The southeastern corner tower of the Forbidden City Photo: Wu Wei/CSST

The Forbidden City has served as the setting of countless historical anecdotes. Presented here are three vignettes offering a glimpse of its past.

Winter by the Tongzi River  

The southeastern corner tower of the Forbidden City, where the Tongzi River (the river that serves as a moat encircling the Forbidden City) winds past, may not be an official imperial landmark, yet it exudes the timeless charm of an ancient capital. From this vantage point, one can take in the tranquil scene: the stark, austere palace walls, sparse willow branches casting delicate shadows, and the golden glow of the winter sun adding warmth to the stillness—a quiet pleasure that only long-time Beijingers truly appreciate.

More than sixty years ago, winters in Beijing were far colder than today. Unlike the damp chill of southern China, the northern winds cut straight to the bone. Yet, the towering walls of the Forbidden City served as a windbreak against the biting northwesterly gales—an effect known as “trapped wind” by locals—making the area unexpectedly tolerable in winter. Back then, the city had few cars and a sparse population, and this corner was even quieter, save for workers from the icehouses harvesting blocks of frozen river water.

The practice of ice harvesting, now a relic of the past, involved cutting massive slabs of ice from the river during the coldest days of winter and storing them for summer use. This tradition, which dates back to the Shang and Zhou dynasties (from 16th century BCE to 256 BCE), flourished in the Ming (1368–1644) era, reached its peak in the Qing (1644–1911), and persisted until the mid-1970s.

Early mornings by the Tongzi River often saw Beijing opera enthusiasts warming up their voices. They would stand by the water, singing in full-bodied tones, sometimes even reciting entire opera verses or rhythmic spoken passages with perfect cadence—clearly the work of seasoned artists. Their voices carried across the river, drifting into the ancient cypress groves of the Imperial Ancestral Temple (now the Working People’s Cultural Palace).

As dawn gave way to day, ice skaters would arrive. Climbing over the low riverbank wall, they stepped onto the frozen surface and, using hammers and chisels, carved circular openings in the thick ice. Scooping up buckets of river water, they poured them over the ice to create a fresh, smooth skating surface. These skaters were no amateurs; gliding across the ice, their movements were graceful and fluid, with leaps, spins, and intricate turns displaying an extraordinary level of skill.

As the sun climbed higher, barbers in white coats would set up makeshift outdoor salons along the palace walls, which had been weathered by centuries of exposure. Their tools were simple—scissors, combs, towels, aprons, manual razors, a stool, and two mirrors. Given the conditions, they only offered basic haircuts. Upon finishing, they would hand the customer a mirror while positioning another behind their head for inspection—a quick, simple service, costing only a few cents.

Qing Dynasty dismount stele  

Beyond the southeastern corner tower, along the riverbank, stands a Qing Dynasty “dismount stele” made of white marble. Inscribed in five languages—Manchu, Han, Mongolian, Hui, and Tibetan—it bears the command: “Officials and others dismount here.” Several similar steles once stood outside the Forbidden City, near the Queyou Gate, Donghua Gate, and Xihua Gate. The Shenwu Gate was once similarly adorned with a stele, though its current whereabouts is a mystery.

According to official Qing Dynasty documents, officials entering the palace to meet the emperor followed a strict protocol. The dismount stele applied to those of the rank of Beile (the title given to the sons of the emperor or important members of the imperial family) and below, requiring them to dismount from their horses or carriages upon reaching it. Only the elderly, frail, or those with special imperial permission were exempt. According to the regulations, visitors also had to undergo a personal inspection—or “security check” in today’s parlance—before proceeding on foot to the Meridian Gate, where they could enter the palace to meet the emperor. Violating this rule meant fifty lashes and a report to the Censorate for further punishment. Even the officers guarding the stele could face penalties, including forty strikes of the rod, if they failed in their duties. 

However, exceptions existed, such as for high-ranking nobles like Junwang (a noble title in the Qing Dynasty, below the title of Qinwang) and Qinwang (a noble title often reserved for princes who were closer in direct lineage to the emperor). The carriages and sedan chairs of the Junwang could pass through the Que Gate (the gate symbolizing the boundary between the outer and inner areas of the imperial compound) and stop outside the corner towers near the Meridian Gate. The sedan chairs of the Qinwang could go directly to the Meridian Gate, where they would dismount before entering the palace. 

Upon entering through the Meridian Gate, Qinwang, Junwang, and Beile were allowed to bring two personal attendants, whereas Bezi (a rank below Beile) could bring only one. Other officials were prohibited from bringing attendants into the palace. 

To modern sensibilities, the meticulous enforcement of hierarchical walking protocols over such short distances may seem excessive. Yet, in reality, even if a Qinwang or Junwang violated these rules, few would dare to punish them. For instance, Emperor Daoguang’s nephew, Yijing, once failed to dismount in front of the designated stele and was stripped of his official position, though he faced no physical punishment.

In an absolute monarchy, the rigid hierarchy observed in court rituals is, in essence, an extension of imperial political culture. For thousands of years, its influence permeated all aspects of social life, from the highest echelons of the palace to the lives of commoners.

Cannons of the Six Ministries Corridor  

Beyond the dismounting stele stands the Quezuo Gate, built in the early Ming Dynasty. To the west stretches the vast square between Duan Gate and the Meridian Gate. At its center runs the imperial path leading into the Forbidden City, flanked by the administrative offices of the Six Ministries—Personnel, Revenue, Rites, Military, Justice, and Public Works. Known as the “Liu Ke Lang” or Six Ministries Corridor, these offices played a role similar to that of modern government ministries in handling official documents and decrees.  

The spatial layout of the buildings followed the traditional principle of “civil on the left, military on the right.” On the eastern side stood the offices of Personnel, Revenue, and Rites, while the western side housed Military, Justice, and Public Works.   

At the southern end of the east corridor was the office of the Ministry of Rites (now the location of the National Flag Guard), while the Ministry of Public Works was positioned at the southern end of the west corridor. In front of both duty rooms stood several Qing Dynasty field artillery platforms, each about two chi high (one chi is approximately 33 cm), with their cannon barrels slightly elevated and aimed toward the imperial path. These cannons, no more than four or five chi in length and seven or eight cun in diameter (one cun is about 3 cm), were considerably smaller than those at Humen in Dongguan, Guangdong, or Jiao Mountain in Zhenjiang, Jiangsu. Each bore an inscription from the reigns of Emperors Daoguang, Xianfeng, or Tongzhi, commemorating their casting. Historical records suggest that these cannons were fired during grand court assemblies of civil and military officials, serving as a symbolic display of the emperor’s heavenly mandate and the majesty of his presence. 

I personally saw these dark red, non-combat cannons multiple times while playing near the Meridian Gate in 1967. The area surrounding the platforms was paved with grey bricks, with tufts of grass sprouting between them—a sight now long gone. Sometime in the early 1990s, the cannons were removed, and their fate remains unknown. Today, few still remember their existence.

Xu Changjiang is a research fellow from the Institute of Linguistics at Chinese Academy of Social Sciences.

Edited by REN GUANHONG