Beiling Park: The Everyday Aesthetics of an Imperial Tomb

## Beiling Park: The Everyday Aesthetics of an Imperial Tomb Shenyang's Beiling Park, originally named Zhaoling, is the resting place of Qing Emperor Taizong Huang Taiji and Empress Xiaoduan Wen. This garden, spanning over 300 hectares, has remarkably dissolved imperial authority to become the everyday backdrop of citizens' lives. At 6 a.m., when the first rays of sunlight pierce through the pine needles and the stone statues of the imperial tomb have yet to awaken from their night's rest, the rhythm of morning exercises already resonates throughout the park. The pine trees lining both sides of the Sacred Way are over 380 years old. They have witnessed the sunsets of Shengjing (old Shenyang) and heard the melodies of modern square dancing. These ancient pines grow in various peculiar postures—some with trunks twisted like dragons, others with branches drooping like umbrellas—forming a living sculpture gallery. I noticed an elderly man who practices tai chi daily under a "Phoenix Pine." His white jacket creates a wonderful harmony with the deep green of the ancient pine, as if two lives from different time periods have reached a certain understanding. On the square in front of the vermilion gate, roller-skating teenagers weave between the stone archways, their English T-shirt slogans forming an absurd contrast with the Manchu inscriptions. Most intriguing are the steps in front of Longen Hall, where this once solemn sacrificial site is now filled with children eating ice cream and tourists taking selfies. A young woman in traditional Han clothing leans against the glazed screen wall for photos, her phone stand's fill light illuminating the 17th-century brickwork. At 4 p.m., a few boats float on West Suburb Lake, while old Shenyang locals sit playing cards under the willows on the shore. They sip tea with goji berries from their thermoses, with peanut shells scattered at their feet, their laughter startling wild ducks in the water. This atmosphere of everyday life creates a strong contrast with the square fortress just a hundred meters away—the battlements on the walls still maintain their defensive posture, but now they target drones and digital cameras instead of enemies. As the sunset gilds the precious dome, the park begins to change roles. Square dance formations spread out in the parking lot, ballroom dancers twirl beside the stone statues, and power walking groups march through the Sacred Way chanting slogans. These vibrant scenes turn the sleeping emperor into a silent spectator. Sitting on a bench in front of the stone offerings, watching children use the sacrificial stone platform as a slide, I suddenly understand the most touching aspect of this mausoleum—it hasn't been placed on a pedestal, but has gently merged into the laughter and arguments of ordinary people. As night falls, the last visitors leave, and the tomb keeper's flashlight sweeps across the memorial pavilion. Three hundred years of history temporarily reclaims its solemnity, waiting to be awakened again by everyday life tomorrow. Beiling Park teaches us that the best cultural inheritance isn't reverent worship, but allowing history to live within contemporary breath.