A roar of tradition: Beijing master passes on lion dance legacy

On an autumn morning in Beijing, the sunlight falls across the training ground as Yang Jingwei watches four children practice the movements of a traditional Chinese lion dance.

He corrects their posture, reminds them to control their movements and urges them to look beyond the steps they have learned. For the 67-year-old master, performing the lion dance is not simply a matter of moving a large, decorated head and a swaying body of fabric. It requires the performer to imagine becoming the animal itself.

"You are not just performing a lion. You have to think of yourself as the lion," Yang tells his young apprentices. "Once you put on the head and drape the red cloth over yourself, the two of you become one lion. You have to bring out its nature."

It is a lesson he has spent a lifetime learning himself.

On Oct 18, Chongyang Festival, also known as Double Ninth Festival, a traditional Chinese holiday honoring the elderly, four children — Xu Shenglin, 10, Miao Yimeng, 11, Yuan Hongdu, 10, and Yuan Zixi, 8 — formally became apprentices to Yang in a ceremony at Baoguo Temple in Beijing, which was founded during the Liao Dynasty (916-1125) and was once one of the city's best-known old book markets. Hongdu is a boy and the other three are girls.

They had already trained with him for a few years as members of the Faxiao'er Lion Dance Team, but the ceremony marked a deeper commitment to carrying on Baizhifang Lion Dance, a national-level intangible cultural heritage tradition with a history of about 300 years.

Baizhifang Lion Dance is part of the northern Chinese lion dance tradition, known for its powerful movements and imposing appearance, with distinctive techniques rooted in the folk culture of old Beijing. While the southern lion dance is known for its expressive movements and ornate heads, the northern lion dance tends to emphasize acrobatics, agility and a more lifelike appearance.

For Yang, the occasion was another step in a journey that began long before he became a master of the art.

"I'm very excited today. This is the first time I've taken on young children as my apprentices," he says. "Taking on young apprentices is not just about teaching them lion dance techniques. I want them to understand the discipline, respect and responsibility that come with carrying on this tradition."

Born in Beijing in 1958, Yang had his first encounter with the lion heads when he was 4. His father worked at a local factory, where the lion dance troupe was based, giving the boy access to a backstage world that other children could not enter.

In 1908, China's first State-run modern banknote printing enterprise, today's Beijing Banknote Printing Co, was established in Beijing's Baizhifang area, which has a history shaped by papermaking, traditional folk customs and the everyday life of old Beijing. Some of the factory's workers took part in the local tradition of lion dance, performing it for recreation and exercise. The practice helped preserve both the folk performance and the community tradition behind it.

Yang still vividly recalls that in the dimly lit auditorium of the factory, the large lion heads seemed to stare at him with their bulging eyes. Yang was fascinated, but also frightened. He would hide behind the stage curtains, inching closer to the props before retreating again.

Then, one day, adults decided to tease him. They placed a lion's head over his own. The young Yang was so scared that he burst into tears.

His father scolded him, wondering how a boy who was always talking about playing with lions could be so frightened when one was placed on his head.

Yet the encounter left something behind besides the fear. Yang still wanted to become a lion dancer.

In 1978, he joined the banknote printing company and immediately asked his father to help him enter the lion dance troupe. He expected that working at the same factory would finally open the door but it did not.

The troupe followed strict rules about who could train with them. Newcomers needed an appropriate foundation, and established members were reluctant to admit someone without the required skills. Yang's repeated requests were turned down.

For six years, from 1978 to 1984, he watched from the sidelines. Even when the troupe trained in the auditorium, he was not allowed inside.

He had little choice but to concentrate on his job and wait.

Then came 1984, when preparations for celebrations marking the 35th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China called for nine lions. The troupe needed more performers, and Yang finally got his chance.

The boy who had once crept toward lion heads in fear could at last learn how to bring one to life.

The experience shaped his understanding of the tradition. Baizhifang Lion Dance was not an art that could be mastered simply by copying movements. Performers had to learn how to convey the lion's personality through its gestures, expressions and rhythm.

Yang describes seven emotional states — joy, anger, worry, thoughtfulness, sorrow, fear and surprise — as expressions that a skilled performer should bring to life through the lion's movements and its seven bells.

He notes that the training was once closely guarded. Photography and video recording were prohibited, even after Yang joined the troupe. Techniques were passed from one practitioner to another within a tightly controlled circle.

"If the techniques got out and someone else was stronger than you, they could beat you," he recalls.

Today, however, Yang faces a different challenge: ensuring that the tradition survives by teaching it to children.

His approach is guided by a belief that quality matters more than numbers. He would rather train a few committed performers than gather a large group without the skills or discipline to sustain the art.

For years, Yang and his lion dance team have performed at temple fairs and cultural festivals across Beijing, particularly during traditional festivals, such as Spring Festival, Lantern Festival and Dragon Boat Festival.

A drumbeat rises, cymbals crash, and atop a tall table, the lion rears up. Its oversized head, with eyes like bronze bells, swivels and blinks as it shakes off an air of authority. A few minutes later, the performance ends to sustained applause.

"The applause tells me there is still an audience for this art," he says. "But fewer and fewer people are willing to learn it. I'm getting old myself. How many more years can I keep this going?"

Young people today have many more ways to spend their free time, he says, while lion dancing demands years of strenuous practice but offers little financial reward. Without a foundation in martial arts or the right physical conditioning, progress can also be slow.

The four new apprentices represent his hope that such a future will not come to pass.

The Faxiao'er Lion Dance Team, initiated by Beijing native Zhang Shiqian three years ago, has provided a platform for children to learn and perform the tradition. Under Yang's guidance, the young dancers have spent years building the skills needed to take on the responsibilities of formal apprentices.

"Even if one lion is all that remains in the future, I can still take it out and represent the whole troupe," Yang says. "I can hold up the lion head and explain the tradition to people."

Zhang is a visual designer who has worked on major events, including the opening ceremony of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics and the 2023 Hangzhou Asian Games. He founded a platform called Faxiao'er Rooftop in 2016 and has since expanded to include children's theater and immersive performances. In late 2022, the project moved to Baoguo Temple, where it now operates a theater and a bookstore. Faxiao'er is a Chinese term for "a childhood friend" — someone you grew up with, often in the same neighborhood, sharing memories from an early age.

"Yang has devoted his life to the lion dance, and his greatest fear is that the centuries-old tradition will one day die out," says Zhang. "For two years, he carefully observed the children, patiently assessing their character, perseverance and sincerity before deciding whom to take on as apprentices."

The children have lived up to his hopes. When they first began learning the art, veteran female members in the troupe patiently guided them through every movement, teaching them the basics one step at a time. They trained steadily, building their skills from the ground up.

Shenglin takes the lion's head, while her partner Yimeng keeps the tail steady. The two girls have become one of the most closely coordinated pairs in the young troupe.

Shenglin first fell in love with lion dancing at a temple fair she visited with her family, captivated by the pounding drums and energetic movements. Yimeng was drawn to the art after watching a film about lion dancing.

During summer and winter holidays, the girls practice the basic moves almost every day. The lion's head weighs about 4 kilograms, but Shenglin is determined to keep training even when she is away from home. During a summer trip, she practiced the movements in her hotel room, using a small box of bottled water as a substitute for the lion's head.

"Even when I'm traveling, I still want to practice," she says. "I don't want to forget the movements."