Admiring the Red Walls and Golden Tiles: The Imperial Ancestral Temple (Part 18 of the Ming and Qing Palaces)

The layout of the Ming Dynasty imperial palace followed the Zhou ritual of 'Five Gates and Three Courts.' These gates and courts all lay along the central axis, but Zhou rites also prescribed the arrangement of left and right facilities, such as 'Left Kitchen, Right Bathhouse'—the kitchen being on the left, the bathhouse on the right. On the eastern side of the palace, east of the Hall of Literary Glory, a large well called the Great Kitchen Well was dug; on the west side, west of the Hall of Martial Valor, a Bathing Virtue Hall was built. In addition, the Zhou rites included the regulation of 'Left Ancestral Temple, Right Altar of Land and Grain.' The Ancestral Temple is for ancestors, what ordinary families call an ancestral shrine. If you look closely, you will notice that surviving ancestral halls of major clans are always situated to the left of the main family residence—for example, the Chen Ancestral Hall beside Chen Fang's former residence by the Meixi Memorial Arch in Zhuhai.

Filial piety was paramount in ancient China, and ancestor worship was an essential part of it. As early as the Shang Dynasty, the ruins at Yinxu contain ancestral temple complexes that already exhibit the 'Left Ancestral Temple, Right Altar' pattern. The formalization of 'Left Ancestral Temple, Right Altar' came from the later Zhou rites. In the Zhou Dynasty, the ancestral temple consisted of several separate buildings—a compound with a main hall and side halls: the founding ancestor was placed in the center, with subsequent generations arranged in the 'zhao' (left) and 'mu' (right) sequence. King Wen was zhao, King Wu was mu. The Qin state’s royal ancestral temple, found at the Qin capital Yongcheng ruins, had already developed a fixed pattern. Unlike the Zhou temple, the Qin temple had a front hall for offerings and a rear chamber for spirit tablets, called the inner chamber. By the Eastern Han Dynasty, this layout had basically matured into the 'same hall, separate chambers' system.

When Beijing became the Great Capital of the Yuan Dynasty, an Imperial Ancestral Temple was also built. It was not located close to the Yuan palace, but inside the Qihua Gate of Dadu, roughly near present-day Chaoyangmen. Its layout blended Mongol customs with Han Chinese rites: west was superior, east inferior; same hall, separate chambers. There was a front hall for offerings and a rear bedchamber hall. The bedchamber had not seven or nine chambers, but eight.

The first Ming emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang, initially built an ancestral temple in Nanjing in the 'compound with separate halls' style, called the Four Ancestors Temple. Later, at the unfinished Ming central capital, a temple in the 'same hall, separate chambers' style was built, and subsequently the Nanjing temple was converted to the same style. In the eighteenth year of the Yongle reign (1420), when Zhu Di built the imperial palace in Beijing, he also constructed the royal ancestral temple. Its location was on the left side outside the Meridian Gate—that is, the Imperial Ancestral Temple now inside the Beijing Working People’s Cultural Palace.

Though outside the palace proper, the temple lies within the Imperial City. The area bounded to the east by the wall behind the eastern side rooms between Tiananmen and Duanmen and Meridian Gate, to the west by the wall on the west side of Nanchizi Street, to the north by the wall of East Chang'an Avenue, and to the south by the northern bank of the eastern section of the South Tongzi River—this whole tract is the present-day Working People’s Cultural Palace, and its central building is the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

Entering the Working People’s Cultural Palace from the east side of Tiananmen, you first encounter a vast grove of ancient cypresses, mostly planted in the early Ming Dynasty, six centuries ago.

The temple is surrounded by its own wall—a palace wall built of grey bricks, plastered and painted red on the outside. Above the wall, projecting corbels form the eaves, topped with a yellow-glazed-tile wall cap and ridge, with ridge beasts at the ends. According to ritual, the temple faces south, so its main gate naturally is on the south side.

This is a three-arched gate with a five-pavilion glazed-tile screen wall, with solid wooden doors bearing nine rows of seven columns—sixty-three—gilt door studs. Notice that it sits on a white marble Sumeru-style base, so you can also call it a “four-pillar, five-pavilion” glazed gate.

The old saying “side gates and the left path” actually has a source. Besides the main gate, large mansions must have side gates. If you recall, inside the palace, the central gates like the Gate of Supreme Harmony, the Hall of Supreme Harmony, etc., all have side gates—front left and right, middle left and right, rear left and right. Among these, the left side gate was superior; when one could not use the main gate, the left side gate was preferred—hence “side gate and left path.” In the palace, the left side gates were used by imperial princes and nobles, while other ministers could only use the right side gates. Originally, “side gate, left path” meant that although not as grand as the main gate, it was still a step above the right gate. Somehow, over time, its meaning shifted to “crooked paths and evil ways.” The temple’s main gate also has side gates. Look at the left side gate here.

This is a “two-pillar, one-pavilion” glazed screen gate with a chessboard-style door panel, much simpler than the main gate.

Standing in the central archway of the south gate, you can see the main gate of the temple.

Against the blue sky, the petal-shaped outline of the arch is silhouetted, and within the curve of the archway, the temple’s main gate and the three white marble bridges in front of it appear in a complete picture. This framing effect is called “guobai” (exceeding white), a characteristic of Chinese architectural aesthetics. Guobai uses the contour of a foreground building as a frame for the distant view, leaving a margin of sky and ground within the picture. Especially in archways, it can produce a kaleidoscopic effect, creating contrasts of near and far, solid and void, complexity and simplicity, light and shadow. This layout embodies the Chinese art principle of “viewing the general momentum from afar, examining the details up close,” as applied to building complexes. The gates of the Forbidden City also employ this guobai effect—look at how the Gate of Supreme Harmony is framed from the Meridian Gate.

Entering the temple’s south gate, you directly face the main gate of the temple.

This is a five-bay, three-opening princely-style gate. Beneath it is a five-chi-high white marble platform, surrounded by a balustrade of Han white marble. In front of the platform are three flights of steps with Han marble balustrades, the central flight being the imperial path. The gate hall is five bays wide and two bays deep, with the door panels set in the central row of columns. Above the hall is a bracketed, post-and-beam roof covered with yellow glazed tiles in a single-eave hip-and-gable style, with seven ridge beasts on each sloping ridge. Because this is the place to worship the ancestors of the reigning dynasty, the gate hall is of very high status.

Look at the platform base: white marble Sumeru-style plinth, Han marble balustrade with dragon-cloud carved pillars, and cloud-dragon reliefs on the baluster capitals. The platform also features dragon-head water spouts for drainage—those “water faucet” dragon heads.

Now look at the imperial path stone with its scenes of mountains and sea.

At the bottom are sea waves and a cliff, and above that, two hollow-bodied lions playing with a brocade ball, while in the high sky, two flying dragons chase a precious pearl. In folk symbolism, two lions draped in ribbons mean “good things come in pairs.” The pattern of two lions rolling a brocade ball on an imperial path stone is extremely rare, and I don’t recall seeing it in the palace proper.

Step inside the gate hall.

Doors are set in the central and side bays, while the end bays have solid walls. The doors are solid planks with nine rows, nine columns—eighty-one—gilt studs. The ceiling is a flat-coffered ceiling with gilded roundels of writhing dragons. The beams and lintels are covered with gilded double-dragon “hexie” (harmonious) style painting. The painting has been touched up in recent years; the gilded double-dragon hexie motifs are Qing dynasty remnants, now quite dim.

The gate hall is very spacious, but because the end bays are open, it feels a bit empty, as though something is missing. Indeed, something is missing. Originally, rows of green-dragon halberds stood in the east and west end bays of this gate hall. A green-dragon halberd has a crescent-shaped blade on one side; if it has blades on both sides, it is a square-sky halberd. If a square-sky halberd shaft is decorated with painted patterns, it is called a Square-Sky Painted Halberd—the weapon Lü Bu brandished. Inside each end bay of the gate, two rows of fifteen halberds each were set up—thirty green-dragon halberds per side. With the same number arranged in front and behind each side, the total was one hundred twenty halberds. This gate had no plaque, but because of these halberds, it was called the “Halberd Gate.” In the Ming Dynasty, there were twenty-four halberds per side, front and back, ninety-six in all; the Qing increased it to thirty per side, one hundred twenty total.

There is a story behind the halberd gate. The Zhou rites mention that when an emperor went on an excursion or camped, halberds would be set up to form a gate. Starting in the Tang Dynasty, setting halberds in front of a gate became a regulated system. The number of halberds indicated the rank of the resident inside. The highest was for ancestral temples, altars, and palaces—twenty-four halberds per side. Lower ranks had progressively fewer. It is unclear why in the early Qing the number at this halberd gate was increased to thirty per side, more than the Ming. Imperial green-dragon halberds were gilded iron; the halberds of other families were ordinary iron. In the twenty-sixth year of the Guangxu reign (1900), the one hundred twenty gilded red-shafted iron halberds at the temple’s Halberd Gate were looted by the Eight-Power Allied Forces invading China.

In addition to this temple, the Gate of Longevity in the Hall of Imperial Longevity in Jingshan Park is also a halberd gate. Located right on Beijing’s central axis, the Gate of Longevity was rebuilt during the 2016 restoration of the Hall of Imperial Longevity. A look at the halberd gate there can help you imagine the past appearance of the Halberd Gate at the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

In front of the Halberd Gate runs a stream, a section of the Outer Golden Water River. In the early Ming, there was no water under these bridges; it was during the Qianlong reign of the Qing that water from the Golden Water River was diverted here.

Seven white marble bridges span the river, complete with Han marble balustrades.

Directly in front of the Halberd Gate are three white marble bridges, as a set. The gate has left and right side gates, and in front of each is another white marble bridge. Look at the left side gate and its bridge.

On the outer sides of the left and right side gates are two well pavilions, each with a white marble bridge in front. Thus, there are seven white marble bridges in total. Look at the left well pavilion and its matching bridge.

Most well pavilions in the palace are four-cornered truncated-pyramid roofs; those in the Imperial Garden are four-pillar, octagonal truncated roofs. The Great Kitchen Well has a four-pillar round-ridge roof with a skylight. The well pavilions at the Imperial Ancestral Temple are six-pillar, hexagonal, single-eave truncated-roof structures with yellow glazed tiles, double horizontal tie beams, and bracket sets supporting a post-and-beam frame—both in scale and style, far more elaborate than those in the palace. In the palace, the truncated roofs of well pavilions have an opening to the sky. Look inside the ceiling of the temple’s well pavilion.

This truncated roof is closed, with a flat, painted hexagonal coffered ceiling. The top should originally have been open; I don’t know whether this ceiling was sealed in the early Ming or later.

The outer courtyard of the temple is planted with cypress trees; inside the south gate, the Halberd Gate plaza is also planted with trees, here pines, also planted in the early Ming.

The Halberd Gate is normally closed, opened only when the emperor personally officiates a sacrifice. Now the emperors have all lain down flat and will never come again, so the Halberd Gate will never be opened for us tourists. How then do we enter the temple to visit? We must use a side gate. In the past, the left side gate was used by princes and nobles, but those princes were swept into the dustbin of history by the 1911 Revolution. To prevent tourists from entering by the left gate and pretending to be big shots—like sticking onions in their nostrils to look like elephants—officialdom now has all tourists use the right side gate.

The left and right side gates are identical: single-bay, single-opening princely-style gates on a one-and-a-half-chi high platform, with bracketing and beam construction, a yellow-glazed-tile single-eave hip-and-gable roof, and five ridge beasts on the diagonal ridges. The architraves are painted in double-dragon hexie pattern, and the door is in the central columns.

After passing through the right side gate, look back.

Then glance at the rear of the Halberd Gate.

Turn around, and you face the majestic main hall of the temple.

As a royal ancestral shrine following the “same hall, separate chambers” system, there should be at least two buildings aligned north-south. The front one is the Offering Hall, the rear one the Bedchamber Hall—an extension of the “front court, rear bedchamber” concept in palatial architecture. Ancestors “lived” as spirit tablets in different chambers within the Bedchamber Hall. When descendants came to burn incense, kowtow, and hold sacrifices, the tablets were first invited out from the Bedchamber and brought to the Offering Hall, where they were seated together to enjoy the sacrificial offerings. This pattern was imitated by large clan ancestral halls among the gentry, which usually also had a front Offering Hall and a rear Bedchamber Hall, such as the Chen Clan Ancestral Hall in Guangzhou. But it was different in Shanxi, where many ancestral temples had only a bedchamber hall, like the Hall of the Holy Mother at the Jin Temple. Inside the Hall of the Holy Mother sit not tablets but statues. Their offerings were presented in an Offering Pavilion in front of the bedchamber hall—somewhat reminiscent of the “compound with separate halls” system.

The Offering Hall of the Imperial Ancestral Temple is extremely large and of very high status. It rests on a three-tier white marble platform, each tier four chi high, and each surrounded by a Han marble balustrade. Below the balusters, white marble dragon-head spouts drain water. The platform forms a wide ceremonial terrace. At the front of the terrace are three flights of steps with Han marble balustrades; the central flight is the imperial spirit path, called the “Divine Path.” On the east and west sides of the terrace are also balustraded steps for access. Look at the imperial spirit path.

Now examine the blue-stone carved relief on the lower tier.

At the top and bottom are sea waves and a rocky cliff; in the middle are six galloping dragon-horses riding the waves. The Book of Documents says, “When Fuxi ruled the world, a dragon-horse emerged from the river bearing a diagram.” The river was the Meng River, and the diagram was the River Map. Thus, “The dragon-horse is the essence of heaven and earth; in form, it has a horse’s body and dragon scales, hence it is called a dragon-horse.”

Around the base outside are more white marble dragon-head water spouts.

Step up onto the terrace.

This spacious terrace should have had ornaments—cranes, turtles, incense burners, and tripods of various kinds—but now all have vanished. Only a bronze cistern sits in a corner, though it shouldn’t be in that position; it was probably originally below the terrace.

The plaque reading "Imperial Ancestral Temple" hangs under the eaves of this Offering Hall. It is a gilded plaque with nine dragons and appears to be the calligraphy of the Shunzhi Emperor of the Qing. Whether it has always hung here or was moved later is uncertain.

This hall is eleven bays wide and four bays deep. In fact, it should be nine bays wide and four bays deep, surrounded by a closed ambulatory. Counting from the center to the sides, there is the central bay, the first side bay, second side bay, slightly narrower end bay, outermost bay, and the closed ambulatory. The central and first side bays have four-panel, six-frame partition doors; the other bays and ambulatory have grey-brick sills with four-frame partition windows. The latticework is of the three-cross, six-bowl pattern; the door panels feature ruyi-shaped wood carvings. Neither doors nor windows have gilded metal fittings. The roof is a double-eave hip-and-gable structure with yellow glazed tiles, supported by bracket sets and beams. Nine ridge beasts line each slope—equal to the Hall of Preserving Harmony inside the palace, just one level below the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Look at the chiwen (kissing-mouth ornaments) on the main ridge.

These are Qing-style chiwen. Notice the Xu Xun sword inserted into its back: the Qing version is slightly taller and slimmer; the Ming version was shorter, plumper, and slightly inclined inward. This suggests the hall was renovated during the Qing. Look at the Xu Xun sword: it is secured by a bronze gilt hook attached to a chain and a lock fastened with a nail to the roof tile. Such a grand set of gold chains exists only on the highest-ranking imperial halls.

Also, when you view the Offering Hall and the Halberd Gate from the front, the proportion of main ridge length to roof length differs slightly. The Halberd Gate’s main ridge appears a bit shorter, while the Offering Hall’s ridge looks longer. This is because the Offering Hall’s roof has a “pushing the mountain” feature, whereas the Halberd Gate’s roof does not. In ancient times, the main ridge of a hip roof was even shorter; during the Qin and Han, it was often less than one-third, even only one-fourth, of the roof length. By the Song Dynasty, main ridges began to lengthen. By the Ming, the standard was what we see at the Halberd Gate. For even larger roofs, to keep proportions harmonious, a structural technique called “pushing the mountain” was employed—pushing the gable outward, which lengthens the main ridge. By the Qing, pushing the mountain had become standard for hip-and-gable roofs, making the main ridge longer—usually over one-third the roof length. With this technique, the vertical ridge on a pushed-mountain roof is not straight in plan but slightly curved, though this is only noticeable from a height.

After viewing the exterior, you can buy a ticket to enter the hall. Go in through the door of the east first side bay—this time, we’re using the left door. Look inside.

The interior floor is made of “gold bricks.”

Notice the row of iron grating on the floor, resembling a drain cover. That gutter is not for drainage but is an ancient underfloor heating system. Originally it would have been sealed, with heated air passing through underneath—similar to the flue of a kang (heated brick bed) at Er Da Ye’s house in Kaoshantun. During the winter of the 1970s, this Offering Hall was once used, and later repairs lacked gold bricks to repave the floor, so these iron grates were added. Other grand halls in the palace also have such heating systems, but since those halls haven’t been used after the Qing, and recent restorations revived production of Ming-style gold bricks, the floors inside the palace halls remain intact.

The Offering Hall is four bays deep plus a closed ambulatory. Inside, there are only three rows of large columns: the front and rear eave columns and the central columns—the two rows of interior columns have been omitted, and the ambulatory columns have become wall columns. This results in a very spacious interior. These columns are plain wood—why plain instead of red-lacquered or gilded? Because all the wooden structure of this hall is made of golden-thread nanmu (Phoebe sheareri). The unadorned surface showcases the material’s quality. Nanmu is prized for the faint, shimmering thread-like patterns in the wood grain, like golden threads. These golden threads are likely resin crystals, and freshly sawn wood has a distinctive resinous fragrance. The nanmu here would originally have had a special surface treatment—probably coated with a layer of wax to bring out the golden-thread pattern while protecting it against the ravages of time. After centuries, the golden threads are no longer visible, and the surface has darkened considerably.

The central bay is extremely broad. All the wooden components—beams, brackets, coffered ceiling—are plain, unpainted. Originally, in the Ming Dynasty, there were gilded decorations on the beams and ceiling; faint traces can still be seen.

Moving outward through the second side bays, the woodwork is decorated with hexie-style painting, and the flat ceiling panels bear lotus flower paintings. These paintings are Qing additions—superfluous embellishment.

In the great halls of the palace, pillars rest on zhi-style (mushroom-shaped) column bases, which convey dignity and imperial grandeur. The same bases are used in the temple. But inside this Offering Hall, only the six pillars of the central bay have lotus-shaped column bases. Earlier, when I discussed the Palace of Tranquil Longevity, I mentioned the Pavilion of Spreading Happiness there, whose eave columns have lotus-shaped bases. That pavilion is not open to the public, but here at the temple you can see a real example of imperial lotus column bases.

In front of the rear eave columns inside the hall, musical ritual instruments are lined up. During ancient sacrifices, such instruments would have been played under the front eave corridor for Shao music. But these items are not old; they are modern replicas—bianzhong (bronze bells) and bianqing (stone chimes).

Look at the inscription on the central bell: “Zhonghua Hezhong” (Chinese Harmonious Bell), copied from the set unearthed from the tomb of Marquis Yi of Zeng.

On the walls hang four panels of imitation bronze relief, shallow bas-reliefs. These too are recent works, depicting the Four Celestial Guardians: Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise. Look at the Vermilion Bird panel below.

Today the Offering Hall is empty and bare. In the past, during sacrifices, each bay was furnished with a gold-lacquered throne, on which a spirit tablet was placed. These imperial consort tablets were called “divine masters.” In the Ming Dynasty, each emperor had one empress (his primary consort). In the Qing, an emperor could have both his beloved wife and later consorts seated. In front of each throne was an incense table, shared by the emperor and empress. On it were ritual bronze vessels—fu (food container), gui (food container), dou (meat container), and bian (fruit container)—holding offerings of both meat and vegetables. Meat included things like mouse stomach and chicken intestines; vegetables included celery and leeks; staples were corn and sorghum. Naturally, a deng (soup tureen) was placed in front of these dishes, so the imperial ancestors wouldn’t choke while eating and dare not continue, becoming “afraid to eat after choking.” Tableware was also provided: spoons and chopsticks (called chi and zhu) in the Ming; knife and fork were added in the Qing—all gold. Each imperial ancestor also had a jue (wine cup)—so much delicious food couldn’t go without wine. In front of this feast was a small bronze table called a zu, on which were placed the heads of an ox, sheep, and pig—this was called the tailao (grand sacrifice). The sacrificial animals were not bought from a supermarket; they were specially raised in a pen (lao). When the time came, they were beheaded and cooked, and the heads were presented here. The highest level was tailao, with ox, sheep, and pig heads; the next was shaolao, with sheep and pig; the lowest was called tesheng, with only a pig’s head. For common folk ancestor worship, families couldn’t afford a whole pig, so they would buy a roasted suckling pig from a shop to offer to the ancestors—a custom in Lingnan (southern China). Before these offerings was another incense table with the usual incense burner, candlesticks, and vase—the “five offerings.” In front of that was a bronze fei (basket), the silk basket, containing a piece of fine gauze called bo, made of heavy real silk. In heaven, the ancestors needed clothing as well as food, so they could be well fed and well clad. These ceremonial arrangements are not something I invented; they are recorded in the Ming and Qing Veritable Records. Today, such a complete set-up is no longer seen in Beijing. Perhaps during regional reenactments of the Grand Ceremony of Sacrifice to Confucius some items are displayed—I’m not sure if the Confucius Temple in Qufu has ever done so. Even if they have, the ox, sheep, and pig heads would certainly not have been specially raised, so they cannot be called tailao.

China has three extant Ming Dynasty great halls with all-golden-thread-nanmu structures: the Hall of Supreme Harmony in the Forbidden City, the Offering Hall of the Imperial Ancestral Temple, and the Hall of Eminent Favor at the Ming Changling Mausoleum. The Hall of Supreme Harmony was burned at the end of the Ming and rebuilt in the Qing using red pine, and its size was reduced compared to the Ming’s Hall of Imperial Supremacy. Of the three existing halls, the Hall of Supreme Harmony has the highest platform, the Offering Hall is the tallest, the Hall of Supreme Harmony is deepest, and the Offering Hall is widest. The Hall of Eminent Favor at Changling is roughly equivalent in scale to the Offering Hall. If the Hall of Supreme Harmony had not been reduced in the Qing rebuild, it would have been the largest. Now, seen from the front, the Offering Hall does appear slightly larger than the Hall of Supreme Harmony—and indeed it is. But standing on the square in front, the Hall of Supreme Harmony feels more imposing because its three-tier platform is much larger than that of the temple, twice as high.

On the east and west sides of the Offering Hall are side halls. Look at the east side hall.

It rests on a four-chi-high platform, with flights of steps in the center and on both sides of the front. It is fifteen bays wide and two bays deep, with a front portico. Above is a post-and-beam roof with bracket sets and yellow glazed tiles in single-eave hip-and-gable style, with five ridge beasts. Each bay has four-panel, four-frame partition doors with plain lattice cores in two-cross, four-bowl pattern. Look at the lattice pattern.

Stand under the portico to view it.

Behind the Offering Hall, on the same platform base, is the Bedchamber Hall.

Though the Offering Hall and Bedchamber Hall share the same platform, the height differs: the Bedchamber Hall has only two tiers. Therefore, to go from the Offering Hall to the Bedchamber Hall, you must descend one level. Look at the rear of the Offering Hall.

The central bay of the Offering Hall is very wide, but the door at the back is quite small. The balustrade on the third tier of the Offering Hall’s platform extends only to its back; then three flights of balustraded steps lead down to the Bedchamber Hall’s terrace, with the central flight being the spirit path with an imperial stone. Stand on the spirit path behind the Offering Hall and look toward the Bedchamber Hall.

The Bedchamber Hall is nine bays wide and four bays deep—meaning it lacks the closed ambulatory that surrounds the Offering Hall. It has a post-and-beam roof with bracket sets, yellow glazed tiles in a hip-and-gable style with pushed mountain. There are nine ridge beasts on each slope. The front central bay and first side bays have four-panel, four-frame partition doors with plain lattice in three-cross, six-bowl pattern. The second side bays, end bays, and outermost bays have grey-brick sills with floor-to-ceiling windows in the same lattice pattern. Each bay’s width is roughly the same as in the Offering Hall, but the doors and windows are smaller because each has three horizontal pierced panels above in the same lattice pattern. The beams and brackets are painted in hexie style—the brackets still with old paint, the beams and column tops newly painted. Originally, they would have had gilded dragons and phoenixes. This Bedchamber Hall is also a nanmu structure.

The Bedchamber Hall also has side halls on the east and west, each five bays wide, two deep, with a front portico. Bracketed beam frames, yellow-glazed single-eave hip-and-gable roof, five ridge beasts on diagonal ridges. The portico front and sides have steps with sloping stone ramps. These two side halls have very tall roofs, typical of Qing “big-head” buildings—remodeled during the Qing.

Descend from the Bedchamber Hall terrace and walk to its side.

Hey! Why is there only one tier of platform here? Actually, the Bedchamber Hall combines the lower two tiers of the Offering Hall’s platform. Go around to the back of the Bedchamber Hall.

Unlike the front of the Offering Hall, and unlike other grand halls in the palace, the rear of the Bedchamber Hall is neither solid nor has doors. Instead, each bay has a window on the back, a lattice window in three-cross, six-bowl pattern with a four-panel horizontal transom above. Look further back.

Here stands a palace wall, and in it is a glazed gate just like the one on the south side. This was the northern limit of the temple when Zhu Di first built it. Look at the door panels.

Solid plank doors, nine rows, nine columns of gilt door studs. The gilding is very old, probably Qianlong era. Since the gate is not open, you can see the back of the door panels from inside.

These are indeed solid doors, but the cross braces on the back are exposed. Like the south gate, this one has side gates as well; we still need to use the right side gate. Passing through, the area is already in deep shadow. In front you see white marble steps.

Once your eyes adjust to the dim light, the subtle arrangement becomes apparent.

On a morning visit, it looks like this.

This is the Tiao Hall, built during the Hongzhi reign by Emperor Hongzhi (Zhu Youcheng). Its form and scale are nearly identical to the Bedchamber Hall in front, except the front terrace is smaller.

Behind the Tiao Hall, space is cramped. I exited through the northern gate behind the Tiao Hall. On each side, east and west, there is an ancient cypress—these were personally planted by Zhu Di, the Yongle Emperor, in the eighteenth year of Yongle. Because of these two cypresses, the northern wall of the temple could not be moved. There were probably some buildings behind the Tiao Hall originally, remodeled into the Tiao Hall during the Hongzhi period.

The Tiao Hall is the rearmost building of the temple. By the time you finish viewing it, the sun starts to set. Some people will stand on one side of the Tiao Hall under the setting sun to take photos. Taking souvenir pictures at someone else’s ancestral shrine seems a bit odd—after all, this is a place where the dead “live.”

On barren trees in graveyards, you often see black crows perched—the famous corvids. On the roof ridges of the temple, they stand as well.

When a black crow stands on a branch, it usually means the sun is about to set. The same is true when one stands on the temple ridge: look, indeed the sun has already dropped to the eaves of the Halberd Gate.

The main hall of the temple in the setting sun.

Because there are no longer any imperial spirit tablets here, the hall does not feel gloomy; instead, it exudes a sense of awe.

At sunset, exit the temple. Turn back once more to see the Halberd Gate bathed in the glow of the sunset clouds.

Here’s a photo of the Hall of Eminent Favor at the Ming Changling mausoleum, taken from inside its front gate, the Gate of Eminent Favor.

This Hall of Eminent Favor is about the same size as the Offering Hall of the temple, though slightly shorter in height and without the pushed-mountain roof. Because the square in front of Changling is much smaller than the temple square, the hall doesn’t feel as imposing, but their volumes are nearly identical. The sacrificial chambers inside are still preserved—hopefully they are Ming originals.

After Zhu Yuanzhang, the Ming founder, conquered the empire, he began constructing an ancestral temple in Nanjing called the “Four Ancestors Temple,” starting sacrifices from his great-great-grandfather Zhu Bai Liu, a poor peasant from southern Jiangsu in the late Southern Song Dynasty. The four halls were for his great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather, grandfather, and father, and Zhu Yuanzhang bestowed lofty titles on them. The first, Zhu Bai Liu, was given the temple name Dezu (Virtuous Ancestor) and the posthumous title Xuan Emperor. In reality, this Xuan Emperor spent his life facing the loess, back to the sky, with sweat dripping into the soil every day. By Chinese tradition, the dynasty founder is called “Taizu” (Grand Ancestor) or “Gaozu” (High Ancestor), the second “Taizong” (Grand Ancestor) or “Gaozong” (High Ancestor), and all later emperors “Zong.” The Taizu and Taizong are the ancestors of the nation’s people. The founder’s forebears are all called “Zu.” Zhu Di usurped his nephew Zhu Yunwen’s throne; after his death, he was first named Taizong, but later Emperor Jiajing changed it to Chengzu (Complete Ancestor), leaving the Ming without a Taizong but with two Zu.

In the eighth year of the Hongwu reign (1375), Zhu Yuanzhang converted the Four Ancestors Temple into the Nanjing Imperial Ancestral Temple. Zhu Di copied and pasted the Nanjing temple to build the Beijing Imperial Ancestral Temple. The most important parts of the temple are the Bedchamber Hall and the Tiao Hall, both currently closed. In the past, inside these halls, behind the rear interior columns, each bay formed a warm, enclosed space called a “sacrificial chamber.” The deceased emperors and empresses of the dynasty ordinarily “lived” here—hence the name Bedchamber Hall—though of course only their spirit tablets resided, not living people. The Tiao Hall housed the ancestors of the founding emperor, hence its name “Tiao Hall.” After the reconstruction of the Hall of Imperial Longevity in Jingshan, a mock Qing sacrificial chamber was re-created; we can borrow a look from that.

In the Ming, there was one chamber per emperor and his primary empress. The Bedchamber Hall had nine bays, thus nine chambers to accommodate nine late emperors—this is the “same hall, separate chambers” system. The tablets of the earlier emperors would dwell in separate chambers daily, and on the appointed days they would together ride to the corresponding bays in the Offering Hall to receive sacrifice in the same hall. The Ming temple did not have a tablet for the Jianwen Emperor (Zhu Yunwen). When Emperor Chenghua (Zhu Jianshen) died and Emperor Hongzhi ascended, the nine chambers were full; there was no spot for the late emperor, Ming Xianzong. The ministers exclaimed, “How can our present imperial father lack a resting place!” Emperor Hongzhi then ordered the construction of a “Tiao Hall” behind the temple’s rear gate to serve as a bedchamber for the four ancestors of the founding emperor. That is the origin of the three great halls of the Beijing Imperial Ancestral Temple.

Ancient Chinese emperors had many names. They were born with a name like ordinary people, such as Zhu Yuanzhang. After ascending the throne, one could not address the emperor by name directly; his reign title was often used, like the Hongwu Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang. After an emperor died, the court would evaluate his life and assign a name to sum up his achievements—this was the posthumous title, like Emperor Gao for Zhu Yuanzhang. When his tablet entered the temple, he was given a sacrificial title for worship—this is the temple name. Temple names are “Zu” (Ancestor) and “Zong” (Ancestor), the ancestors in the temple, such as Taizu Zhu Yuanzhang. Inside the Bedchamber Hall, Taizu Gao Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang occupied the center; his descendants were arrayed on the left and right according to the zhao-mu sequence.

There was a major alteration to the Ming temple during the Jiajing reign. Emperor Jiajing (Zhu Houcong) had succeeded as a cousin, coming from a collateral branch. After taking power, he gave his biological father, Zhu Youyuan, the title Ruizong Xian Emperor and wanted to enshrine him in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. The ministers objected, and he failed. In anger, he had the Beijing temple rebuilt in the “compound with separate halls” style: eight separate temples for Taizu, Chengzu, and the three zhao and three mu. He built a temple for his father, Ruizong, outside the east side of the temple’s main gate, so that his father also had an ancestral hall. Because of Zhu Di’s cypresses at the north, the temple wall could not be moved, so construction took place within the walls. Meanwhile, inside the palace, to the west of the Hall for Imperial Worship, the Chongxian Hall was built, so his father would have a place of worship both inside and outside the palace, just like earlier emperors. This alteration offended heaven. Five years later, in the twentieth year of Jiajing (1541), the newly built temple was struck by thunder and five bolts of lightning, and all buildings were instantly burned. After the fire, Emperor Jiajing felt deep remorse, acknowledged his mistake, and during reconstruction reverted to the “same hall, separate chambers” system. When it was completed in the twenty-fourth year, he did not debate the ministers further but directly decreed: “No zhao-mu order, no generational sequence; only ethical order. Taizu in the center; on the left four in order: Chengzu, Xuanzong, Xianzong, Ruizong; on the right four in order: Renzong, Yingzong, Xiaozong, Wuzong.” This became the later arrangement of the nine chambers in the Bedchamber Hall, with Jiajing’s father, Ruizong, placed before Wuzong (Zhu Houzhao) and after Xiaozong (Zhu Youcheng). Ultimately, Emperor Jiajing succeeded in inserting his father into the temple. At this point, the four ancestors of Zhu Yuanzhang were moved to the rear Tiao Hall. In the twenty-sixth year of Jiajing, a fire broke out in the palace, and Empress Fang perished. In the twenty-ninth year, in an unprecedented act, Emperor Jiajing had Empress Fang’s tablet placed in the Imperial Ancestral Temple, into the fourth chamber on the west side, while moving Renzong (Zhu Gaochi) from the first west chamber to the Tiao Hall. Empress Fang is the only empress in history to have a tablet placed in the temple while her emperor husband was still alive. Jiajing was securing a spot for himself in the Bedchamber Hall, to prevent later generations from moving his father, Ruizong, to the rear. Emperor Jiajing, very sensitive about his collateral-branch succession and anxious not to be looked down upon, tried every means to squeeze into the legitimate lineage—a process later called the “Great Ritual Controversy.” The rebuilding in the twenty-fourth year of Jiajing was the last major construction of the temple. It is said that on a certain beam in the Bedchamber Hall roof, the inscription “Twenty-fourth year, fourth month of Jiajing” can still be found, proving that the temple buildings are over four hundred seventy years old. The current layout of the temple is the result of that Jiajing-period reconstruction, unchanged ever since.

In the first year of the Tianming reign (1616), Nurhaci founded the Later Jin and established his capital in Shenyang nine years later. The Manchus originally had no ancestral temple tradition; they placed ancestral tablets in the tangzi (shamanic shrine) to be worshipped during shamanic rituals. After Hong Taiji succeeded, in the ninth year of the Tiancong reign (1635), Dorgon, while campaigning against the Chahar Mongols, chanced upon the imperial seal “Treasure of Imperial Decrees,” taken from the palace when the last Yuan emperor fled north. Hong Taiji was overjoyed to receive this Yuan dynasty state seal, fainted with excitement, and upon waking decided heaven had bestowed a great mandate on him. He changed the dynastic name from “Jin” to “Great Qing,” inaugurated a new reign title, Chongde, and ascended the imperial throne holding the Yuan seal, asking people to call him “the Broadly Benevolent, Gentle, and Sagely Emperor.” He also built an Imperial Ancestral Temple outside the eastern gate of Shengjing (Shenyang). The Shengjing temple was similar to the “same hall, separate chambers” style: the front hall housed Taizu Wu Emperor Nurhaci, the rear hall the tablets of Nurhaci’s four ancestors—great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather, grandfather, and father.

When the Shunzhi Emperor entered the pass and took over Beijing, he immediately moved the tablets of Nurhaci (Taizu Wu Emperor) and Hong Taiji (Taizong Wen Emperor) from the front hall of the Shengjing temple into the Beijing Imperial Ancestral Temple. Only Nurhaci’s four ancestors’ tablets remained in Shengjing, known as the early Qing Four Ancestors Temple. In the fifth year of Shunzhi (1648), the emperor had the Beijing temple simply renovated, then moved the four ancestors’ tablets from Shengjing to Beijing; the Shengjing Four Ancestors Temple stood empty and was used as a warehouse.

In the Ming Bedchamber Hall, there was one chamber per emperor, with only his primary empress. Later, as more emperors accumulated and space ran out, tablets from Renzong Zhao Emperor (Zhu Gaochi) onward were relocated to the rear Tiao Hall. In the early Qing, the Shengjing temple also followed the Ming system of one emperor, one empress. Nurhaci’s empress was Hong Taiji’s mother, posthumously titled Xiaocigao Empress. After entering Beijing, Shunzhi granted Dorgon’s mother the title Xiaoliewu Empress, and her tablet was also placed in the temple. After Dorgon was posthumously condemned and stripped of his temple title of Chengzong, his mother’s tablet was removed, and the temple reverted to one emperor, one empress—this included the Shunzhi Emperor. When the Grand Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang died, although she had been merely a secondary consort of Hong Taiji, the Kangxi Emperor, her grandson, thought so highly of her that he gave her the posthumous title Xiaozhuang Wen Empress and insisted on placing her tablet in the chamber of Taizong Wen Emperor (Hong Taiji) alongside his principal empress, Zhe Zhe (posthumous title Xiaoduan Wen Empress). To balance things, Kangxi also had his own birth mother, a concubine of the Shunzhi Emperor, posthumously titled Xiaokang Zhang Empress, and both her and Shunzhi’s second empress, Xiaohui Zhang Empress, were enshrined in the Bedchamber Hall in the chamber of Shizong Zhang Emperor (Shunzhi). From then on, the Qing Bedchamber Hall had one chamber per emperor, but each emperor could have all his empresses (including those posthumously recognized) housed together. The most tablets in a single chamber were for Shengzu Ren Emperor Kangxi: his three empresses plus the Yongzheng Emperor’s birth mother, totaling four tablets. Another was Xuanzong Cheng Emperor Daoguang: his three empresses plus the Xianfeng Emperor’s adoptive mother, also four. By the time Emperor Guangxu took the throne, the central position was Nurhaci; on the east side were Hong Taiji, Kangxi, Qianlong, and Daoguang; on the west, Shunzhi, Yongzheng, Jiaqing, and Xianfeng—east being zhao, west mu. Consequently, there was no place for Guangxu’s imperial predecessor, Muzong Emperor Tongzhi. Instead of moving earlier emperors’ tablets to the rear Tiao Hall as the Ming had done, in the fourth year of the Guangxu reign (1878) the Bedchamber Hall was remodeled. The central bay remained with Taizu Gao Emperor Nurhaci; the other bays were each divided into two chambers, allowing seventeen former emperors plus the current one—meaning the Qing dynasty hoped to last eighteen generations. Yet Qianlong had placed twenty-five imperial seals in the Hall of Union, taking the number from the Book of Changes’ “the heavenly number is twenty-five,” praying for an everlasting dynasty of at least twenty-five generations. When Guangxu succeeded and Emperor Zai Tian with the Two Dowager Empresses decided not to have that many generations, eighteen at most—symbolizing the eighteen layers of hell, as if the Qing emperors were pretending to be judges in each layer.

In the Ming Bedchamber Hall, each chamber had two thrones, with a shrine behind. In the Qing Bedchamber Hall, each chamber had a number of thrones depending on how many empresses the emperor had. At the rear of each chamber was a shrine containing bedding, acting as the emperor’s bedchamber, with the spirit tablet placed inside. A yellow silk curtain hung over the shrine door, and outside stood the thrones. The thrones were armless chairs. During a sacrifice, the imperial tablets would be placed on the chairs and carried to the Offering Hall—this was called “the imperial ancestors attending the front hall sacrifice,” and the tablets traveled quite comfortably. The Tiao Hall was arranged the same way. During grand sacrifices, the four ancestors’ tablets were arranged with the highest generation in the center, the rest in descending order on both sides. By the Guangxu period, during grand sacrifices, the nine bays of the Offering Hall could no longer hold everyone; tablets were placed around the corners, with Daoguang and Tongzhi on the east wall, Xianfeng on the west wall.

There were tablets in the side halls, too, but not for emperors or empresses. In the Ming, the side halls contained fourteen meritorious officials: eight princes and seven dukes, including those who helped Zhu Yuanzhang found the dynasty and those who assisted Zhu Di in the Jingnan Campaign—such as Xu Da, Chang Yuchun, Mu Ying, and Hu Dahai. Almost all were military officers; the only civil official was Yao Guangxiao, who was later removed by the Jiajing emperor. There was an unwritten custom in the Ming: military officers were enshrined in the Imperial Ancestral Temple, civil officials in the Confucian Temple. The Qing east side hall housed princes of the imperial family, thirteen in total—including Daišan, Dorgon, Dodo, Yunxiang, and Yixin—each occupying one bay together with their principal consorts (the first wives only). The west side hall housed non-imperial meritorious officials, also thirteen, including Tuhai, Zhang Tingyu, Agui, Fuheng, and Fukanggan.

During the Shunzhi reign, renovations added painted decorations to the beams and brackets of the second side bays, end bays, and outermost bays of the Offering Hall, leaving only the central and first side bays with their plain nanmu surfaces and gilded hexie motifs. The most extensive Qing renovation of the temple occurred in the third year of Qianlong (1738) and lasted into the fourth year. It is said that on the roof beams of the Offering Hall, the inscription “Fourth year of Qianlong” can be found. This renovation replaced decayed wooden members, changed the roof’s glazed tiles, and repainted and recolored, but made no structural alterations. After that, the temple saw no further major overhauls, and the layout has been preserved to this day. So what we see now is the temple as it was over four hundred seventy years ago in the Jiajing period of the Ming, with a major renovation over two hundred eighty years ago in the Qianlong period of the Qing. Since then, only minor repairs have been done, nothing that could be called a major overhaul.

During the Ming and Qing, four grand sacrificial ceremonies were held each year, known as the “Great Offering at the Imperial Ancestral Temple.” They were held in the first month of each season—spring, summer, autumn, winter—which is called the “Meng month,” hence also “Four Meng Seasonal Offerings.” The grand offerings required the emperor’s personal participation; before each, he would fast for three days. In the Ming, this was done in the Hall of Martial Valor; from the Yongzheng reign of the Qing, in the Palace of Abstinence. The day before the great offering, before dawn, pigs, sheep, and oxen would cry out from the slaughterhouse, summoning the leaders of the Directorate of Ceremonial, the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, the Ministry of Rites, and the Court of the Imperial Banquets to witness the slaughtering and cooking. The slaughterhouse was right outside the south gate of the temple, at the foot of the Imperial City wall.

Look, at that crossroads is a pair of stone lions—I don’t know if they are original. And look at that well pavilion.

As the old saying goes, “Without Butcher Zhang, you wouldn’t eat pork with the bristles on.” When slaughtering pigs, boiling water for scraping bristles was drawn from this well. Like the two well pavilions inside the south gate, this is also a six-pillar hexagonal pavilion with yellow glazed tiles, bracket sets and beams, single-eave truncated roof. Look inside its ceiling.

The cover plate on this truncated roof is obviously a later addition, probably installed after recent repairs.

The slaughterhouse was east of the well pavilion, with its gate facing west. It was the equivalent of a modern meatpacking plant, handling only slaughtering, bristle removal, and butchering.

Cooking, boiling, steaming, and roasting were done at the Divine Kitchen at the west end of the Halberd Gate plaza. Look at the Divine Kitchen.

It faces east, sitting west, five bays wide, three deep, with bracket-beam construction, yellow glazed tiles, and a single-eave overhanging gable roof. Its ceiling is black—not black paint, but soot from the kitchen fires cooking large pieces of meat.

The day before the great offering, the emperor would as usual sit in the Hall of Central Harmony to review the ritual prayers and prayer tablets. After his review, the inscribed prayer tablets were sent to the Divine Treasury inside the temple for storage. Look at the Divine Treasury at the east end of the Halberd Gate plaza.

It faces west, sitting east, five bays wide, two deep, bracket-beam structure, yellow glazed tile single-eave overhanging gable roof.

On the night before the great offering, the temple’s three main halls would be prepared: incense tables, sacrificial tables, and musical instruments all placed in position. The imperial guard of honor would bring the ceremonial paraphernalia (lubu) out from Duanmen and line them up all the way from the Gate of Supreme Harmony to the south gate of the temple. Before sunrise, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices would go to the Gate of Heavenly Purity to invite the emperor. The emperor would emerge and board a palanquin—a very high-grade one called the liyu (rite carriage). Riding in the palanquin along the imperial way through the outer three halls to the Gate of Supreme Harmony, he would descend and board a carriage, also very high-grade, called the jinnian (golden chariot). The golden chariot was a carriage drawn by six horses, according to the Zhou rites: “The Son of Heaven drives six, feudal lords five, high ministers four, lower ministers three, officials two, commoners one.” At Luoyang, a “Son of Heaven driving six” burial was unearthed from an Eastern Zhou royal tomb, with a real chariot and the skeletons of six horses. At the tomb of the First Qin Emperor in Xi’an, a bronze chariot with four horses—a “four-horse peaceful carriage”—was found. For the great offering, the emperor would ride the golden chariot out of the Meridian Gate. Ming emperors initially rode to the temple’s Right Gate to enter; later, they passed Duanmen and used the newly opened Temple Street Gate. Qing emperors used the temple’s Northwest Gate. The temple’s Right Gate is between Duanmen and Quezuomen. Look outside the Right Gate—from the Duanmen side—the gatehouse is only three bays wide.

Inside the temple’s Right Gate, looking from the temple side.

Temple Street Gate lies between Tiananmen and Duanmen. Look outside the Temple Street Gate, on the Tiananmen side. Here the gatehouse is five bays wide, much larger.

Inside the Temple Street Gate, on the temple side.

The Northwest Gate of the temple is opposite Quezuomen, outside the east side of the Meridian Gate square. Look outside the Northwest Gate, facing Quezuomen.

For the great offering, whichever gate the golden chariot entered, the emperor would transfer back to the liyu palanquin and proceed to the south gate, dismounting at the Divine Path—called “descending the palanquin” (jiangyu). The Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, who had been jogging along, would promptly appear and guide the emperor through the left archway of the glazed main gate into the temple complex. Arriving at the Halberd Gate, the emperor would stop; to the east of the gate was a small structure called a woci (curtained resting place), also known as the “Little Golden Hall.” Here the emperor would sit and drink a cup of tea. Meanwhile, a ritual officer would fetch the prayer tablets the emperor had reviewed the previous day from the Divine Treasury and place them on the incense tables in the three main halls at the appropriate spots. An accompanying high duke would lead a group to the Bedchamber Hall, offer incense and bow to each ancestor, then move the spirit tablets (divine masters) of the former emperors and empresses from the shrines to the thrones in front of the shrines—those chairs. Then a prince with clan representatives would enter the Bedchamber Hall and carry the thrones to the Offering Hall—this was the ancestors “riding the thrones to attend the front hall sacrifice,” called “installing the divine masters.” Once all the divine masters were in place, everything was ready.

Standing outside the woci, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices would listen for reports that each step ahead had been completed satisfactorily. When all was ready, he would enter the curtains and request the emperor to proceed with the rites. The emperor would come out, wash his hands, then enter the left door of the Halberd Gate’s three doors, ascend the left steps of the Offering Hall, and enter the hall through the left door. Throughout, he used the left steps and left doors. Why couldn’t he use the central steps and doors? Because that was the Divine Path, the path by which the former emperors’ divine masters entered the temple.

During the great offering, the emperor’s prayer position was in front of the central bay. Besides attendants, those required to be present included certain clan relatives and core leadership group members: in the Ming, Grand Secretariat officials; in the Qing, Grand Secretaries. Other accompanying personnel stood on the terrace and in the square outside the hall. All former emperors and empresses within the hall faced south; all the living faced north. When everyone was in position, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices ordered the musicians to play mourning music, and the ceremony began. First, the emperor offered incense to the former emperors and empresses, starting from Taizu and proceeding according to the zhao-mu sequence. Because the hall was seated full of ancestors, this process in the Guangxu period took an hour. After the emperor finished offering incense, he returned to his prayer position and silently took ten deep breaths—a brief respite. Only when the minister saw the emperor’s complexion return to a healthy flush did he dare to announce the next part. “Kneel—bow—bow again—bow once more—rise—dust off.” This was repeated three times: the famous “three kneelings and nine prostrations.” Everyone inside and outside the hall had to follow these commands, including eunuchs, maidservants, palanquin bearers, and butchers.

Offering incense was like sending up signal smoke. The ancestors in heaven, seeing the smoke rise, knew their descendants were coming with offerings, so they would ride clouds to the Offering Hall, find their tablets, and alight on those chairs. The emperor led everyone in the three kneelings and nine prostrations to welcome the ancestors; then the offerings began. Various servers brought in meat dishes and vegetarian fare, rice and steamed buns, dried and fresh fruits, sorghum wine and beer, heads of pigs, sheep, and oxen, and bolts of silk and satin. While the ancestors enjoyed the feast, music and dance accompanied them. The music was “Pacifying Tune,” not dirge but something like a requiem, extremely slow-paced. The dance was the “Shield and Axe Dance,” with shield (gan) and axe (qi)—a military-style dance, performers holding a shield in one hand, an axe in the other.

After all dishes were presented, the prayer-reader official arrived, equivalent to a royal spokesman. He first knelt beside the prayer table, kowtowed three times, then everyone knelt, and music and dance stopped. The spokesman chanted the prayer words pasted on the tablet. The text was full of obscure and variant characters, and with the spokesman’s southern Fujian accent, nobody understood what he was reading, and nobody dared ask. The ancestors who couldn’t understand wanted to question but dared not open their mouths, fearing the entire hall would flee and take all the offerings with them. After the spokesman finished, he walked to Taizu’s tablet, kowtowed three times more, and presented the prayer tablet. With the prayer concluded, music and dance resumed—the same tune, but now the military dance switched to a civil dance: the Eight-Row Dance (bayi), eight rows of eight columns, sixty-four people with long sleeves swirling gracefully—or rather, a bit randomly. Zhou rites dictated eight rows for the Son of Heaven, six for feudal lords. During the Spring and Autumn period, as ritual and music collapsed, Confucius condemned the usurpation by the Ji Sun clan of Lu: “If one can bear to have eight rows dance in his hall…” Confucius’s “bear” (ren) meant “tolerate heart,” not “endurance.”

After the civil dance, another round of wine was offered to the ancestors. This time, “Spreading Peace” (Fuping zhi zhang) music played, and the “Feather and Bamboo Dance” (Yulun zhi wu) was performed. Spreading Peace was still a requiem, but in a different key, like a second movement; the feather-and-bamboo dance was a civil dance using feathers. Another offering of wine followed, with music and dance changed again. These three rounds of wine and offerings constituted the “Triple Libation.” After the third round came the final rite: “Drinking Blessings and Receiving Sacrificial Meat.” The “blessing” was a blessed wine served in a jue cup, offered by the emperor at Taizu’s tablet. The “meat” was sacrificial meat—plain boiled pork. The earlier three rounds were offerings for the ancestors; this final act was to seek their blessings: let the ancestors eat and drink their fill, then request their help. In Chinese custom, asking someone for a favor is always done at the dining table, and for the same reason—invite the honored ones to drink blessings and receive the meat.

After this came the closing. The Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices stepped forward, knelt, and reported to the divine masters that the sacrificial ceremony had concluded. He could not forget to say, “What you have left we will take to eat.” Only then could the leftover offerings be removed—yet they found the ancestors had not consumed any of it; everything remained untouched. After the offerings were taken away, the emperor led everyone once again in the three kneelings and nine prostrations, saying “Goodbye” to the ancestors. The spirit tablets, placed in their thrones, were carried back in order to the rear Bedchamber Hall, returning to their respective shrines—called “escorting the divine masters back to the palace.” Then minor attendants came to collect the prayer tablets, silk gauze (bo), and incense stubs, sending them to the large furnace east of the side hall to be burned. That glazed furnace originally stood where the east side hall’s front area is now, but it no longer exists.

Today, at the southern end of the west side hall, you can see a grey-brick carved burnout furnace. This furnace was used for burning offerings during ceremonies for the side halls.

Back to the closing of the great offering. Before the fire in the furnace died out, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices would jog back into the hall and loudly declare: “The Grand Offering of the X year, X month is completed.” This was the final announcement. The emperor exited the Offering Hall through the left door, descended the left steps, passed through the left door leaf of the Halberd Gate, then the left arch of the south gate. He entered the waiting liyu, transferred to the golden chariot, then back to the liyu, and returned by the same route to the Gate of Supreme Harmony. The accompanying princes and dukes saw the emperor off at the Golden Water Bridge inside the Meridian Gate. Once the emperor passed through the Gate of Supreme Harmony, these officials went back to the temple gate to queue for free sacrificial meat, string it up, and take it home to make twice-cooked pork for their wives and children.

The entire great offering ceremony consisted of three segments: welcoming the gods, the triple libation with receiving blessings and meat, and sending off the gods. The great offering was the highest-level sacrificial ceremony. Equal in status to the four annual great offerings was the La Sacrifice (Xia Sacrifice, read xia, not blind sacrifice) on New Year’s Eve. Originally, the Xia Sacrifice only involved the four ancestors in the Tiao Hall. From the fourth year of Shunzhi (1647) in the Qing, the divine masters of the Bedchamber Hall also attended the Xia Sacrifice, making it equivalent to the great offering.

Apart from these grand ceremonies, the emperor would occasionally come to the temple to perform a “reporting sacrifice” (gaoji), also called zhigao. Zhigao (read zhi) means to respectfully inform the ancestors. The emperor would report on ascending the throne, marriage, or celebrating a birthday. Marriage included not just the installation of the empress but certainly also the granting of titles to consorts. Before setting out on a military campaign and after returning in triumph, he would also report. If he suffered defeat and returned in shame, he certainly wouldn’t come personally but would send an official as proxy. Other matters to inform the ancestors were also delegated to officials. For reporting sacrifices, the emperor would only perform the rites at the Bedchamber Hall, sending officials to the Tiao Hall.

The Qing was China’s last feudal dynasty, and the Imperial Ancestral Temple was the final royal ancestral temple in Chinese history. The temple’s sacrificial regulations inherited the traditional Chinese filial rite of ancestor worship, with some humane reforms. In ancient times, when kings built temples to offer sacrifices, it was said the Son of Heaven personally wielded a knife to slaughter the pigs and sheep. Moreover, before going to war, after reporting at the temple, the king would even place the ancestors’ tablets on a war chariot and take them into battle, seeking their divine protection. By the Ming and Qing, such practices had ceased. In the Qing, all the emperor’s empresses were worshipped together in the chamber, achieving a certain openness, fairness, and impartiality. Also, the Qing no longer practiced moving earlier tablets to the Tiao Hall; when the Bedchamber Hall ran out of space, it was remodeled instead of displacing previous emperors—only the four founding ancestors remained in the Tiao Hall.

The Imperial Ancestral Temple embodied two concepts: “serving ancestors as if they were gods” and “serving ancestors as if they were living people.” Ancestors were treated as gods, receiving offerings in the Offering Hall; and also as still living, with regular reporting visits to the Bedchamber Hall.

The New Year’s Eve Xia Sacrifice, a time of bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new, and also the arrival of spring, if accompanied by an auspicious snowfall, presaged a bountiful year to come. Ancestors bless the flying snowflakes.

Pines bend under their white burden.

Jade steps and red balustrades look charming,

Frozen clouds congeal into dazzling beauty.

Vermilion, orange, yellow, green—a noble palette;

Willow catkins and goose feathers rush to comfort the cold.

Golden halls and jade steps blanketed by snow,

No plum blossoms seen at the red wall’s corner.

On the last day of the year, pear blossoms drift,

In the distance, Shao music fades.

A thousand years, countless emperors gone,

No descendants come to keep them company.

The cold day, the snow is thickening,

Old and young play, forgetting fatigue.

I improvise a verse of “Buddhist Dancers” as “New Year’s Visit to the Imperial Ancestral Temple for Snow Viewing.”

The Imperial Ancestral Temple is the highest-ranking ancestral temple extant in China—the Ming and Qing imperial ancestral temple. As part of the Ming and Qing imperial palace, it was inscribed as a World Cultural Heritage site in 1987.

Inside the Forbidden City, the last official large-scale event was, as I mentioned in the Hall of Supreme Harmony episode, the surrender ceremony of the Japanese forces in the North China Theater on October 10, 1945. The last official event at the Imperial Ancestral Temple was in the 1970s. On January 8, 1976, Premier Zhou Enlai passed away. On January 11, his body was cremated, and hundreds of thousands of Beijing residents lined the ten-li-long avenue to bid him farewell. Subsequently, Premier Zhou’s ashes were placed in the front hall of the temple, where a mourning hall was set up. From January 12 to 14, people from all walks of life in the capital, representatives from across the nation, and foreign diplomatic envoys poured in continuously to pay their respects. The United Nations Headquarters flew its flag at half-mast in mourning for Zhou Enlai. Look at the scene from that time.

The Working People’s Cultural Palace is a venue under the Beijing Municipal Federation of Trade Unions. Before reform and opening up, during the May Day holidays each year, the palace held garden parties. Even now, around May Day, the trade union organizes exhibitions showcasing workers’ cultural activities—calligraphy, painting, photography, and so forth. I’ve had the honor of participating in a few photography exhibitions there. Additionally, Beijing’s model workers over the years are announced here, with dedicated galleries outside the temple displaying their photos and deeds.

It is said that this year (2022), the Imperial Ancestral Temple will begin a major renovation, with plans to restore its Qing-era appearance. I imagine it will become as gleaming and bright as the Hall of Imperial Supremacy in Jingshan Park, but it will certainly lose its sense of age. Such a renovation will surely take a long time—three to five years at least. After it is completed, it’s uncertain whether the front Offering Hall will still be open to visitors. So, if you want to see a Ming Dynasty golden-thread nanmu hall, you’d better hurry. If the hall is closed afterward, you’ll have to go to the Ming Changling in Changping to see its nanmu hall, which is as large as the Offering Hall here and brimming with patina.

By the way, although the Imperial Ancestral Temple is part of the Ming and Qing palace complex, it requires a separate ticket and is not closed on Mondays. Weekends bring crowds, but Mondays are also busy because those who can’t enter the Forbidden City on that day detour to the temple.

Ming emperors, Qing emperors’ ancestral hall,

A broad hall of fragrant nanmu.

Here I come roaming, carefree,

Hearing no wailing of ghosts.

All in all, as the “Left Ancestral Temple” of the ancient imperial “Left Ancestral Temple, Right Altar of Land and Grain,” the temple’s architecture is magnificent, its history long, and it is well worth a detailed visit.