Statues of Emperors Yan and Huang

Listen first. On a clear day, the wind comes off the Yellow River below you, carrying a fine, dry dust that settles on your sleeves. The water itself is not yellow so much as the colour of milky tea. Rising above the trees in front of you are two enormous stone faces, calm and weathered, gazing north across the plain. You are standing at the feet of the Emperors Yan and Huang.

These two figures are among the oldest names in Chinese tradition. They are not kings from a dated chronicle. They are ancestral figures from the edge of myth, said to have lived nearly five thousand years ago. Across China, and among Chinese communities around the world, people sometimes call themselves the descendants of Yan and Huang. That phrase is the key to this place. The statues are less a portrait of two men and more a portrait of a shared origin.

Let us meet them one at a time. The Yan Emperor is often linked with Shennong, the Divine Farmer. In traditional stories, he taught people to plant grain and to work the soil. He is also said to have tasted hundreds of plants to learn which ones heal and which ones poison. These are legends, not history, but they explain why he is honoured as a patron of farming and herbal medicine.

The second figure is Huangdi, the Yellow Emperor. Tradition credits him and his court with a long list of gifts to civilisation — clothing, carts, the calendar, early writing, and the foundations of Chinese medicine. Again, these are stories passed down and shaped over many centuries. What matters here is the region. Huangdi is closely tied to the land around Zhengzhou. The nearby city of Xinzheng is traditionally called his birthplace, and it holds a large ancestral ceremony in his honour.

According to the old tales, the two leaders were once rivals. Their tribes fought, and then they joined together. The united people then faced a fierce enemy named Chiyou and, legend says, defeated him. Whether any of this happened, no one can say. But the story of rivals becoming allies runs through the meaning of this monument. Two faces, side by side, looking in the same direction.

Now look closely at how the statues are made. They are not full standing figures. Only the heads and shoulders were carved, and they rise directly out of the hillside. The mountain itself acts as the body. From a distance, it looks as if two giants are emerging from the earth, or resting with the hill drawn up around them. Up close, you can see the joins and textures of the stone surface, and the way rain and dust have darkened the deep lines.

The scale is hard to judge until you see people beside it. The total height, including the hill beneath the heads, is usually given as more than one hundred metres. Visitors at the base look like small dots of colour against grey stone. This was the intention. The planners wanted a monument that could be read from far away, from the river and from the plain, like a landmark for a whole civilisation.

Here is something many visitors miss. Building this took a very long time. Work began in the late 1980s, and the statues were only completed in 2007 — roughly two decades of effort. Carving faces into a hillside means solving problems of drainage, stone stability, and erosion, all at a size where a small mistake becomes a large one. When you look at the smooth curve of a cheek or the line of an eyebrow, remember the patience behind it.

Now turn around and look at the setting. The statues stand in the Yellow River Scenic Area, on the southern bank, northwest of the city centre. The river is the reason this place exists. The Yellow River is often called the cradle of Chinese civilisation, and the central plain around Zhengzhou was home to some of the earliest farming settlements and early states. Placing two ancestral figures here, facing the river, ties the legend to the landscape.

The river also carries a darker reputation. Over the centuries, it has changed course many times and flooded the plain with terrible force. Its heavy load of silt raises the riverbed, so in places the water flows above the level of the surrounding land, held back by embankments. People have long called it China's Sorrow as well as its mother. Standing here, you can feel both ideas at once — the river that feeds and the river that threatens.

The square in front of the statues is built for gatherings. On ordinary days, you may see families taking photographs, school groups in matching caps, and older visitors bowing or pausing quietly. On special occasions, ceremonies honouring the ancestors take place here, with music, banners, and offerings. Even when nothing formal is happening, notice how people behave. Many slow down. Some speak more softly. For a lot of visitors, this is not only sightseeing.

Here is a second surprise. These statues are a modern work, yet they draw on very ancient habits. Carving sacred figures directly into living rock has a long history in this province. Not far from Zhengzhou, near Luoyang, the Longmen Grottoes hold thousands of Buddhist images cut into limestone cliffs many centuries ago. This monument belongs to the same instinct — to let the mountain itself carry the image — but turned toward national ancestry rather than religion.

If you have time, the wider scenic area is worth a slow walk. Paths climb through trees and pavilions, and higher points give long views over the wide, braided channels of the river. The light changes the mood of the stone. In the soft light of early morning or late afternoon, the faces look warmer and the shadows in the eyes deepen. At midday, under hard sun, they look pale and severe. The haze from the river often softens the far bank into a pale line.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment and look up again. Notice how the two faces are not identical. Each has its own expression, its own set of the mouth and brow. Then follow their gaze north, toward the moving water and the flat land beyond. As you walk away, listen for the wind, and for the quiet voices of other visitors. You are leaving two stone ancestors exactly where they were placed — watching the river that shaped their story.