From Humble Beginnings to Imperial Recognition
The Yangshi Lei family, often referred to as the “Lei Family of Architects,” dominated imperial construction in China for over two centuries, leaving an indelible mark on some of the most iconic structures of the Qing Dynasty. Their journey began in 1683 when Lei Fada and his cousin Lei Faxuan, craftsmen from Jiangxi Province, arrived in Beijing to serve the imperial court. Though historical records have blurred some details, the family’s rise to prominence is tied to a pivotal moment during the reconstruction of the Hall of Supreme Harmony (Taihedian).
According to legend, during a critical beam-raising ceremony, the official carpenters struggled to fit the ridgepole. In a dramatic turn, Lei Fada—or more likely his son, Lei Jinyu—stepped forward, adjusted the beam with precise strikes of his axe, and earned the admiration of the Kangxi Emperor. This act secured the Lei family’s appointment as heads of the Yangshi Fang (Imperial Design Bureau), a position they held for eight generations.
The Golden Age: Masterpieces Across the Empire
Under the Kangxi and Qianlong Emperors, the Lei family’s influence expanded rapidly. Lei Jinyu, the second-generation architect, became a favorite of Kangxi after showcasing his skill during the construction of the Changchun Garden. His ability to blend southern elegance with northern simplicity earned him imperial accolades, including a rare handwritten plaque from the future Qianlong Emperor.
The family’s portfolio grew to include the Summer Palace (Yiheyuan), the Old Summer Palace (Yuanmingyuan), the Temple of Heaven (Tiantan), and even the imperial mausoleums. Their designs were not just functional but deeply symbolic, reflecting Confucian ideals and the emperor’s mandate from heaven.
A Family’s Struggle: Preserving the Legacy
The Lei family’s continuity faced a crisis when Lei Jinyu died in 1729. His sixth wife, Madame Zhang, became the unsung hero of the dynasty. Refusing to retreat to the south with the rest of the family, she fought to secure her infant son Lei Shengcheng’s right to inherit the Yangshi Fang position. Her determination ensured the family’s revival under Lei Shengcheng’s three sons, who spearheaded projects like the expansion of the Chengde Mountain Resort.
By the mid-19th century, however, the Qing Dynasty’s decline threatened the Lei family’s work. Fifth-generation architect Lei Jingxiu responded by meticulously preserving the family’s designs, creating what is now known as the “Yangshi Lei Archives.” This collection of blueprints, models, and construction notes became a cornerstone of Chinese architectural history.
The Perils of Imperial Service: Politics and Perfection
Working for the imperial court was fraught with danger. Lei Siji, the sixth-generation architect, faced life-or-death stakes when designing the Eastern Qing Tombs for Empress Dowagers Cixi and Ci’an. Initially, the tombs were to share a single ceremonial hall, but the empresses demanded separate structures. After Ci’an’s death, Cixi ordered her tomb to be lavishly redesigned, exhausting Lei Siji, who reportedly died from the strain.
The End of an Era
The family’s zenith came under seventh-generation architect Lei Tingchang, who oversaw the reconstruction of the Temple of Heaven’s Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests and other major projects. Yet, the 1911 Revolution marked the end of imperial commissions. The eighth and final heir, Lei Xiancai, died childless and unemployed, closing the book on the Yangshi Lei dynasty.
In the ensuing chaos, their priceless archives were scattered, sold, or even burned. Fortunately, scholars like Zhu Qiqian salvaged many documents, now housed in institutions like the National Library of China.
A Legacy Carved in Stone and Memory
The Yangshi Lei Archives, comprising over 20,000 drawings and models, were inscribed in UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register in 2007. These documents shattered the myth that traditional Chinese architecture lacked systematic design, revealing sophisticated scaling techniques and modular planning.
Among their innovations were “tangyang” (architectural models made from paper, wood, and wax), which allowed emperors to visualize projects before construction. Though the craft is now lost, surviving models—like those of the Yuanmingyuan’s “Wanfang Anhe” pavilion—testify to their precision.
Today, the Lei family’s work endures not just as monuments but as a testament to the intersection of art, power, and resilience. Their story is a reminder of how one family’s skill shaped the skyline of imperial China—and how easily such brilliance can fade into history.