When I lived in Shanghai’s city center, it was a tradition for my family to visit Jing’an temple every New Year, together with my grandparents. Like what most Chinese do in a temple, we would strike the huge bell, throw up coins into the pagodas, and burn incense, all for good luck. After that, we usually chose to have a bowl of Jing’an vegetarian noodles, leaning on the railing and talking about our New Year resolutions. The very existence of such a place of belief and devotion as Jing’an Temple in the bustling city center of Shanghai is quite remarkable, not to mention the fact that the two complement each other so well. Located on West Nanjing Road, Jing’an Temple has endured two relocations and one renaming since it was built in the third century C.E. During the Cultural Revolution, it was almost completely destroyed, and it was not until 1990 that all the repairs to the temple were completed. Nowadays, the small but delicate temple sits among skyscrapers designed by architects from Japan, France, and Israel, along with rows of luxury department stores. The temple had another complete repair three years ago and the grey stained wall was fully repainted. Most significantly, the spire was painted totally golden, glowing sacred in the sunlight with all kinds of complicated carved decorations. I can hardly tell whether the change is tacky or just modern; rather, what it brings me is a sense of loss. For people like me who were born in Jing'an, Jing'an Temple is a building holding not only a common memory, but also a kind of peace and warmth cemented in the rapid development of this huge city. Interestingly, except for on Buddhist holy days, hardly any Buddhist believers can be found at the temple. People coming around are mostly either curious tourists with cameras in hand; local Shanghainese here for wishes concerning life, business or study; mothers here, wishing for luck for their newborn babies; or students hoping for success on their college entrance examinations. Foreign people may get totally confused here. As my Swedish neighbors once asked me, “Wait, aren’t the Chinese mostly atheists? Why would thousands of atheists visit a Buddhist temple every year?” The existence of Jing'an Temple, a place of peace in this busy city center, is more important than ever, as it offers a place for expiation, a comfort both fake and real. Every sound of a coin knocking against the wooden box in front of the statues fills people’s hearts with an unparalleled contentment: “Thank the Buddha for all the kindness in my life,” “I hope I can be more lucky this year.” Every time we step into the temple, our hearts become gentle and considerate. People stop shouting about the ashes that happened to fall on their sneakers instead, they are patiently willing to wait in a long line for just five deep kowtows. Women kindly watch over their children, who are running all over the square; a rude man prays for forgiveness even though he doesn’t know the right way to bow; young people with dyed hair turn their phones off; an old man, standing still, utters words that we will never know. That’s how my parents, how most people, view themselves as insightful atheists. They are not trapped by ‘“unrealistic” Buddhist creeds; meanwhile, the grace of the Buddhas can be enjoyed every year for a while, followed by an honest year. It gives me a feeling similar to what Alain de Botton says: “regardless of the contradiction inside, at least it’s interesting.” This article was written by Emma Tao. Send an email to [email protected] to get in touch. Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons