Page 27 – RADII

Would You Spend Your Weekends at a Taoist Temple?

What’s the best way to unwind on a summer night? For many young Chinese people, the answer is drinking and partying at bars and clubs. In Chongqing and Chengdu, two gigantic metropolises situated in the heart of Southwest China, nightlife venues are ubiquitous. In spite of this, some young people are deliberately turning their backs on such hedonistic entertainment options, and instead moving towards a more serene lifestyle, seeking comfort in nature and traditional Chinese culture.

When I first met Cheng Bin at Xichan Daoyuan (西禅道院), a Taoist temple located 60 km west of Chengdu, she was preparing materials for an incense-making event taking place later on the day. Incense plays a huge role in traditional Taoist rituals, and the incense made in the workshop would be used in a ceremony the next morning. Though difficult to define, Taoist beliefs are centered on the idea of balance with the universe. Taoism’s key text is Tao Te Ching, believed to be written by Lao Tzu around 500 BCE.

Cheng is a recent graduate from Sichuan Film and Television University who has been coming to Xichan Daoyuan since May 2023. “I knew about this temple because of a friend,” she said. “I was feeling a bit sick at the time despite being told by local hospitals that I was fine. I’d heard about Taoism and Taoist medicine (道医, dàoyī) before so I wanted to come and see if it might be of help.”

After a while, she found herself growing increasingly interested in Taoist culture, and decided to visit the temple more often, first staying for the weekends, then entire holidays as well. “During school terms, many of my classmates like to go to nightclubs and bars on the weekend, but I’ve never really found them relaxing, so I started to spend most of my weekends here in the countryside.”

Cheng then took me on a tour around the establishment. The temple is relatively humble in size, with only one major hall and a few smaller buildings on the side. We stopped outside of a room where she often works. “There are a lot of plants and trees here — the place is a de facto arboretum — so my tasks mainly include taking care of flowers and sweeping the yard. Lately, I’m also learning about tea culture as well as different sutras which are all essential in Taoism.”

When asked about her biggest takeaway from her experience at the temple, she believes that it is the opportunity to find peace with herself. “There’s really a sense of community here with others coming from different backgrounds who are also interested in Taoism. I also feel a kind of freedom where I am in control of the rhythm of my life and my time.” Reflecting upon her encounter with the temple, Cheng compares it to the mortise and tenon joints frequently used in traditional Chinese architecture. “It just feels like the temple and I fit together so well.”

Some, however, are not satisfied by short visits on weekends. Less than an hour drive away from Xichan Daoyuan is Heming Shan Daoguan (鹤鸣山道观), where in 142 C.E. “Celestial Master” Chang Tao-ling is said to have founded Taoism as an organized school of thought, preaching Lao Tzu’s philosophy.

There I met a 27-year-old Sichuanese man who used to work outside of the province as a software engineer, who spoke on the condition of anonymity. He had just moved back to his home province, and had decided to take some time off at Heming Shan before searching for a new job in the greater Chengdu area. “I saw on Xiaohongshu and Douyin that there was a volunteering opportunity at Heming Shan where they provide free accommodation and meals so I signed up right away.”

When asked why he decided to come here, the former software engineer looked back on the poor work-life balance he had experienced in the city. “I was feeling tense and nervous all the time when I used to work in the city. Here, there’s less workload and stress, and I’m able to find my own pace.”

I was curious about his thoughts on urban nightlife in comparison to life in the temple. “I think both are valid means of stress-relief. It really depends on what people prefer,” he said. “There is an impression that young people don’t like to spend much time in the countryside like this, but this is changing for sure. As the local government promotes traditional culture, more young people have been coming to Heming Shan and other temples lately to learn about Taoist music (道乐, dàoyùe). I see this as a good sign.”

The ex-tech worker admitted that he won’t be staying here for too long, but he believed that going forward this experience will have a lasting impact on his career and life. “Some believe that coming here is a form of escapism, but I think of it rather as a short respite that allows you to find peace with yourself and figure out your goals before diving back into a full-time career.”

There is no doubt that young people in China are facing a lot of stress, whether the pressure to achieve academic excellence or to succeed in 996 work culture. While Sichuan is blessed with a beautiful natural environment and a plenitude of religious sites, making it easier to access the tranquility of the countryside, the trend of young people seeking out peaceful and relaxing environments is catching on around the country. Chanxiu Camps (禅修营) — short meditation sessions hosted by local Buddhist and Taoist temples — have sprung up across China over the past few years, offering anxious young people a taste of what life in the temple feels like. Notable Buddhist shrines to participate in the trend include Nuonatayuan in Lushan, Jiangxi province, and the Lama Temple in Beijing.

When people talk about nightlife, we often think of crowded, noisy bars, or clubs that don’t open until after midnight. But there is far more than just one viable way to de-stress. Short visits to temples offer a novel kind of leisure that promises deep rest. In the long term, Taoist and Buddhist philosophies might be of great help to young people as they strive towards balanced, sustainable lifestyles.

All images by Handuo Sun. Cover image shows Xichan Daoyuan.

What is Nightlife Like in China’s Suburbs?

Nightlife in China’s megacities can seem like an endless fantasy — that is, if you’re lucky enough to live downtown. Nightclubs, live music venues, bars, lounges, and late-night hot pot spots are usually concentrated in central entertainment areas, like Sanlitun in Beijing, and “Ju Fu Chang” in Shanghai (the area demarcated by Jule, Fumin, and Changle Roads). However, life in the suburbs of the same cities unfolds at a different pace, and the options for entertainment after dark are no exception. While these peripheral areas boast readily available empty space and increasingly developed economies, they can’t really compete with downtown nightlife scenes.

But new possibilities are emerging. Local governments are actively investing in these areas, aiming to enhance their appeal to young people. These efforts often manifest themselves through food markets, but also can take the shape of festivals promoting local customs and guochao (China chic). These events and retail spaces with a local twist are shaping a new kind of nightlife, one that draws people back from the city center to enjoy experiences which may be more closely rooted to the places they live.

Unwinding after long commutes

For suburban residents, enduring long commutes from the city center to their homes in the outskirts is a daily reality. According to a report from the China Academy of Urban Planning and Design and Baidu Maps, the average commuting distance in four of China’s major cities — Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen—was 9.4 kilometers in 2021, a 0.4-kilometer increase from the previous year. In response, suburban residents are seeking entertainment options closer to home, with night markets becoming a popular choice.

A band plays in the Xiyunlou Beer Festival in Jiading, Shanghai. Image via Xiaohongshu.

It’s another reversal to the fortunes of night markets, which have already been through many ups and downs in China. After street stalls were strictly prohibited in the 1990s, large night markets grew popular. However, starting in the early 2000s, as these night markets grew in size and began to obstruct traffic, they too came under strict regulation by chengguan (city management authorities). Rather than lively hotbeds of local culture, night markets were considered unsanitary eyesores that did match the aesthetic of “modern” cities. They also sparked concerns over food safety, as some vendors operated without proper permits or oversight.

As a result, many of the night markets that emerged around the turn of the millennium disappeared, though not without leaving fond memories behind in the hearts of urban residents. For example, Shanghai’s Pengpu Night Market is still remembered for its charcoal-grilled delicacies.

A traffic jam at Pengpu Night Market in the early 2000s. Image via WeChat.

However, post-pandemic, the resurgence of these markets has played a crucial role in economic recovery. Many young people, facing unemployment, have set up their own stalls at night markets, whether as a side hustle or an alternative to formal employment. A notable example is the Shanghai Jiading Beer Festival. Every Friday, young residents living in Jiading push their camping trolleys, loaded with barbecue ingredients or beer glasses, and pay several hundred RMB for stall spaces, hosted in RVs provided by the market.

Street food from various regions of China is a central feature at night markets like Jiading’s: stinky tofu from Shaoxing, oyster omelets from Fujian, Zibo barbecue, and spicy Sichuan-style skewers are just a few examples. The Jiading Night Market and others like Xiacun Night Market in Beijing’s Fangshan District offer a unique opportunity for residents to experience regional cuisines and cultural diversity without leaving their neighborhoods.

Late night and early morning deals

Besides the reemergence of night markets, another unconventional nightlife trend is taking shape around the edges of China’s first tier cities. At 3 AM, when most people are fast asleep, young and adventurous Guangzhou residents head to the banks of the Pearl River for the Haizhu Bridge Dawn Market, a so-called “ghost market.” Operating from the early morning until sunrise, “ghost markets” offer a diverse array of intriguing and obscure items: secondhand clothes, shoes, antique collectibles, electronic gadgets, old CDs, books, and even expired medicines and food products.

Stalls at ghost markets offer goods now rarely seen in conventional stores in China, such as pirated VCDs. Image via Xiaohongshu.

In Beijing, Panjiayuan is well established as an antique market (though not quite suburban, it’s far from the city center). Recently the market has been evolving to attract a younger crowd, moving beyond its traditional customer base of retired male antique enthusiasts. An article by Sanlian Weekly highlighted that products available at Panjiayuan are often more affordable than those sold at more central locations, making them a popular choice for budget-conscious consumers. For example, strands of prayer beads from the Lama Temple, a Buddhist temple in Beijing’s old city, can cost up to several hundred RMB each. At Panjiayuan, you can get them for just 35 RMB each strand.

After all, many of the Chinese millennials and Gen Z living in suburban areas are there to save money, making street stalls and ghost markets attractive nightlife options. Not everyone is into — or can afford — the slick nightclubs and pricey drinks found in city centers. The suburbs offer opportunities not just for people looking to have fun on the cheap, but also budding entrepreneurs — for example, without paying the prohibitive rents on downtown spaces, cocktail aficionados can start their own mobile bars to serve homemade concoctions to passersby, while fashionistas can start selling secondhand clothes from a stall. Going forward, it should be interesting to see if new trends begin to emerge from suburban, rather than urban, spaces.

Tencent-backed “Black Myth: Wukong” Proves a Massive Hit on Its Release Day

Black Myth: Wukong, China’s first AAA video game* to receive a perfect rating on game review site IGN, was released today, August 20. Developed by Game Science, a game development studio based in Hangzhou and Shenzhen, the game takes its inspiration from the Chinese epic Journey to the West, where Sun Wukong, a man-like monkey also known as the Monkey King, accompanies a monk in his dangerous journey to obtain sacred Buddhist Sutras. The game has received backing from Tencent, which also holds a 5% stake in Game Science.

Development on Black Myth: Wukong started in 2018, and was teased in an extended trailer in 2021.

Ahead of the final release, multiple Chinese brands including Lenovo Group, Luckin Coffee, and Didi Bike showed their support for the game by giving their own products Black Myth: Wukong makeovers. The advertisements have proven to be a great success: yesterday, Luckin posted online that all of their merchandise in collaboration with Game Science had sold out across China prior to the game’s release. The Chinese stock market is also feeling the impact, with A-shares having experienced a tremendous boost earlier today.

And the game is truly going global. On Reddit under a thread for Soulslike, a narrative-driven video game genre defined by high difficulty levels and dark themes, many are sharing their excitement. “If it plays even half as good as it looks,” said user Yarzeda2024, “I will be over the moon.” Embarrassed_Move_174 has “been really looking forward to this game, already pre-ordered.”

Writing for CG Magazine, game critic Zubi Khan states that Black Myth: Wukong “masterfully takes what makes a good Soulslike tick without selling its own soul, delivering what is the best action game of the year.”

Other reviewers were less effusive though. At But Why Tho? Abdul Saad writes that in spite of the “epic, unforgettable gameplay,” the overarching narrative still leaves a lot to be desired, and that “the technical and balance issues can be a hindrance.”

There is also some controversy surrounding the game, due to persistent accusations of misogyny aimed at its development team.

Back in China, netizens are showing their awe and pride for the game. On Bilibili, a review video of the game was pinned on the front page of the website and has so far received more than 7.5 million views. In the comment section, the user Molanyu dyc called the game “a landmark in the Chinese game industry.” Another user, Wozhendebuhuiqiming, added that “Chinese games have struggled in the dark for too long. This is a light for the industry that shines for all those who will follow in its footsteps.”

* A gaming industry term referring to high budget games from major studios.

Banner Image via Game Science.

Thai Film “How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies” Sparks Tears and Grabs Netflix Deal

If you haven’t recently had the chance to cling onto a box of tissues and cry in a movie theater amongst strangers, you may soon be able to do so in the comfort of your own home. The debut feature film of Thai director Pat Boonnitipat, How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies, will begin streaming on Netflix in Southeast Asia starting September 12, and in other regions later this year.

Before Netflix picked up the streaming rights, How to Make Millions was already making waves in cinemas across Southeast Asia — a tidal wave of tears, that is. In Thailand, the Philippines, and Singapore, a TikTok trend has emerged where moviegoers post before and after videos documenting their reactions to the film.

In a video that garnered over 339.8k views on Tiktok, three friends filmed themselves before entering the movie, featuring themselves with well made-up faces and showing off their tickets to the camera. “Us after” looks very different as the three friends seen are sobbing into their tissues.

“Rating: worth every tear,” the TikToker remarked.

One movie theater in Manila said they are giving out free tissues in preparation for film’s tear jerker scenes.

Filmed in Bangkok, Thailand, the movie is about a young Thai-Chinese guy, M, who is unemployed and lives at home. He decides to take care of his aging grandmother in hopes of inheriting her wealth. Tears aside, the film is full of comedic moments too, particularly ones that point to the generational gap between an older generation immersed in traditional Chinese culture and their twenty-something descendants.

Lead actor Putthipong Assaratanakul and director Pat Boonnitipat at NYAFF. Photo by Rachel Lu.

When the film screened at the New York Asian Film Festival (NYAFF), an almost entirely Asian group of fans lined up for an entire block outside of the SVA Theatre. In the Q&A that followed, the film’s leading actor Putthipong Assaratanakul and director Boonnitipat said they’ve been overwhelmed by the fans’ enthusiasm. This is also the first leading movie role for Assaratanakul, known by the nickname Billkin, who was previously famous as a pop star and reality TV personality in Thailand.

A huge part of the film’s appeal is its portrayal of the intergenerational Asian family dynamic, and Billkin said his acting was guided by his own Chinese-Thai upbringing.

One Xiaohongshu user based in Singapore said the film reminded him of being raised by his own grandmother, he wrote, “I was drenched in tears not because the plot is unrealistically soul-wrenching, but precisely because it is so close to real lives, as if it’s telling the story of your own grandmother.”

Banner image via GDH 559/Variety.

Custody Ruling Represents Step Forward for LGBTQ+ Rights in China

Earlier this month, 42-year-old Didi traveled to Beijing to visit the daughter she gave birth to in 2017, after a Beijing court granted her visitation rights that recognized the possibility of having two legal mothers in China.

This is the result of a prolonged custody battle and the first time a Chinese court was forced to contend with same-sex parents, according to reporting from the Guardian.

Didi married her wife in the United States in 2016, soon after the couple had a daughter and a son through IVF treatment. Didi gave birth to the girl but both embryos came from her wife and donor sperm.

The couple later split when the family moved back to China, with Didi’s wife taking both children to Beijing with her. In 2020, Didi sued for custody of the children, sparking the dispute over same-sex parenting. Four years later, Didi has been granted permission for monthly visits to her daughter, but she is not allowed to contact her son, who her wife gave birth to.

Chinese law currently recognizes mothers as those who carry and give birth to a child. So Didi has legal standing for arguing that she is the daughter’s legal mother, despite the girl being genetically related to her ex-wife.

Didi’s lawyer Gao Mingyue told the Guardian that this is a big step forward for setting the precedent for two mothers sharing parental custody.

A screenshot from Xiong Dayu’s series “100 Rainbow Families.”

While Chinese law remains ambiguous about same-sex relationships, on social media platforms like Xiaohongshu, netizens are increasingly discussing LGBTQ topics, albeit under discrete terms. Netizens are using terms like 通讯录 (tōng xùn lù), which literally means contact book but sounds similar to the word for gay (同性恋 tóng xìng liàn), to share LGBTQ+ experiences online.

For example, Xiaohongshu content creator Xiong Dayu has received positive reactions online for their video series, “100 Rainbow Families,” which features interviews with people sharing their experiences of having LGBTQ+ family members. Many mothers share their initial resistance and anxiety over their children coming out, but ultimately they find their way into a welcoming community that allows them to accept their children too.

Banner image via the Guardian.

Former Flight Attendant Goes Viral for Growing Pomegranates in Remote Corner of Sichuan

A 29-year-old former flight attendant named He Shuang has gone viral — for growing pomegranates. Hailing from the small city of Huili in Liangshan Yi Autonomous Prefecture at the southern tip of Sichuan province, seven years ago He quit her job and returned to her hometown to start a fruit business. Though she has previously received some media coverage, she recently went viral, with posts related to her story on Weibo having received more than 66 million views over the past two days.

Liangshan’s remoteness is part of what makes He’s journey more inspiring than your average “follow your dreams” story. In spite of recent improvements, the mountainous region has historically been known for its underdeveloped economy and a lack of transportation links.

Born in 1995, He Shuang is one of the many millennials and Gen Zs from Liangshan who have left the prefecture for greener pastures. Eight years ago, she became a flight attendant, a job that she had wanted since she was a kid, but quit after only half a year and returned back to Huili to start her own pomegranate business. This made her one of the few people in her hometown to have quit a paying job in a big city and return.

Situated in the south of Liangshan right along the border with Yunnan province, Huili is in fact known for its pomegranates. In just a few years, He has managed to build up her business to the point of selling pomegranates all over China. When asked about her motivations, she stated that in spite of all the toil and getting tanned working under the sun, this is the life that she really wants.

The story of He Shuang highlights the complex choices faced by young people in China’s less developed areas. Leaving one’s hometown for opportunities in major cities used to be an obvious choice for those that sought success and a higher quality of life. However, this is slowly beginning to change as unemployment levels and the cost of living rise in major cities. He Shuang’s success is the latest news story to suggest an alternative path and raise questions about how young people may define success.

Banner image via Hongxing Xinwen.