Pai tnee kong 2025

The ninth day of the first Chinese lunar month is a big deal for the Hokkien community in Penang. Some even say it’s more important than the first day of Chinese New Year. A day of gratitude and reverence to mark the moment their ancestors escaped a massacre. Legend has it that they survived thanks to the Jade Emperor, the God of Heaven. To this day, Hokkiens honour the occasion with grand celebrations and worship. 

One story traces back to the Ming Dynasty. It was the 16th century and coastal trade was booming. But along with prosperity came the pirates who raided villages along China’s eastern coast. On the first day of a Chinese New Year, a ruthless band of marauders attacked a Hokkien settlement in Fujian, killing indiscriminately. The villagers fled into a nearby sugarcane plantation and prayed to the Jade Emperor for protection. For days, they remained out of sight, the tall stalks shielding them from view. On the ninth day, the pirates gave up and left. Emerging from the plantation, the Hokkiens rejoiced and offered thanksgiving prayers. Subsequently, the practice of Pai Tnee Kong (praying to the Jade Emperor) took on the deeper significance of survival and divine protection.

Preparations usually begin in the morning of the eighth day of Chinese New Year. Families flood the markets before dawn to pick up essentials. Among the most important—long stalks of sugarcane that symbolises resilience, protection and sweet fortune. A whole roast pig, a symbol of abundance, often takes centre stage for those who can afford one while the offering table overflows with traditional sweetmeats like the ang koo (red tortoise cakes), bee koh (glutinous rice pudding), huat kueh (steamed cupcakes that "bloom" for good luck), mee koo (bright pink steamed buns), tnee kueh (sweet sticky rice cake), miniature sugared pink pagodas, fresh fruits and flowers. Each item carefully chosen, each one carrying its own symbolic meaning.

By 11pm, when the Chinese lunisolar calendar marks the start of a new day, families begin their prayers. The offering table, often raised on stools or benches to be closer to heaven, is meticulously arranged. The sugarcane stalks are tied to the table's front legs. A pineapple, or ong lai (meaning prosperity comes), sits prominently on the table, often decorated with red paper cuttings for extra luck. Some families buy kim chua pineapples, carefully folded from gold-stamped paper into intricate shapes.

One of the night’s most striking rituals is the burning of gold-stamped paper, or kim chua, folded into the shape of ancient ingots. As the fire consumes the offerings, sugarcane stalks from the altar are added to the flames, a final act of thanksgiving. The celebrations culminate in a thunderous barrage of fireworks and firecrackers, their deafening explosions believed to drive away evil spirits and welcome good fortune.

That’s how my family used to celebrate Pai Tnee Kong when we were still living in Seang Tek Road. My grandmother made sure everything was in place, with my mother, aunt and even her siblings chipping in. By 10 or 10.30pm, the whole family would gather. The main table from our front hall carried out onto the five-foot way, decorated with sugarcane stalks tied to its legs. No whole roast pig for us, though—just a generous cut of roast pork, along with boiled chicken and roast duck. That’s how I remember it.

Then, sometime in the 1960s, the tradition came to an abrupt stop. My grandmother’s brother-in-law advised against continuing after a terrible accident downtown. A crash, a fire, ashes covering some families’ offerings—it was a bad omen, he said, and it had happened on the night of Pai Tnee Kong. From then on, our celebrations were much quieter. No more raised tables on benches, no elaborate altars. Just a few offerings—fruits, huat kueh—placed on the small, permanent Jade Emperor’s altar. But one thing never changed: we still burned kim chua to conclude our prayers.

So, according to the Chinese lunisolar calendar, Spring is finally here!