Sacred Walls, Common Hands: The Art of Pilu Temple

Today, we’ll talk about the little-known murals of Pilu Temple, painted by folk artists in northern China during the Ming dynasty. These murals bring together gods, ghosts, sages, and common folk to create some of the most imaginative visions of the Chinese spiritual world.

Transcript

Sacred Walls, Common Hands: The Art of Pilu Temple

Today, we’ll talk about the little-known murals of Pilu Temple, painted by folk artists in northern China during the Ming dynasty. These murals bring together gods, ghosts, sages, and common folk to create some of the most imaginative visions of the Chinese spiritual world.

Sunlight spills across the vast North China Plain. Leaving Shijiazhuang Railway Station and driving northwest for about half an hour, the cityscape gradually thins out, giving way to open land and quiet villages. At the edge of Shangjing Village in Shijiazhuang’s Xinhua District stands Pilu Temple, a modest Buddhist complex whose unassuming exterior gives little hint of the extraordinary artistic world hidden inside. 

Passing through the refined entrance gate, visitors find red walls and gray tiles set against a carpet of golden ginkgo leaves, a scene that feels especially vivid in the early winter light of northern China. The temple grounds are calm and compact, with only a few surviving buildings. Even so, on an ordinary weekday morning, a steady stream of visitors arrives from across the country, drawn by the chance to see what many regard as a national treasure.

That treasure lies within two Ming-dynasty halls at the heart of the temple. When sunlight slants across the interior walls, entire universes of color and imagination slowly emerge from the shadows. Some sections include narrative scenes that unfold like illustrated storybooks, recounting episodes from the life of the Buddha. Elsewhere, a vast ceremonial gathering brings together more than five hundred figures drawn from Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism. The richness of detail, the bold use of color, and the sheer vitality of these images often leave first-time viewers astonished.

The murals of Pilu Temple in Shijiazhuang are counted among China’s “Four Great Murals,” alongside the more famous wall paintings of Dunhuang, Yongle Palace, and Fahai Temple in Beijing. Yet Pilu Temple stands apart in both origin and character. 

Unlike imperial-sponsored murals created under court patronage, these paintings were produced by folk artists working far from political and cultural centers. Their creators were not backed by emperors or princes, yet the murals they left behind are among the most imaginative and energetic works in the history of Chinese painting. The aesthetician and sculptor Wang Chaowen, one of the earliest advocates for their preservation, once described the Pilu Temple murals as a pinnacle of folk painting, works that deserve deep respect and careful protection.

Beyond their artistic value, the murals are also shrouded in mystery. The identities of their original painters remain unclear, and the works were almost certainly produced by multiple hands. Based on inscriptions and stylistic features, scholars generally regard them as masterpieces of Ming-dynasty mural art. This uncertainty, however, only adds to their allure. Like a half-remembered legend rising from the plains of northern China, the murals seem to drift in and out of history, inviting curiosity and interpretation.

Encounters between people and cultural relics often carry an element of chance. Gao Luge, director of the Pilu Temple Museum, once remarked during an interview that November 20, 2025 was an auspicious day to talk about the murals. According to the traditional Chinese calendar, it coincided with the Cold Clothes Festival, a day associated with remembering the dead. The symbolism was fitting, as one of the most important themes depicted in the murals is the Water and Land Ritual, a grand Buddhist ceremony dedicated to the salvation of souls.

The Water and Land Ritual, also known as the Water and Land Assembly, originated in India. According to Buddhist legend, the disciple Ananda dreamed of a flaming ghost king who begged for food, inspiring the creation of a ritual space to offer salvation. From the Song Dynasty onward, the ritual evolved into one of the most elaborate and solemn ceremonies in Chinese Buddhism, intended to liberate beings from all realms of existence. 

Paintings that depict this ceremony, known as Water and Land paintings, flourished during the Ming and Qing dynasties. They often portray figures from Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism appearing together, reflecting the inclusive religious outlook of the time. At Pilu Temple, a mural covering more than 120 square meters inside the main Pilu Hall represents one of the most complete surviving examples of this theme in China.

To truly appreciate this painted gathering, visitors must arrive on a clear afternoon and enter the hall before three o’clock, as that is when angled sunlight reveals the murals in detail. Across all four walls, 508 figures appear in 122 interconnected scenes. Together, they form an almost complete visual map of the Chinese spiritual universe. Buddhas and bodhisattvas share space with Daoist immortals, the Jade Emperor, Mazu the sea goddess, the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas, and deities who govern mountains, rivers, the sun, moon, and stars. 

Alongside them are asuras, the fearsome Flaming Ghost King, and even historical figures such as Jiang Ziya, Zhuge Liang, and the famed physician Li Shizhen. For visitors familiar with Chinese legends, standing in the hall feels like attending a celestial conference where all the gods have gathered at once.

Although created by folk painters, the murals strictly follow the conventions of Water and Land painting. Buddhist figures occupy the northern wall, Daoist deities line the eastern and western sides, and Confucian figures appear toward the south. Hierarchies are carefully observed, with figures arranged symmetrically according to rank and status. Yet within this structured order, the artists allowed themselves moments of creative freedom. Among the Confucian figures, they included people from everyday life – craftsmen, scholars, merchants, and members of various professions and social classes. These figures feel especially vivid and approachable, incorporating the divine assembly into the rhythms of human existence.

Compositionally, the murals demonstrate remarkable ingenuity. Fitting more than five hundred figures onto a limited wall surface without creating visual chaos is no small feat. The painters achieved clarity by breaking the grand ceremony into smaller, interconnected scenes. Each cluster centers on a key figure, surrounded by attendants or related characters, with swirling clouds linking one group to another. This design brings together solemn deities, dramatic ghost kings, suffering souls awaiting salvation, and lively figures drawn from daily life, all within a single harmonious vision. As Gao Luge has observed, when viewers take the time to look quietly, they can sense the overwhelming impact the artists intended. The careful arrangement of hundreds of figures is the result of an exceptional understanding of composition.

Artistically, the murals embody the essence of traditional Chinese wall painting. They are executed in the meticulous gongbi style, using fine lines and richly layered colors. One of the most striking techniques employed is gold relief or lifen tiejin in Chinese. In this method, a paste-like mixture is applied to outline patterns, creating a subtle three-dimensional effect, after which gold flakes are added. The technique gives garments and armor a sense of luxury and authority, and is typically associated with court-sponsored murals, such as those at Fahai Temple in Beijing. Its presence in a rural folk temple suggests that the local community had attained a certain level of prosperity at the time the murals were created.

In another hall, the Shakyamuni Hall at the front of the temple, visitors encounter a different yet equally fascinating set of murals. Though time has worn these paintings more heavily, their subjects remain discernible. Rendered like a continuous illustrated narrative, they depict the life of Shakyamuni Buddha, referred to here as the Crown Prince. Notably, the Buddha appears not as a foreign figure but as a Chinese youth dressed in a red robe. One scene, titled The Crown Prince in Dialogue with Confucius, is especially striking. In it, a youthful Shakyamuni and an elderly Confucius sit facing each other, engaged in philosophical discussion. Historically, the two figures lived in the same era, but in the imaginations of these folk painters, they converse freely across cultural and geographic boundaries.

The identities of the artists who conceived such imaginative scenes remain unknown. Although Ming-dynasty inscriptions mention some painters involved in later restorations, the original creators are lost to history. One can only imagine them working intently in the dim halls, brush in hand. Though they may never have witnessed imperial ceremonies, they gave form to a vision that transcended land, sea, and sky, allowing later generations to glimpse a world of extraordinary scope.

As mural scholar Shi Yongshi has observed, the Water and Land murals of Pilu Temple blend elegance with earthiness, splendor with simplicity, achieving a rare balance between the refined and the popular. However, what drove these folk artists to devote years of their lives to creating such complex and precious religious art remains an open question.

Local legends further enrich the murals’ story. Many visitors seek out a particular group on the northern wall, centered on the Jade Emperor. According to folklore, the famous Ming-dynasty scholar and painter Tang Yin, known as Tang Bohu, once stayed at Pilu Temple while traveling to the capital for imperial examinations and painted this scene on a whim. Though unverified, the tale is so beloved that the village itself has ever since been known as Shangjing Village, which translates as traveling-to-the-capital village.

Legend and history intertwine throughout the temple’s past. What is certain is that the murals entered modern awareness through a chance encounter with artists. In 1948, shortly after Shijiazhuang’s liberation, Wang Chaowen, then a teacher at North China University, happened upon the murals with his student Hong Bo. Deeply moved, Wang began sketching the figures and advocating for their protection. Writers and artists including Ding Ling and Ai Qing joined him in petitioning authorities, urging preservation.

Thanks to such efforts, the murals gained official protection in the early years of the People’s Republic of China. Village residents took turns guarding the temple, ensuring its survival through turbulent decades. Even during periods when many religious sites were destroyed, locals shielded the mural halls by labeling them as storage buildings, preventing their demolition.

Over time, state-level recognition followed. In 1996, Pilu Temple was designated a national key cultural heritage site. Nevertheless, age had taken its toll, and the murals suffered from peeling, flaking, salt damage, and deterioration of gold elements. Beginning in the 2010s, the Dunhuang Academy partnered with the Pilu Temple Museum to carry out emergency conservation. Specialists warned that without swift action, the murals would continue to fade day by day.

Through careful restoration and advanced digital documentation, the murals were given new life. High-resolution, full-scale digital reproductions now allow visitors to study details that are difficult to see in the dim original halls. These efforts ensure that the murals can be appreciated while minimizing further damage.

Today, the murals of Pilu Temple rest quietly in Shangjing Village, about three hundred kilometers from Beijing. Once hidden in the countryside, they have now become a destination for art lovers and scholars alike. In the winter sunlight, the sages, deities, and figures of every creed seem to step out of history, forming a silent yet enduring conversation with the modern world.

Well, that’s the end of our podcast. Our theme music is by the famous film score composer Roc Chen. We want to thank our writer Qiu Guangyu, translator Wang Yuyan, and copy editor Pu Ren. And thank you for listening. We hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please tell a friend so they, too, can understand The Context.