Observing the Red Walls and Golden Tiles, Ming and Qing Imperial Palace – Part 14: The Ningshou Palace Area (Part 2) (Revised)
My 2021 Forbidden City post series, the seventeen installments of 'Observing the Red Walls and Golden Tiles, Appreciating the Ming and Qing Imperial Palace,' received generous readership and many readers were not stingy with their time to read them. Some readers offered comments, suggestions, and pointed out a few errors. This revised second edition reissue incorporates their feedback, enriches some content, corrects pen slips, and updates or supplements certain images. While I dare not claim all errors have been vanquished, most should now be corrected. In detail, I recount the ancient pinnacle of palace architecture witnessed while admiring the Ming and Qing Imperial Palace, along with select imperial relics on display and traces of Qing court life, and I also weave in some stories and legends associated with the palace. I dare not say this is 'to feast the readers,' only that I hope to share. Thank you.
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After you've finished feasting your eyes on the treasures in the Treasure Gallery, by no means backtrack along the way you came through the Ningshou Gate and Huangji Gate—that’s called going against the current. You should move with the flow and head behind Ningshou Palace. Walk around from the western side to the rear of Ningshou Palace, and be sure to glance left and right. Looking left, inside the Yanxi Gate on the western path lies the Ningshou Palace Garden, the famous Qianlong Garden. It’s been closed during the pandemic because the spaces inside are so snug that visitors might not have room to dodge and the virus could latch onto them. Peeking through a crack in the door, you’ll see that there’s neither a spirit screen nor a freestanding gate but a rockery that serves that function.
Glancing right, the gate on the eastern path is actually open. You can catch sight of the chimney from the Ningshou Palace boiler room.
Looking straight at the back of Ningshou Palace, you’ll see a palace gate along the middle axis flanked by a small square in front.
This is Yangxing Gate, and beneath the front balustrade steps crouches a pair of gilded bronze lions.
It turns out that after abdicating, Qianlong did not stay in Ningshou Palace itself but intended to live inside Yangxing Gate. The Huangji Hall and Ningshou Palace in front served as the Retired Emperor’s outer court—front hall for ceremonies, rear hall for rituals—while behind them, inside Yangxing Gate, was the Retired Emperor’s private quarters. Thus, Yangxing Gate was the equivalent of Qianqing Gate within the Forbidden City. Take a look at the ornate sparrow braces on the pilasters under the eaves of Yangxing Gate.
Entering Yangxing Gate, the main hall straight ahead is Yangxing Hall.
Although this was the Retired Emperor’s private quarters, it was modeled not on the three rear palaces but on Yangxin Hall. Yangxing Hall has a wondrous architectural form: it spans three bays in width and two bays in depth, but the bays are so large that square pillars divide it into a nine-bay frontage and four-bay depth. We’ll just view it as nine bays wide. Above is the post-and-beam bracket system, a single-eave hip-and-gable roof of yellow glazed tiles with five ridge beasts, surrounded by a veranda with columns. Projecting from the front is a four-bay roll-shed-roofed porch—the central bay plus the eastern secondary bay and the western secondary bay, and then the western further secondary bay; you see, it’s unbalanced. Look below: a three-chi-high white stone platform, front steps with sloped balustrades and a central carved dragon stone. East of the steps stands a sundial; to the west, the spot is empty. Beneath the western further secondary bay there are sloped steps, but beneath the eastern further secondary bay there are none—completely asymmetrical. This asymmetry, too, mimics Yangxin Hall. Yangxing Hall is not open to the public, so you can only peer inside through the glass.
Inside, the central area has a raised platform on which sits a rosewood imperial throne, with east and west alcove chambers partitioned off. In the east alcove, the southern section has bright windows and a clean desk; the northern section is the Sui’an Room—'Sui’an means being at ease wherever one finds oneself.' In the west alcove, the northern section houses a family shrine, and beneath the southern window is a study called Changchun Study, hence the screen panels outside under the veranda. Emperor Yongzheng once bestowed on his son Hongli (the future Qianlong) the title 'Changchun Recluse.' In the innermost room of the west alcove, beneath the south window, the space is arranged like the Sanxi Hall in Yangxin Hall and is called Moyun Chamber. In the fifty-third year of Qianlong (1770), the scholar-official Bi Yuan, then Governor of Shaanxi, presented to Qianlong an antique ink stick made by Li Tinggui of the Southern Tang dynasty inscribed 'Hanlin Breeze and Moon', and Moyun Chamber was named after this ancient ink. From this, it’s clear that Yangxing Hall was the Retired Emperor’s daily living quarters, a place to study cultural pursuits or receive guests.
The Rites of Zhou says that for the Son of Heaven there are five gates, and for feudal lords, three. Since the Retired Emperor was a former sovereign after abdicating, he was no longer a Son of Heaven and could not have five gates, only three. The three gates of the Ningshou Palace area are: Huangji Gate, equivalent to the Meridian Gate—the Zhi Gate of the Zhou system, albeit without twin watchtowers; Ningshou Gate, equivalent to Taihe Gate—the Ying Gate of the Zhou system, though morning audiences were not held here; and this Yangxing Gate, equivalent to Qianqing Gate—the Lu Gate of the Zhou system. Missing were the Fu Gate (equivalent to Tiananmen) and Ku Gate (equivalent to Duanmen). And what about the three court sessions among the five gates and three courts? Ningshou Gate served as the outer court corresponding to Taihe Gate; Huangji Hall corresponded to Taihe Hall as the administrative court; and Yangxing Hall corresponded to Qianqing Palace as the private court. Actually, the Retired Emperor was not a feudal lord, and he didn’t conduct administration here, so the three courts don’t really matter.
A covered walkway forms a quadrangle between Yangxing Gate and Yangxing Hall, creating the first courtyard of Yangxing Hall. Crossing through the eastern and western corridors behind Yangxing Hall leads to the second courtyard to the rear.
Behind Yangxing Hall stands a row of open-air display pedestals, each supporting one of several objects: some are Taihu Lake rocks, some bronze vessels. That bronze piece is not a vase; it should be called a zun, an ancient wine vessel that later evolved into a ritual object.
Turn around to see Leshou Hall at the back of Yangxing Hall, freshly restored.
Leshou Hall is the Retired Emperor’s bedroom, seven bays wide and three deep, with post-and-beam bracket construction, a yellow-glazed tile single-eave hip-and-gable roof, five ridge beasts, and a veranda all around. The chiwen (dragon head finials) on the main ridge of Yangxing Hall lack those big golden chains, but the chiwen on Leshou Hall behind it have them. I don’t know whether the front hall’s were lost, or whether the rear hall’s were added later.
The inner walls of the eastern and western corridors of Leshou Hall are covered with calligraphic stone engravings. This is a collection of Qianlong’s own calligraphy copying ancient masters, the famous Reverence Victorious Study Model Calligraphy.
The Reverence Victorious Study Model Calligraphy is a compendium of Qianlong’s calligraphy practice, carved on stone and installed here. A court rubbing edition of this calligraphy set was also produced; because the stone carvings and rubbing were both done inside the palace, complete rubbings are extremely rare among the public. It’s said that only the China Bookstore holds a complete set, their store treasure, and would never sell it.
Leshou Hall is a uniquely decorated palace within the Forbidden City, a masterpiece of Qing-dynasty architecture and Qianlong’s pride—definitely a hall you must visit, without equal. So, you simply have to step inside and sigh in admiration.
Inside, four of the front gold pillars in the middle section have been removed, creating an exceptionally spacious area that can’t be appreciated the old-fashioned way. Let’s call the middle the great hall. In the center of the great hall is a raised platform, and on the platform sits the throne. Look at the auspicious luduan beast on display there, a gold-bodied cloisonné enamel piece with twisted gold threads—truly beautiful.
Behind the throne, between the central pillars, is a nanmu framed gauze-panel screen; overhead is an ornately carved nanmu flat-checkered ceiling. This is the only one of its kind in the entire Forbidden City, and perhaps a unique example in all of China. Above the screen, the space between the central pillars is built up to a second floor with paneled walls. In the center hangs a paper plaque reading “Flourishing Harmony Travels” and a matching couplet, both inscribed by Qianlong.
The eastern and western alcove chambers are also built as two-story structures. To create the second story, several supplementary support columns were added beyond the front and rear gold pillars—these are non-through pillars. This is called the “added and subtracted pillars” method: subtracting pillars in the center to increase space, while adding pillars on the sides for reinforcement. The second floor of the west alcove served as the Retired Emperor’s bedroom, somewhat similar to the emperor’s sleeping quarters in the Ming-dynasty Qianqing Palace. Outside both the east and west attic chambers, there are also paneled walls.
Take a look at the ground floor of the east alcove. Two large jade carvings here are very famous. On the south is “Spring Dawn on the Terrace of Immortals,” inspired by the Yuan-dynasty landscape painter Lu Guang’s painting of the same name; the original painting is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the US. Lu Guang was a successor of Huang Gongwang, the foremost of the Four Masters of the Yuan and creator of Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains, and his work bears much of Huang’s flavor. The other jade carving is “Autumn Mountain Travels,” inspired by the Northern Song painter Guo Xi’s Autumn Mountain Travels. The original painting has been lost, but the Qing court held a copy by the Yuan-dynasty painter Tang Di, which is now in the National Palace Museum in Taipei. Guo Xi was self-taught, later influenced by the style of Li Cheng, one of the three great masters of the Northern Song, and excelled in landscapes of mountains and wintery woods.
Look at the ground floor of the west alcove: a whole wall of multi-treasure bookshelves, and in the room sits a “Celadon Jade Cloud-Dragon Urn.”
This is one of the two famous large jade carvings from Leshou Hall. Though not as large as the “Jade Ocean of Dushan” in the Round City of Beihai Park, its exquisite craftsmanship more than rivals that great jade urn. The Celadon Jade Cloud-Dragon Urn was made in the forty-fourth year of Qianlong (1779), assembled from six pieces of jade and weighing over five thousand jin. On its body, nine dragons frolic with a pearl amid ocean waves and clouds; inside, Qianlong’s own Record of the Jade Urn is carved, which right at the start mentions the Yuan-dynasty Dushan Large Jade Sea and says, “The jade urn from Khotan was carved just yesterday; in quality and pattern both it surpasses that one.”
Behind the main hall, there is yet another rear hall.
From the back, you can see that the second floor is actually a passage between the eastern and western attic chambers. Beneath this passage, a shrine has been made, inside which another throne is placed. In the middle of the rear hall stands another jade carving, this one called “Yu the Great Controlling the Waters”—the second of Leshou Hall’s two large jade masterpieces, and a national treasure.
This jade mountain was also made from green Khotan jade from Xinjiang rock, weighing over five thousand kilograms and completed in the fifty-second year of Qianlong; it took jade craftsmen in Yangzhou over seven years to finish. The design was inspired by an anonymous Song-dynasty painting scroll, Yu the Great Controlling the Waters, whose original is now in the Taipei National Palace Museum. The jade block was transported from Xinjiang to Beijing, then shipped to Yangzhou for carving, and finally brought back to the imperial palace. Take a closer look.
Creating the Yu the Great Controlling the Waters jade mountain cost countless resources and drained people’s strength, so much so that Qianlong’s conscience was stirred, and he thereafter forbade the making of any more jade mountains of this kind.
Everywhere inside Leshou Hall are framed gauze panel walls, and in the lattice hearts of those panels are paintings and calligraphy. Look at this one.
“Flourishing enterprise was inscribed on the Fen ding, the auspicious omen came in response to the Luo writing. I wish to accompany the poem’s ending, lingering to compare with Shu’s Sima Xiangru.” This is an excerpt from Su Ting’s (pronounced Tǐng) poem “In Response to His Majesty’s Old Residence When Travel Stopped,” a sycophantic poem flattering Emperor Xuanzong of Tang. Su Ting was a literary prime minister during the Kaiyuan era. The inscription at the bottom, signed by Gao Gen’en, indicates he was a second-rank senior official of the Zizheng rank during the Guangxu period, a very cultured man. This was certainly pasted up by Cixi when she renovated Leshou Hall. I’ve never seen the Luo writing, but I have seen a newly inscribed Fen ding at the source of the Fen River in Ningwu County, Shanxi.
There is indeed a ding displayed at the back of Leshou Hall, but it’s not the Fen ding; it’s a pseudo-archaic covered bronze ding forged under Qianlong’s orders.
Qianlong only visited this Leshou Hall once, when it was completed—he came by for a single walkthrough. After Cixi held her 60th-birthday celebrations in Ningshou Palace, she subsequently lived in the rear Leshou Hall for many years. Not only did she climb up to the second-floor west alcove to sleep every night, but she also descended each morning to the front hall, Yangxing Hall’s east alcove, to have her breakfast. Don’t you think she must have been exhausted? Even Qianlong didn’t dare climb up and down like that every day. After a few years, Cixi’s knees and sciatic nerves were severely worn down, and she finally understood why Qianlong, having built such a fancy two-story structure, never came to live in it himself. In the end, Cixi converted the Yiluan Hall in the Western Garden into her own retirement residence and moved there in the 28th year of Guangxu (1902)—that’s now Huairen Hall inside Zhongnanhai.
Step out the back door of Leshou Hall, and to the north stands Yihe Xuan.
Yihe Xuan is seven bays wide and two deep, but with a veranda front and back, and it has projecting porches both in front and to the rear, so it doesn’t look too spindly. Post-and-beam bracket construction, a single-eave hip-and-gable roof of yellow glazed tiles with five ridge beasts. The front porch has a moon terrace connected directly to the rear door of Leshou Hall, with a pair of outdoor display platforms on either side: a sundial to the east, an empty space to the west. Just look at the front porch pillars—they’re actually stone columns.
Inside Yihe Xuan, the central bay plus the eastern and western secondary bays form a great hall. In the center stands a nanmu floor and throne, with a nanmu framed gauze-panel screen in a hexagonal tortoiseshell pattern. This screen has now been replaced with glass, but through the rear window you can still see the effect of the original gauze—the Forbidden City’s restoration work was very meticulous. The floor is paved with golden bricks, and the ceiling is plain white plaster, with fire alarm sensors installed, both heat-sensitive and smoke detectors. Sitting on this throne, you can look up and directly see the Yu the Great jade mountain in Leshou Hall ahead. Qianlong left his mark all over this screen: he wrote a plaque reading “Abundant Supreme Harmony” and a couplet on either side: “The joy springs from buds and seeds in their sheaths; spring resides in human hearts amid all things.” This suggests that after retirement, the old man would sit here enveloped in harmony, with spring breezes wafting outside and spring’s urges stirring within. The paneled wall of the east alcove is carved with Qianlong’s poem “Western Campaign,” complete with his own annotations, called “Hong’s Critiques.” “Western Campaign” recounts the pacification of the Zunghars—it’s a self-promotional piece. The west alcove wall bears his “Discourse on Dispelling Doubts,” also with Hong’s annotations. That’s a political treatise by Qianlong on pacifying the uprisings in Xinjiang.
On the east and west walls, one an essay and one a poem, both concern the western campaigns of those days. The old man considered territorial expansion his greatest achievement in office, and thinking back to it here after retirement brought him a sudden turn of the head and a coy smile. But he forgot that old Chinese saying: “A hero never boasts of past glories.” Aside from singing his own praises within the palace, Qianlong also erected stelae at the Eight Outer Temples of the Chengde Mountain Resort and at the Summer Palace, extolling his feats of expanding the empire, securing the frontiers, and establishing a new, stable borderland.
The name Yihe Xuan comes from the Yi hexagram in the Book of Changes: “You neglect your own numinous turtle, and watch me with gaping mouth.” The interior is patterned everywhere with tortoiseshell motifs—symbolizing longevity. Yihe means to nourish and maintain life, far more cultured than our modern talk of “wellness.” The old fellow came here daily to take his medicinal soup for longevity, the kind made from goji berries.
Once inside Yangxing Gate, the daily living quarters of Yangxing Hall are proper and regular; the nighttime bedroom of Leshou Hall is an architecturally novel structure; and when you come to Yihe Xuan for daily health maintenance, the interior decoration changes yet again. This architectural variation sheds the imposing, somber atmosphere of the imperial palace, creating a relaxed and lively tone, signaling that this is the rear residence, not a place of governance. The changes in form and decor across these three halls also represent the finest exhibition of structural rhythm in ancient Chinese architecture, distinct from the rhythm of mountains, waters, and pavilions in garden landscaping. Inside the Forbidden City, there are many three-courtyard compounds like the one inside Yangxing Gate, all laid out with a front hall for daily activities, a middle hall for sleeping, and a rear hall as a casual chamber. The South Three Halls, North Five Places, and Chonghua Palace are all such three-courtyard compounds, though none are open now. The Cining Palace complex you can still see today is also a three-courtyard compound, but its rear hall is not open. Thus, the Yangxing Gate compound in Ningshou Palace is the only three-courtyard compound visitors can see in the Forbidden City, and the grandest one at that.
The covered corridors with calligraphy stelae flanking Yihe Xuan connect it back to Leshou Hall, and further on to Yangxing Hall in front. From the rear door of Yihe Xuan, there is a linking corridor.
On the moon gate, the paper plaque reading “Embracing the Bright Moon” has on its reverse side another plaque, “Inviting the Clear Breeze,” both in Qianlong’s own calligraphy. The Rixia Jiuwen Kao (a Qing-dynasty gazetteer) mentions these two plaques here, but when the north hall of Yihe Xuan was restored, they were missing. Later, unframed plaque papers were found in the archive of paintings and calligraphy, remounted with frames, and hung here again.
On the north wall of the linking corridor is painted a scene of “Wives and Concubines Playing with Children.”
The north end of the linking corridor originally led through to Jingqi Pavilion at the back, but it was later sealed off with this gypsum-board partition. The plaque reading “Listen Quietly,” originally from the small stage in the west secondary room of Jingqi Pavilion, has been borrowed and placed here. Beneath the plaque, the “Wives and Concubines Playing with Children” painting was moved here from Yucui Xuan in the Qianlong Garden; strolling in the garden, the old fellow could enjoy a vista of rooms full of smiling wives and concubines and children running everywhere. Within the painting is a couplet by Qianlong: “May the millions gain ten thousand years of life; in peaceful years we encounter spring of peace.” Former Forbidden City curator Shan Jixiang once used this couplet as the slogan for the Forbidden City’s Spring Festival celebrations in 2019.
To the left and right of the partition wall are two small doors leading to east and west side courtyards. The courtyard inside the eastern door is the west side yard of Jingfu Palace, which contains the famous “Culture Peak” rock. It’s not open nowadays, a regret I cannot visit.
The door to the west also leads to a small courtyard, from which you can see Jingqi Pavilion behind—also not open. This is the northernmost point of the middle axis, serving as the rear screening building of Ningshou Palace. Thus, Jingqi Pavilion and Yihe Xuan ought logically to be considered part of the same courtyard.
You can only glimpse the general appearance of Jingqi Pavilion. It appears as a two-story pavilion, seven bays wide and three deep, with a veranda on the ground floor all around, and a flat balustrade at the second level—this is a false intermediate floor. The roof is yellow glazed tile, single-eave hip-and-gable, with five ridge beasts. The ground-floor central bay has a door, which would connect to where the linking corridor’s partition wall now stands. You can see that outside Jingqi Pavilion there is a covered ambulatory, also connected to the linking corridor of Yihe Xuan. In the courtyard are sauerkraut jars and trash bins for discarded vegetable leaves during pickling season.
Earlier, I mentioned that the garden gate of Ningshou Palace Garden west of Yangxing Gate is not open, but don’t worry—from the small side yard of Jingqi Pavilion, you can step into the western path’s Ningshou Palace Garden and steal a peek at the Qianlong Garden’s scenery. The Qianlong Garden is a narrow strip from south to north, with four successive courtyards in total; here we can only see the fourth courtyard. The main hall of this courtyard is Fuwang Pavilion.
Fuwang means “to fulfill wishes.” Fuwang Pavilion is a square pavilion of five bays, appearing as two stories from the outside. The second story has a flat balustrade all around, beneath which is a ringing course of tiles; between the balustrade and the ringing course there are brackets for support, indicating, like Jingqi Pavilion, it has a false intermediate floor. Above is a single-eave, four-cornered steep hip roof of yellow glazed tiles with blue-trimmed edges, topped by a gold-plated inverted-bowl finial on a porcelain orb. The ground floor has a veranda all around, with square columns; between the columns are friezes and sparrow braces above and sill-and-stool rails below, all asymmetrical. Inside, Fuwang Pavilion is partitioned by screens into many small rooms, with a maze of connecting passages so complex it’s been called the “Maze Pavilion.” Legend says that in Qianlong’s time, feasts for princes and high officials were held here: each person sat in a small room, while the old emperor sat upstairs. When he called for the food to be served, eunuch waiters would carry trays to each room. The diners couldn’t see the emperor at all, yet they had to immediately throw themselves to the floor and shout “Thanks for his imperial grace!” The old emperor would sneak downstairs through secret passages to spy on the officials’ table manners; if someone’s manners were bad, he would cough outside the door, and that official would be so scared that a fish bone or chicken gristle would get stuck in his throat. So, having dinner with the old emperor was a rather dicey affair.
To the north of Fuwang Pavilion is Juanqin Zhai, a hall that has never been opened to the public.
Juanqin Zhai has an unconventional layout. Viewed from the front, it appears five bays wide, with a door in the central bay. Looking up, the roof is green glazed tile with yellow trim, a roll-shed gable roof. But wait—under this roof there are more than these five bays on the east; there are also some to the west. It turns out the eastern part comprises those five bays, and the western part adds four more, making it nine bays wide altogether. The eastern five bays, together with Fuwang Pavilion and the connecting corridors, form one courtyard, while the western four bays form another small courtyard. “Juanqin” means tired of affairs of state, weary of governance; the old fellow, growing old and finding it hard to manage affairs, wanted to retire here and find peace. The eastern section of Juanqin Zhai is five bays wide and four bays deep, partitioned inside by gauze screens into several small rooms, each furnished with a bed or a kang (heated platform). Old Qianlong planned to sleep in Room 101 during the first watch of the night, then during the second watch be carried by eunuchs and palace maids to Room 102 to continue sleeping, and so on. In truth, he never actually slept in Juanqin Zhai. It’s said that each room has exquisite interior entablature, and the gauze sandwiched in the partitions is even double-sided embroidery—the interior decoration is peerless in the world, representing the highest level of Qianlong-era craftsmanship. To prevent designers from renovation companies slipping in among the visitors and stealing the Qianlong decoration techniques, the Forbidden City still keeps Juanqin Zhai closed even after its major restoration.
The western four bays of Juanqin Zhai also have a plaster ceiling, which is said to be painted by Qianlong’s court painter Giuseppe Castiglione (Lang Shining) and his talented pupils with a bamboo trellis and wisteria. The three walls are likewise covered with Castiglione’s large-scale illusionistic scenes: pavilions and terraces, cranes flying and swallows dancing—all are full-wall trompe-l’œil murals. This was undoubtedly Castiglione borrowing from the Renaissance wall and ceiling paintings of Italian palaces. This space was Qianlong’s miniature stage for very private operas. The stage railings are carved from gold-thread nanmu imitating bamboo, a testament to imperial luxury at its most lavish. The western four bays are even less accessible to visitors. Juanqin Zhai had never been properly repaired since its construction under Qianlong until 2002, when the Forbidden City organized an extraordinary major restoration. What made it extraordinary were those illusionistic murals in the western four bays. These paintings were not executed on xuan paper but on silk cloth, which is why they have survived over two hundred years. The process of restoring the Juanqin Zhai murals was filmed in a documentary by the Forbidden City; if you’re interested, you can find it in the series ‘The Forbidden City 100.’ The murals of Juanqin Zhai are China’s earliest surviving indoor Western-style paintings; there are even earlier Chinese-style murals.
Juanqin Zhai is the northernmost building of the Qianlong Garden. Pass Fuwang Pavilion and enter the eastern five bays of Juanqin Zhai—this was to be the old man’s flexible sleeping quarters. After rising, he could walk to the western four bays to listen to opera, or even step up on stage himself and sing a piece softly. After that, he would exit the western four bays and turn south. There, separated by covered corridors from the eastern five bays, is a short curved wall with an octagonal gate opening to the east, above which hangs a plaque reading “Ying Han Bi.”
“Ying” means to reflect, and “Han Bi” means the cold azure— lofty and chilling. The poetic conception is taken from Lu You’s poem “New Bamboo at East Lake”: “Stuck thorny fences, carefully guarded, grown into cold azure reflected in ripples.” Lu You’s East Lake is in Shaoxing, known for its bamboo. So, inside the small courtyard of the Ying Han Bi gate, backed against the palace wall, the old man built a little tower, naming it Zhuxiang Pavilion (Bamboo Fragrance Pavilion). Even the window lattice of the western four bays of Juanqin Zhai is painted green to imitate bamboo. Zhuxiang Pavilion is a tiny two-story building three narrow bays wide, with side wings—one should call them wing towers. On the second floor of the wing towers, there is a climbing gallery so cramped it seems only the old man could sidle through. Zhuxiang Pavilion lacks the ripples mentioned by Lu You, so in front of it were placed a few Taihu Lake stones brought from Lake Dongting. Whenever the rainy season came, they would puff white mist from their myriad holes, as if Lu You himself might appear—rather spooky.
The climbing gallery of Zhuxiang Pavilion leads north to Juanqin Zhai and south to Yucui Xuan, mentioned earlier.
Yucui Xuan is an extremely exquisite place, and everyone loves it. It faces east, perched on a three-chi-high white stone pedestal with Sumeru base. It is three bays wide and one deep, with a front veranda. Between the veranda columns are inverted hanging fascia above and stool-and-sill rails below. Above is post-and-beam bracket construction, a roll-shed hip roof of yellow glazed tiles with green-trimmed edges. The central bay has the door, and in front is a green stone moon terrace extending directly to Fuwang Pavilion to the east. The moon terrace has white marble balustrades and white marble stepped ramps to the north and south. The southern end of Yucui Xuan is the courtyard wall of the fourth courtyard of the Qianlong Garden, and here the visitor’s gaze comes to a stop.
Earlier, when we were outside Yangxing Gate, the main gate of the Qianlong Garden to the south was closed, but its eastern side gate was open. If you step out through the small gate east of Yangxing Gate and look, wow—over on the eastern path, there’s a building!
At the foot of this building’s eastern side, there is a place for visitors to relieve an urgent matter. What kind of urgent matter? A call of nature, of course. After finishing your visit to the relief station, you’re no longer in a hurry, so you lift your head to gaze at this building. Truly a fine building it is, but why doesn’t it have a plaque with its name? Then it suddenly dawns on you—this is its back side! Its front face must be to the north. As you circle around the west side to look at the front, you ponder that a building facing south can’t be for the emperor, since the emperor always sits facing north (sic: south). Once you circle around, sure enough, you guess correctly: this is Changyin Pavilion, the opera theater.
When Changyin Pavilion was built in the thirty-seventh year of Qianlong (1772), the building behind and above it didn’t exist. That was added by Qianlong’s grandson in the Daoguang period and is called the Costume Building—a backstage dressing room, basically. Changyin Pavilion is a three-story tower. The very top roof is green glazed tile with yellow trim, roll-shed hip-and-gable. The lower two intermediate eaves are yellow glazed tile. The top floor has seven ridge beasts, the middle floor five, the ground floor three. In ancient times, such a terraced tower had an elegant, lofty name: “towering platform and extended pavilion.” Also, look at the roof ridges at the four corners—do they seem slightly upturned? That style was called “winged eaves, triple-layered.” This was a design by the Lei family of architectural modelers, the Lei family of Jiangxi, who dominated Qing court architectural design for two hundred years. Jiangxi’s Gan-style architecture inherits elements of Huizhou style, featuring winged ridge corners and horse-head walls. Changyin Pavilion is one of the rare buildings in the Forbidden City with upturned wing-like ridges, a hallmark of the Lei family. The pavilion is three bays wide and three deep; the ground-level stage is two bays deep, the middle one bay, and the top floor none. The top floor is called the Fu (Fortune) Stage, the middle the Lu (Prosperity) Stage, and the bottom the Shou (Longevity) Stage—a full set of blessings. Above the stage, there is a celestial well open to all three levels, with a windlass so that heavenly soldiers and generals could be lowered from the upper floor to fight monsters, or an immortal who had achieved the Dao could be hoisted from the lower floor into the sky. In the center of the ground floor, directly under the celestial well, there is also an earthly well, with a real water well inside. When needed, the cover could be opened to spray water. Bodhisattvas could also ascend from the earthly well on a lotus flower to demonstrate their powers.
Beneath the top floor eaves hangs a plaque reading “Changyin Pavilion.” Changyin means sound travels smoothly—the voice is unobstructed, nothing to block it. Singing from Changyin Pavilion demanded great skill, unlike in a regular theater where acoustics concentrate the sound. Under the second-floor eaves hangs “Guiding Harmony and Spreading Joy,” meaning to put people in a pleasant mood. Under the third-floor eaves hangs “Heaven in a Gourd, Proclaiming Pleasure.” Hu Tian (Heaven in a Gourd) refers to a wonderland in a gourd, from the Han-dynasty Biographies of Fangshu: drinking something from the gourd made one feel as if entering a paradise. Yu means pleasure, joy. So, the entertainment performed on this level is akin to paradise. The calligraphy on these plaques looks like Cixi’s hand, likely inscribed during the renovation for her 60th birthday in the seventeenth year of Guangxu (1891).
In the Qing dynasty, there were no movies, no ballet; Qing-era karaoke was not OK. At that time, entertainment meant watching operas. Whenever a festival or holiday came, it was opera time. There are several smaller stages within the imperial palace, including Ruting near Fuwang Pavilion. Changyin Pavilion is the largest stage in the Forbidden City, suitable for grand musical spectacles, the sort with celestial battles. When Qianlong built the Summer Palace for his mother, the Empress Dowager Chongqing, he also constructed an opera tower in the Hall for Listening to Orioles. That tower faced south (north?), because Qianlong needed to get on stage and sing a number for his mother. When Cixi renovated it, she changed it to face north. Moreover, Cixi imitated Changyin Pavilion to build another three-story opera tower in the Summer Palace; you must have seen it—that’s Dehe Garden, commonly called the Grand Stage, which requires a separate ticket.
After the stars performed their parts on Changyin Pavilion—twirling, leaping, and belting out lines—they would gather under the eaves of each level, filling all three tiers. This was the curtain call, and also the moment for soliciting rewards. The emperor watching the opera would summon a eunuch to throw candied fruit up into the tower—that was the tipping. By the way, where did the emperor watch the opera? Where was his box? Right here.
This is Yueshi Lou (the Pavilion for Viewing Performances). Squatting beneath it are a few camera-savvy scholars, waiting for noon to photograph the opera tower. In my photo above, the sun above the tower isn’t perfectly centered, but in their photos it certainly will be. That’s the difference between a photographer and a camera scholar.
Yueshi Lou was also built by Qianlong, though its most recent restoration was during the Tongzhi period. It’s a two-story building on a three-chi-high platform, five bays wide and three deep, with front verandas on both floors and a central flight of steps with balustrades. Covered corridors connect to the east and west. Above is post-and-beam bracket construction, a roll-shed hip roof of yellow glazed tiles with green-trimmed edges, five ridge beasts. The ringing course is inlaid with yellow and green ruyi-patterned glazed bricks. On the second-floor veranda, between the columns are inverted hanging fascia above and handrail balusters below. Qianlong modeled a similar building in the Summer Palace, the Jiaxi Lou on the eastern shore of Kunming Lake. Standing on Jiaxi Lou to watch the sunset over Jade Spring Mountain—the view is absolutely unparalleled.
The emperor, empress, imperial consorts, and a full house of children and grandchildren could all crowd into this building to enjoy grand operas, while eunuchs and palace maids boiled water, steeped tea, baked flatbread, and roasted sweet potatoes in the side rooms, supplying the imperial family with refreshments at any time. The accompanying ministers could not go inside; they had to stomp and cheer from the pool seats in the courtyard and the adjoining corridors, where stools and tables were prepared for them. Long benches would be set out in the courtyard for the occasion.
When the emperor arrived, he himself sat on the throne in the open center bay, leaving the two maids holding screen fans outside the door.
Once the emperor was seated, eunuchs served fine tea, the maids opened the ritual fans, and the opening drums and gongs of the big opera could strike up “qi-de-long-dong-qiang.” The moment the emperor exclaimed approval or clapped inside the building, the two maids would close the fans—that is, cross the two fans to form an X—and the waiting officials outside would immediately echo with shouts, applause, and stomping. This was palace opera protocol. Cixi at the Summer Palace’s Grand Stage watched differently: the viewing stand there is the single-story Yile Hall. Cixi, accompanied by the ladies of the household, would watch from Yile Hall, while the male relatives (including the hapless Guangxu) would be in the side corridors, and the officials in the courtyard’s pool seats.
Beyond Yueshi Lou to the north lies Qingshou Hall. Qingshou Hall is a four-courtyard compound, deep and secluded, its inner quarters hidden from view. The entrance is a festooned gate.
After Qianlong built Qingshou Hall, he probably came just once, during the final inspection. It was renovated once during the Jiaqing period, though I don’t know who lived there for a time. In the 17th year of Guangxu, it was repaired again. After her 60th birthday, Cixi moved into Leshou Hall. Sometimes she would invite her younger sister to stay for a few days in the palace—this sister being the birth mother of Emperor Guangxu and the official wife of Prince Chun. Why invite her? To accompany Cixi during festivals: watching operas, drinking, peeling shrimp, eating meat, and so on. The Qingshou Hall front courtyard is right next to Changyin Pavilion; no matter how late the opera ran, it was no trouble—just a short shuffle to the dormitory. Besides her own sister, Cixi also brought young girls from relatives’ families to the palace to play, all staying in this Qingshou Hall, including Princess Rongshou, daughter of Prince Gong Yixin, and the Fourth Princess of Prince Qing Yikuang. Qingshou Hall is now locked, no entry allowed.
On the north wall of Qingshou Hall’s courtyard is a glazed wall gate; stepping through it takes you to Jingfu Palace.
Jingfu Palace was built in the 28th year of Kangxi (1689)—as mentioned before, Kangxi built it for his father’s principal wife, Empress Dowager Renxian. When Qianlong constructed his retirement complex, he rebuilt this Jingfu Palace, and there was another renovation in the 17th year of Guangxu.
The architectural form of Jingfu Palace is exceptionally refined within the Ningshou Palace area. According to official description, it’s a square hall five bays wide, resting on a white marble Sumeru pedestal, with a broad moon terrace in front. Like Leshou Hall, Jingfu Palace also has special architectural features, though these are on the outside. Its roof is a triple layered roll-shed hip, also called a “yuanbao (sycee) roof,” the only one of its kind in the imperial palace. Additionally, the column bases of the surrounding veranda are carved with lotus reliefs, unlike the plain bases elsewhere. Qianlong built Jingfu Palace with the intention of entertaining guests here after his abdication—in other words, to serve as a state banquet hall.
Tucked immediately behind Jingfu Palace is a two-story building, somewhat like a rear screening building or a back-hall annex. This is Fanhua Lou, and that word ‘Fan’ (Sanskrit) tells you it’s a Buddhist chapel. It’s a Six-Class Pavilion of Esoteric and Exoteric Gelugpa Buddhism, also called the Wondrous Auspicious Grand Jewel Pavilion. Fanhua Lou has a seven-bay-wide ground floor with the central bay open. The lower central bay houses a Ming-dynasty gilded bronze sandalwood Buddha statue moved here from Beijing’s Sheng’an Temple—a Chandana image, said to be the first-ever statue of Shakyamuni carved from sandalwood, with water-ripple patterns. The upper central bay enshrines a gilded wood-carved statue of Tsongkhapa, the Gelugpa patriarch. The other six bays represent the Six Classes. Each bay contains a stupa, above which a skylight opens to the upper floor. On the ground floor, protective deities are enshrined; above, the main deities. Together, upper and lower form one class of the Buddha pavilion. The Six Classes are one Exoteric division and four Esoteric divisions of Tibetan Buddhism, with the Esoteric Anuttarayoga Tantra further divided into father and mother tantras, making six in all. Inside the Forbidden City, there were four such Six-Class pavilions: Huiyao Lou in Jianfu Palace was destroyed by fire in 1923; Danyuan Lou behind Yuhua Pavilion also burned in the Jianfu Palace fire; another is Baoxiang Lou, the east side hall of Xianruo Hall in the Cining Palace garden. I won’t dwell on the two burned ones. As for Baoxiang Lou, its statues and thangkas largely left the palace and were lost. Only Fanhua Lou here in Ningshou Palace has its complete furnishings, making it the most intact Six-Class Pavilion in the world today. Outside the imperial palace, the Chengde Mountain Resort also has four Six-Class pavilions, but their statues and thangkas have also been lost.
The courtyard of Jingfu Palace is enclosed by a covered ambulatory, which doubles as a connecting corridor. Its main entrance is not the wall gate on the north wall of Qingshou Hall we just passed, but the festooned gate on the west corridor—the Jingfu Gate. Outside Jingfu Gate is a small court containing the famous “Culture Peak” rock, inscribed by Qianlong with his poem “Ode to Culture Peak.” This rock is not an imperial garden stone from the Lake Dongting flower-and-rock fleet, but rather came from the Western Hills of Beijing. In the 41st year of Qianlong (1776), the emperor acquired this stone and set it up here, composing the poem to commemorate it; in the poem, he once again mentions abdicating after sixty years of rule. There was a reason Qianlong limited his reign to sixty years: he had once ordered the imperial astronomers to calculate the celestial omens, and the result was that on the first day of the first month of the sixtieth year of Qianlong (1795), there would be a solar eclipse, and on the fifteenth a lunar eclipse. With both sun and moon devoured and turned to manure by the celestial dog that first month, it would be ominous for the old emperor’s rule, so he decided to relinquish power before the moon was swallowed, nominally abdicating to his fifteenth son, Yongyan, while retaining actual authority as Retired Emperor. The first recorded abdication in Chinese history was Yao yielding to Shun; Qianlong’s abdication to Jiaqing was arguably the last. Ancient abdications were voluntary; later ones were often forced, but Qianlong’s yielding to Jiaqing was still voluntary—Emperor Yao set a noble precedent, and Qianlong rounded out the tail.
From this Culture Peak rock and heading north, there is another small tower, Furi Lou. This is yet another Buddhist chapel. While Fanhua Lou enshrines Tibetan Buddhist images, Furi Lou houses esoteric Buddhist statues, namely the Five Dhyani Buddhas.
From the Culture Peak rock heading west, you reach Jingqi Pavilion, the one we saw earlier from the middle path of Ningshou Palace area behind Yihe Xuan. All these palaces, chambers, and courtyards are not open, and even jumping up outside the walls won’t let you see inside; the descriptions above are all records of hearsay.
Among the aforementioned buildings, the most famous is Jingfu Palace. The phrase “Jingfu” comes from the Book of Songs: “With offerings and sacrifice, we beseech boundless blessings”—the sense of supreme fortune. During the Three Kingdoms period, Cao Cao’s son Cao Zhi was immensely talented, often startling his father with his poems. Cao Zhi wrote five “Drum Dance Songs,” the fourth of which ends with the line “May the sage sovereign live long; may boundless blessings forever come.” Cao Cao’s other son Cao Pi was immensely daring; he snatched the dragon throne and two daughters of Emperor Xian of Han and set himself up as Emperor Wen of Wei, later passing the throne to his son Cao Rui, who became Emperor Ming of Wei. When Emperor Ming wanted to travel east from Luoyang to Xuchang, he refused to stay in a Xuchang hotel and had an imperial lodge built there, within which was a hall named Jingfu Hall, borrowing his uncle Cao Zhi’s auspicious wish that “boundless blessings forever come.” Cao Cao’s adopted son He Yan even wrote a “Rhapsody on Jingfu Hall” full of ornate phrases. That may be the earliest known palace named Jingfu in ancient China; Kangxi likewise borrowed the Book of Songs allusion to name this hall Jingfu, hoping Empress Dowager Renxian would enjoy blessings while living there. The empress dowager lived to seventy-four, so she indeed enjoyed many blessings, despite being unloved as the Shunzhi Emperor’s consort. During Guangxu’s reign, when Qianlong’s Tanhua Pavilion in the Summer Palace was rebuilt, they again used the Book of Songs allusion and built a Jingfu Pavilion there. In the early Ming dynasty, in the vassal kingdom of Joseon founded by King Taejo (Yi Seong-gye), he constructed a royal palace in Hanseong following the vassal-kingdom regulation of three gates and three courts, and also borrowed the Book of Songs allusion, naming it “Gyeongbokgung” (Jingfu Palace), with the main gate called Gwanghwamun (Guanghua Gate). I hear that nowadays South Korea even treats that gate as a national symbol, with brigades of tourists often visiting. At that time, Korea used Chinese characters as its script, so Hanseong, Gyeongbokgung, and Gwanghwamun are all in Chinese characters, and its culture was Han culture. It wasn’t until over a hundred years later, under King Sejong (Yi Do), that scholars and experts were organized to create a Korean script; even the royal proclamation announcing the new script was written in Chinese characters. You see, Korea’s kings followed the same naming pattern as China: the first ruler was called ‘jo’ (ancestor), and those after were ‘jong’ (lineage). However, today’s Koreans have forgotten their roots; the younger generation doesn’t recognize Chinese characters, so they have no understanding of their own history, nor recognize their ancestors. According to the truth that “without a written language there is no history,” Korean history should be counted from when King Sejong promulgated the new script, the Hunminjeongeum, which was the eighth year of the Joseon King Sejong (1443). You see, they used the Ming dynasty’s regnal year system; at that time, the reigning Ming emperor was Emperor Yingzong Zhu Qizhen.
Since all the above are not open, after seeing Yueshi Lou you have no choice but to return to the central axis and follow the covered corridor toward the back. Walk to Jingqi Pavilion, turn west, and there’s a small door. Enter that small door, and you’ll find the tragic Zhenfei Well.
Consort Zhen was a daughter of an eminent family, raised in Guangzhou with her uncle’s household. She was open-minded, forward-thinking, and resolute. In the 14th year of Guangxu (1889), the 13-year-old Consort Zhen and her 15-year-old sister Consort Jin were selected for the “Phoenix-in-the-Zao Palace,” initially being titled Zhen Pin and Jin Pin (concubines). In the 20th year of Guangxu, during Cixi’s 60th-birthday general amnesty, palace residents received favors, and the two concubines were promoted to consorts. Consort Zhen moved to Jingren Palace in the Eastern Six Palaces; Consort Jin lived in Yonghe Palace in the lane behind. According to Sinologist Sijing’s National Hearings Prepared for Multiplication, “Consort Zhen was naturally clever and likable, skilled in calligraphy and chess, and daily attended the emperor, eating and amusing herself with him—the Virtuous Ancestor especially doted on her.” In the 24th year of Guangxu, Emperor Guangxu planned the Hundred Days’ Reform to revive the Qing, and Consort Zhen allegedly supported him. But after just a hundred days, the reform was crushed by Cixi; Guangxu was confined to the Oceanside Terrace at Zhongnanhai. Consort Zhen was punished for involvement in the reform, caned, and confined to the Northern Five Places. In the 26th year of Guangxu, with the Eight-Nation Allied Army at the city gates, Cixi prepared to flee with the imperial family. At this time, the demoted Consort Zhen was unwelcome, and Cixi refused to take her, ordering someone to throw her into this very well, ending her life. After returning to Beijing, Cixi ordered Consort Zhen’s body retrieved from the well and buried in the court ladies’ cemetery west of the capital, posthumously honoring her as Imperial Noble Consort. After the death of Guangxu’s Empress Longyu, Consort Jin had Consort Zhen reinterred in the Consort Garden of Guangxu’s Chongling Mausoleum, and set up a spirit tablet for her in a small room south of Zhenfei Well—that’s the Huaiyuan Hall below.
During the Republican era, Puyi’s father, former Prince Regent Zaifeng, insisted that eunuchs could not touch a jade body and alleged that Consort Zhen had jumped into the well to preserve her chastity, rather than it being Cixi’s doing. Later, various related individuals spoke out frankly, and academic circles ultimately believe Consort Zhen indeed died after Cixi ordered her wrapped in a felt rug and thrown into the well. Zaifeng was merely covering up for his aunt Cixi, as if she hadn’t committed such cruel deeds. Beyond the east wall of Zhenfei Well’s small courtyard lies the rear yard of Jingqi Pavilion, also closed.
After seeing Zhenfei Well, walk out through the small Zhenshun Gate at the back, and you have officially exited the Ningshou Palace area.
This retirement retreat for the Supremely-Exalted Emperor Qianlong was never lived in by him, but Cixi moved in at age sixty. When Cixi lived here, she claimed she had returned governance to Guangxu, yet she continued to meddle unceasingly. In the 24th year of Guangxu, Emperor Guangxu the Virtuous Ancestor Zaitian issued the “National Clarification Edict,” launching the Hundred Days’ Reform. Within those hundred days, Guangxu issued edict after edict, wielding an axe against the old system, and Cixi was also affected. After the hundred days, legend says Cixi received a secret report from Yuan Shikai and suddenly, on a moonless, windy night, she secretly returned from the Summer Palace to the Forbidden City, dragged Guangxu out of Yangxin Hall, berated him furiously, and then confined him to the Oceanside Terrace at Zhongnanhai. In truth, Cixi’s coup against the reform had nothing to do with Yuan Shikai’s alleged betrayal, nor with Ronglu’s urgent return to the capital to report; there was no moonless, windy night. The reality was that Cixi had already returned to the palace two days earlier and told Guangxu she’d go back to the Summer Palace in a couple of days, lulling him into complacency. Then, early one morning, Guangxu was in Zhonghe Hall reviewing the sacrificial text he was to recite at the Altar of Land and Grain the next day. When he finished and emerged, guards and eunuchs led him to Leshou Hall in Ningshou Palace, saying the Empress Dowager invited him for morning tea. Who would have known that when he entered, Cixi would severely reprimand him, saying: “I had already granted you the reforms, but I never imagined you’d pursue them so radically. Truly, an unfledged youth can’t handle affairs securely; I shall resume the helm of state.” Thereupon, she placed Guangxu under house arrest, imprisoned Consort Zhen, and had Guangxu’s collaborators seized and beheaded—this was the Wuxu Coup after the Hundred Days’ Reform. During her scolding, Cixi mentioned that “the princes and weighty ministers in court all petitioned me to resume governance,” indicating that her faction had submitted memorials urging her to take back power. Afterwards, though Cixi released Guangxu and gradually advanced his reforms, the Qing dynasty was already in its terminal stage, beyond the cure of either tonic or purgative. In the 34th year of Guangxu (1908), Cixi proposed a constitutional monarchy and drew up a ten-year roadmap, but it never came to pass. Four years later, the Qing fell; the Mongol aristocratic constitutionalists who supported Cixi’s constitutional monarchy were no match for the genuine revolutionaries with real swords and guns of the Xinhai Revolution, and Empress Dowager Longyu issued the abdication decree on behalf of Puyi.
(To be continued)
