The Lunar New Year: History Meets Folklore
The celebration of the Lunar New Year can be traced back over 3,000 years, well before the invention of the Gregorian calendar by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582. While most who hail from the western world may be more familiar with firework displays at midnight on 31st December, the ancient lunar calendar follows a more nature focussed timeframe and, as its name suggests, determines the beginning of a new year by the moon. The new year celebrations begin with the rising of the second new moon after the winter solstice and continue for 15 days, until the year’s first full moon appears.
In the UK, this tradition is commonly referred to as Chinese New Year, however, the festival bears many different names: in China it is known as the Spring Festival, the Vietnamese call it Tet, South Koreans Seollal, Indonesians Imlek, and Mongolians Tsagaan sar, or The White Moon Festival... In fact, more than a billion people are celebrating the Lunar New Year around the world.
The Chinese Spring festival is a two week celebration filled with folkloric symbolism involving dragons, the colour red, and a lot of fireworks - and, as with many traditions, it all begins with a legend…
The monster Nian dwelled deep in the dark ocean. He had the face of a lion but for the wickedly sharp horn crowning his enormous head and the long, white fangs curving down past the end of his snout. His dragon-like body stretched over ten feet in length and his eyes blazed with the promise of fury and death. Nian slept in his watery cavern for an entire year before emerging upon the shore to feed. His hunger was insatiable and, on the last night of the lunar year, he would lay waste to towns and villages, feasting on livestock and anyone who stayed behind to defend their home. Every year, the villagers would eat early, lock the gates to their livestock tightly, and flee to the mountains to save themselves from becoming the beast’s next meal. Every new year they returned to his destruction.
One year, a stranger appeared in the town. His clothing was old and worn into holes, his hair was silver, and, as he walked through the town, he used a cane for balance. It was the eve of a new year and the light was slowly ebbing over the horizon, so, in their panic to abandon their home, most of the villagers ignored the stranger’s arrival. It was an old woman who approached him to explain their plight, and why the air was so thick with fear. She asked that he forgive the town for their lack of proper welcome, and offered him food and refuge in the mountains. The stranger stroked the whiskers of his beard and smiled at the woman, his eyes bright and sparkling. He politely refused her offer, but promised to rid them of the monster if he could stay for one night in her home. The old woman tried to persuade him of the danger but her words did nothing to break his resolve. She realised she had no choice but to leave him to his fate and prepared to leave, arranging a bed and some food for the stranger - should he live long enough to make use of them. She thought of his eyes, how they sparkled in such contrast to his apparent age - there was wisdom in his gaze and humility in his bearing; this was not a naive, arrogant youth. His resolve in the belief that he could conquer the beast gave her pause and she decided to tell her neighbours of the stranger’s promise. Of course, they had lived under the terror of Nian for their entire lives and had long since abandoned any hope of a better life for themselves. The townsfolk reminded the old woman of all they had lost; of the valiant, young heroes who had fought the beast and died, and the old woman swallowed her doubt. They ate their dinner early, locked up their livestock tightly, and left the silver-haired man alone in the village as they ascended to the mountain caves, feeling only slightly remorseful - they did warn him, after all.
The dark hour of midnight crept over the world and a frozen wind whispered through the empty town. Nian’s heavy steps filled the night as the hidden moon watched from her sky. He shook his long mane in triumph at the quiet, his talons flexing at the thrill. He knew where they hid when he emerged from the sea - he could smell their fear on the ghost wind. He also knew that there was no escape from the caves in which they sought refuge. Tonight, once he had his fill and laid waste to their homes, he would take the mountain path to their doom.
A light flickered toward the east. Then another… and another.
A small house shone in the darkness, yellow candle light flickering from the windows. The moon was too young to shine but, like the ocean tide, she pulled the creature toward the light until Nian found himself outside the front door of the old woman’s home. He took an automatic step back when he saw the red paper glowing on the windows before allowing rage to consume him. How dare this mortal stand against him - that they had discovered his hatred of the colour only fuelled Nian’s anger and he roared with the ferocity of a tsunami, shaking the foundations of the house before him. The front door crashed open and the stranger stood illuminated in the doorway. He stepped beyond the threshold, his strong frame cloaked in a bold red gown and bright eyes flashing as he threw back his head and laughed. The sound thundered through the night and the moon smiled as Nian leapt away from the man, snarling. The stranger no longer looked old, though his silver hair sparkled like stars in the candle light, and there was no sign of the cane he had needed earlier as he strode toward the monster with sure-footed confidence. The angry red glow of the house that flickered with light confused Nian’s eyes but he was sure this was no ordinary man. His steely eyes swirled with the depths of the cosmos and his bellowing laughter hurt Nian’s ears. This was a celestial. Nian growled as realisation hit but the air was filled with cracks and bangs that made him flinch - the night was too loud, too bright and Nian swung his heavy head left and right in an attempt to get his bearings amidst the cacophony of colour and sound. The stranger advanced, still laughing - his mighty voice reaching beyond the town to the very sky - and Nian roared, rearing and writhing his mighty body in anguish. Soon Nian’s roars turned to whimpers, and he wished for the moon to pull him back to the sea where the waves might swallow him into darkness and quiet. The moon had no need to intervene and she was thankful, new as she was, as the stranger drove the beast back to the shore and Nian’s hulking mass disappeared under the glassy black surface of the ocean. She gazed fondly at the world beneath her as if it were her own womb and, as she rested against the cloudless night, she felt life bloom.
The next day as the townsfolk trudged wearily down the mountain path, resigned to the horror they would be returning to, they began to notice that something was… different. Where normally the path through the forest would be unnervingly silent, the air thick with the reek of death and decay, there was birdsong on the breeze. The trees seemed to sway contentedly and the morning sun was bright enough to warm the earth beneath their feet. The villagers bathed in the unexpected calm of the forest and breathed deep - the fresh, crisp air tasted of sunlight and moss. They started to break away from their sombre procession and wandered through the dappled shade of the mountain forest, chatting and laughing with one another, their feet feeling lighter with every step. As they emerged from the trees, conversation fell to silence as they beheld the blooming peach blossom trees lining the path to their village. Their intact village.
Even the eldest amongst them had never seen the peach blossom trees in bloom - Nian had always prevented their home from feeling the effects of Spring. Yet here, today of all days, Spring had come to their village. All but one made their way to the centre of their town. Some walked, some dropped their belongings and ran, but the old woman headed east to her home on the outskirts of the village - she had a stranger to thank.
To this day, lunar celebrations in China are steeped in tradition and symbolism. There are firecrackers, fireworks, and even dancing lion-headed dragons. People decorate their homes with red decorations and seasonal flowers (including peach blossom), and give gifts of money in red envelopes. The word “nian” means “year” in Chinese, so, just as in the legend, it is a time to usher out the old year and welcome in the new with good luck and good energy. It is also a time to mark the end of winter and the birth of spring in the lunisolar calendar, so huge feasts are held among family and friends.
If this is sounding familiar, cultures all over the world have held onto ancient traditions that mark not just the new year, but the seasonal calendar, too. In the UK and Ireland many still observe the ancient Gaelic festival Imbolc on the 1-2 February - roughly the midpoint between the winter solstice and spring equinox, and when lambing season begins. The holiday predates Christianity in the British Isles and honoured the Celtic goddess, Brigid.
Brigid was one of the most powerful deities of the Celtic pantheon. She was a triple goddess - a type of female deity who usually oversaw all aspects of life, including death - so, naturally, Brigid’s role during Imbolc is to govern the death of winter and bring about the birth of spring. The most common traditions in Imbolc are lighting bonfires, sharing homemade food, planting seeds, cleansing your home, and making Brideogs (corn dollies that represent the goddess).
Traditions like these are commonplace around the world, born from a time when we used the moon as our calendar and the seasons as our guide. So, as the festivities continue, I wish you all a happy and bountiful New Year!
Researching the origins of the Lunar New Year was a lot of fun, however, I struggled to find a comprehensive story about Nian and the Stranger - most seemed quite short and abrupt. So, of course, I embellished on the details… Just a wee bit. I’ve done my best to keep my ramblings faithful to the original story but if you feel that I haven’t - or that I’ve missed something crucial - I’d welcome the education!
One other thing to note: there were different descriptions of Nian - some say he lived in the mountains, not the sea, and some pictured him with two horns rather than one. I chose to follow the most common versions but it’s always fascinating how many renditions of one folk tale there can be.
In the next blog I’ll be following on from the Lunar New Year to talk about the Year of the Snake and the origins of serpents in folklore… Are they really all that bad?