Intricate paper-cuts adorn most homes to ring in the New Year. [Photo/VCG]
"Amid the crackle of firecrackers, the old year takes flight.
The spring breeze brings warmth, and Tusu wine brings delight.
On countless households, the morning sun gleams.
As fresh peachwood charms take the old ones' place."
In 1069, Wang Anshi, the renowned poet and statesman of the Northern Song Dynasty (960-1127), composed this poem to celebrate the arrival of a new year. Its jovial tone reflected Wang's own lighthearted spirit as he stood on the threshold of sweeping changes he initiated as vice-chancellor of the state.
The poem endures as a timeless expression of hope, memorized and recited by generations of Chinese during the New Year celebrations, including the coming one.
That hope is rooted in a seasonal promise. The traditional Chinese calendar aligns the New Year with the end of winter and the beginning of spring, hence the name "Spring Festival".
At the core of the calendar, which integrates both moon-based (lunar) and sun-based (solar) cycles of timekeeping, is an effort to harmonize agricultural and social practices with the rhythm of nature. The New Year marks the beginning of the farming season, as hope stirs beneath the thawing earth.
The calendar had evolved over thousands of years, so did Chinese New Year traditions. While the New Year begins at the stroke of midnight, the festive celebrations typically extend for weeks, and in certain areas, over a month, commencing days before New Year's Eve.
Everything Wang so vividly recounted — the customs his contemporaries embraced at this time of year — continues to thrive today. Here's the reason: Although China is no longer the agrarian society it once was, the yearning for the return of warmth, the joy of being with loved ones, the bond to the past, and the promise of renewal all endure — each beautifully symbolized by Chinese New Year.
The Chinese New Year celebrations usually last for weeks, featuring a variety of activities, such as adorning homes with red couplets, igniting firecrackers, ancestral worship and having reunion feasts. [Photo by Huang Zhi/for China Daily]
As Wang rightly noted, the old year would only depart at the ear-splitting sound of firecrackers — tiny thunderclaps that rattle street-level windows, send children cupping their ears in delight and leave a confetti of shredded red paper that once wrapped the fiery explosives.
Yet, few know that the firecrackers we recognize today only emerged during Wang's time, as gunpowder — first invented by the Chinese around the 9th century — advanced significantly due to the frequent warfare between the Song Dynasty (960-1279) and its neighbors.
Before that, the sharp, explosive sound was made by igniting dried bamboo stalks, which is why the Chinese name for firecrackers is bao zhu, meaning "bamboo burst". Alternatively, the resounding crack could be produced by snapping a whip, giving firecrackers the name bian pao, meaning "whip blast".
While the firecrackers create a chaotic symphony full of energy, it is not to delight the ears, but to drive away a ferocious beast, according to legend.
This beast, named Nian — the same character for "year" — once struck terror in the villages, until a wise old man discovered that despite its apparent invincibility, Nian feared three things — loud noises, bright lights and the color red.
Thus, firecrackers explode at night, candles flicker until dawn, and lanterns sway from every rooftop. The color red appears everywhere, from scarlet couplets and paper-cut window decorations to red envelopes filled with money, gifted to the younger generation as a blessing of good fortune.
How did Nian come to be seen as a force of destruction? Cultural historians have long pondered this, suggesting it may be tied to winter's unforgiving nature. Yet, with the arrival of the new year comes a gentle assurance — a chance to triumph over misfortune, the weight of the past, and the person we once were.
"All the passing years lay behind me, like distant mountain ranges … separating me from my childhood," wrote venerated Chinese author Ba Jin (Li Yaotang, 1904-2005) in Ring in the New Year (Guo Nian), recalling how, as a boy, he once burned his cotton-padded shoes with firecrackers during an unforgettable New Year's moment.
He confessed that even if he could return to that sweet childhood dream, he would not, for he had to confront the pain of his soul and his duty "to love his much-suffered countrymen and to fight for freedom and peace".
Ba Jin wrote this in 1934, during the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression (1931-45).
In those dark and uncertain times, Chinese New Year was no mere celebration. It stood as a testament to resolve, a solemn reminder that even traditions rooted in millennia could crumble if not fiercely protected, sometimes at the cost of life.
The Chinese New Year celebrations usually last for weeks, featuring a variety of activities, such as adorning homes with red couplets, igniting firecrackers, ancestral worship and having reunion feasts. [Photo/China Daily]
To preserve that heritage is the highest form of veneration for one's forebears, a tradition deeply embedded in the customs of Chinese New Year celebrations.
In Dream of the Red Mansion, widely regarded as one of the most accomplished novels of ancient China, author Cao Xueqin (1715-1763) vividly depicts the intricate rituals of ancestral worship performed by a prominent family of the era. Humbler households followed modest practices, offering food and incense to painted portraits of their ancestors displayed on a long table that served as an altar.
In China's rural villages, both past and present, these rites are often conducted in communal temples dedicated to shared ancestors.
It's worth noting that ancestral temples were often the first structures built by early Chinese immigrants, some of whom crossed the Pacific in engineless junk boats nearly 150 years ago.
On America's West Coast, where early Chinese immigrants endured severe forms of racism — including nearly 500 anti-Chinese riots in the 1870s and 1880s, mostly in California — the temples served as spiritual sanctuaries.
For these communities, celebrating Chinese New Year constituted a profound expression of cultural identity, a means of resisting assimilation.
A black-and-white photograph shows Chinese immigrants perform a dragon dance on a bustling American street to celebrate the festival in the early 20th century. [Photo/China Daily]
In an early 20th-century black-and-white photograph of the festival, a puppet dragon weaves in serpentine movements down a bustling American street, flanked by storefronts adorned with English signs.
Performed during Chinese New Year celebrations for over a millennium, the dragon dance likely evolved from ancient rituals meant to invoke the blessings of the dragon, a symbol of power believed to bring rain and ensure a bountiful harvest.
The performers in the picture, manipulating the dragon puppet made of cloth stretched over a multi-segmented bamboo framework, likely practiced this tradition in their native Chinese villages before emigrating to the United States, where many usually found work as railroad builders and laundry workers.
Chinese New Year became one of the rare occasions when these hardworking yet often-overlooked individuals could make their presence known — loudly and proudly. That's perhaps why, even when local ordinances forbade firecrackers, some defiantly banged pots and pans, reclaiming a space for their cultural memory, both in and outside the Chinatown.
By honoring that collective memory, they passed it down to their descendants who, not without much struggle, forged a new identity in their adopted home to carry that heritage forward. Over time, they transformed the festival into a global phenomenon participated by the Chinese diaspora worldwide.
The Chinese New Year celebrations usually last for weeks, featuring a variety of activities, such as adorning homes with red couplets, igniting firecrackers, ancestral worship and having reunion feasts. [Photo by Zheng Junbin/for China Daily]
Emotional bond
An indispensable part of this phenomenon is tuan yuan fan, or "the reunion feast", shared by all family members on Chinese New Year's Eve.
In many parts of northern China, this celebration includes eating dumplings — round, palm-sized dough wrappers filled with minced ingredients and shaped like ingots, symbolizing wealth. Occasionally, a coin is hidden inside one of the dumplings, promising extra luck to the fortunate diner who discovers it.
Yet, it is the making of dumplings that truly brings the family together on an emotional level.
Scattered across the vast country, many family members may not have seen one another for an entire year. As they gather around the table to knead, roll, and fold the dough, conversations flow, banter sparks, and laughter fills the room. Personal stories — both triumphs and travails — are shared, and fond memories of the past resurface, while dumplings are taking shape in their hands.
For the Chinese, Spring Festival is the heartbeat of connection, a time to rekindle bonds strained by the rush of life.
The first days of the New Year are spent visiting family, friends and associates, each gathering contributing to the vibrant tapestry of relationships that lies at the core of Chinese existence.
In southern China, rice cakes, known as nian gao — which sounds like "year high" in Chinese — are a staple of Spring Festival, symbolizing progress for the coming year. They are complemented by tang yuan, glutinous rice balls with a sweet flavor that embody the joy of family togetherness.
Then there are Spring Rolls — golden, crispy dough wrappers encasing a delightful mix of vegetable sprouts — and fish, a dish whose name shares the same pronunciation as a Chinese character symbolizing surplus and abundance. Interestingly, on New Year's Eve, the head and tail of the fish are often left uneaten, symbolizing the wish for a good start and end to the coming year.
Visiting temple fairs and making dumplings together are also significant parts of the family reunions. [Photo/VCG]
In his brief yet evocative memory piece, The Spring Festival in Beijing, Lao She (Shu Qingchun, 1899-1966), writer and contemporary of Ba Jin, describes the making of pickled garlic, which takes on a vibrant hue "as green as emerald jade". This garlic, traditionally called la ba suan, is named after la ba, the eighth day of the 12th month in the traditional Chinese calendar, while suan simply means garlic.
The ancient custom dictates that the intense preparations for the New Year begin on the eighth day of the 12th month. This marks the start of the final rush to ready the household for the celebration, including housecleaning, stockpiling food, and making new clothes.
Long before the era of burgeoning prosperity, Chinese New Year was a celebration of the truly "new". It was the one time of year when people received new clothing, often lovingly handmade by the women of the family.
For children, the thrill of wearing something fresh and unspoiled brought pure joy.
In a world where newness was a rarity, the festival magnified its allure — new clothes, new beginnings and a renewed sense of beauty that quietly shone.
On the 23rd day of the 12th month in the Chinese calendar, the Kitchen God — who, according to legend, oversees the household — is sent to heaven to report to the all-powerful Jade Emperor on the family's behavior over the past year.
To bid him farewell, the family typically offers food including sticky sweets like malt sugar, to ensure his lips remain sealed and no misdeed, if any, is revealed. This send-off is followed by a spirited welcome-back on New Year's Eve amid sounds of bursting firecrackers.
Also on this eve, Tusu wine, as mentioned in Wang's poem, is poured in certain parts of China. In keeping with tradition, this fermented herbal drink, believed to have a nourishing and detoxifying effect, is first sipped by the younger members of the family, marking the addition of another year to their lives. The older members drink next, acknowledging a year slipping quietly away.
In this ritual, the wine becomes more than a drink — it is a bittersweet reflection on the cyclical nature of time, where growth and loss intertwine.
The Chinese New Year celebrations usually last for weeks, featuring a variety of activities, such as adorning homes with red couplets, igniting firecrackers, ancestral worship and having reunion feasts. [Photo by He Huawen/for China Daily]
Cherished memories
With time's inexorable march, each moment with family becomes a cherished gem, stored in the memory chest.
The memories of Spring Festival are distinct to each generation, with every generation holding its own unique experiences, often quite different from those of the ones that came before or will come after.
In times of material scarcity, Spring Festival was a rare opportunity for a true feast, a prospect that children eagerly awaited for weeks, even months.
The meal was typically prepared by the family, and the hustle and bustle of the kitchen — the clatter of pots and pans, the aroma of food — enhanced the festive atmosphere.
For children, the very thought of a lavish banquet — a table laden with dishes — was enough to send their mouths watering and their imaginations racing, all amid the joyful chaos of a large family gathering.
Spring Festival was more than just a meal; it was the climactic culmination of a year's hopes and desires, brought to life in one unforgettable dinner, which would begin around noon and stretch on until midnight.
The scarcity began to ease in the 1980s, following China's reform and opening-up initiated at the end of 1978. These sweeping reforms, which significantly boosted economic development, also gave rise to a vast population of migrant workers. By the mid-1990s, their numbers had surged to hundreds of millions.
The labor migration from rural areas to industrial cities not only drove China's economic boom but also profoundly altered rural life and social structures, reshaping traditions such as Spring Festival in lasting ways.
For migrant workers and the families they have left behind — parents, spouses and children — Spring Festival is no longer a pause in agricultural labor but a much-cherished time for reunions, a brief chance to close the distance imposed by economic necessity.
Parents return home with stories of the bustling cities, offering glimpses into a world far removed from the tranquil rhythms of village life. The children, who ache for their parents' presence, savor the moment as they also brace for another farewell.
Before the advent of high-speed railways, the massive flow of people in the days leading up to Spring Festival turned train rides into a grueling ordeal.
Railway stations are bustling with passengers during the holiday. [Photo/Xinhua]
The carriages were packed to the brim, with the narrow walkway running through the middle of the train entirely occupied by passengers holding "standing tickets", which condemned them to long hours — sometimes 10 or more — on their feet. The crowd was so dense that trying to cut through it felt like a hopeless endeavor. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, and, every so often, a weary groan would rise above the murmur of voices, as exhaustion took its toll on the travelers.
As if the journey itself weren't challenging enough, nearly everyone carried giant packages — gifts for loved ones, in an era when what was available in one part of the country might be impossible to find in another.
Among the passengers were students returning home for Spring Festival and winter holiday, their parents waiting on the arrival platform, sometimes in temperatures as low as -30 C.
These experiences gradually fade into memories. Today, children no longer eagerly anticipate the festival for a taste of candy, and Spring Festival may even be spent on a sun-kissed beach, far from home.
Yet, the relentless tide of urbanization and the fast pace of modern life means that separation has become more frequent and inevitable, making each reunion all the more precious.
Those who have been through life's trials appreciate the deeper significance of such an occasion like Spring Festival.
Life is not always kind or easy. Spring Festival can neither erase struggles nor lift burdens but it offers solace — a gentle balm for the weary soul, a moment of comfort and warmth to brighten life's winter nights.
Snake-themed paper-cuts are popular. Railway stations are bustling with passengers during the holiday. [Photo/Xinhua]
Illuminating ritual
It has long been a tradition for people — except young children — to stay awake throughout the night beginning from Chinese New Year's Eve. This custom, known as shou sui or the New Year's vigil, reflects a deep desire to safeguard what's most valued. The glow of lights is also expected to illuminate the path home for loved ones.
"The candlelit lamp's faint flame, obscured by the curtain, fades and dies; the incense on the brazier burns to ash and sighs." This is how an 8th-century Chinese poet beautifully depicts the stillness near the end of shou sui, as the long vigil approaches its close and night yields to dawn.
About 340 years later, Su Shi (1037-1101), a much-revered polymath of the Northern Song Dynasty and a contemporary of Wang Anshi, composed another poem for the occasion, under the title Shou Sui.
"To sense the year's end approaching; is like seeing a snake slipping into a ravine. Half its scaled body has already vanished away; who can stop its journey, or make it stay?" prompted Su, whose influence on Chinese culture as a poet, prose writer and painter is hard to overestimate.
It's interesting to note that according to the Chinese zodiac, the upcoming New Year, beginning on Jan 29, marks the Year of the Snake, often referred to in Chinese culture as the "dragon minor". This connection stems from the snake's physical resemblance to the dragon, as well as its revered qualities — grace, mystery and power — which mirror those of the dragon, a symbol of might and virtue in Chinese culture.
Later in his poem, Su Shi, having sat for the whole night, "rose to peer at the slanting Northern Spoon".
The "Northern Spoon" here refers to the shape of the Big Dipper — a prominent group of seven stars that form part of the constellation Ursa Major (the Great Bear).
As one of the most recognizable star patterns in the night sky, especially in the Northern Hemisphere, the Big Dipper often marked the passage of time. Their tilting toward the horizon signifies that the night is drawing to a close and dawn is near.
Stargazing — that's what people in ancient China almost certainly did while waiting for the first rays of the new year.
In fact, at the core of the traditional Chinese calendar were the persistent advances in the art of astronomy and mathematics, integrated with the cultural, agricultural and political life of a society that believed the rule of heaven was the rule of law, with ultimate legitimacy resting in the reign of the natural order.
In their quest for greater accuracy and better alignment of the lunar and solar cycles, the Chinese, whose earliest evidence of timekeeping appears on oracle bones, also drew from other cultures.
Visiting temple fairs and making dumplings together are also significant parts of the family reunions. [Photo/VCG]
The Gregorian calendar, or solar calendar, was officially adopted in China on Jan 1, 1912.
Yet, the traditional Chinese calendar, the sole system known to nearly all Chinese up to that point, endures for cultural and celebratory purposes, offering a reminder of the nation's rich legacy. To distinguish the traditional new year from the Gregorian solar new year, the term "Spring Festival" became customary.
Spring Festival usually concludes on the 15th day of Chinese New Year, corresponding to Feb 12 in the solar calendar. This final day, marking the first full moon of the new year, is traditionally illuminated by delicately handcrafted lanterns — some bearing riddles — that adorn every corner.
Su Shi, whose poetic instinct was forever in tune with the moon, once wrote:
"Life brings both joy and sorrow, union and separation.
Like the moon's phases, in constant fluctuation.
Imperfect it's been since the dawn of creation."
For many of us, the past year has been far from perfect, and the year ahead may hold its trials. Yet, it is the courage to face adversity and the strength to carry on with grace that transforms all the imperfect moments into perfect memories.
As for New Year's Eve and every night and day, do what Su Shi recommends in his Shou Sui poem — "Make the most of your time."
Contact the writer at zhaoxu@chinadaily.com.cn
