When you dive into classic Chinese literature like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, it’s easy to get lost in the endless names flying around. One minute it’s Zhuge Liang, then suddenly it’s Kongming. Wait—are they the same person? (Spoiler: yes.) If you’ve ever wondered why ancient Chinese folks had so many names—or why they changed depending on who’s speaking—you’re not alone.
So let’s untangle the ancient art of the Chinese name system. Spoiler alert: it’s way more complex than a first and last name.
The Ancient Double Act: Xing (姓) and Shi (氏)
Today, we casually say “surname” or “last name,” but in ancient China, there were two distinct concepts: Xing (姓) and Shi (氏).
- Xing is the OG—it goes all the way back to the matriarchal societies of early China. Think of it as the ancestral tribe name. According to Tongjian Waiji (《通鉴外纪》), “姓者，统其祖考之所出”—meaning it reflects your common ancestral origin. These were often derived from rivers or geographical locations. For example:
- The Yellow Emperor had the Xing “Ji” (姬) because he lived near the Ji River.
- The Flame Emperor had “Jiang” (姜) for the Jiang River.
- Shi, on the other hand, came later during patriarchal times. As families expanded, some broke off to form new sub-lineages. That’s where Shi came in—to distinguish one branch from another. Only the elite had Shi; commoners and women usually didn’t. Easy way to remember:
- Everyone shares the same Xing.
- The successful cousin who made it big? He gets his own Shi.
Why Qin Shi Huang Was a Zhao, Not a Ying
Here’s a neat example: the famous Qin emperor, Ying Zheng (嬴政), is often called Zhao Zheng (赵政) in Records of the Grand Historian by Sima Qian. That’s because “Ying” was his ancestral Xing, but he was born in the state of Zhao—so “Zhao” was his Shi. Using the Shi emphasized his noble lineage in that context.
Eventually, during the Qin and Han dynasties, this dual-name system faded, and people just used one combined “surname” (姓氏), usually descended from the old Shi.
Name vs. Courtesy Name (名 & 字): Who Are You Calling By Your Baby Name?
Okay, so now we’ve got the family part down. What about the personal name?
- A “name” (名) was usually given three months after birth. This was your “milk name” or childhood name.
- A “courtesy name” (字) was given at adulthood, typically during the capping ceremony (冠礼) at age 20 (or 15 for some).
The courtesy name wasn’t just for fun—it was how others addressed you out of respect. Only elders could call you by your given name. Peers? Nope. It would be as rude as yelling someone’s full name across a dinner party.
So yes, “Zhuge Liang” (诸葛亮) had the courtesy name “Kongming” (孔明)—and they’re both versions of the same bright idea (literally, both mean “brightness”).
Other cool pairings:
- Zhou Yu (周瑜): courtesy name Gongjin (公瑾)—both refer to jade.
- Fan Zhongyan (范仲淹): courtesy name Ziying (子京), used in the famous Yueyang Tower Essay.
So when someone in a novel yells another person’s name, it often means drama—like calling someone by their childhood nickname during an argument.
Even monarchs were careful with names. Calling a minister by his given name was like giving him the royal side-eye. That’s why in Zhuge Liang’s “Memorial to the Throne” (出师表), he humbly refers to himself as “臣亮” (Your subject, Liang), not “Kongming.”
What’s Your Number? The Rise of the Hao (号)
Finally, let’s talk about Hao (号)—the ancient version of a username or a pen name. These were often self-chosen, poetic, and deeply personal.
- Su Shi called himself “Dongpo Jushi” (东坡居士)—meaning “The Recluse of the Eastern Slope,” presumably because he lived near one.
- Tao Yuanming was “Mr. Five Willows” (五柳先生)—yes, because he had five willow trees by his door.
- Ouyang Xiu dubbed himself “Liu Yi Jushi” (六一居士), or “The Master of Six Ones”:
- 10,000 books,
- 1,000 ancient inscriptions,
- 1 zither,
- 1 chessboard,
- 1 pot of wine,
- and… himself.
He really said, “Books, booze, and board games—plus me, myself, and I.”
Why It Still Matters
This intricate name system tells us a lot about Chinese values: respect for ancestry, societal hierarchy, and personal honor. Even today, you’ll see echoes of it in how names are used in formal settings, how Chinese students choose “English names” that parallel their personalities, or how authors still adopt pen names inspired by nature or heritage.
And next time you’re reading Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Liu Bei calls Zhuge Liang “Kongming,” you’ll know he’s doing it the proper, polite way—not just throwing out random nicknames.