Archaeologist Bai Rongjin is 90 years old and still going strong.
In the early morning hours of May 18, two volumes of the famous Chu Silk Manuscript arrived in Beijing. The earliest known examples of silk books ever discovered, the manuscripts date to around the 4th century BC, making them approximately 130 years older than the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Smuggled to the United States nearly 80 years ago, the pair made their way into the Smithsonian’s collection as part of a donation in 1992. Their return was a landmark for China’s efforts to recover its lost artifacts, and the country’s National Cultural Heritage Administration celebrated the occasion by inviting a panel of experts to discuss their restoration.
Included in the panel was one of the giants of Chinese archaeology: 90-year-old historical preservationist Bai Rongjin, who had worked on the fragile scrolls in 2001.
The organizers anticipated that the elderly Bai might not be able to attend the panel, but were surprised when the reason why wasn’t what they had expected: Bai had traveled with his daughter, fellow archaeologist Bai Yunyan, to a remote part of Northwest China to help clean and restore a 2,000-year-old suit of iron armor.
Something of a legendary figure in Chinese archaeology circles, Bai refers to himself as simply an “old soldier.” In a career spanning nearly seven decades, he has restored countless artifacts across China — among them a number of pieces so valuable that they are barred from overseas exhibition, such as a turquoise-inlaid ivory cup from the tomb of Lady Fu Hao, a T-shaped silk banner from Mawangdui in Central China, and the famed Changxin Palace lamp from the Mancheng Han Tombs in the northern Hebei province.
Details of the ivory cup discovered in the tomb of Lady Fu Hao and its “taotie” pattern made from inlaid turquoise chips. Wu Bo/VCG
The Shang dynasty ivory cup from the tomb of Lady Fu Hao. Wu Bo/VCG
A close-up of Han royal family member Liu Sheng’s jade burial suit, from the Mancheng Han Tombs. Tian Xiaoxiao/VCG
The jade burial suits of Liu Sheng (front) and his wife Dou Wan. Chen Zhanwu/VCG
The Han dynasty T-shaped painting on silk from Mawangdui. From the Hunan Museum
Details of the Han dynasty T-shaped painting. From the Hunan Museum
The Changxin Palace lamp from the Mancheng Han Tombs. Zhang Peng/LightRocket via VCG
Born in Beijing in 1935, Bai joined China’s Institute of Archaeology immediately after finishing high school — a reflection of the newly founded government’s urgent need for technical talent in the 1950s. There, he studied under Liu Zengkui, a master bronze artisan and restorationist, before earning a transfer from the archaeological front lines to the Institute’s technical division.
When a unit of the People’s Liberation Army uncovered the Mancheng Tombs in 1968, it fell to Bai and a colleague, Wang Qi, to restore some of the most important artifacts, including two jade burial suits and the Changxin lamp — sometimes referred to as China’s first lamp.
But it was his work on another, less ostentatious find that would define much of Bai’s later career: a bundle of heavily corroded iron armor found underneath a burial bed. It was the first time a largely intact suit of iron armor from the Western Han dynasty (202 BC–AD 9) had been recovered, but the armor had severely oxidized and fused together, leaving it almost unrecognizable.
Bai volunteered to take on the job, which required a painstaking process of careful documentation and experimentation to reconstruct the suit’s 2,859 iron scales. His experience made him one of China’s leading armor restoration experts, and he’s since worked on pieces dating back as far as 3,000 years and helped lay the groundwork for armor restoration to grow into a distinct specialization within Chinese archaeology.
This May, Bai sat down with Sixth Tone at a coffee shop near his office in Beijing for a lengthy discussion about the lessons he’s learned over seven decades in cultural heritage preservation, his abiding fascination with ancient armor, and the one dream he has yet to realize.
Bai Rongjin pictured in his office in 2024. Courtesy of Bai Rongjin
Sixth Tone: You’ve been working in archaeology and restoration for nearly 70 years. How different are today’s methods from when you first started?
Bai Rongjin: Hugely different. Archaeology today bears little resemblance to the work we did decades ago. Beyond better methods, we now have an array of diagnostic tools and specialized equipment. For example, back at the Miaodigou site (in present-day Henan province) in the 1950s, taking a panoramic photo meant building a 20-meter wooden scaffold that was not only time-consuming, but also dangerous. Now, a single drone flight does the job.
It’s the same story with conservation. When I restored the iron suit found in the Mancheng Tombs in 1968, I had to tread very carefully. Every time I removed a layer, I risked disrupting the artifact’s original structure. Even though I meticulously observed, sketched, photographed, and documented each step — and never made a move without thinking it through — the margin for error was zero. One mistake could cause irreversible damage. I wanted to record the process on video, but the institute didn’t even have a camera.
That’s unimaginable today, when a smartphone solves most of these problems. A few years ago, when we restored a Tang-dynasty (618–907) iron suit in (the northwestern Chinese province of) Gansu, the local archaeological team had access to advanced non-invasive diagnostics and 3D scanning. We could clean, protect, and reconstruct all at once.
Still, we mustn’t abandon traditional craftsmanship just because we have new technology. Restoration still relies heavily on manual skills, and building up experience over time is essential. Many techniques derive from decades — or even generations — of accumulated wisdom. New tools are helpful, but they’re only tools. Solving complex problems ultimately depends on human judgment and creativity. You have to exercise your brain.
An archive photo shows Bai (right) and his co-worker restoring the iron suit found in the Mancheng Tombs. Courtesy of Bai Rongjin
The restored Mancheng iron suit. Courtesy of Bai Rongjin
Sixth Tone: Could you give an example of that kind of thinking in action?
Bai: Sure. Take the silk painting from the Mawangdui excavation that I restored.
An over 2-meter-long T-shaped painting, it was found face-down on the inner lid of the coffin, partially stuck to the wood. How were we to remove it intact? I got an idea from the gauze window blinds commonly used in Beijing. I cut several half-meter-long bamboo slats and wrapped (traditional) xuan paper around a thin rod. Starting from the bottom of the painting, I inserted the slats section by section, gently rolling the rod counterclockwise to avoid damage while sliding the paper underneath. Then the team worked together — some lifting with the bamboo and others pulling on the paper — to safely transfer the painting onto a plywood table lined with plastic. We also covered the top with plastic to protect the surface. The whole process took about two hours.
Sixth Tone: That sounds like a nerve-wracking operation.
Bai: It was. The greatest challenge in archaeology and conservation is that you’re often dealing with irreversible processes. Once you change something, you can’t undo it. In restoration, you can sometimes stop and rethink; in excavation, site conditions can be unpredictable. You need to improvise, creatively and flexibly, with whatever resources you have.
Left: How the T-shaped painting on silk was discovered in Mawangdui, 1972; right: The T-shaped painting after restoration. From the Hunan Museum
Sixth Tone: You’ve worked across both archaeology and conservation, but nowadays these roles are often separate tracks. What’s your view on that shift?
Bai: Archaeology and conservation are two distinct disciplines. Archaeology uncovers and studies ancient remains to reconstruct history and educate people. Conservation focuses on the craftsmanship of artifacts, restoring them so we can appreciate the intelligence and skill of ancient peoples. Experts in each field have different goals, but their knowledge and techniques are complementary. I believe we should encourage the development of interdisciplinary talent.
Today, many conservators are technicians. They may be highly skilled with their hands, but they often lack archaeological knowledge. Conversely, archaeologists may lack the manual dexterity for fine restoration work. The ideal conservator should have archaeological knowledge, technical skill, and the ability to think critically. I hope today’s conservators will take the time to study archaeology.
Sixth Tone: Why is that archaeological knowledge so important?
Bai: Because it allows you to collect all the contextual information about an artifact, which is necessary to carry out “reverse reconstruction” and return it to its original state.
Let me give an example. In August 1968, I was in charge of cleaning the burial chamber of Tomb No. 2 at Mancheng, which was the tomb of Dou Wan, the wife of royal family member Liu Sheng. One of my tasks was to reconstruct a lacquered coffin inlaid with jade and silver. The most difficult part was reassembling 28 jade discs and 192 jade plaques into their original positions. But there were eight small pentagonal jade pieces that didn’t fit anywhere. I was completely stuck.
Luckily, I met (archaeologist) Xia Nai. This was during the Cultural Revolution, and he’d been labeled a “bourgeois academic authority” and sent to a labor camp. I found him sweeping a courtyard and explained the problem. He thought for a moment and said those pieces were likely alignment markers for the seam between the coffin lid and body. I had a lightbulb moment: There were eight of those odd pieces — four pairs — just right for placing along the sides where the lid joined the coffin. They functioned like a mortise-and-tenon joint, what we call a “narrow waist” connector.
Left: Reconstruction images for Dou Wan’s lacquered coffin inlay. From Sohu; right: Jade decorations from Dou’s coffin. Huang Ansheng/VCG
Sixth Tone: That’s remarkable. How could Xia solve the problem without even being on site?
Bai: Because he was incredibly knowledgeable. Xia Nai was a polymath, deeply versed in both theory and technique. He had vast experience in archaeological fieldwork and was always generous with advice.
Sixth Tone: Of all the artifacts you’ve restored, you’re best known for your love of armor. What sparked that passion?
Bai: That also goes back to Xia. In 1951, he led an excavation in (capital of central Hunan province) Changsha and published a report that included reconstructions of wooden chariots and boats. It inspired me to explore reconstructions myself with armor as well as other artifacts. Over time, I became deeply engaged in developing a systematic record of Chinese armor.
Armor in ancient China is incredibly rich in meaning. It wasn’t just for battle; it signified rank and reflected the era’s metallurgy and craftsmanship.
Sixth Tone: What makes armor restoration different from other types of artifact conservation?
Bai: Armor restoration is a highly specialized field. It combines archaeology, conservation, military history, and materials science. Not many people master it.
In 2018 and 2019, with support from Professor Hua Jueming at the Institute for the History of Natural Sciences, my daughter and I ran two short workshops focused on leather armor excavated in (the central Chinese province of) Hubei. The students made good progress, but true mastery takes years of hands-on experience. After the course, most of them returned to jobs where they rarely interacted with armor, so their skills didn’t fully develop.
My daughter and I now follow a “snowball” approach. When teams unearth armor and ask us to help, we go on site and work closely with their conservators. We share the full restoration process with them and help write reports. That way, knowledge spreads bit by bit.
Bai Rongjin and his daughter Bai Yunyan during an armor restoration workshop held in Beijing, 2019. Courtesy of Bai Rongjin
The West Han dynasty iron armor excavated from the tomb of the Nanyue King (right) and its restoration. From the Nanyue King Museum and Bai Rongjin
Sixth Tone: Chinese media outlets like to say you’ve restored enough armor to fill a museum. You’ve also spoken of your dream to one day build that museum. Have you made any progress?
Bai: Yes, it’s a dream I’ve had since retirement: to build a museum of Chinese armor. It would feature helmets from the Shang dynasty (c.1600–1046 BC), bronze and leather armor from the Zhou (1046–256 BC) and Warring States (475–221 BC) periods, iron armor from the Han (206 BC–AD 220), and more. I also want to showcase chariots, horses, and weapons alongside the armor. There could also be a workshop space for visitors to try making armor plates and assembling pieces, and maybe even a testing field to demonstrate how the armor held up against arrows or blades.
But my dream hasn’t materialized yet. It requires the right timing, institutional support, and public attention. Most armor artifacts are scattered across museums and archaeological institutes, and gathering them into one location is no small task. My daughter and I are just two people, but we continue to push. I still hope to see this dream realized someday.
(Header image: Bai Rongjin wears a paper helmet based on an ancient design, 2024. Visuals from Bai Rongjin, re-edited by Sixth Tone)