The Moonlit Mid-Autumn Feast - A Qin Dynasty Tale

While researching mid-autumn festival traditions in the Qin Dynasty, I found that many of the familiar customs we associate with the festival today developed in much later dynasties. That discovery led me to an older Wuyi Mountain legend, set against the historical world of the Qin Dynasty. Recorded in the Wuyi Mountain Record, written by the Song-dynasty scholar Zhu Mu, the tale tells of a mysterious mid-autumn gathering at Wuyi Mountain, a rainbow bridge, hundreds of pavilions, music, and a magical feast. It inspired me to imagine what such a mid-autumn night might have felt like more than two thousand years ago.

Tonight, we step quietly back more than two thousand years, into the Qin Dynasty. On the fifteenth night of the eighth lunar month, a village woman draws water at dusk, washes and changes into fresh hemp, and climbs the mountain path with the whole village, as they do together every year.

Settle in, relax, and drift gently into sleep.

Transcript

Welcome to. . . Soothe quietly. I'm so glad you are here tonight. Find a comfortable position. N Let your body settle gently beneath you. Relax your shoulders. Release any tension in your jaw. Soften the muscles around your eyes and brow. Take a slow breath in through your nose. And breathe out through your mouth. With each steady breath. The sounds of your day. Begin to fade quietly. Into the background. There is nowhere else you need to be denied. Now let yourself drift softly into tonight's story. Tonight. We step softly back. More than two thousand years. Into the Qing dynasty. 1. China Fest Emperor had only recently brought the warring states. Under one rule. It is one year after the unification. On a mild autumn evening at the foot of the Wuyi Mountains. A woman in her middle years. Is drawing water from the village well. Before the light fades. She draws the bucket up. Hand over hand. Until. . . It reaches the stone rim. She put it down. Fall to the top and lifts it carefully to carry home. The evening is quiet. The day's work is nearly done. The well. Sits at the center of the village. It's stone rim. It's smooth and pure. From many years of use. Simple houses of packed earth and timber. Stand a little way apart. Along the village road. Each. With its own small yard M. Patch of vegetables. The attached roof. Still whole some of the afternoon warmth. Near a few doorways. Basket or newly thrashed grey. See drying in the last line. The harvest. Nor yet fully stowed away. Above the houses. The mountains. Stem blue-gray against the darkening sky. The last line. Rest along this slope. As twilight slowly settles over the village. Everyone in the village. Knows what tonight will bring. On the 15th night of the 8th lunar month. When the full moon rises. The whole village. Goes up the mountain together. It is a tradition. That has been part of village life. For as long as anyone can remember. The older people. Remember going as children. And now. . . They are all children and grandchildren. Look forward to the same night. Every year. In village. Walk is finished early today. And families begin. Getting ready. Along the village road. Neighbors greet one another. As they come outside. Wild children, Run about with their friends. Already. Excited for the night ahead. Soon. Everyone will gather for the climb. Inside her house. The woman pours the water she carried back from the well. Into the wooden basin. She washed her hands and face. Rubbing away the dust from the day's work. The foaming tool. She used that morning stands against the wall. Her walk in the fields had ended early. As it did. Each year on this day. Her fresh and dyed hem clothes are folded nearby. She changes into them. And ties her hair back. With a land of gold. Then she slips on her straw sandals and checks the ties. Making sure they are secure for the client. Outside. The village is settling into the last part of its preparations. Doors open and close along the road. And lam-lai. Falls briefly across the doorways. Neighbors call to each other. N children are still laughing with their friends. As they wait for their families. The woman step outside. And close her door behind her. She looked towards the mountain. Where the moon is. Beginning to rise above the dark ridge. A round hall. Family of faces. Are appearing one by one. And the village road. Is slowly failing with people. As twilight deepens. The villagers gather along the village road. Soon. They begin walking towards the mountain together. The road becomes a narrow track. As it leaves the houses behind. With packed earth beneath their feet and grasses growing along either side. Someone's grandmother walks slowly with a wooden stick. Her grandson beside her. Ready to help. When the part becomes uneven. The village grows quieter behind them. As the villagers make their way up the familiar slope. Near the back of the groove. The woman. Climbs at an easy pace. Heart-straw sandals. Study on the path beneath her feet. As the part bends higher, The moon. Rises above the mountain ridge. Round and bright. It's lie. Falls across the grass. And the villagers' shadows. Stretch long behind them. She can smell the grass. And the cool stone of the hills high. Every year on this night? The whole village makes this climb together. N. She has always looked forward to it. They take their time. Stopping now and then. To look at the moon. And the mountains around them. Behind them. The village and the houses. Grow smaller. In the deepening blue. Until their roof are little more than dark shapes below. Near the top. The part. Opens onto a white rock. And they The villagers stop. Ahead of them. Where the mountain path should continue. A bridge now stretches across the dark slope. The bridge is softly lit. Its colours blending together like lantern light. Shining through thin silk. They are warm rats. Gentle ghouls. Pure blue. And solve pupples. All mixed together. And no single colour stands out. Moonlight. Rest along its curved surface. Making the whole bridge glow. Against the dark mountain. The woman rests one hand against the rock beside her. And looks at it for a moment. In front of her. The villagers are already stepping forward. She follows them. Placing one straw sand of food onto the bridge. It feels soft beneath her. Almost like walking on a cushion. Dough. The bridge is neither stone nor timber. As she reaches the middle of the bridge. She can already see the summit beyond it. The mountain top. Has been prepared for their villagers. Pavilions stand across the stone. Enough for everyone. Who has come tonight. They are rounded tops, Rise one after another. Beneath the full moon. Each drape in curtains of gentle colours. Some of the cuttings lift slightly. Moonlight. Folds across the fabric. While warm light glows from within. Slowly. The woman crosses the bridge and walks towards the pavilion. The villages, No way to go. Then a voice comes from somewhere among the pavilions. Low and calm. Telling them where to sit. The woman follows the voice. Towards an open pavilion. Near the edge. Before sitting down. She bows once. And the villages around her. Do the same. Law seeds have been arranged in rows. With silver colour cushions waiting on each one. Woven mats cover the ground beneath their feet. She lowers herself onto her cushion. And feel its softness. Beneath her. Wama, Where she sits. And cool along the edges. Before long. Music begins. No musicians can be seen. But the sound. Comes clearly from among the pavilions. First, There is a quiet sound of a guqin. A small seven-string Sita. Slow and gentle. Then a long bamboo flute joins it. Clear and airy. Followed by the soft sound of strings. The music. Move easily through the catering. Each note. Fading. . . Gently into the necks. The woman listens with her hands resting in her lap. Around her. The villagers listen to. Some speaking softly to the people beside them. Others. Simply enjoying the music. Mourn lie. And scenery. The curtains. Glow under the lantern light. And a full moon. Remains high. Above the pavilions. For a long while. The music simply continues. N Everyone has time to enjoy the night. Then food begins to appear before the villagers. There are more dishes than the woman can easily count. Some are familiar. Grains like those she has eaten at home. Vegetables. Prepare simply. And a warm broth. Other dishes. Are unlike. Anything she has seen before. She does not try to guess what they contain. There is wine too. Serve in a cup finer than anything she has held before. It is pale and faintly sweet. And the moonlight. Catches the wine's cup rim. Once you lift it. She eats slowly. Trying a little of this. And a little of that. Around her. The villagers are doing the same. Children share pieces of food with their friends. And older people. Talk together as they eat. The woman rests one hand on the cushion between mouthfuls. Feeling its soft weave beneath her palm. The cushion is warm where she sits. And the gentle warmth. Makes her want to stay here a little longer. After she and the villagers finished eating. The music begins to fade. The guqin grows softer. The flute becomes quieter. And the other strings slowly fade away. The flute continues for a little longer. Before it too becomes to an end. No one announced that. The feast is over. The villagers simply began to understand that The night is drawing to a close. The woman puts down her cup and Rest her hands on her lap for a moment. She looks around the pavilion one last time. At the glowing curtains. The empty dishes. And the full moon shining above them. Then she rents her hen. Gently over the soft cushion. Before rising. At the edge of the pavilion. She bows once more. In thanks for tonight's feast. The Round Hall. The other villagers are doing the same. Families gather together. And everyone begins making their way back towards the bridge. The bridge is still waiting for them. Its blended colours. Glow more softly now. With the warm lantern light. Almost gone. Beneath the moon. The villages. Cross together at an easy pace. Beneath the woman's sandals, The bridge still feels hope. Almost like walking on a cushion. She looks out across the moonlit mountain. And sees the village far below. Its houses. Small beneath the moonlight. After all the villagers have crossed the bridge. The woman turns back and looks towards the summit. The rainbow bridge is already beginning to fade. Its gentle colours. Grow thinner and fainter. And to all they disappear into the moonlit night. The pavilions are gone too. Where the feast had been. There is only the mountain. With trees. Showing a mix of autumn colours beneath the full moon. Some of the mountain stones are pale in the moonlight. And above them. The stars shine clearly across the sky. The villagers begin their familiar journey home. Following the same path they had walked earlier that evening. Yet. The path feels different now. Their steps are slower. Their hearts full from the meal, The music. The warm pavilions. And the rare chance to share such a beautiful mid-autumn night together. Children walk beside their parents. And neighbors speak softly about the food they enjoy. And the music they listened. The woman walks among them. Feeling a gentle warmth inside her. She thinks of the glowing curtains. The Moonlit Summit. The soft cushion. Beneath her hand. And the food she had shared with everyone. It is a simple journey. Down a familiar path. Tonight. It feels filled with something. She cannot quite name. As the village comes into view below. The woman looks back once more. At the Moonlit Mountain. She feels grateful. For the night they had been given. When they reach the edge of the village, The villagers, Begin to say goodbye to one another. Families turn towards their homes. Neighbors exchange quiet words. The woman says goodbye to those walking beside her. Before entering her own compound. Find the time she reaches her door. The village has settled back. Into its family and I. She steps inside. Removes her straw sandals. Chained into her night clothes. And lie down on her sleeping mat. Through the open window. The moonlight. Folds across heartband. In a pill square. She closes her eyes and things off the mountain once more. The glowing pavilions. The music. The feast. The soft cushion beneath her hand. Outside. The full moon remains above the village. And the mountain beyond it. And as she dripped towards sleep. She knows that when the 15th night of the 8th lunar month comes again next year, The whole village will make the climb once more. Beneath the same moonlit sky. The world we visited tonight grows quiet now. N. You can simply rest here. Comfortable and at ease. Your mind can relax. Your body can soften. If you are already drifting into sleep. Allow yourself to sink a little deeper. If you are still awake. Listen to the quiet. There is nothing more to do. Nowhere else to be. I'll be here whenever you need another peaceful moment like this. Bye for now. Rest gently. And Sleep well. Good night.