There were, however, some small sparks of life. A Chinese dance troupe with colorful costumes and a loud battery of percussionists seemed to wake everyone up a bit. There was also a Qi Gong Grand Master known for “iron crotch weight lifting.” (Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see a demonstration of his skills, but the possibility of seeing what an iron crotch could do did pique my interest.) But other than these exceptions, I didn’t feel the Qi. After an hour, I was convinced that maybe the hotel’s aesthetic was just too strong. Could the wild paisley wallpaper and the chandeliers be too powerful for even Qi Gong to overcome?

And yet once I moved away from the vendors and the performers, I realized I had been confusing focus and intensity for boredom and apathy.

During the Cultural Revolution, practitioners of Qi Gong were persecuted. Mao’s regime accused them of fakery and witchcraft. According to some of the participants I spoke to, some elements of persecution still exist today. I almost asked them what they thought of scheduled performer Ziggy (a wonder dog whose highly advanced Qi allowed him to paint pictures), but it became clear most people were not there for the performances.

Instead, each interviewee explained the importance that Qi Gong held in their lives. They had all started the meditation and breathing exercises that are part of the Qi Gong regimen because they had been suffering from chronic illnesses and because Western medicine had failed them. Some suffered from asthma, some from chronic migraines —one woman even had Grave’s disease and was days away from having her pituitary gland removed. Qi Gong cured them all. Even more interesting was the fact that all kept up with their exercises because now that they were cured, they wanted to teach others how to do the same. (All the schools represented at the Congress stressed the importance of helping others.)

Qi Gong may not be for everyone, but I left the Congress on Friday with a sense that even with the outlandish performances, and despite horrendous carpeting, the Qi was indeed flowing at the Holiday Inn. Though I still have some doubts about Ziggy the wonder dog and a twisted admiration for Master Iron Crotch, I’m willing to believe that Qi works in mysterious ways.