Final Arrangements in Old China

Life in old China could certainly be trying, but then it didn’t end with death, or at least you didn’t believe so. Depending where you were on the Daoist/Buddhist belief matrix, death was either a ticket to visit the ancestors in heaven or a respite before rebirth. Then again, you might also reawaken in Chinese Hell or as a ghost. It all depended on your family. Filial duty, the chief occupation of most Chinese up until the middle of last century, meant engaging in the ceremony of Sang Zang, a complex set of rituals meant to bring optimal luck to both the departed and the family.

On deciding a member was at death’s door, the family began Chu Sang, the preparation component of Sang Zang. For the vast common classes, a 70^th or 80^th birthday highlight would be receipt of coffin, graveyard plot, and funerary clothes, ironic considering how sensitive traditional Chinese are to gifts suggesting death. Nonetheless, eldest son handled coffin-buying with discretion, the highest virtue in a home with three generations under its roof.

The funerary outfit was called the shouyi, and entailed a few taboos. Even in the height of summer, only a dark cotton winter coat would do, as there was no telling what weather in the afterlife was like. Despite the Chinese predilection for big send-offs, no filial son would contemplate making the coat from a heavy silk, as the old word for silk, duanzi, is close to the word for broken, duan. Why such a serious omen didn’t lead to a Middle Kingdom-wide ban on silk is a tribute to pragmatism. After all, no use cursing someone locked in a box with such an evil sounding (and expensive) article of clothing, but no use letting a little superstition prevent one from wearing the most stylish and comfortable fabric known to civilized man. The shouyi was turned out only in the most traditional cut, the better for ancestors in the eternal sky hall to ID new arrivals.

On judging death nigh, the family would move its stricken member on to a wooden board. After that followed a thorough cleansing, trimming, and combing before swaddling in the shouyi. The home was kept silent as the proverbial tomb throughout this process. Dried and dressed, the soon to be deceased was laid back on the board, a light cotton cloth placed over the nose.

Once the cloth stopped moving, the family did not tearfully bid their loved one adieu but rather tried to call her back to life with all seemly haste. One of the more spry family members would climb to the household rooftop with a piece of the departed’s clothing, face north, and wave the garment, shouting three times, “(insert name here), come back!” The clothing was then placed on the body. If the effort didn’t bring it back to life, at least everything possible to attempt resuscitation had been done, and the family had leave to commence mourning.

The body would be laid facing north, with a pinch of rice, a jade piece, and a coin placed in the mouth for heavenly supplies. Next the face was covered with cotton or paper. An oil lamp was placed by the head to guide the deceased through any dark Middlemarch between earth and heaven. The lamp was kept burning for three days, until interment.

Bao Sang and Diao Yan were the next rituals of Sang Zang. The grim news must be borne to other family members, no matter how distant. The messenger, no matter how long since he had last seen his kin, dared not set foot over the relatives’ thresholds, shrouded as he was in such dark karma. Back home, a white notice was posted on the door of the bereaved to announce the death. Informed relatives were expected to attend Diao Yan, the wake. Meanwhile, the family would sit shiva with the remains.

Next came Da Lian, not to be confused with the city. On the last day before burial, the body was wrapped in a blanket and placed in its coffin. Lighting was paid attention to, for the survivors’ sakes, as any shadow appearing in the coffin made for the direst bad luck the heedless bearer could bring upon himself. The coffin was nailed shut with diligence rarely exercised on other woodwork, presumably to prevent unfriendly ghosts from vexing the departed, but most likely to discourage ghouls as well.

Finally, after Da Lian, the coffin was left in a room for a few days of Bin. This was the time for feng shui masters who specialized in necromancy to ascertain the best time for burial. The room containing the coffin was kept as well-lit as tallow and pocketbooks could possibly allow.

The old Chinese regarded Earth as the mother of us all. Therefore, any remains not returned to her could hardly be born again, the requisite for Buddhist spiritual progress. The Zang Li component of Sang Zang covered the funeral procession and interment. While pallbearers carried the coffin to its final resting place, children would lead the way, tossing false paper money with which to bribe ghosts lurking on the path to the graveyard. The biggest band that could be afforded would follow the coffin, playing a dirge not unlike the more lugubrious sections of a Chinese Opera (and no doubt further assurance in scattering the undead).

On reaching the grave, the coffin was lowered in while family members took turns flinging handfuls of dirt on it. Once the coffin was covered, family members removed their white mourning hats and were allowed a last good cry over their loved one’s departure; in a land as populous as China, peace and harmony trump working through one’s feelings.

But there was one last lengthy order of business before getting on with life, popular up until the no-nonsense Manchus dispensed with it. The ritual of Shou Xiao required a son to build a rude home by the gravesite and dwell in it for three years. He could pursue any activities that didn’t take him far from the grave but one, the act of love. Before the Shou Xiao started, however, there were three days of Nuan Fen Shou Mu, warming and guarding of the grave. The son built a funeral pyre next to the grave and kept vigil, as much against scavengers tempted by fresh remains as to ward off spirits. Also, once a week for forty nine days, the family would join him by the grave to burn money and pray. Ancient Chinese Buddhism held that a new soul would seek the opportunity for rebirth on such a schedule, and survivors were obliged to encourage a fortunate reincarnation. It all rather puts the “bother” of making last arrangements for our loved ones into perspective.

Related posts:

1. One Day in China: May 21st, 1936
2. Rites to Build in Old China

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