Edition note: Complete English edition based on the Chinese original; full-film spoilers. Dialogue is independently translated, not quoted from official subtitles.
This is how the rules of the Chen household work. At dusk, the mistresses wait at the entrances to their respective courtyards. The steward comes to announce where the master will spend the night. Great red lanterns are hung in the chosen courtyard on the spot. That night its mistress receives a foot massage; the next day she chooses the dishes for the whole household.
The servants carry the lanterns into the courtyard, light them rack by rack, and hang them under the eaves. The process is accompanied by the urgent percussion pattern known as jijifeng in Peking opera. As soon as the gongs and drums begin, the servants quicken their steps. The courtyards all hear it at once. No one needs to ask.
The right to choose the dishes is especially ingenious. The next day, the whole family sits at one table. All four women know whose choices are being served. Over the course of a meal, the previous night's result is repeated, and repeated in front of everyone.
This system did not exist in history. Lighting the lanterns, covering them, massaging feet, choosing the menu: all of it was invented for the film. This is often cited as an indictment: folklore fabricated for foreigners, an orderly array of rituals no real old-fashioned household ever possessed.
As a matter of fact, the charge holds up. But to regard it as a fatal flaw, one must first assume that a rule needs a pedigree before people will take it seriously. A rule does not have to be ancient to be obeyed.
The film shows precisely why it works so well. Performed once a day, publicly, with everyone present, it converts an invisible thing, whom the master prefers tonight, into a number anyone can read at once.
The foot massage follows a specific method. First the feet are soaked in aged vinegar, then covered with a red bridal veil. An older maid taps the soles back and forth with two little bell-hammers. The clear sound repeats, stroke after stroke, audible even through the courtyard walls.
The crucial feature is that it makes a sound. Lanterns address the eyes; they cannot enter someone else's room. The bell-hammers can. The other three courtyards know who has been chosen without anyone stepping outside, and they must listen for quite some time.
At her first massage, Songlian feels awkward. The whole display seems pointless, and the tapping makes her uncomfortable all over. It is the reaction of someone fresh from university. She has not yet learned to hear anything else in the sound.
After a while, she says the massage feels good: with her feet properly massaged, she has energy for everything. Later still, she says she cannot sleep without the sound. Something that once made her uncomfortable has become the reason she lies awake at night.
Once she loses favor, the sound comes from another courtyard. She lies in her room listening to the bell-hammers in the second courtyard, every stroke distinct, until they stop. By now no one needs to explain what the sound means. The sound itself is the score.
On several evenings, the mistresses arrange their hair, dress respectably, and stand at their courtyard entrances as usual. The steward comes and says the master has given no instructions today. They each return to their rooms. The next evening, they do it all again.
These scenes are filmed very plainly. No music, no reaction shots. People stand, then disperse, without so much as a complaint in between. Yet they reveal more about the system than anything else: the procedure continues, while its content is empty.
Songlian has complained about this. If the master has instructions, she says, why not just send word? Why all this ceremony? The steward replies with those four Chinese characters: “Those are the rules.” His voice is level. He is not reprimanding her, only stating a fact.
When a rule can run without any content at all, the people obeying it are no longer doing so to collect something in return. The act of waiting at the gate has become more solid than the result of the wait.
Notice who keeps this going. Not the master. He is not even present that evening; perhaps he is not in the house at all. The four mistresses maintain it themselves: they come out on time, take their places, wait, and disperse. No one comes to take attendance.
The film depicts the struggles among the four mistresses in dense detail. Feigning illness to call the man away. Passing a message to someone's face and reporting her behind her back. Having a maid make a cloth doll and stick pins into it as a curse. Buying off someone in a rival's rooms. The methods grow ever more intricate and ever more effective.
From beginning to end, no one ever says this: Why should a lantern decide who chooses tomorrow's dishes? The question never appears in the film, not even as a joke.
One explanation is that they lack the strength to resist. The film's evidence does not support it. They have plenty of strength. Zhuoyun's meticulous thinking, Meishan's ruthless methods, Songlian's quick mind: these are genuine abilities. Strength is not in short supply. It has only one direction: toward one another.
The rules therefore remain securely in place, never once touched. They do not even need defending, because all four women work for them. Every contest confirms them once again. The fiercer the struggle, the firmer the rules.
After her lanterns have been covered, Songlian says something devastating to Meishan: What is a person worth in this courtyard? Like a dog, a cat, a rat. Like anything except a human being. It is the clearest statement in the film.
Then she goes back to competing. Seeing exactly what a system is and ceasing to reckon by its terms are two different things. The film arranges no consequences for that remark. It does not let it alter anyone's next move.
Zhuoyun is one of the film's most reviled characters. The audience's verdict is a bodhisattva's face and a scorpion's heart: the warmest to your face, the cruelest behind your back. The pin-stuck doll is her idea. She is also the one who reports the false pregnancy.
At first, she is kinder to Songlian than anyone else in the household. She sends gifts, speaks in confidence, offers advice, and makes the newly arrived nineteen-year-old feel that at last there is someone here she can talk to. When Songlian discovers that Zhuoyun ordered the doll to be made, the shock is colder than the covering of the lanterns.
That verdict is convenient and saves us trouble. Declare her a bad person, and the rules recede into scenery. The whole affair becomes something that might have ended well had one malicious person not ruined it.
Her position needs to be spelled out. She entered the household before Songlian, her face is no longer young, and she has borne a daughter, not a son. By this courtyard's reckoning, she has neither youth nor a son. The only capital she has left is her resourcefulness.
Nothing she does breaks these rules. She has not changed them or taken a single point beyond what they allow. She has simply used them to their furthest extent, earlier and more precisely than anyone else. To read her as a bad person is to concede that these rules could have produced a good outcome.
The film gives her one very brief shot. Songlian is cutting her hair when the scissors slip and cut her ear. Blood runs down. Zhuoyun cries out. She looks up at Songlian. The film does not tell us what is in that look.
After losing favor, Songlian devises the false pregnancy. She lies in bed pretending to be weak and falsely claims to be pregnant. Delighted, the master orders lanterns to be kept burning day and night. This is the highest score the system offers.
For the days when those lanterns hang, the fourth courtyard is lit even in daylight. She stays motionless in bed, food is brought to her room, and the servants tread carefully as they come and go. She has won more than any other mistress, all of it resting on something that does not exist.
Yan'er exposes her. Washing Songlian's clothes, she discovers the telltale sign and reports it to Zhuoyun, who reports it to the master. Doctor Gao then establishes that she is not pregnant. The master storms out, slams the door, and throws back the order: “Cover the lanterns.” He has asked why she deceived him, but has given her no opportunity to change the verdict.
This sequence of actions is exactly Zhuoyun's usual method: do not show yourself, do not act directly, deliver the information where it needs to go, and let the rules descend of their own accord.
What Songlian does next is the other half of the same method. She has long known that Yan'er secretly keeps lanterns in her room and has said nothing. Once she learns that Yan'er informed on her, she reveals the secret.
The film handles this transformation by not marking it. There is no musical cue, no shot of hesitation, no one standing by to say, You've changed. Songlian does it with the practiced ease of someone who has done it many times. It is her first time.
Every round she wins or loses is scored on a board someone else has set. From the first time she acts to gain points, only one difference remains between her and Zhuoyun: which of them calculates more accurately.
Yan'er, the maid of the fourth courtyard, is in her teens. She wants to become a concubine. The whole household knows, and no one takes it seriously. Songlian has caught the master flirting with her. There is no fear in Yan'er's eyes, only defiance.
In her own servants' room, she hides a collection of old lanterns and lights them secretly at night. The room is small and dark. The lanterns were used and discarded by others, and the light falls on her alone. No one will see it. No one will award her points for it.
When Songlian first discovers the room's secret, she also sees the cloth doll bearing her own name. She keeps quiet and makes no report. Yan'er kneels before her and begs once. It is the only time in the film that Yan'er bows her head to her.
This collection of lanterns is the film at its sharpest. She does not even qualify to compete, and qualification is precisely what she wants. For her, the lanterns are not a reward; an old lantern buys no practical advantage. They mean being counted as someone who can be given a score.
After the secret comes out, the lanterns are burned in the courtyard in front of everyone. Yan'er is made to kneel in the snow. The steward brings a message: The mistress says that if you admit you were wrong, it will all be over. That route remains open before her. She can get up at any time.
She does not admit it. She kneels until she faints, is carried away, and dies in hospital. It is not the punishment she refuses; kneeling can be endured. What she refuses is “I was wrong,” because saying those words would mean conceding that she had never been entitled even to want such a thing.
The covering of the lanterns is filmed at length. The servants bring ladders, climb them one after another, and slip black cloth covers over the red lanterns. One, two. They finish one row of the corridor and move to the next. No one speaks. Their movements are practiced. They have clearly done this before.
Once covered, the lanterns remain hanging. A little red shows through the gaps in the cloth, but light can neither enter nor escape. The courtyard darkens, darker than when there had been no lanterns at all, because this is brightness revoked.
What has been revoked is not affection. The master has never loved any of them. The film is unambiguous about this, and the four mistresses have never misunderstood it themselves. What has been revoked is the score: the right to choose the dishes, the angle at which servants bow their heads, whether others make way as she passes.
Songlian stands in the courtyard, watching from the first lantern to the last. She neither intervenes nor speaks. She knows exactly what these covers mean, because she learned to read the system on her first day here. The more accurately she reads it, the harder it is to stand there.
By the time the last lantern is covered, it is completely dark. The servants put away the ladders and file out. The courtyard gate closes behind them. Two rows of invisible red remain.
This essay refers to the 1991 version, approximately 125 minutes long.
版本说明：中文原作；简体与繁体同页切换。全片剧透。
陈府的规矩是这样运行的。傍晚，几位太太各自站在自己院门口等着，管家过来传话，报今晚老爷歇在哪一院。被点到的那一院当场挂起大红灯笼，当晚捶脚，第二天全家的菜由她点。
灯笼由下人抬进院子，一架一架点亮，挂上屋檐。这个过程配着京戏里的急急风，锣鼓点子一响，下人的脚步就跟着快起来。几个院子同时听得见，谁也不用打听。
点菜这一条尤其精巧。第二天全家坐在同一张桌子上吃饭，桌上摆的是谁点的菜，四个人心里都清楚。一顿饭吃下来，昨晚的结果又被重复了一遍，而且是当着所有人的面重复。
这套东西在历史上并不存在。点灯、封灯、捶脚、点菜，全是这部电影造出来的。这一点常被拿来当罪状，说是编给外国人看的民俗，说真实的旧式人家没有这么整齐的花样。
这个指控在事实上站得住。但要把它当成致命伤，得先假定一条规矩必须有来历才能被人认真执行。一条规矩不需要古老，也能被遵守。
影片正好把它为什么好用摆了出来。每天执行一次，公开进行，人人在场，把老爷今晚更中意谁这件看不见的事，换算成一个所有人都能立刻读出来的数字。
捶脚的做法很具体。先用陈醋泡脚，再拿一块红盖头蒙上，一个老妈子拿两只小铃锤，来回敲脚底。声音清脆，一下一下，隔着院墙也听得清。
这个设计的要紧处在于它有声音。灯笼是给眼睛看的，进不了别人的屋子；铃锤声进得去。哪一院今晚被点了，另外三院不用出门就知道，而且要听上很长一段时间。
颂莲第一次被捶的时候觉得别扭，觉得这是个不知所谓的排场，敲得她浑身不自在。这是一个刚从大学里出来的人的反应，她还没有把这声音听成别的东西。
隔了一段时间，她说这脚捶得舒服，捶好了做什么都有精神。再往后，她说没有这个声音她睡不着觉。一件当初让她别扭的事，变成了她夜里睡不着的原因。
失宠以后，声音从别的院子传过来。她躺在自己屋里听二院的铃锤一声一声响，听得清清楚楚，一直听到停。这时候那声音已经不需要有人来解释了，它自己就是分数。
有几个傍晚，几位太太照例梳好头，换上体面衣裳，站在各自院门口。管家走过来，说今天老爷没有吩咐。于是所有人各自回屋，第二天傍晚照旧再来一次。
这几场戏拍得很平。没有配乐，没有反应镜头，人站着，人散开，中间连一句抱怨都没有。可它们是整套东西最说明问题的地方：程序照走，内容是空的。
颂莲抱怨过这件事。她说老爷有什么吩咐说一声就是了，何必弄这么大阵仗。管家的答复是那四个字：这是规矩。他说这话的时候语气很平，不是训斥，是陈述。
一条规矩到了不需要有内容也能运行的程度，说明遵守它的人已经不是为了兑现什么在遵守。站在门口等这个动作，比站着等来的那个结果更结实。
要留意谁在维持这件事。不是老爷，他那天晚上根本不在场，也许人都不在府里。维持它的是四个太太自己：她们准时出来，站好，等，然后散。没有人来点名。
这部影片里，四位太太之间的争斗写得极密。装病把人叫走，当面递话背后告状，让丫头做布偶扎针诅咒，收买对方屋里的人。手段一样比一样细，也一样比一样有效。
从头到尾，没有一个人说过这样一句话：凭什么一盏灯笼决定明天谁点菜。这句话在片子里一次也没有出现过，连玩笑话的形式都没有出现过。
有一种解释是她们没有力气反抗。这个解释不合影片给的材料。她们的力气很足，卓云的心思之细、梅珊的手段之狠、颂莲的脑子之快，都是真本事。力气不缺，方向只有一个：彼此。
规矩因此稳稳地待在那里，从没有被人碰过一下。它甚至不需要有人来维护，因为四个人都在替它工作：每争一次，它就被确认一次，争得越凶，它越结实。
颂莲被封灯以后，对梅珊说过一句重话：在这个院里，人算个什么东西，像狗，像猫，像耗子，什么都像，就是不像人。这句话是全片最清醒的一句。
说完之后，她接着回去争。看清楚了这套东西是什么，跟不再按它算账，是两件事。影片没有替这句话安排任何后果，也没有让它改变任何人的下一步。
卓云是这部电影最常被骂的一个。观众给她的评语是菩萨脸、蝎子心：当面最热情，背后最狠，扎小人的主意是她出的，告发假怀孕的也是她。
她一开始对颂莲是全府最好的。送东西，说体己话，替她出主意，让这个新来的十九岁姑娘觉得自己在这里总算有一个人可以说话。颂莲后来发现布偶是她指使的，那一下比封灯还冷。
这个评语用起来很顺手，也让人省事。把她定成坏人，这套规矩就退成了背景板，整件事变成一件本来可以有好结果的事，被一个心术不正的人搞砸了。
她的位置需要写清楚。她比颂莲进门早，脸已经不年轻，生的是女儿，不是儿子。按照这个院子的算法，年纪和儿子这两样她都没有，手里剩下的本钱只有手段。
她做的每一件事，在这套规矩里都不算违规。她没有改过规则，没有多拿过一分，她只是把规则用到了尽头，用得比别人更早，也更准。把她读成一个坏人，等于承认这套规矩本来可以有好结果。
影片给过她一个很短的镜头。颂莲替她剪头发，剪刀一歪，剪到了耳朵，血流下来。她喊了起来，抬头看了颂莲一眼。那一眼里有什么，影片没有说。
失宠之后，颂莲想出了假怀孕。她躺在床上装虚弱，谎称自己怀了孕。老爷高兴，下令点长明灯。这盏灯昼夜不熄，是这套系统里能拿到的最高分。
长明灯挂起来那几天，四院白天也是亮的。她躺在床上不动，饭送到屋里，下人进出小心翼翼。她这时争到的东西比任何一位太太都多，而这些东西建立在一件根本不存在的事情上。
戳穿她的是雁儿。雁儿替她洗衣服的时候看出了破绽，把这件事报给了卓云，卓云报给了老爷。随后，高医生查明她没有怀孕。老爷摔门出去，甩下两个字，封灯。他问过她为什么骗他，却没有给她一个改变判决的机会。
这一整套动作，正是卓云惯用的那一套：不出面，不动手，把消息递到该去的地方，让规矩自己落下来。
而颂莲接下来做的事，是同一套的另一半。她早就知道雁儿在自己屋里私藏灯笼，一直压着没说。得知是雁儿告的密以后，她把这件事捅了出去。
影片处理这个转变的方式是不处理。没有配乐提示，没有一个让她犹豫的镜头，也没有谁在旁边说一句你变了。她做这件事的手法熟练得像做过很多次，而这是第一次。
她赢的和输的每一局，用的都是别人定下的那张记分牌。从她第一次为分数动手起，她和卓云之间只剩下一件事的差别：谁算得更准。
雁儿是四院的丫头，十几岁。她想当姨太太，这件事全府都知道，谁也不当回事。老爷跟她调过情，被颂莲撞见过，她眼里没有惶恐，只有一种不服气。
她在自己那间下人房里私藏了一堆旧灯笼，夜里悄悄点上。那间屋子又小又暗，灯笼是别人用旧了扔掉的，点起来照着的只有她一个人。没有人会看见，也没有人会因此给她记分。
颂莲第一次撞破这间屋子的时候，同时看见了那个写着自己名字的布偶。她当时压了下来，没有报。雁儿在她面前跪下求过一回，那是全片唯一一次雁儿对她低头。
这堆灯笼是整部影片最锋利的一处。她连参赛资格都没有，而她想要的正是那个资格。灯笼对她不是奖赏，一盏旧灯笼也换不来任何实惠；它是被算作一个可以计分的人。
事情捅出来以后，灯笼在院子里当着人烧掉。她被罚跪在雪地里，管家过去传话：太太说了，只要你认个错，就没事了。这条路一直摆在她面前，随时可以起来。
她没有认。跪着，一直跪到晕过去，被抬走，死在医院。她拒绝的不是那顿罚——罚跪是可以熬的。她拒绝的是"我错了"这三个字，因为认了这三个字，就是承认自己本来就不配想那件事。
封灯的场面拍得很长。下人搬来梯子，一个一个爬上去，把黑布罩套在红灯笼上。一盏，两盏，一排走廊套完，换到另一排。没有人说话，动作很熟练，显然做过。
罩子套上以后，灯笼还挂在那里，红色从布缝里透出一点，光进不来也出不去。院子暗下去，比原本没有灯的时候更暗，因为这是被取消掉的亮。
被取消的不是感情。老爷从来没有爱过她们中的任何一个，这一点影片没有含糊过，四位太太自己也从来没有搞错过。被取消的是分数：点菜的权利，下人低头的角度，走过去时别人让不让路。
颂莲站在院子里，从第一盏看到最后一盏，没有拦，也没有说话。她清楚这些罩子意味着什么，因为她进门第一天就学会了怎么读这套东西，而读得越准，站在这里就越难受。
套完最后一盏，天已经黑透了。下人收起梯子，鱼贯走出去，院门在身后关上。院子里剩下两排看不见的红。
本文依据 1991 年版，片长约 125 分钟。