eight are kaisho strokes; see The Five Styles of Japanese Calligraphy for how they transform in the flowing scripts.
- A character that tests the hook — 心 (heart) is four strokes built around the same leaping hook (趯) that 永 teaches.
One character, eight strokes, a thousand years of students bent over the same shape. The Eight Principles of Yong are the closest thing calligraphy has to a complete curriculum hidden inside a single word. Write 永 slowly, this week and every week, and the rest of the practice has somewhere solid to stand.