Burning incense and offering joss paper form the lifeblood of everyday devotion. Incense sticks, sometimes lit in coils the size of tire rims, send ribbons of smoke skyward as a visible link between the living and the spirit world. Alongside incense, small altars groan under fruit, tea, roast pork and paper money—every item chosen to pamper ancestors or village deities.

Tomb-sweeping at Qingming paints a vivid picture of filial piety in motion. Families flock to ancestral graves with brooms, water, and fresh blossoms, tidying headstones and sharing a picnic of green dumplings and tea. This year’s 2025 pilgrimage numbers rivalled pre-pandemic levels, a testament to traditions that refuse to be swept away.

Temple fairs—from Beijing’s sprawling Ditan Park gatherings to Taiwan’s Mazu pilgrimages—blend solemn rites with carnival flair. Lion dances thunder through lantern-lit streets, while ritual specialists perform Nuo exorcisms to chase off malevolent spirits. A friend in Taichung recently livestreamed one such parade, complete with drumbeats so powerful they seemed to shake the smartphone.

During the Hungry Ghost Festival, red and black paper lanterns float atop rivers; nightly rituals beckon wandering ghosts to rice bowls and dumplings laid out on doorsteps. Paper models of cars, houses or even smartphones—burned as offerings—invite blessings for the year ahead.

Divination also plays its part. Kau cim (lot drawing) sticks rattle in bamboo cylinders at temples like Hong Kong’s Tin Hau, letting pilgrims glimpse fortune or caution. Similarly, moon worship rituals at Mid-Autumn mingle mooncakes and pomelos under a silver orb, offering thanks for abundance.

Across southern China, village elders still chalk out spirit roads and construct temporary bamboo stages for opera performances, hoping to curry favor from local gods. Whether online or under a paper lantern’s glow, these rituals weave a living tapestry—proof that in Chinese folk religion, past and present share the same breath.