Rites to Build in Old China

To expats and the growing nomadic horde, place comes before house. Job opportunities, a swirling international scene, the city outside the apartment door justify a washing machine in the kitchen and lack of bathtub. Before the birth of the People’s Republic, such rootless dwelling was for bandits, actors, and other assorted riffraff. People of substance stayed close to home, and if they didn’t already, dreamed of housing at least three ever-shifting generations.

The clamor of a foundation underway usually meant one thing – a son was leaving the hearth to start his own family. The new building, embodiment of the family’s fortunes, had to be built to last. In China, no bonded contractors or zoning boards would have been trusted with the job. To last an eternity, houses needed the help of eternal forces. Three key ceremonies ensured that, whatever the home and its family’s fortunes, no one could blame the supernatural. Tradition is surely the strongest illusion of permanence.

Kaigong – the Starting Ceremony

Your average circumspect Chinese will take about six minutes to order at McDonald’s. So imagine the caution of his necessarily warier ancestors in choosing the site for a new home. Only one was equipped to make a choice with such karmic consequences: the fengshui master. His compass twirling was not just for show, but a certain common sense weighed in. No building on or near graveyards or refuse heaps, and not too close to forest or uncultivated land. Ghosts, garbage and goblins all neutralized.

For all that, stumbling upon a grave onsite slowed building projects like a dip in the Hang Seng does today. The remains would have to be removed with all appropriate ceremony, and the earth around them for 18 cun, Chinese inches. A host of purification rites would follow, involving dyed-red water, fireworks, and the eye-mucus of a wild ass. Just kidding about the last one.

But no bones were discovered until construction workers had been hired, and a good day chosen to break ground. Even-numbered days were considered the most auspicious to get those picks and bamboo shovels going. A little paper-burning on the four corners of the foundation, followed by the obligatory firecrackers, was considered adequate to both attract a house-god and scare away any evil entities lingering around the site.

A few ceremonial scoops from the exact middle of the site, with a shovel wrapped in red, and all had been done within the powers of man to assure project quality, professionally-rendered blueprints phooey. True north and south were strictly adhered to throughout construction, however, as the main gate had to face squarely in the latter direction, lest one would spit in the eye of Fate.

Shangliang – the Roof Ceremony

Without drywall or rebar, most traditional Chinese houses depended on plain old wood. “Shangliang” refers to the main beam holding the roof up. The shangliang’s symbolic power need hardly be emphasized, nor how vital the ceremony involved in its raising.

Once the main shangliang beam was in place, one or two good sports would clamber up and perch on it. The owner would lay a red carpet beneath them. The guys on the beam would throw down an ancient Chinese Chex Mix^TMof coins, candy, steamed buns, and dried fruit. As long as everything stayed on the carpet below, the house would hold wealth. If a significant handful rolled off, well, then the house was as deficient in good qi as the thrower was in basic motor skills.

The monkeys on the beam would finish their act by wrapping the shangliang in red fabric and hanging coins and hongbao for added lucky effect.

Qiaoqian – the Moving In Ceremony

Once everything was in but the koi pond, it was time for the owner to show his appreciation to his underpaid workers with a big meal, traditional compensation for the exploited in China. No one was moving in unless on a lucky day, of course, so the zodiac was consulted before the movers. And a last round of firecrackers before anyone officially set foot in the place was simply due diligence.

But the first resident over the threshold had no feet, although it could wok (sorry). The family wok was usually an heirloom, if a highly utile one, symbol of that most cherished by the Chinese soul, regular feeding. Thus no fewer than two people, one born in a dragon year, the other a tiger, were necessary to carry the wok into the new house before ought else, keeping all wolves perennially from the door. Safely in place, the wok was immediately employed for a house-warming party. Good to know that the most important function of a domicile, party hosting, is both timeless and universal.

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