The Art of Mingci: Name Cards in Song Dynasty Etiquette

In 11th-century China, a young scholar named Li Qingchen faced a dilemma familiar to ambitious men of letters—how to gain the attention of powerful patrons. His solution involved an object we might recognize today: a name card, or mingci (名刺), though its form and function bore little resemblance to modern business cards.

Li’s story reveals the intricate social choreography of Song Dynasty (960-1279) elite interactions. When denied entry to the residence of Han Qi—a prominent statesman—the 18-year-old prodigy borrowed a brush and composed a biting poem on his name card’s blank margin:

“The noble son rests leisurely behind vermilion curtains,
While white-robed clerks scorn this humble scholar.
Do you dream of Duke Zhou, I wonder?
Does his legendary hospitality grace your slumber?”

This clever allusion to Duke Zhou—a paragon of Confucian virtue who allegedly spat out his meal mid-bite to receive guests—prompted Han Qi to exclaim, “I’ve long known of this man!” The encounter launched Li’s career and secured him a marriage into Han’s family.

Song Dynasty name cards came in two varieties:
– Wooden tablets: 4-5 inches wide, 7-8 inches long, engraved with black or red lacquer
– Paper cards: Thick stock with vertical calligraphy, leaving generous margins for inscriptions

Unlike contemporary cards used primarily for introductions, mingci served as essential ritual objects. Even familiar acquaintances exchanged them as tokens of respect—a practice stretching back to the Tang Dynasty (618-907) and persisting through the Qing (1644-1912). During Lunar New Year, officials might dispatch hundreds via servants in a practice called yanmen touci (沿门投刺)—”door-to-door card delivery.”

The most extravagant example comes from Tang general Cheng Zhijie (程咬金 of folklore), whose 7-chi (2.1m) wooden name card required two soldiers to carry—a flamboyant display of status that would make any modern business card pale in comparison.

The Brotherhood of the Golden List: Song Dynasty Alumni Networks

When Su Shi (苏轼, better known as Su Dongpo) reminisced about his childhood in 1030s Sichuan, only one classmate stood out—Chen Taichu, a Daoist ascetic whose reported post-death miracles fascinated the poet-statesman. This sparse recollection highlights a curious social phenomenon: Song literati often maintained stronger bonds with examination classmates than childhood peers.

The jinshi (进士) examination created artificial but powerful kinship. As Fan Chengda (范成大) noted:

“The presented scholar examination began in Sui, flourished in Tang, and continues in our dynasty. Those ascending together are called tongnian (同年)—a fellowship of robes and caps since antiquity… Those sharing the examination list treat each other with profound camaraderie.”

These bonds were forged through extravagant “periodic gatherings” (期集) lasting weeks after the palace examinations. Unlike modern reunions, these were institutionalized rituals with specific purposes:

1. Compiling the “Golden List”: Recording 300+ graduates’ names, ranks, origins, and family histories
2. Woodblock printing: Producing elaborate alumni directories through labor-intensive carving
3. Financial contributions: Top scorers paid heavily (e.g., 30,000 coins for the zhuangyuan 状元)

The state sponsored these activities, allocating 3,000 strings of cash for jinshi gatherings from 1068 onward. The investment paid social dividends—as The Records of Qiantang (《钱塘遗事》) observed:

“Through prolonged feasting, the seeds of brotherhood are sown. When official paths cross in future years, they meet as old friends.”

This system created a “shadow bureaucracy” of mutual aid that persisted throughout officials’ careers, demonstrating how institutional rituals could manufacture social capital in premodern China.

Flourishing in the Cracks: Song Dynasty Civil Society

A striking passage from the Ming-era Stories to Awaken the World (《醒世恒言》) preserves Song social life:

“(Master Zhang) heard street gongs… A minor official with tea servant brought a tuan shu invitation for ‘society gathering.’ His late father had founded this ten-member she… Now young masters emulate their elders, forming new societies.”

This fictional account reflects historical reality. Southern Song records list specialized associations like:
– Qiyun She (齐云社): Football (cujú) clubs
– Xiongbian She (雄辩社): Storytellers’ guilds
– Jinti She (锦体社): Tattoo enthusiasts
– Jingbiao She (锦标社): Archery societies

Even marginalized groups organized—the Cuijin She (翠锦社) united courtesans, while “Treasure Competitions” (斗宝会) became covert displays of elite women’s wealth.

This vibrancy stemmed from Song policies allowing free association—a stark contrast to Qing Dynasty restrictions where:

“Any blood-oath brotherhood faces rebellion charges—leaders get strangulation, followers lesser penalties… Mere age-ordered fraternities under twenty members warrant 100 blows and two months in cangue.”

The relative tolerance created a civil society landscape that wouldn’t be matched until modern times.

The Light in the Shadows: Mingjiao’s Underground Empire

Lu You’s (陆游) 12th-century account reveals an astonishing phenomenon—the Manichaean “Religion of Light” (明教) had permeated Song society:

“In Fujian are those practicing heterodoxy called Mingjiao… Even scholars and imperial clansmen declare, ‘Today I attend Mingjiao services.’… Wearing white robes and black hats, they form societies everywhere, printing scriptures and idols.”

This Persian-born faith (known as “Vegetarian Demon-Worshippers” to officials) offered:
1. Economic relief: Collective aid systems and simplified funerals (火葬) bypassing Confucian burial expenses
2. Community: Nighttime gatherings with strict gender separation

By 1134, official Wang Juyu recognized its appeal:

“Mingjiao followers don’t eat meat. When trouble strikes a household, comrades provide assistance… Frugal living brings sufficiency; camaraderie enables mutual aid.”

But its rapid spread—whole villages converting in Fujian—alarmed authorities. Between 1121-1144, Mingjiao-inspired revolts erupted in Zhejiang (led by Fang La 方腊), Jiangxi, and military mutinies.

The state responded with Zhu Xi’s (朱熹) baojia (保甲) mutual surveillance system:

“Neighborhoods must monitor each other… Report illicit salt trading, cattle slaughter, gambling, and Mingjiao propagation. Failure means collective punishment.”

Yet as long as social inequities persisted, such movements found fertile ground—a pattern repeating through White Lotus rebellions to the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.

Legacy: The Song Blueprint for Chinese Social Organization

The Song Dynasty’s unique social ecosystem—from mingci rituals to examination networks and vibrant associations—created templates influencing Chinese society for centuries. While later dynasties suppressed civil organization, Song models resurfaced whenever state control weakened.

Modern China’s alumni networks, business card etiquette, and even underground religious movements all carry echoes of these Song innovations—testament to a society that balanced institutional control with remarkable social flexibility. The mingci may have shrunk to pocket size, but the human connections they facilitated remain as vital as ever.