When I first heard the news that Zheng Zhenxiang — the brilliant archaeologist who discovered the tomb of Shang dynasty (ca. 1600 – 1046 B.C.) queen and warlord Fu Hao — had died, I was stunned. Even at the age of 95, she seemed every bit as energetic and capable as she was when she led some of the most important excavations of the 20th century. I guess I always thought she might live forever.
Born in 1929 to an ordinary family in the northern province of Hebei, Zheng entered Peking University in 1950 as a museum studies major. In 1952, following a university-wide restructuring, she switched fields and completed her studies in Shang and Zhou (1046 – 256 B.C.) dynasty archaeology in 1954.
From there, Zheng joined the Institute of Archaeology at the Chinese Academy of Sciences and took part in several seminal excavations across the central province of Henan, considered one of the cradles of Chinese civilization, before being assigned to Anyang Work Station in northern Henan.
Anyang, the site of the ancient Shang capital known today as Yinxu, was fertile ground for an ambitious young archaeologist. Between 1962 and 1964 Zheng conducted digs in the village of Dasikong, eventually identifying four distinct layers of civilization at the site. This process, known as seriation, is the foundation for almost all archaeological work. It allows experts to identify distinct layers of development in compressed layers of earth, and the four-phase sequence identified by Zheng remains widely accepted even today.
But Zheng’s greatest achievement would come a decade later. Between 1975 and 1976, she excavated the foundations of two Shang-era buildings in Xiaotun, not far from the work station. As they dug, her team uncovered an unusual patch of rammed earth. The soil was tightly packed, and progress was slow. Most of Zheng’s team argued that it was just another dead end, but Zheng was undeterred. Declaring that there was “no such thing as a bottomless pit,” she ordered work to continue. At six meters, they hit the water table, but she remained confident. Finally, at 7.5 meters, their handmade probe returned stained jade.
Working with renewed energy, Zheng’s team raced against time and the water table, which risked flooding the site before it could be properly excavated. Requisitioning generators from the local government, they dug deeper and deeper until the magnitude of their discovery began to sink in. Almost every tomb in the area had long since been stripped bare by grave robbers; even finding a handful of artifacts was a big deal. A discovery of this size was all but unprecedented: In 20 days, Zheng and her team uncovered over 210 bronze vessels and 750 jade objects. The bronze alone weighed over 1.6 tons.
As she worked, Zheng speculated on the identity of the tomb’s occupant. The sheer quantity of items combined with the remains of human and animal sacrifices suggested the tomb belonged to a royal, or at least a noble, but it wasn’t until she began cleaning the bronze items that the answer revealed itself. Picking up a copper pot, she read the inscription: Fu Hao. Similar inscriptions were found on over half of the bronze vessels removed from the tomb.
The name was immediately familiar. Fu Hao appears on numerous oracle bone inscriptions from the Shang, which describe her as an active and powerful queen: She presided over sacrifices, inspected harvests, and led the Shang army to victory in the largest battle mentioned in the oracle bone record.
Zheng’s work on the Fu Hao tomb became a legendary chapter in the annals of Chinese archaeology. At a time when female archaeologists were all but unheard of in the country — her only real female peer was Zeng Zhaoyu, who excavated tombs from the Southern Tang period (937 – 976) — Zheng oversaw the discovery and excavation of a tomb belonging to one of China’s most famous queens.
Over the next 15 years, Zheng would continue to work on excavations in and around Xiaotun, unearthing multiple tombs and a likely Shang-era palace. Retiring from fieldwork in 1991, she devoted the remainder of her career to publishing her findings and mentoring the next generation of archaeologists — myself included. Zheng provided invaluable help to me as I worked on my master’s thesis: She was the one who pushed me to focus my studies on the relationship between Yinxu and another important Shang city near what is today the Henan provincial capital of Zhengzhou. It is no exaggeration to say that I owe much of my career to her.
To this day, I can still remember our first meeting. It was the winter of 1986 and I was just a young, aspiring archaeologist, in awe of the master sitting in front of me. Looking around her dormitory, I was struck by how simple everything was, from the slightly stiff quilt atop her simple wooden bed to the heavy and mottled writing desk with its lacquer peeling off in places. A pool of fresh wax was visible on the surface, evidence of another late night reading by candlelight; I could feel the icy wind seeping through the cracks in the brick.
Two years ago, I visited Zheng in Beijing for what would be the last time. Even at 93, she was still sharp, and we chatted for hours about the latest discoveries at Yinxu. I regret not visiting her again before she died, but I know that, even if she couldn’t live forever, her legacy will.
Editor: Wu Haiyun; portrait artist: Wang Zhenhao.
(Header image: Zheng Zhenxiang checks a piece of pottery at Anyang Work Station, Henan province, 1985. From the All-China Women’s Federation)
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