Gazing at Red Walls and Golden Tiles: Appreciating the Ming-Qing Imperial Palace – Part 5: The Rear Three Palaces (Part 1) (Revised Edition)
My 2021 Forbidden City series, the seventeen installments of 'Gazing at Red Walls and Golden Tiles, Appreciating the Ming-Qing Imperial Palace', have been generously read by many readers. Some offered suggestions and pointed out errors. This revised second edition incorporates their feedback, enriches the content, corrects typos, and updates or adds some pictures. While I dare not claim every mistake is fixed, most are. I’ve recorded the supreme ancient palace architecture I saw, some imperial treasures on display, and traces of Qing court life, also touching on stories and legends. I don't presume to 'feast the readers' eyes', but simply hope to share. Thank you.
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The Rear Three Palaces were the sleeping quarters of the emperor and empress, with Qianqing Gate as their main entrance. Because the east-west dimension is very long but north-south narrow, the square in front of Qianqing Gate is still called Horizontal Street. This Horizontal Street crosses the central axis that runs from Meridian Gate to Shenwu Gate, and that intersection is the center of the entire palace. Another Horizontal Street lies in front of Tiananmen, sometimes called Heavenly Street. To the east of Tiananmen, a few structures used to stand along the street. The first was Chang’an Left Gate, roughly at today’s intersection in front of the Working People’s Cultural Palace; then the East Three-Bay Gate, near the Nanchizi intersection; farther east stood a decorated archway, the Dongdan Archway. To the west of Tiananmen were similar structures: Chang’an Right Gate in front of Zhongshan Park; the West Three-Bay Gate at the Nanchangjie intersection; and the Xidan Archway at the Xidan intersection. Chang’an Avenue is named after those two Chang’an Gates. In the old photo of the 1949 founding ceremony, you can see troops marching through Chang’an Left Gate. A few years ago, a replica Xidan Archway was rebuilt in Xidan Cultural Square for visitors to see.
Of course, there are gates at the east and west ends of the Horizontal Street in front of Qianqing Palace. The east one is Jingyun Gate.
The west one is Longzong Gate, and the two gates are identical. Let’s look at Longzong Gate.
Both gates are five-bay gatehouses with a single-eaved hipped roof covered in yellow glazed tiles. Longzong Gate faces west, with three central bays containing doors—the door leaves are set on the rear golden pillars, known as a 'golden-pillar gate'. The two bays at the sides are corner bays. If you pay attention, you’ll notice that the gates in the palace walls around the Three Great Halls—including side and rear gates—don’t have front steps but ramps paved with pebble-embedded slope, both inside and out. Why? I guess it’s for the convenience of horses or for imperial sedan chairs to pass through.
Outside Longzong Gate is Cining Palace, and a broad road leads to Xihua Gate, from which you can go to the West Garden for pleasure. So this area was a passage between the inner court and the outer court. Usually, princes and ministers used Donghua Gate; this gate was used by inner relatives. When the emperor grew old, he often stationed in the western imperial garden, finding it more comfortable than the palace, and some even passed away in the West Garden. The spirit was gone, but the body had to be brought back to the palace to lie in state. Those coffins would come in through Longzong Gate, heading to Qianqing Palace.
After Qianlong, Jiaqing became the Qing emperor. In the 16th year of Jiaqing (1811), the White Lotus sect had a branch in Daxing, Beijing, under a leader named Lin Qing from Anyang, Henan. Lin later became the chief of the Heavenly Principle Sect and hatched a plan to occupy the imperial palace and drive the Manchu officials back to the northeast. In the 18th year of Jiaqing, the emperor went on an inspection tour to the south, presenting the perfect opportunity. Lin Qing led a militia of about a hundred men in two groups to attack the Forbidden City from Donghua Gate and Xihua Gate. They had also recruited a few eunuchs as inside collaborators—to open doors and create chaos. When the attack started, they indeed broke into both gates, and the western group reached right up to Longzong Gate. At that time, only the princes were in the palace, studying with their tutors. The imperial guards engaged the militia fiercely, but the militiamen’s daily martial training gradually gave them the upper hand. When Emperor Jiaqing received word that his rear was under attack, he sent an urgent order to his sons: 'The moment to prove yourselves has come—take your firearms and charge!' The second prince, Minning, rushed forward with a gun. The militia’s cold weapons were no match for the soldiers’ firearms; one volley cut down half of them. Seeing this, the militia resorted to shooting arrows wildly, and many soldiers fell. In the end, the firearms won, and the militia was wiped out. The Qing palace records don’t say whether Jiaqing’s urgent order was sent by telegraph or telephone—how did it arrive so promptly? When Jiaqing returned, he inspected the scene and found the battlefield cleanup had missed something: an arrowhead was still stuck in the plaque reading 'Longzong Gate'. He ordered it left there as a warning arrowhead. Then he went inside and wrote an 'edict of self-blame', stating, 'This sudden calamity is truly incomprehensible' and 'Alas, my ministers failed to understand, and careless governance led to events unseen in the Han, Tang, Song, or Ming dynasties.' That second prince Minning later became the Daoguang Emperor. Later, some found the position and angle of that arrowhead suspicious, suspecting that Jiaqing himself shot it when inspecting the scene. Take a look at that plaque and the arrowhead.
Moreover, another arrowhead from this battle remains on Longzong Gate—on a rafter end under the eaves on the inner side. I looked around but couldn’t find it. Never mind, I leave it for you to discover.
Although this area is commonly called Horizontal Street, its formal name should be Qianqing Gate Square. So the most quintessential structure here, naturally, is Qianqing Gate, which directly faces the rear imperial path of Baohe Hall.
The wall on either side of Qianqing Gate is crucial: outside is the Outer Court, inside is the Inner Palace. Under normal circumstances, outer officials were forbidden to enter the Inner Palace, and inner relatives were forbidden to come out.
Let’s look at Qianqing Gate at sunset.
Qianqing Gate is not a ceremonial entrance like Taihe Gate, so it doesn’t need to be huge—too big would steal the spotlight. Besides, after the emperor finished his public business outside and returned home, this was his front door, and a home’s door should look like one. As a residential gate, Qianqing Gate is already extremely impressive. It stands on a five-chi-high white marble Sumeru platform surrounded by a white marble balustrade. In front are three flights of balustraded steps, the central one being the imperial path. Just based on its base, Qianqing Gate is the highest-ranking residential gate in the entire country—even a prince’s mansion could not have such a grand gate. Above the base is the gate hall, five bays wide and two bays deep, with a bracket-set post-and-beam roof structure and a single-eaved hipped roof of yellow glazed tiles. The main ridge features chiwen dragon ornaments with Xu Xun’s sword stuck in their backs and heavy gold chains across their bodies; the hip ridges have five roof beasts. The central three bays have doors, while the two side bays have grey-brick low walls with lattice windows above. Many platforms in the Forbidden City use this white stone, which is essentially white marble. Not far from Beijing, in Laiyuan County, Hebei, there is White Stone Mountain, part of the Beijing Fangshan Global Geopark, where entire mountains are made of white marble. I wonder if the white stone in the Forbidden City was quarried from there.
Look inside the gate hall.
Above is a flat coffered ceiling with double dragons, and a gold-outlined plaque inscribed 'Qianqing Gate' in both Manchu and Chinese.
The door leaves are set on the rear golden pillars, which makes the gate hall seem especially spacious.
The pair of glazed eight-character shaped screen walls flanking Qianqing Gate is very eye-catching. Such shaped screen walls are usually placed to create a sense of square in front of the entrance. Here, they not only give the space before Qianqing Gate more grandeur but also fill the visual void, preventing an abrupt transition from the Three Great Halls to a bare wall. These screen walls consist of a yellow glazed Sumeru base, a glazed wall panel, and a single-eaved glazed hip roof. Within the wall’s square frame is a magnificent glazed flower basket. Look at that glazed flower basket.
The pair of gilded bronze lions in front of the gate is the second pair you encounter in the Forbidden City—the first is in front of Taihe Gate. The ones at Taihe Gate are plain bronze; this pair before Qianqing Gate is gilded.
The two pairs of bronze lions before these two main gates were both made in the Ming Dynasty, though the exact year is unknown—very likely the 41st year of Jiajing (1562). Why do these lions have drooping ears? As everyone knows, it symbolizes that one should neither hear nor inquire about secrets inside the palace.
Besides golden lions, there are other golden objects in front of Qianqing Gate. Beside the golden lions are two golden vats, and under the walls on either side sit four more golden vats, their surfaces covered with sword scars. These golden vats were, of course, for holding water—firefighting water cisterns. Should a fire break out in the Rear Three Palaces, two teams of eunuchs would rush from east and west. One team would jump into the vats, then climb out and dash into Qianqing Gate to rescue the emperor’s written edicts. The other team would also jump into the vats, climb out, and charge into Qianqing Gate to save the empress’s jewelry. Where those edicts and jewels were stashed afterward? History doesn’t say.
Look, beneath each vat there is a stone base—but it’s not just a base, it’s a stove. In ancient times, a stove was called a cuan. A village in Beijing’s Mentougou District got its name, Cuan Di Xia, because the surrounding mountains resemble a cuan. In winter, eunuch stokers were responsible for adding water to every vat in the palace and also lighting fires in the stoves, covering the vats with lids. The fires were not extinguished until the Awakening of Insects in spring, when warmth returned.
Qianqing Gate is the last of the five gates in the Zhou system—the 'Lu Gate', or gate to the bedroom area.
Earlier I mentioned that during the Ming Dynasty, morning court sessions were held at Taihe Gate, and they followed a fixed schedule. The Ming emperor who most loved to sleep in was the Wanli Emperor, Zhu Yijun, who later skipped court for twenty-eight years—so morning court was certainly out. The most diligent Ming emperor was the Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Youjian, who attended every single court.
Before the Shunzhi Emperor took personal rule in the Qing Dynasty, the Prince Regent presided over state affairs—I’m not sure where, probably still at Taihe Gate. In the 9th year of Shunzhi (1652), when Fulin began his personal rule, he held court at Taihe Gate, but not daily—only on the 5th, 15th, and 25th of each month. After Kangxi ascended the throne, he was extremely diligent, holding court almost daily and shifting the 'imperial audience at the gate' to Qianqing Gate. In Shunzhi’s early days, the emperor lived in Baohe Hall, moving to Qianqing Palace only after it was renovated. Early in his reign, Kangxi also lived in Baohe Hall, then later always resided in Qianqing Palace, which was very close to Qianqing Gate, with no steps to climb. Kangxi’s early reign was very busy, so I suspect he moved the audience to Qianqing Gate partly to save travel time. From then on, the Qing court always held the imperial audience at Qianqing Gate. After Kangxi, Yongzheng changed memorials into secret reports—what you might call 'tip-offs'. With so many tip-offs, open audiences naturally decreased, so starting from Yongzheng the practice was reduced. After Qianlong, the audiences were held even less frequently: during his sixty-year reign, the average was fewer than 12 per year. By the Xianfeng era, it fell below five per year.
Taihe Gate was the ceremonial gate, almost a national gate, and Ming emperors held court at the entrance of the nation. Qianqing Gate was the gate to the living quarters, essentially the family gate, so Qing emperors held court at their doorstep. The emperor held court at the gate, not inside the hall, so that Heaven could see how he governed. Actually, this was mere formalism—anything they didn’t want Heaven to know could always be taken inside the hall. Shouts like 'Drag him out and give him twenty strokes of the plank!' happened inside, and executions were handled quietly with a stroke of a red brush.
On either side of the Horizontal Street outside Qianqing Gate, there is a row of twelve rooms—structures built during the Qing Dynasty. The eastern row, east of Inner Left Gate and near Jingyun Gate, served as the waiting area for ministers attending morning court, called the 'Nine Ministers' Duty Room'. 'Nine Ministers' is just a generic term, not referring to nine specific posts; in the Qing, the Six Ministries were not part of it. If a specific list were made, no fixed rule applied, but it usually included the heads of the Censorate, the Court of Judicial Review, the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, the Banqueting Court, the Court of State Ceremonial, the Court of Imperial Equipage, the Office of Transmission, the Imperial Clan Court, and the Imperial Bodyguard—such as the 'Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices'.
When court was held at Taihe Gate, they waited outside Meridian Gate. After the Qing court moved to Qianqing Gate, they waited here instead, which was more convenient since ministers could enter via Donghua Gate. This room originally had a kang heated-brick bed, but the ministers all stood, not daring to cough or sneeze.
West of Inner Right Gate on the west side, there is another row of twelve rooms—also built in the Qing Dynasty—and this is the famous Grand Council Office.
In the early Ming, Zhu Yuanzhang abolished the position of Chancellor and the Secretariat, personally managing state affairs. Without help, of course he was soon exhausted and dizzy-headed. Later, he came up with various schemes: first appointing four 'Assistant Officers', who were essentially deputies doing little of substance. Then he placed some Grand Secretaries in various pavilions, responsible for offering advice. After Zhu Di moved to Beijing, he established the Grand Secretariat system. Initially, the Grand Secretaries of the Wenyuan Pavilion were still responsible for advice and recording the emperor’s edicts—moved to a function called 'transmitting edicts and acting as brush'. Later, this body began drafting imperial edicts, and its power grew enormously. By the Jiajing reign, the Grand Secretariat was the chief decision-making body under the emperor. When the Qing entered Beijing, the Prince Regent Dorgon continued to use the Ming Grand Secretariat system; the Six Ministries worked in the corridors on both sides outside Taihe Gate, while the Grand Secretariat operated in the Grand Secretariat Hall south of Xiehe Gate along the eastern corridor. After Yongzheng ascended the throne, in the 7th year of his reign (1729), he launched campaigns against the Zunghars in the northwest. During the conflict, the emperor made strategic decisions from afar, and military orders and battle reports flowed constantly. The distance between the Grand Secretariat Hall outside Xiehe Gate and the Yangxin Hall was considerable, and outsiders often loitered along the way. To ensure efficient communication and prevent leaks of military secrets, Yongzheng established the Grand Council at this spot behind Longzong Gate—visible in the picture above. This location was the closest point in the Outer Court to Yangxin Hall. The Grand Council’s door was right next to Inner Right Gate; once through that gate, a quick dash would reach Yangxin Hall. The council staff, called Grand Councilors, were selected from the Grand Secretariat—people with meticulous minds, tight-lipped, and tough as nails. At first, the Grand Council mainly handled military affairs, acting somewhat like a general staff. After the war, it began pre-processing memorials for the emperor (secret reports excepted), effectively becoming his confidential secretariat. Over time, the Grand Council’s power grew, gradually overshadowing the Grand Secretariat and ultimately abolishing the system of deliberative princes participating in politics. Grand Councilors held concurrent posts without pay. The most powerful Grand Councilor of the Qing dynasty was Heshen, as everyone knows.
Let’s take a look inside the Grand Council.
Back then, there was a kang bed, along with tables, chairs, and stools—very basic. No air conditioning in summer, so they relied on fanning themselves. Since they were mostly old men, when it got unbearably hot they just stripped to the waist, dignity be damned. No heating in winter, but they could fire up the kang. During the coldest days, the emperor even gave them a stove and coal briquettes, which the councilors had to light themselves; on the stove they’d roast sugar cakes and salted fish brought from home. Those with nothing to do gathered around the stove to warm up; those writing bent over their desks, scribbling furiously. The Grand Council was staffed 24/7, with three shifts. Whenever something came up, they’d discuss a solution, write it on paper, and then leave through the door you can see opposite in the picture above—dashing into Inner Right Gate and on to Yangxin Hall, just two walls away. Starting from Yongzheng’s move out of Qianqing Palace, Qing emperors all lived in Yangxin Hall.
The Grand Council operated for 182 years from the 7th year of Yongzheng, until it was abolished in the 3rd year of Xuantong (1911) when a responsible cabinet system was established—and the Qing dynasty soon collapsed.
Standing on the platform outside Qianqing Gate and looking through the entrance, you can catch sight of Qianqing Palace beyond.
Behind Qianqing Gate, a raised passageway, level with the gate’s platform, leads straight to Qianqing Palace. Flanked by white marble balustrades, it has an imperial path running down the middle.
At the end of this passageway lies the still higher platform of Qianqing Palace, connected by balustraded steps, with a carved marble slab in the center. On both sides of the passageway, there are stairways leading directly down to the Qianqing Palace courtyard.
The imperial path and the two side stairways are hollow underneath, allowing people to pass through—these were called 'Tiger Tunnels'. When the emperor was a child, he often hid here while playing hide-and-seek with palace maids, refusing to come out no matter how much the adults called.
The platform naturally has its own set of ornaments. Like the platform of Taihe Hall, there are bronze incense tripods here—four of them, but gilded, which is even more luxurious.
Look at this ancient clock: a sundial.
Where there’s a sundial, there’s usually a jialiang standard grain measure. The one here is round, gilded bronze, more exquisite than the one at Taihe Hall, and modeled by Qianlong after the Xin dynasty standard.
The platform of Taihe Hall has bronze cranes, and here they are too.
Take a close look, and you’ll see the difference from Taihe Hall. The cranes at Taihe Hall stand directly on white marble display pedestals, but here they stand on a bronze plate set upon the pedestal. The plate is carved with rolling waves and towering cliffs—a three-dimensional version of 'sea and cliffs'. Moreover, this bronze crane has its beak closed, signaling that loud noise is forbidden here, lest it disturb the emperor’s sleep.
Now check out the bronze turtle.
Isn’t it different from the one at Taihe Hall? It also stands on a bronze plate, with waves carved on it but no cliffs—this is not the 'sea and cliffs' motif. Look closely into the water; there are fish, shrimp, and even baby turtles. This probably symbolizes the four seas and five lakes, representing the realm. And if you look carefully, this sacred turtle is not a genuine turtle at all! It’s actually the Dragon King’s eldest son, Bixi. According to legend, Bixi originally roamed everywhere with three mountains and five great peaks on his back, stirring up trouble until he was subdued by Yu the Great’s flood control. The ancients used Bixi to symbolize longevity and good fortune; here, it definitely means the enduring stability of the realm. The current ornaments on the platform likely date from the Qianlong period.
Standing beside the bronze turtle and tilting your head, you can spot a small golden pavilion beyond the balustrade.
It turns out there’s another ornament below the platform: that small golden pavilion is called the Pavilion of the Country and Its Soil.
Descend the side balustrade steps to get a close look at this exquisite little golden pavilion. There’s one on each side of the platform. It rests on a one-chi-tall square stone base with plain surfaces, with a single step on the south side and a surrounding balustrade—not white marble but common white stone. The balustrade posts are not topped with cloud-dragon heads but with little lions. On the base sits a three-tiered stone house, called the Wenshi Terrace, also of white stone, its surfaces covered in high-relief carvings of sea waves and cliffs. The lowest tier is quite tall, and the small south-facing door can let in a full-grown eunuch. The eunuch didn’t go in for no reason—it was to climb onto the roof and offer incense inside the little golden pavilion. The height of the Wenshi Terrace matches the Qianqing Palace platform, so from the platform you can see the golden pavilion in its entirety. The miniature golden pavilion is superbly luxurious: gilded bronze, imitating wood-frame architecture. It’s a square pavilion with double-eaved corners; the lower part has a waist eave, and above, a round spire roof with a jewel finial on a dew-catching plate. Each side has four four-panel latticed doors with triple-six-lattice patterns, paneled with dragon medallions in relief. The horizontal beam bears the 'double dragon and harmony' pattern. Under the eaves, bracket sets, beams, lintels, purlins, and rafters are all perfectly replicated, as are the ridge ornaments, hip beasts, and corner beasts. The casting of this little pavilion is exquisitely detailed, truly astounding. These two Pavilions of the Country and Its Soil were added when the Shunzhi Emperor rebuilt the palace after entering Beijing.
Beside each little golden pavilion, another high-class object is installed.
This thing is a base, called the Heavenly Lantern. No pole is erected now; a bronze plate sits inside. On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth lunar month each year, the bronze plate is removed to reveal an iron socket. A ten-meter-long lantern pole is inserted into it, and at the top of the pole is a cantilever arm. On New Year’s Eve, the first day of the new year, and the fourteenth to sixteenth days, a red lantern would hang from that arm; on other days, lantern couplets were hung. The couplets naturally bore auspicious phrases, written down as early as the Ming Dynasty and still hung out during the Qing period. One such Heavenly Lantern stands on each side at the base of the platform, and on the platform itself, on either side of the raised path, there is also one—these are called Longevity Lanterns. The Longevity Lantern differs from the Heavenly Lantern: the Longevity Lantern has eight cantilever arms from which eight strings of lanterns hang, rather than eight individual lanterns. After the Daoguang era, these lanterns ceased to be displayed. I don’t know whether the Palace Museum now hangs the Heavenly Lanterns and Longevity Lanterns again during the Spring Festival.
Look at the Longevity Lantern base on the platform—one on each side of the raised path.
Having seen the surroundings, it’s time to properly admire the main hall of Qianqing Palace.
Qianqing Palace was originally built by Zhu Di as his sleeping quarters. Over the centuries, it burned down several times and was rebuilt just as many. The current hall was reconstructed in the 3rd year of Jiaqing (1798), over two hundred years ago. 'Qian' means heaven—'qian kun' means heaven and earth. 'Qianqing' suggests 'heavenly purity', like 'a clear blue sky without a single cloud'.
Qianqing Palace stands on a roughly six-chi-tall bluestone base, and atop that base is the platform, encircled by a white marble balustrade. The hall is seven bays wide and five bays deep, with a bracket-set post-and-beam structure, encircled by a veranda. The roof is a double-eaved hipped roof with yellow glazed tiles, and the hip ridges are adorned with nine roof beasts.
The horizontal beams sport the painted and gilded 'double dragon and harmony' pattern. The central bay and the two side bays to left and right have the highest-grade six-panel latticed doors with triple-six-lattice mullions and dragon-carved wood panels. The outer secondary bays and end bays have grey-brick low walls with square lattice windows. This is exactly how Qianqing Palace looked in the Ming Dynasty. When Shunzhi rebuilt the palace after entering Beijing, he first constructed a smaller hall nearby for his consorts and lived himself in the front Baohe Hall. Later, he had Qianqing Palace reconstructed according to Ming regulations and moved in himself.
During the pandemic, we visitors couldn’t get close and had to stand at the bottom of the front stairs, squinting inside through the doorway. The hall floor is paved with golden bricks. The eastern and western end bays are closed off to form heated chambers, so the interior feels much smaller than Taihe Hall. To make the space larger, the front golden pillars were removed. Between the rear golden pillars sits a back screen, and in front of that screen is a huanghuali wood platform, upon which the throne is placed. Around the throne are various objects, including cloisonné incense burners (multi-tiered square pavilion-like ones), cranes, and a tripod incense vessel (should really be called a yan), all made of champlevé enamel.
On the rear golden pillars on either side of the screen hangs a couplet: 'Be forgiving and benevolent, the sage establishes the supreme principle'; 'Be pure and single-minded, the Way reaches its utmost in his person'. This was written by Qianlong, meaning one must have both a compassionate heart and a rule of law—appealing to both grace and severity. Above the screen is the famous plaque inscribed 'Upright and Enlightened' (Zhengda Guangming).
The position of this plaque is remarkable. It’s not as distant as the one in Taihe Hall, yet not as near to the door as the one in Zhonghe Hall. Around the winter solstice, the sun is at its lowest altitude in Beijing. At about noon, as the sun sweeps from east to west in front of the great hall, sunlight enters through the door of the central bay into Qianqing Palace. Reflecting off the golden tiles on the floor, it forms a beam of golden light that scans the 'Upright and Enlightened' plaque and the five golden dragons beneath it from west to east. This is one of Beijing’s popular winter photography spots—watching the golden light sweep the 'Zhengda Guangming' plaque. Another famous sight is the 'golden light piercing the arches' at the Summer Palace. That year, the winter solstice fell on a Monday, the one day the Palace Museum is closed. I visited the day after to witness this magical moment. At 11 a.m., a long queue of photographers had already formed in front of the central bay; their cameras, mounted on tripods, were packed tight from low to high. Rumour had it the best spot was taken by someone who had waited outside the gate from early morning and sprinted here the moment it opened. I couldn’t compete, so I had to watch from the doorway of a side bay, enjoying the scene while observing from a distance the jostling photographers vying for the prime position. The photo I shared above was taken at noon on August 20, 2020, with diffused light. Now look at the one below, taken at noon the day after the winter solstice, capturing that concentrated beam.
See, the shadow of the central carved dragon head on the screen header aligns precisely with the exact center of the five golden dragons on the plaque above, the light hitting dead center while the sides remain slightly dim. This precise moment occurs at 12:04:45 PM. Why not exactly 12:00? One possibility is that the hall’s central axis isn’t perfectly north–south and misaligns with the meridian. The second reason is that the Forbidden City’s central axis does not lie on the 'Beijing Time' meridian. Beijing Time is based on longitude 120°E, while Beijing itself is at about 116.4°E. According to that data, the sun should cross the Beijing meridian at 12:14:28. I took a shot at 12:14:42, and here’s what it looked like.
Well? Clearly not the center! The previous one is closer to the middle—let’s say 12:05:00. Why earlier? The exact longitude of Qianqing Palace is 116.397009, while Yongdingmen is 116.399361—slightly east, right? So factoring in both the longitudinal error and directional deviation, the moment the center of the 'Zhengda Guangming' plaque is illuminated is approximately 12:04:45 PM around the winter solstice.
Actually, besides Qianqing Palace, the plaque in Taihe Hall—'Jianji Suiyou' (Establish the Supreme, Maintain Harmony)—also gets illuminated like this. However, that plaque’s ancient wording is too classical, less accessible than the more modern-sounding 'Upright and Enlightened'. So coming to Qianqing Palace to see 'Zhengda Guangming' is more popular. Take a look at the 'Jianji Suiyou' plaque bathed in golden light on the winter solstice, taken at 11:00:37 on the solstice day of 2021.
Why 11:00 instead of 12:00? The plaque in Taihe Hall is both higher and deeper set; plus, a lintel above the central bay door blocks the sunlight. Sunlight entering through the main door at noon cannot reach that plaque. The photo I captured shows sunlight entering from the door of the eastern side bay, which has no lintel obstruction, and the sun’s lower angle can reach farther in. Thus, the illumination of the 'Jianji Suiyou' plaque happens an hour earlier. Of course, an hour after noon, the plaque is illuminated again, this time by light entering from the western side bay.
The phrase 'Upright and Enlightened' (Zhengda Guangming) comes from the Song scholar Zhu Xi’s writings: 'As for Master Fan’s heart, it was upright and enlightened, certainly bearing no old grudges, and his sincere loyalty truly lay with the nation.' It means facing people squarely, and looking at the brightly lit side of a person; in other words, being open-hearted and acting without concealment. This plaque was originally inscribed by the Shunzhi Emperor, in the 13th year of his reign (1656) when Qianqing Palace was rebuilt. During the preceding Chongzhen reign, the plaque in this spot read 'Respect Heaven and Follow the Ancestors'. When Kangxi came to the throne and moved into Qianqing Palace, he found his father’s plaque looking rather dim, so he copied it and made a new one, stamping it with his personal seal 'Kangxi’s Treasure'. After the great fire in the 2nd year of Jiaqing (1797), when the palace was rebuilt, the retired Qianlong Emperor—now the Super Emperor—again traced and made a new 'Zhengda Guangming' plaque, stamping it with 'Treasure of the Super Emperor' and moving the 'Kangxi’s Treasure' seal to the upper right corner—this is the copy we see today.
Though this Qianqing Palace bears the 'Upright and Enlightened' plaque, the stories inside it are not all upright and bright compared to the polished ceremonies at Taihe Hall. In Ming times, Qianqing Palace was the emperor’s bedchamber, containing nine rooms upstairs and down—all without windows, right? Each room held more than one bed; Han people slept on beds, while Manchus later used kang. The emperor slept in a different room and bed each night, mysteriously unpredictable, so outsiders could not guess. At night, the emperor might summon the empress or a consort to serve him, and a secret method was used to decide whether he would enjoy himself in Room 101 or 203. Don’t assume such cunning schemes were foolproof; with every hundred precautions, one slip was inevitable. The Jiajing Emperor, Zhu Houcong, was disgusted with state affairs and obsessed with alchemy, wantonly collecting young palace maids’ menstrual blood to refine elixirs. Legend says this practice triggered a mutiny. One dark night when Consort Cao went to serve the emperor in Qianqing Palace, palace maids gathered, sneaked in, and tried to strangle Jiajing with a yellow silk ribbon—but failed. Afterward, Jiajing had those maids executed and even confiscated the yellow ribbon as state property. This was the Renyin Palace Incident, which took place in the 21st year of Jiajing (1542). After it happened, Jiajing dared not live in the palace anymore; he moved to the West Garden (Xiyuan), taking his alchemy furnace along. This West Garden was not today’s Old Summer Palace but an imperial garden west of Xihua Gate—the present Zhongnanhai. He only moved back to Qianqing Palace on the day before his death, carried on a sickbed, and passed away the next day. This incident shows two things: first, Jiajing should not have carelessly revealed his whereabouts; second, yellow silk was less effective than white silk—had the maids used white silk, Jiajing might really have been hanged.
In the 48th year of Wanli (1620), after the Wanli Emperor died, the crown prince Zhu Changluo ascended the throne as the Taichang Emperor. Just ten days after the enthronement ceremony, the 38-year-old robust emperor fell ill from an excess of joy. He dismissed the imperial physicians and took a dose of medicine from a eunuch, Cui Wensheng—resulting in uncontrollable diarrhea so severe he couldn’t keep his pants on, fainting on the chamber pot. He heard that Li Kezhuo, an official roughly equivalent to the modern Director of Protocol, possessed a miraculous remedy—some red pills obtained long ago from Mount Emei. Taichang desperately begged for three pills. Li Kezhuo brought the pills into Qianqing Palace and indeed gave Taichang the 'three pills'—but after taking them, the emperor first rallied, then relapsed, and three days later died. He had been emperor for just one month. His successor, the Tianqi Emperor Zhu Youxiao, investigated this 'Red Pill Case' for a year, but in the end, because Taichang had insisted on taking the pills himself, he merely gave symbolic punishments to a few pill-givers. Taichang was the most tragic emperor of the Ming Dynasty; today, few people even remember there was a Taichang era.
When Zhu Changluo ascended the throne, his son Zhu Youxiao and his favored consort, Consort Li, also moved into Qianqing Palace. After Zhu Changluo’s death, Consort Li, relying on the fact that she had raised the crown prince, stayed on in Qianqing Palace and refused to leave. She also obstructed Zhu Youxiao’s enthronement, clearly aiming to meddle in politics. At that time, Zhu Youxiao was sixteen but still indecisive. Consort Li sent eunuchs to tell the Grand Secretaries: 'All daily memorials must first be shown to me before he sees them—I intend to rule from behind a screen.' The ministers below conspired, even carrying Zhu Youxiao in a small palanquin to the Wenhua Hall to confront Consort Li—somewhat like Cao Cao controlling the emperor to command the realm. Eventually, Consort Li was moved out of Qianqing Palace to Renshou Palace (the predecessor of Cining Palace) to retire, and Zhu Youxiao immediately ascended the throne as the Tianqi Emperor. This became a Ming scandal known as the 'Removal from the Palace' case. That eventful year was the 48th year of Wanli, the 1st year of Taichang, and finally the 1st year of Tianqi—AD 1620. Three reign titles in a single year, and a near-miss curtain regency in the Ming.
You may know that the Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Youjian, was very diligent in the late Ming, holding court almost daily. Yet he was headstrong and indecisive, ultimately running the dynasty into the ground until the rebel Li Zicheng emerged. In the 17th year of Chongzhen (1644), as Li’s army approached Beijing, Zhu Youjian wrote his final edict in Qianqing Palace. He sent his princes into hiding with maternal relatives, gave each consort a white silk sash to hang herself, and even hacked at his own daughter with a sword. Finally, he went to the old locust tree on the east slope of Coal Hill (Jingshan) and hanged himself from a slanting branch. The Ming dynasty’s 'two hundred and seventy-seven years of rule ended in a day'—these were his dying words, written on his yellow robe before he climbed the tree.
After the Manchu Qing entered the pass, Qianqing Palace was initially repaired twice. In the 2nd year of Shunzhi (1645), a makeshift repair was done, but the emperor refused to live there. In the 13th year of Shunzhi, a proper renovation was completed, and the emperor finally moved in. After a few years, the roof leaked, and he moved out again. In the 8th year of Kangxi (1669), at the Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang’s behest, Kangxi moved from Baohe Hall into Qianqing Palace. He slept there and also handled state affairs there, transforming the bedchamber into a dual-purpose hall for governance and residence, with both Manchu and Chinese used.
Kangxi was formidable, reigning for 61 years and living to 68. Though he was mighty in external affairs, his family matters were a mess—his various sons glared at each other with jealousy, nearly tearing the dynasty apart. In the end, the fourth son, Prince Yong, Yinzhen, who lived farthest from the palace, received the edict and became the Yongzheng Emperor. Kangxi’s testament was in both Manchu and Chinese, and there were no simplified characters back then, so the theory that 'the edict originally said pass the throne to the Fourteenth Son' is pure modern nonsense. The rumors of Yongzheng’s illegitimate succession were concocted by the losing princes and their factions, and were suppressed by Yongzheng. The remnants of those people have since spread the 'Fourteenth Son' tale to mislead—hardly worth refuting.
When Kangxi passed away, his coffin was, as custom dictated, placed in Qianqing Palace—a Qing rule, probably also Ming practice, but I’ve not researched it fully. How many days? It was not fixed, nor a multiple of seven, but certainly longer than seven, depending on how preparations at the Hall of Imperial Longevity or the Hall of Observing Virtue behind Coal Hill progressed. No matter where the emperor died, he had to return to Qianqing Palace to lie for some days so the new emperor could keep vigil there. After Yongzheng took the throne, he harbored some resentment toward his father, blaming him for the messy succession. So Yongzheng was unwilling to keep vigil inside Qianqing Palace; he ordered the Workshops Office to convert their workplace, Yangxin Hall, into a residence, and lived there instead. His pretext was that Qianqing Palace had been his father’s home for sixty years, and he couldn’t bear to live in it—he would go to Yangxin Hall to observe filial mourning for 27 months. Mourning was quite strict: during that period no meat or wine, only vegetarian meals; no intimacy with consorts, just facing the wall late at night. From then on, Qianqing Palace was no longer a residence; it became the emperor’s daily office. As you can see, from its construction to the dynasty’s end, Qianqing Palace burned and was rebuilt several times, and its function evolved from a combined bedchamber and office to the emperor’s routine administrative hall.
Yongzheng keenly felt the dangers surrounding his succession, and it pained him. Soon after ascending the throne, he summoned ministers to the Western Warmth Chamber of Qianqing Palace and declared a secret system of choosing heirs: the name of the successor would be placed in a sealed casket, and that casket would be openly stored behind the 'Zhengda Guangming' plaque in Qianqing Palace. Another copy would be kept on his person, tied to his ribs. Upon his death, ministers would retrieve the casket from behind the plaque, then untie the other one from his ribs—the person named in both would succeed. But what if the names didn’t match? Yongzheng never said whether the one on his body would override the one behind the plaque and follow him in death. Fortunately, no such case ever occurred. Thereafter, when an emperor had many sons, the two caskets decided the heir; otherwise, an exception could be made without following this rule. In the 2nd year of Jiaqing, a huge fire burned the Qianqing Palace plaque; if there had been a succession casket behind it, it surely met the same fate. But Jiaqing had just assumed the throne, so maybe a secret heir hadn’t been chosen yet—the space was still empty. By the Xianfeng era, the sole son, Zaichun, succeeded as the Tongzhi Emperor. Starting with Tongzhi, the Eastern Dowager Ci’an and Western Dowager Cixi ruled from behind a screen in Yangxin Hall. The subsequent Guangxu and Xuantong emperors were not imperial sons but relatives selected by Cixi. Thus, Tongzhi, Guangxu, and Xuantong never went through the secret succession process, and their names never hid behind the 'Upright and Enlightened' plaque. You see, behind that apparently fair, just, and open plaque hid the dynasty’s greatest secret, a real irony.
Here we can finally sum up the Five Gates and Three Courts of the Forbidden City. Corresponding to the Zhou system, the Five Gates are: Gao Men – Tiananmen; Ku Men – Duanmen; Zhi Men – Meridian Gate; Ying Men – Taihe Gate; Lu Men – Qianqing Gate. The Three Courts are: Outer Court – Taihe Gate (moved to Qianqing Gate in the Qing); Governing Court – Taihe Hall; and Inner Court – Qianqing Palace.
(To be continued)
