The Ancient Foundations of a Capital City

Beijing’s story begins in the mists of antiquity, its origins tracing back to 1121 BCE when it first emerged as the settlement of Ji. This unassuming beginning belied the city’s future grandeur, as successive dynasties would reshape its identity like layers of sediment. The Qin destruction in 221 BCE gave birth to Yan, which evolved through various incarnations – Youzhou during the Tang dynasty, Yanjing under the Liao, and Zhongdu under the Jin.

The city’s true transformation came with the Mongol conquest. After Genghis Khan’s forces destroyed Zhongdu in 1215, his grandson Kublai Khan established the magnificent Yuan Dadu (Great Capital of Yuan) in 1264. Marco Polo’s accounts introduced this “Khanbaliq” to astonished Europeans, describing a city of unprecedented scale and sophistication. The Ming dynasty’s rise in 1368 brought another rebirth as Beipingfu, until the Yongle Emperor’s momentous decision in 1409 to move the capital here permanently, bestowing the name Beijing – “Northern Capital” – that endures to this day.

The Dual City: Manchu and Han Realms

By the late imperial period, Beijing had developed a distinctive dual structure reflecting Qing dynasty social organization. The city was physically divided between the Manchu-dominated Inner City and Han-populated Outer City, separated by imposing walls with precisely three gates – Hademen, Qianmen, and Shunzhimen – that operated on strict schedules.

The Inner City’s massive fortifications formed one of the most impressive urban defenses in history. Constructed initially in 1437 and later faced with brick under Yongle, these walls stretched 21 miles in circumference and soared over 40 feet high. The broad wall-top pathways, now overgrown with vegetation, offered panoramic views across the city’s sea of gray-tiled roofs toward the Western Hills. Remarkably, commoners – especially women – were prohibited from ascending these ramparts, believed to disturb the war god Guan Yu’s peace.

Nine monumental gates punctuated the Inner City walls, each featuring elaborate barbican defenses. The 1900 Boxer Rebellion damaged several, including Qianmen (Front Gate), which held particular ceremonial significance. Its central passage was reserved exclusively for imperial processions to the Temple of Heaven or hunting expeditions. Nearby, a small Guan Yu temple witnessed the emotional return of the emperor and empress dowager after their 1900 flight from the Eight-Nation Alliance.

Imperial Splendor Behind Crimson Walls

At Beijing’s heart lay the Forbidden City, protected by concentric rings of crimson walls and a wide moat. This imperial sanctum housed not just the palace but the empire’s highest governing bodies, guarded day and night by vigilant soldiers. The adjacent Western Park (Xiyuan) represented the imperial leisure grounds, featuring the artificial Lotus Lake with its marble bridges and pavilions.

One curious relic was the short railway built for imperial amusement along the lakeshore – its locomotive likely looted during the 1900 occupation. Nearby, the Hall of Purple Light (Ziguangge) hosted historic diplomatic receptions, while the Round Temple housed a life-sized jade Buddha of incalculable value, its premises still bearing scars from foreign plundering.

Coal Hill (Meishan), an artificial mound north of the palace, served both practical and geomantic purposes. While its name derived from emergency coal stores, its primary function was feng shui – deflecting northern evil influences. The hill’s elegant pagodas witnessed one of Chinese history’s most poignant moments when the last Ming emperor hanged himself as rebel forces breached the city in 1644.

Life in the Dusty Metropolis

Beyond the imperial precincts, Beijing’s vibrant streets presented a sensory kaleidoscope. The raised central roadways, flanked by drainage ditches, teemed with carts pulled by diminutive Mongolian ponies, donkeys, or mules. Foreign visitors often endured bone-jarring rides in springless Peking carts – an experience one memoirist described as sheer torture, with passengers battered by rough paving stones while choking on dust storms.

The streets hosted an endless variety of vendors: bird sellers, ironmongers, snack stalls offering freshly slaughtered meat, and blind fortune-tellers respectfully addressed as “xiansheng” (master). Every corner featured food stands where discriminating patrons could find delicacies ranging from live fish to mutton kebabs. More established merchants operated from dignified shops adorned with gold-leaf calligraphy boards, their wares carefully unwrapped from silk coverings for discerning clients.

Social hierarchies manifested vividly in street scenes. Wealthy mandarins traveled in enclosed palanquins preceded by gong-beating attendants, while laborers wore standard blue cotton with head-wrapping towels. Buddhist monks’ shaved heads gleamed in sunlight, and idle gentlemen strolled with caged songbirds or gathered for cricket fights. Notably absent were upper-class women, confined by social convention, while their humbler sisters moved freely through the bustling lanes.

Rituals and Remembrance: The Fabric of Society

Beijing’s communal life found profound expression in rituals like the elaborate funeral procession for statesman Li Hongzhang in 1902. Following traditional mourning protocols, his son appeared unshaven in ragged garments, while paper effigies of servants, horses, and even concubines were burned to serve the deceased in the afterlife. The multi-day ceremony blended solemnity with social gathering, its musical lamentations contrasting with the cheerful mood of guests long accustomed to the leader’s 1901 passing.

Temple festivals provided another window into spiritual life. At the Lama Temple (Yonghegong), originally a princely residence converted by the Yongzheng Emperor, visitors might witness the spectacular cham dances. Masked lamas in brocade robes performed intricate movements to haunting music, their animal-headed deities wielding fearsome whips to clear space for the sacred performance.

Sacred Spaces: Beijing’s Spiritual Architecture

The city’s religious landscape reflected its cosmopolitan history. The Temple of Confucius offered serene courtyards dotted with steles recording centuries of examination graduates’ names. Nearby, the Tibetan-style Yonghegong housed a breathtaking 70-foot sandalwood Buddha, its gilded surface glowing in incense-heavy air.

At the Bell Tower, visitors marveled at the 120,000-pound Yongle Bell, its surface inscribed with 84,000 Buddhist characters. Legend claimed its perfect tone required sacrificial human offerings during casting. The nearby Drum Tower, a Yuan dynasty relic, maintained the city’s temporal rhythms until modern times.

Huangsi, the Yellow Temple, stood out for its association with the Sixth Panchen Lama, who died there of smallpox in 1780 during a historic visit. His golden reliquary and jewel-encrusted vestments made this a pilgrimage site until its 1900 looting by Japanese troops.

The Eternal City’s Enduring Legacy

Through dust storms and summer deluges, Beijing maintained an undeniable magnetism. Its very earth seemed impregnated with history – from the Ming bricks of its gargantuan walls to the polished flagstones of palace courtyards. Foreign observers, initially repelled by the harsh climate and primitive sanitation, invariably succumbed to its cultural profundity.

The city embodied China’s continuum: in the examination steles recording a millennium of scholar-officials; in the harmonious coexistence of Tibetan Buddhism with Confucian statecraft; in the vibrant street life that adapted to yet resisted imperial decrees. Even as modernity arrived with railway lines cutting through ancient walls, Beijing retained its essential character – a place where history wasn’t studied but lived, where every alleyway and courtyard told stories of dynasties risen and fallen.

From the vantage of its ramparts, especially at sunset when golden light gilded the Forbidden City’s roofs, Beijing appeared suspended between past and present – both vividly real and dreamlike. This quality, more than any monument or ritual, explains its enduring hold on the imagination: a city that was, and remains, utterly unique among the capitals of the East.