Chinese Idioms: From Ancient Wisdom to Modern Pop Culture
- Calvin Stevens
- 3 days ago
- 11 min read
How chengyu became more than just their four characters.
Have you ever played a game of Wordle? Now, how about a game of Wordle but for Chinese idioms? It exists; trust me. Admittedly, it does seem strange at first — fitting an entire idiom into a few blocks designed for a single word, I mean.
But, thanks to the exact nature of a very particular subset of Chinese idioms — namely, chengyu (成語) — this is entirely possible.
Perhaps a more familiar game, however, is 成語接龍 (chéngyǔ jiēlóng), or “chengyu word-chain”.
I’ve been learning Chinese for a little over a year now, and my classmates and I occasionally play this game with our teacher. The point of the game, really, is to form a chain of connecting idioms. One person starts by calling out a random idiom, with someone else then needing to think of another idiom to link up with the first such that the last character of the first idiom is the same as the first character of the second idiom.
So, if I start with 指鹿为马, the next person may follow with 马马虎虎.
Of course, as mere learners of the language, my classmates and I are complete rookies at the game.
Being somewhat competitive, however, I took it upon myself to start learning a new chengyu every week. My teacher has encouraged my endeavour thus far, citing it as a way to better learn how to “think like a Chinese”.
At the time, I wasn’t sure what she meant by that; but, as time has gone on, I’ve started to realise that I am, in fact, standing before the precipice to a grand Chinese cultural phenomenon.
It turns out, chengyu are not just idioms; they’re something endemic to Chinese tradition and way of life.
What is a chengyu?
Sometimes referred to as “four-character idioms”, most chengyu (but not all) are only four characters in length. It is, undoubtedly, their most characteristic feature.
What’s interesting about chengyu is that, although they are very short, they convey a meaning that far exceeds the four-character combination.
Now, if you’re a history-nerd like me, you might know that, prior to the invention of paper, ancient Chinese documentation, poetry, and literature was inscribed on the likes of bamboo strips. Naturally, these thin strips were not always abundant in space; thus, it is surmised that one of the reasons for the development of the chengyu — and other short proverbs or poetry — is simply because a lot needed to be communicated in as few characters as possible.
Hence, each chengyu’s four characters can compactly contain entire experiences, moral concepts, and admonishments from across Chinese history.
The many Faces and Origins of chengyu
It is most commonly accepted that chengyu have their oldest origins in ancient Chinese literature, with many deriving in particular from poetry. The Classic of Poetry, the oldest collection of ancient Chinese poems, is perhaps the penultimate trove of many early chengyu. This probably explains the lyricism and poetic nature of chengyu and why they are composed the way they are.
Some, as you might have guessed, also spring from philosophy and the eddies of wisdom written (or orated) by many of China’s famous ancient figureheads.
From the likes of Confucius, Mencius, Zhuangzi, there’s a lot of prevailing wisdom.
Other chengyu, however, find their roots in history itself. To understand certain chengyu is to know Chinese history. Think about the English expression “To cross the Rubicon” — denoting the “point of no return”, it is sometimes regarded as the precipitating event that started the Roman civil war when Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon River.
Likewise, the Chinese have their own such sayings, most of which can only truly be understood if you know your history well.
But they’re not contained to just China alone.
All across the Sinosphere, including Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, chengyu have found homes and evolved into a multitude of other forms.
In Japan, the basis of the chengyu — that four-character feature — became known as a yojijukugo (四字熟語), written in kanji; in Korea, they became known as sajaseongeo (사자성어); and in Vietnam, they became thành ngữ. And, while many of them derive directly from their Chinese roots (specifically Sino-Japanese and Sino-Vietnamese variations), there are some that are indigenous and wholly unique to each culture.
More than 5000 chengyu are thought to exist; the exact number, however, is unknown. Yet despite many of them having ancient, sometimes even obscure, roots, they are still highly popular in modern day vernacular Chinese and speech.
Some have even evolved into kouyu (口语) which are, essentially, more informal spoken idioms that reflect modern colloquialisms and slang.
I, of course, know very few of the thousands that exist.
In my quest to learn more and get a better understanding of Chinese history, culture, and literary traditions, I decided to dig for a few worthy contenders. And what better way than to ask Chinese Netizens themselves?
So, I asked all my friends and followers on 小红书 (Xiǎohóngshū) for their favourite chengyu and their context; and I was not disappointed.
Thus, allow me to share a few I’ve recently learnt.
Well, at least the ones I’ve figured out so far…
Historical chengyu
Admittedly I have a bias towards historical stories, so these are some of my favourites (and, subsequently, the easiest for me to understand)!
Two popped up in the comments under my post; and, ironically, they were from two separate users but both regarding the exact same historical figure.
1) “破釜沉舟” (pò fǔ chén zhōu) — literally translating to: “Break pots and sink ships”.
2) “四面楚歌” (sì miàn chǔ gē) — literally translating to: “Besieged on all sides”.
The first has its origins in the Battle of Julu (208BCE) when general Xiang Yu led a rebel army to victory over the ruling Qin Dynasty, marking the beginning of the end for the region’s first unified empire. Supposedly, when crossing the Yellow River, he ordered his men to take only what they needed and to “break the remaining utensils” and “sink their ships” to ensure that none would turn and flee.
So, all-in-all, it’s a more dramatic, more poignant, rendition of its younger Western counterpart, “crossing the Rubicon”, the “point of no return”.
The second, ironically, comes from Xiang Yu’s later defeat at the Battle of Gaixia (203BCE) wherein the once admirable general was deserted by his own men and left “besieged on all sides”. Thereafter, he would commit suicide.
It does seem quite fitting, given the cyclical nature of Chinese history, that these two chengyu would fly into my radar. I do find it quite amusing that both Xiang Yu’s greatest military success and greatest military failure are so neatly captured in two sayings that essentially boil down to “victory at all costs” followed by “fighting a losing battle”.
The universe certainly has a bitter sense of irony, doesn’t it?
Proverbial chengyu
“井底之蛙” (jǐng dǐ zhī wā) — “a frog at the bottom of the well”.
This one has got to be one of my all-time favourites, and I knew where it came from the second I saw the comment.
A person who is described as being “a frog at the bottom of the well” is a person who has a very narrow and limited outlook (and is sometimes even proud of it).
It comes from one of the many allegorical stories told by the philosopher, Zhuangzi, one of Confucius’ contemporaries. In this particular parable — for Zhuangzi loved telling stories that involved animals as their central characters — a Turtle comes across a Frog at the bottom of a well. The Frog boasts of its little abode and invites the Turtle in; but the Turtle’s knee gets caught in a crevice before it can enter. It then proceeds to tell the Frog of the great Eastern Sea, and the Frog is left feeling somewhat humbled, a little lost.
Both animals ultimately realise than neither can ever understand the other’s world.
This chengyu, of course, only refers to the Frog who, either by external factors or its own hubris, cannot move yonder its well. Hence, he who is a frog is often shallow-minded.
I do wonder if there exists a chengyu of the Turtle — it would certainly be neat!
The Turtle who dared not go where he feared to get stuck.
Literary chengyu
Remember how I said not all chengyu were four characters long? Well, here’s one that isn’t:
“说曹操，曹操就到“ (shuō Cǎo Cáo, Cǎo Cáo jiù dào) — “speak of Cao Cao and he will arrive”.
For those of you who recognise his name, you may be wondering why I’ve classified this chengyu of Cao Cao as a literary chengyu and not a historical one.
And you would be right to question this assessment; I, too, originally thought it was from history; and technically it is.
You see, Cao Cao occupies a rather controversial and infamous space within Chinese history for his impact on the Three Kingdom Period. Some regard him as a war-time hero, an accomplished poet, and a strong leader; others see him for his cruelty and traitorous ways.
Nevertheless, it was only after the writing of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, one of China’s Four Great Classical Novels, that Cao Cao was further dramatized and portrayed as a truly sensational villain.
As a result, while the above saying can still fit a historical context, it was the literary scene that popularised it.
Ever since, Cao Cao has become somewhat of a boogieman.
Or, as we’d say in English, “speak of the devil and he will come!”
Natural and Descriptive chengyu
This feels a little too obvious, but it must be said in either case: perhaps the greatest inspiration for chengyu comes from nature itself. Time, seasons, celestial objects, animals, and natural features, in particular, have captured the minds and hearts of Chinese poets for millennia, making for prose that is both simple yet exquisite.
Take, for example, the endearing chengyu:
“一日三秋” (yī rì sān qiū) — “One day, three Autumns”.
It’s actually a beautiful way to tell someone you’ve really missed them.
Think about it — within the span of one day, it feels as though three Autumns have already gone by. Seasons are a common motif for many Chinese poets as they are closely linked with the concept of wuxing (五行), or the Five Phases.
Similarly, the 12 animals of the Chinese zodiac are also recurring characters in chengyu, adding to the different layers of meaning.
“虎头蛇尾” (hǔ tóu shé wěi) — “Tiger’s head, snake’s tail”.
You might be able to guess — as I did — what this means without being an expert on Chinese zodiacs. From head to tail, the bizarre concoction seems weaken; you start with a roaring tiger and end with a writhing serpent (no offense to anyone born in the year of the Snake!)
So, seeing as animals play an important role in Chinese tradition and cosmology, their various attributes can be used to describe certain situations or even people.
Hey, at least if there’s a dragon or a tiger involved, that probably means a good thing.
Bonus chengyu
Speaking of dragons and tigers, I recently learned that the famous movie title Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (臥虎藏龍) is also a chengyu!
As one can gather from the movie — and it really does make sense in hindsight — the chengyu denotes a place that is full of hidden talent or hidden “masters”.
It, itself, however, comes from a line in a poem by the ancient poet, Yu Xin (庾信) that reads:
“暗石疑藏虎，盤根似臥龍”.“Behind a rock in the dark, there undoubtedly hides a tiger; and the giant, coiling root resembles a sleeping dragon.”
Japanese yojijukugo
One idiom in the comments to my post confused me for a long time.
一期一会 (ichigo ichie) — “a once-in-a-life-time experience”.
As other users pointed out, rather comically, the reason for my confusion was because this was actually a Japanese idiom. Well, there’s a laugh at my own expense!
Look, you can’t really blame me — I didn’t know it was kanji; I was trying to read it in Chinese!
And, as I mentioned previously, while a lot of Japanese yojijukugo come directly from Chinese chengyu (in which case, I might have been able to discern the meaning), not all of them do. This just happened to be one of those indigenous Japanese idioms.
It has its origins in the Japanese tea ceremony, believed to have come from the wisdom of the famous tea master, Sen no Rikyū (千利休). The phrase itself, true to its tea-ceremony roots, tells us to cherish every moment in life, for none can ever be repeated.
Chengyu in advertising
Needless to say, the Chinese love their idioms.
A true testament to this, apart from their frequent use in speech, is their appearance in modern advertising.
Ever since the 1980s, when China “re-opened” itself to the world, Western companies have tried countless times to appeal to the massive swaths of Chinese consumers; and countless times they have failed. One such technique that has proven successful, however, is incorporating chengyu into adverts. Why? Well, because it tells the Chinese consumer that the company isn’t just some ignorant Western brand.
Take, for example, car companies.
BMW is known for launching Christmas ad-campaigns with the double-chengyu slogan:
一马当先，鹿人皆先 (yī mǎ dāng xiān, lù rén jiē zhī), which roughly means “Both people and deer alike know the horse in the front” — cue a poster of Santa and his reindeer being dragged by a BMW X6.
It is interesting to note the creative wordplay here: BMW’s Chinese name is 宝马 (bǎomǎ), or “Treasure horse”; and thus the “horse in the front” is quite literally the BMW car | Screenshot from the author’s 小红书 account.
In a similar case, during the Covid-pandemic, Tesla launched a campaign to advertise their podcast on 喜马拉雅 (Xĭmǎlāyǎ) with the chengyu, 特立独行 (tè lì dú xíng) — “standing independently, walking alone” — modified with a negating 不 to essentially say “never stand and walk alone”.
As with the BMW campaign, wordplay occurs with the isolated 特, creating the illusion of the word 特立 (tè lì) at the beginning of the chengyu, Tesla’s abbreviated Chinese name | Screenshot from the author’s 喜马拉雅 account.
I’ve spent a lot of my time on the Chinese Internet, getting lost in the sea of Xiǎohóngshū (小红书) posts, surfing Douyīn (抖音), listening to audio books on 喜马拉雅 (Xĭmǎlāyǎ), and soaking up a bunch of dramas on iQYI. As a result, I’m becoming more adequately acquainted with the chengyu, perhaps even over-acquainted, if that’s possible.
What I’m beginning to discover, however, is the extent to which chengyu are ingrained in Chinese society. To call a chengyu an idiom almost seems a bit disingenuous.
While they certainly function in a similar manner to idioms, they’re a unique and very specific type of linguistic and literary artistry; and they often contain a lot of cultural significance, more so than their English counterparts, in my opinion.
So, learning them, especially as a foreigner, has been no easy challenge.
It’s a bit of a self-fulfilling rabbit-hole, really. In order to understand chengyu, you need to understand Chinese culture, history, literature, and ways of thinking; but learning chengyu, vice versa, teaches you all those at the same time.
I’ve since developed a fond appreciation for the language. A whole new thought process is involved in peeling back the layers of Chinese to arrive at a particular meaning, one which I can’t quite arrive at in another language. Remove just one of the four characters in a chengyu, or swap it out, and the meaning changes entirely. There’s something aesthetically pleasing and utterly precise about that simple 4-combination, isn’t there?
That’s what makes chengyu Wordle so frustratingly hard!
Alas, chengyu cannot be simplified (quite literally). If anything, they perfectly epitomise the ridiculousness behind any attempt to isolate “culture”, “history” and “language”. They are the culmination of all three.
Further Reading:
Adlakha, H. (2023). Metaphorical Discourse, Phraseology, or Study of Chengyu in Understanding Chinese Culture and Politics. In India-China Dialogues Beyond Borders: Cultural, Social Economic and Political Perspectives (pp. 171–178). Singapore: Springer Nature Singapore.
Conti, Sergio & Piccinini, Chiara. (2024). Chéngyǔ 成语 in advertising: Conventional use and ad hoc modifications in Western promotional campaigns for the Chinese market. 32.
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