The Roar of the Hedong Lion and the Painted Tiger

Among the many humorous tales of henpecked husbands in Chinese history, none are more famous than the “Hedong Lion” and the “Painted Tiger”—both originating from the Song Dynasty (960-1279). The “Hedong Lion” refers to the wife of Chen Jichang, a Northern Song scholar. According to Hong Mai’s Rongzhai Essays, Chen hosted lavish parties with wine and singing girls at his Huangzhou estate, where he styled himself as “Master Longqiu.” His wife Lady Liu, a native of Hedong, would erupt in jealous rages, shouting at her husband before guests. The poet Su Dongpo immortalized this domestic drama in verse:

“Poor Master Longqiu, debating philosophy late into the night—
Suddenly hearing the Hedong lion’s roar,
His cane drops from trembling hands, mind blank with fright.”

Fellow scholar Huang Tingjian cheekily inquired whether Lady Liu’s health had improved since Chen stopped acquiring new concubines. Meanwhile, the “Painted Tiger” epithet belonged to the wife of Magistrate Lu Shenyan in Weishi County. Tao Gu’s Miscellaneous Records from the Qingyi Period notes how Lu deferred all governance to his cunning, jealous wife Zhu, earning her the feline nickname among locals.

The Lampstand Scholar and Other Notorious Cases

Song literati coined the term “lampstand scholar” for men under their wives’ thumbs. The Qingyi Records describes scholar Li Dazhuang—ironically named “Big and Strong”—being punished by sitting motionless with a lit oil lamp balanced on his head. Even eminent scientist Shen Kuo suffered domestic abuse; his second wife Zhang reportedly tore out his beard while children wept. Yet when Zhang died, the grief-stricken Shen attempted suicide by drowning.

Prominent figures like Prime Minister Wang Qinruo built “Three Fears Halls” (fear of Heaven, Earth, and the Sage), to which colleagues added: “and your wife.” Scholar Zeng Gong lamented this inversion of traditional gender roles, complaining that Song women “made men serve women and husbands yield to wives.”

Property Rights and Proto-Feminist Thought

Contrary to later stereotypes of oppressed imperial women, Song females enjoyed significant legal autonomy. They could:
– Inherit and manage property independently
– Retain dowry ownership after marriage
– Sue for divorce under certain conditions

This economic footing empowered domestic authority. As Neo-Confucian scholar Xie Ximeng declared: “The world’s vital energy resides not in men but women”—a sentiment later echoed in Dream of the Red Chamber.

Fashion as Social Barometer

### Breaking Sumptuary Laws

While Tang dynasty fashion receives praise for boldness, Song women’s attire was equally expressive:
– Silk undergarments with daring necklines (moxiong)
– Transparent outer robes (beizi)
– Unbound feet in working-class depictions

Artworks like Liu Songnian’s Tea Gambling Market show commoners wearing styles once reserved for nobility. Even imperial color restrictions softened—yellow and purple became widespread despite initial bans.

### Beauty Culture

Urban women indulged in:
– Nail art: Using crushed phoenix flowers and alum for weeks-long crimson stains
– Cosmetics: Lead-based powders, branded胭脂 (rouge) from shops like “Old Zhang’s” in Hangzhou
– Perfume: Both imported Arabian rosewater and domestically distilled citrus blossom scents

Literary records describe “Treasure Battles” where noblewomen competed with jeweled headdresses at Buddhist gatherings. Even elderly rural women wore flowers and painted nails, as Fan Chengda’s poetry documents.

The Paradox of Song Gender Relations

This era presents a fascinating contradiction:
1. Cultural Anxiety: Male scholars bemoaned “disorderly” female dominance
2. Legal Reality: Women’s property rights created tangible household power
3. Aesthetic Freedom: Fashion and beauty practices reflected social mobility

As historian Patricia Ebrey notes, the Song represents both Neo-Confucianism’s rise and a last flourishing of female autonomy before Ming-Qing restrictions. These “henpecked” stories—whether humorous or harrowing—reveal complex negotiations between ideology and lived experience in China’s medieval commercial revolution.

The legacy endures in modern debates about gender, reminding us that historical relationships rarely fit simplistic narratives of oppression or liberation. Perhaps, as Hu Shi quipped, societies with many “wife-fearing” tales may indeed harbor deeper democratic potential—a provocative thought for reconsidering China’s past through its colorful marital anecdotes.