From Minor Cold Laba to Little New Year Eve. Prelude

Childhood Chengdu New Year Customs Inherited in Bamboo Branch Lyrics

Written by Wei Zi in San Francisco, Laba Festival 2026

（1）Prelude: From Minor Cold, Laba to Little New Year’s Eve

Those lovely memories of celebrating the New Year in Chengdu as a child—every year-end they replay with relish: “Red radish, so sweet, watch and watch—New Year is coming.” “The year” opens with these nursery rhymes, joyfully and triumphantly.

Once the twelfth month begins, New Year goods fill the markets. Sichuan flavors lead; hometown accents are engraved. New Year’s Eve reunion dinner, New Year’s Day morning visits, through the Lantern Festival—bamboo branch lyrics have depicted Chengdu’s New Year customs in full panorama since Tang and Song, passed down for a thousand years in catchy verse.

Living abroad, I follow the year’s footsteps, writing this piece [Childhood Chengdu New Year Customs Inherited in Bamboo Branch Lyrics] step by step along the New Year timeline. Looking back on childhood New Year experience—not only to comfort homesickness, but to leave something traceable and imaginable for those who love it.

The great writer Ba Jin wrote in his novel Family: “This festival did not come suddenly; it approached day by day, slowly, each day bringing new signs.” Chengdu’s New Year is just so, lively right through until after spring arrives—long and happy.

Minor Cold (3rd of 12th month): Minor Cold Surpasses Major Cold—for at this time Chengdu’s temperature is often lower than during Major Cold.

Minor Cold Ding You, winter month, Wei Zi in San Francisco

Counting nine to Minor Cold, fine rain veils Golden Mountain.
Autumn yellow retreats; moistening things, green reaches the sky.
Winter moon lifts yang qi; hummingbird at the small window.
Sparse shadow, faint scent come; narcissus on the desk.

Minor Cold—penultimate of the twenty-four solar terms, fifth of winter. Chengdu at this time could be called a fragrant city; walking the streets, suddenly a whiff of fragrance—winter plum branches from behind walls, or flower baskets and carts, street vendors calling out… Southern Song poet Lu You, residing in Chengdu, wrote in “Plum Quatrains” of Chengdu’s love for plum:

That year galloping west of Brocade City, I was drunk on plum blossoms.
Twenty li of unbroken fragrance—from Qingyang Palace to Washing Flowers Creek.

Minor Cold Wei Zi 2020.1.6.
Camellia drunk on Minor Cold
Clusters of brocade, damp and flushed
As expected, flower messenger wind
Rivaling spring on the far shore
Autumn yellow retreats
Jade green on the ridges
Nüyi’s three seasonal decrees
Flower queen contests cold beauty
Faint scent around plum shadow
Jade bones make narcissus
Spring yang rises now
Seeking spring before a hundred flowers

Laba: A Pot of Porridge “Simmers” Out the New Year Flavor First

【Watching Magnolia on Laba】 Huang Wei

Rain beyond the curtain murmurs; mist and smoke linger. Counting nine, Laba, not yet Major Cold. Rushing spring disturbs the season—laughing at the plum immortal.
Xinyi lovely magnolia, graceful purple crown—even alone before a hundred flowers. Rare wind and bone, cultivated restraint; the gentleman is modest.

After eating Laba porridge, stepping out to see magnolia and xinyi in the rain,格外水灵 (extraordinarily fresh)—seizing the lead before winter plum. Rain came in intervals; Silicon Valley’s cities along the way grew more flavorful.

The eighth of the twelfth month—Laba Festival—a holiday for sacrificing to thank deities and pray for harvest. The custom of cooking Laba porridge traces to ancient La sacrifice. Laba porridge combines eight directions of food in one pot—gathering all things, harmonizing a thousand spirits. It also celebrates the Buddha’s enlightenment. Laba porridge is also called “Buddha porridge.”

On Laba, every Chengdu household cooked Laba porridge. Ingredients were讲究 (particular): rice, glutinous rice, Job’s tears, millet, etc., plus red beans, soybeans, rice beans, mung beans, kidney beans, or red dates, peanuts, coix seed, lotus seeds, chestnuts, walnuts, longan, ginkgo, almonds—simmered into one pot. “This pot used very rich ingredients; how to cook it depended mainly on the family’s situation and income.” By custom, the first pot was for Buddha and ancestors; the second for the family; the third for relatives, friends, or alms.

Qing Daoguang Emperor wrote “Laba Porridge”—the offering to Buddha and porridge distribution, crowds jostling, surging like tides.

Yang returns at summer’s start, major tone; grains and beans cooked into porridge.
Timely offering to Buddha, heart sincere; silent prayer for golden light to aid all.
Fragrance floats fine from full tables; fruit and vegetables heap the plates.
All taste the delicacies, reaching the sangha; monks pass lotus torches.
Children sated celebrate peace; still they strike the Laba drum in the streets.

Another widely circulated, deeply felt “Laba Day” poem—Qing poet Zhang Wentaо—last year returned from Chengdu to his hometown Suining, happened on Laba to drink porridge with his brothers. This year’s Laba he was far in the capital; a steaming bowl of Laba porridge could comfort the wanderer’s heart.

“Laba Day” Qing Zhang Wentaо
Last year returning home I met Laba; this year’s Laba finds me far from home.
*Elder to younger, younger to elder—feelings as before; things change, stars move—sigh.
Traveler’s meal, one bowl of Buddha porridge; heart for home, ten thousand li into plum blossoms.
Long night, dreams of return vivid; village wine and lamps, laughter and chatter.

Reading this poem especially resonates. When I was young we lived in a typical old Chengdu courtyard—five families. Paths paved with broken porcelain led to the main hall and side wings. Laba, neighbors exchanging and tasting porridge—these memories often enter my dreams. I composed a short lyric to record:

【Rippling Sand — Laba】 Wei Zi 2025, San Francisco
Soughing rain on the steps; path and chimney smoke. Cooking and sharing Laba porridge against the cold.
Warm room, idle Zen, tea one flavor; pure offering, plum immortal.
Bamboo and ancient pine walls; gentleman orchid—proud frost, wind and bone before a hundred flowers.
New Year opens spring, welcoming Yisi; dragon dance lingering.

Laba was also the start of making cured meat and sausage. Courtyard families all busied themselves. Some made little—enough from New Year’s Eve to Lantern Festival. Others made more—enough until summer. Some also pickled Laba garlic—each showing their skills. Courtyard elders said you could tell which daughter-in-law was capable from this. Finished cured goods hung from the high beam, not affecting courtyard tidiness.
What impressed me was when cypress branches smoked the meat—the kitchen filled with smoke rising to the roof, eyes stinging. Children were shooed to the courtyard to wait for Laba porridge. New Year flavor thickened in that smoky air.

16th of 12th month: Sacrificing to the Earth God—“Neighbor’s Pot Tastes Better”

In the past, employers distributed meat offerings from the Earth God sacrifice to workers for a feast. This evolved from ancient battlefield “flag sacrifice” to later “yají” (tooth sacrifice) to today’s company “tail of the year” dinner—rewarding employees for the past year’s work.

Chengdu New Year had many sacrifice names; children were curious but it went in one ear and out the other. This day adults warned not to wander far—after the Earth God sacrifice, we’d share the feast. Children gathered obediently around the altar at the main hall entrance. The main actors were those in the main hall—we called her Grandma Wu and her son. Grandma Wu wore a gray velvet cap with jade inlay year-round, bound feet in pointed shoes, walking unsteadily—we rarely saw her. After the rites, one brought a bowl, another a plate—each family’s specialty with sacrifice fruit on the wide corridor—we ate together. Chengdu people love saying “neighbor’s pot tastes better”—just like family.

17th of 12th month, Beginning of Spring: Spring Official beating the spring ox—important Spring Festival custom.

「Five-Regulated Verse — Beginning of Spring」 Wei Zi 2024

Drizzle damp and cold
Vast, boundless mist
Brewing tea for the old man
Chess game awaiting the mountain hermit
Rapping the window—xinyi lovely
Closing the gate—forsythia stretches
Spring flowers vie to cast off the old
Twelfth month joyfully welcomes the new

This day fell on Beginning of Spring. Chengdu’s “Spring Official Beats Spring” had distinct character. Between “Welcoming Spring” and “Beating Spring” rituals, a special “Viewing Spring” shehuo performance was added. Chengdu’s most important spring rite was beating the spring ox—a clay ox.

He Geng of Mianzhu, former Chengdu vice prefect, in Record of Two Old Men’s Words described the “whip spring” scene he witnessed:

“The day before spring, officials prepared banners, golden drums, entertainers, dwarves, a hundred tricks—welcoming the so-called Mang’er clay ox to present to the two envoys, finally to the prefect’s residence, placing it at the spring distribution site. At dawn, the prefect led his staff to sacrifice to Goumang, circling and whipping three times, then releasing the people to tear the ox. The people clamored and grabbed until the clay was gone.” Finally the clay ox was smashed; people took碎片 (fragments) home to place on plows, silk sieves—praying for favorable weather and full granaries. He Geng said “yearly it was thus.”

“Mang God” was both wood god and spring and grain god. Classic of Mountains and Seas says: “Eastern Goumang, bird body, human face, riding two dragons.” His height—three feet six—symbolized the 360 days of the lunar year; his whip—two feet four—the twenty-four solar terms. By Song, “Mang God” overlapped with Chu Ci’s “Dongjun,” so Fan Chengda said Chengdu people went to the eastern suburbs to “sacrifice to Dongjun.”

By Qing, this custom remained officially led; everywhere they “molded small ox and Mang God.” Beijing Customs records: “East, Mang God; West, spring ox.” After the rites, “the attendants beat and burned it—hence ‘beating spring.’” Qing Xiao Ting’s Chengdu New Year Bamboo Branch Lyrics:

“Spring whip’s pattern most bewildering; bamboo bones, paper skin. Once the Spring Official holds it, people and things both suit.”

Liu Yuan’s Sichuan New Year Bamboo Branch Lyrics:

“After viewing lanterns, viewing spring—joy to see Mang God newly dressed. Carefully discern robes and roles; the year’s livelihood lies with farmers.”

“Heard the new official takes no bribes; spring welcome play proceeds as before. Flower crowns and embroidered shoes put away; buy colored whips for you early.”

Yang Xie’s Brocade City Bamboo Branch Lyrics records the Jiaqing era—Chengdu people carrying the clay ox through Yinghui Gate for spring beating, followed by stilt-walking performers: “Clay ox passes through Yinghui Gate; banners flying, laughter harmonious. People like mountains, spring like sea; women performers cross the air on high.” Around 1911, foreign teacher Luther Knight at Sichuan Higher School photographed a precious “beating spring ox” scene—paper “clay ox” with a straw shepherd boy leading. Beating spring meant Chengdu’s spring began with a plow ox.

21st of 12th month, Major Cold: Folk saying: “Minor Cold Major Cold, no wind yet cold; Minor Cold Major Cold, cold as one; Minor Cold Major Cold, slaughter the pig for New Year”

Last of the twenty-four solar terms. After Major Cold comes Minor New Year. Chengdu countryside—cold ending, spring即将生 (about to come)—welcoming the new year’s solar cycle. This morning—market for New Year goods; at home—remove old, set out new; prepare new padded clothes and shoes.

Food tonic, prayer, and blessings were also讲究 (particular). Early Chengdu people mostly couldn’t stomach mutton; only at Winter Solstice and Major Cold did they follow physician Zhang Zhongjing’s “mutton soup” recipe—dispersing cold, warming, delicious, easy to make. Later Chengdu filled with mutton soup restaurants at Winter Solstice and Major Cold. Now overseas Chinese recreate “mutton soup” from memory for Major Cold—adding much pleasure. A poem to record and recommend:

【Five-Regulated Verse — Major Cold Welcoming Minor New Year】 Wei Zi, San Francisco
Counting nine, Major Cold day; warming up for Minor New Year.
Rain flowers leave footprints; incense mist scatters from chimney smoke.
Sacrifice to the stove, hometown wine; prayer slips, fallen leaves engraved.
Mushrooms braised with tofu; scallion whites with seasonal freshness.

24th of 12th month: Sweep Away Dust, Send Off Kitchen God—Southern Minor New Year

Chengdu people observed it too—following these elder-recited customs in order.

“Beating the dust”—Chengdu people rose early to sweep—inside and out, bedclothes, even beam dust, high eaves, tile attics—symbolizing out with old, in with new.

Adults busied themselves; children had other expectations. Once a year the courtyard’s brick drainage channel was thoroughly cleaned. Usually it held no garbage—just for catching roof water in rain. Children waited eagerly—after washing, block the drain to keep shallow water in the channel like a courtyard stream. They could float paper boats. Winter—only this once; summer rain often filled the channel, wind brought pomegranate petals to the surface—splashing and scooping. These memories are vivid fragments of childhood Chengdu New Year.

But one year during dust-beating, an accident: Aunt Zhong in the west wing—her younger son home from university for winter break—climbed a ladder to touch up paint on the eaves. Aunt Zhong held the ladder below. Suddenly the ladder fell; as her son fell, maternal instinct made her catch him with her body. Her son was cushioned and unhurt; she fractured. That New Year the whole courtyard felt sorry.

Sending off the Kitchen God—folk stove sacrifice, from ancient fire worship. Through long evolution the fire spirit was not only “Director of Fate” for human diet and life-fire, but the Kitchen God dispatched by the Jade Emperor to monitor human good and evil. Year-end he reported to heaven on the 24th; returned in 7 days. Southern Song Fan Chengda in Village Fields Music for Twelfth Month:

Ancient tradition: 24th of twelfth month, Kitchen Lord ascends to speak

Legend says the Kitchen God goes to heaven on horseback, so they prepared灶马 (kitchen horse—fodder for his horse) and灶述 (灶王爷神像—Kitchen God image plus exhortation, folded). Both were to “bribe” the Kitchen God. Street vendors selling ding-ding candy changed their cry—no longer “ding-ding candy” but “kitchen candy.”

In Chengdu this day, each household prepared wine, dishes, homemade malt candy—especially stove candy (ding-ding candy)—to stick the Kitchen God’s mouth so he’d only speak good in heaven. Seeing off the Kitchen God became New Year custom—reverence for heaven, praying for blessings, and being careful with speech to avoid misfortune. Sichuan bamboo branch lyrics vividly record these customs:

Stove fire glowing, kitchen fire red; malt candy sticks teeth, sending off the Kitchen Lord.
If the Jade Emperor asks of human affairs, don’t say humans suffer much.

Northern Song poet Su Shi from Meizhou also wrote of sacrificing to the stove—after the rites, they could feast on the sacrificial meat and get drunk.

Northern boats haven’t come, rice like pearls; drunk and full, desolate for half a month.
Tomorrow the east neighbor sacrifices to the stove; one chicken, one measure of wine will surely treat me.

“Pounding glutinous rice cakes” (nian gao)—malt rice beaten with wooden mallet, varied flavors, almost essential for every Spring Festival household. Rice酥为主的糕点 (pastry based on rice crisp). Cooked rice flour mixed with sugar, placed in wooden box, pounded repeatedly with small iron hammer. Brocade City Bamboo Branch Lyrics:

Fine New Year cakes, careful grinding; cleverly turned pastries into the oil wok.
Rice blossom candy, orchid beans—consume many a lady’s ten fingers.

Honey cried in the streets; ground rice flour, dew-fat.
** hammer sounds fill every home; New Year rice酥 is being made.**

Qing Xiao Ting’s Chengdu New Year Bamboo Branch Lyrics on New Year cake:
Bamboo steamers, heat high; children call mother for cake.
Square pieces for guests; pointed corners to哄儿曹 (cheer the children).

For old Chengdu, New Year flavor was sung in these bamboo branch lyrics. Minor New Year—mainly sacrifice food; sausage and cured meat essential.

“Sending Year Flowers”—Mother’s family sending married daughters fine hair ornaments for the New Year. Back then we in the courtyard were all children; even the older college students hadn’t married—we’d never seen year flowers. What we could compare was whether our New Year clothes were ready and what design our handmade “报鸡婆” cotton shoes had.

25th of 12th month: Grind Tofu

Elders said the Jade Emperor personally descended this day to inspect human good and evil. So every household ate tofu dregs to show they lived clean and frugal. Ancient Han custom this day: receive the Jade Emperor’s inspection; “illuminate field silkworms” to drive pests, pray for silk and harvest; Thousand Lantern Festival; “chaotic year chasing”—all reflecting common people’s longing for a better life.

In my childhood the courtyard had one stone mill; five families queued by order. Two overlapping millstones fixed to a long wooden bench; two people sat at the ends—one pushing, one ladling water and beans into the eye—slowly grinding豆浆 (soy milk) into the cloth bag at the spout. My sister and I spent hours every year grinding—more like grinding our temper. Aunt would use gypsum to curdle tofu; if it worked the family felt lucky; if not, bad luck affected mood.

26th of 12th month: Stew Meat

In those days meat was scarce, but New Year required stewed pork, beef, mutton for the feast.
But the children’s most exciting time—college students came home for winter break, teaching us the era’s hottest pastimes:

Flying kites—watching them paste thin paper on bamboo, add color and two paper tails. The key was where to tie the string—whether the kite would fly. The most expensive item was the big spool of thread—longer meant flying farther. We little ones could only take the string when the kite was high and stable—enough to tug.

Spinning diabolo (xiǎng huáng)—bamboo tube, two sticks with string, rhythmic pulling—the spinning tube made sound. Throwing it high and catching it, tricks on string and sticks—required skill. We could only wait for the big brothers to show off before they let us try briefly. Now children spinning diabolos are rare—only in acrobatic shows. Liu Yuan’s verse:
Whose child spins a new diabolo, provoking children to pester parents.
Devil face, human head—rushed to buy; spare him circling the knee for pepper sauce.

Sugarcane splitting—custom since antiquity. Yang Xie’s lyric:
Heel kick, sugarcane split, cockfight ground; willows yellow, spinning diabolo.
Year-end痴心 (infatuation) no shame; quail won means glory.
Stand the sugarcane, split in one stroke. If cleaved in half, continue—one stroke counts. If not, the next person continues. Could be one stroke, three, or split the whole cane. Add up each person’s length—longest wins, eats his own; loser pays. Many spectators; observers all got some—including us kids. Everyone happy.

Whipping tops (chǎn niú niú)—wooden conical top with steel bead on tip, colored rings spinning beautifully. Needed a whip—about two feet of wood with rope or leather strip. Key was the launching motion—wrap string around the top, pull and toss—top spun. Then whip it to keep it going. That’s what we learned.
Battledore and shuttlecock—比较洋盘 (rather Western/fancy)—required buying racket and shuttlecock, plus open space with net. Not widespread. But our courtyard had two sets for轮流 (taking turns)—often hit the shuttlecock onto the roof.
And even better—knowing after play, good food waited at home. That feeling was so comfortable. So if anyone needed soy sauce or scallions, one call and we ran. Really like one big family.

The main hall’s original owners—the government left them one great hall, one east wing, one large kitchen with back courtyard—the rest was confiscated and rented to four families including ours. They had nine children—three away, six at home with parents and grandmother—quite crowded. But their traditional family education was strictest; their sacrifices most讲究. We kids were used to watching and waiting for offerings.

27th of 12th month: Slaughter the Rooster

Chicken essential for the feast. First day of New Year—no killing—so before New Year they bought live chickens, ducks, fish at the rural market—stewed, steamed, braised, marinated—fine ingredients for New Year’s Eve. Also firecrackers, New Year pictures, door gods.

Four elders in the courtyard gathered daily—their龙门阵 ( Sichuan-style chats) were what to buy this day in years past, what New Year tasks, what折子戏 (opera excerpts), origins of New Year pictures and door gods… Preschoolers gained folk tale fragments. Listening while cracking seeds—New Year flavor, remembered as sweet.

28th of 12th month: Cut Window Paper-cuts

Write Spring Festival couplets, paint lanterns, post Fú, replace door gods.
Writing couplets—custom evolved from ancient “peach charms”—peach wood辟邪 (warding evil). After papermaking, red paper replaced peach wood. Sichuan couplets trace to Later Shu ruler Meng Chang’s “New Year receives surplus blessings; fine festival celebrates long spring”—Chengdu said to be the birthplace of couplets that spread through China.

Chengdu people bought couplets or had them written. In our courtyard we pasted long red couplets on the tall thick nanmu pillars—first cleaning them on ladders, work done by the big brothers and sisters. The couplet writer was a middle school teacher—we called him Fourth Brother. Usually quiet; besides occasionally hearing his fine singing, he was tall and thin like a shadow. This time of year was his moment—every door had his red couplets; the courtyard lit up with festivity.

Painting lanterns—Chengdu festival tradition, literati and folk painting coexisting. Chengdu New Year—after the lantern festival, the flower festival; viewing lanterns, guessing riddles, appreciating flowers, composing poems—literati and commoners each found pleasure. Flower lantern garden—lanterns everywhere, window lattice paintings, door couplets—all by local artists. Much later I heard—on the corner street near our courtyard—painter Chen Zizhuang, in the painting world comparable to Qi Baishi, once did all the元宵 (Lantern Festival) lantern paper小品 (small works). So many, so rushed, he worked in the courtyard, coat off, freely wielding the brush—only five mao per piece—a painting world anecdote. If anyone kept his work, one piece would be priceless today. They say rich or poor, all celebrate New Year; poor scholars could write couplets for pay—though shy to mention money, still earning for the festival. Xiao Ting’s Sichuan New Year Bamboo Branch Lyrics:

Cheapening scholarship, saying to serve; couplets written on commission, brush flying.
Not mentioning the meager fee; only saying paper prices are high this year.

29th of 12th month: Buy Liquor—Also “Little New Year’s Eve”
Chengdu people visiting and greeting before the year, exchanging gifts—“kuì suì.” From [Northern Song] Su Shi of Meizhou, Sichuan, “Kuì Suì”:

Farm work each harvested; year’s tasks complete. Fear joy may not arrive; borrow things regardless of worth.
Mountains and rivers yield their produce; rich and poor, large and small. Platter holds great carp; cage holds pair of rabbits.
Rich present华丽 (splendor); embroidered splendor fills the seat. Poor ashamed they cannot; humble gifts from mill.
Official residence, few old friends; alleyway festival passes. I too would raise the village custom—alone I sing, none to join.

Burning incense outdoors for three days—“heaven incense”—honoring ancestors and hope for the new year. Qing Cha Shenxing’s poem depicts Qing women busy with New Year preparations—like a gongbi painting:

Skillfully cut streamers, try new silk; paint and描金 (trace gold) make moth ornaments.
From now scissors rest a month; women’s needlework peaks before the year.

Day before New Year’s Eve, Chengdu people’s ancestral sacrifice was also讲究. In our courtyard the main hall family’s proper sacrifice was a microcosm: incense and candles in the tall dim hall, fruit offerings, kneeling at the spirit tablet. Rush mats on the floor; the hall’s thick high threshold like a solemn boundary—separating not only inside from outside but a weighty family tradition. We children dared only watch from the steps—that door was usually closed. Their bound-foot grandmother worshipped first, then the father led nine children to pray for protection. Their situation was relatively difficult—grandmother above, nine children below, mother alone at home. The father was a “controlled element” by the government—several nights a week after work he went to the local police station for study. They ate only two meals daily but lived with order and propriety, rites complete. Years later the mother donated to disaster victims whenever she could—deeply admirable.

[Childhood Chengdu New Year Customs Inherited in Bamboo Branch Lyrics] Part One:

Please see “New Year’s Day to Lantern Festival” next.

Wei Zi, written in San Francisco, Laba Festival 2026
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