China's Richest Woman Dead: ‘Tang Sanzang’ Inherits $3B—36-Year Play or Real Love?

On April 5th, China's Chinese rosewood real estate empire was shaken by the passing of its billionaire chairwoman Chen Lihua, an 8th generation descendant of Empress Dowager Cixi, and the wife of actor Qi Zhongrui, famously known for his role as Tang Sanzang, for nearly 40 years. She left this world behind with a fortune of 47 billion yuan, around 6.8 billion dollars, along with a will that has stirred intense public debate. At the same time, a web of power, privilege, and long-unspoken gray areas has gradually begun to surface—a Qing Dynasty heiress who began as a factory worker. According to multiple Chinese media reports, Chen Lihua was born in 1941 at the Summer Palace in Beijing. At first glance, one might assume she grew up as a pampered aristocrat, but reality was far harsher. Family records trace her lineage to the Yehenara clan, making her an 8th generation descendant of Empress Dowager Cixi, from the prestigious plain yellow banner of the Manchu imperial court. However, she was born just as the dynasty had already fallen. Titles like princess or noblewoman had become little more than empty labels. Her family plunged into extreme poverty to the point that she had to drop out of school in the 10th grade because they could no longer afford tuition. From a girl born in a palace, Chen Lihua was forced into the working world early to make a living, starting out by repairing wooden furniture. In 1977, following a neighbor's advice, she scraped together her savings to open a small furniture repair shop of her own. With sharp business instincts, she didn't just fix items. She began investing in larger ventures. The real turning point came in the early 1980s, when she moved to Hong Kong and entered the real estate sector. From that modest beginning, by 1988 she had built the international Fuwa Group, a powerful empire spanning real estate, shopping centers, hotels, and luxury apartments, later shifting its investment focus back to mainland China. After returning to Beijing, she secured land use rights along Chang'an Avenue right next to Tiananmen Square. There, she developed the Chang'an Building and established the exclusive Chang'an Club on its top floor. Among China's elite, the Chang'an Club became legendary. Membership wasn't simply about wealth. You had to pay around 170,000 yuan just for an application, and even then, the screening process was extremely strict. Many top billionaires had to wait in line, including figures like Li Ka-shing and Cheng Yu-tung. Even government officials frequented the club for sports, tea, and meetings. In 1998, she led the redevelopment of Jinbao Street in Beijing, a project with total investment exceeding 4 billion yuan—about $583 million—involving large-scale relocation. Reports noted that around 2,100 households were relocated within just 28 days, making it a widely discussed case in the industry at the time. Jinbao Street later evolved into one of Beijing's most upscale commercial districts. People half-jokingly referred to her as the most powerful landowner in the capital. In 2016, she topped the Hurun list of China's richest women with a fortune of 50.5 billion yuan—about $7.36 billion. By 2026, her wealth remained around 47 billion yuan—approximately 6.85 billion—ranking her 656th in the world. A fateful marriage and a will that stirred a storm, Chen Liwa's greatest passion in life wasn't diamonds or supercars, but Zeytin—a rare and precious red sandalwood often called the green gold of the forests. It's said that only royalty or the ultra-wealthy could afford to indulge in such material. Carrying imperial blood, Chen felt a deep responsibility to preserve the cultural legacy of the Forbidden City. In 1999, she spent 200 million yuan to build the China Red Sandalwood Museum. Covering 25,000 square meters, the museum showcases exquisitely carved miniature replicas of iconic structures like the Forbidden City, ancient gates, and city walls—all crafted from red sandalwood. Stepping inside feels like entering a dreamlike miniature version of old Beijing. Every detail—from vermilion walls to intricate dragon and phoenix motifs—was meticulously executed by top artisans she personally recruited. Despite her immense wealth, Chen was known for her extremely modest daily lifestyle, reportedly spending less than 10 yuan a day. She didn't smoke or drink, and preferred simple meals like braised rice with pickled vegetables. Yet, when it came to rare wood or antiques, she would spend lavishly without hesitation. She once bluntly declared that she would rather leave behind cultural heritage than money for her descendants. It was this very passion that led to one of the most pivotal decisions of her life—marrying actor Qi Zonggui, who was 11 years her junior and famous for playing Tang Sanzang in the 1986 TV series Journey to the West. The two met in 1988 through their shared love of Peking opera. They connected easily, their personalities aligned, and affection gradually blossomed. At the time, Qi had become an overnight sensation thanks to his role—his refined, handsome appearance attracting countless admirers. Meanwhile, Chen already had three grown children. Her eldest son was only seven years younger than Qi. She had her concerns, but only after consulting her children did she decide to pursue the relationship. In 1990, Qi Zonggui, then 38, and Chen Lihua, 49, officially registered their marriage. Still, public gossip never ceased, largely due to their age gap and vast difference in wealth. To avoid controversy, Qi withdrew from the entertainment industry and devoted himself entirely to supporting his wife's career. Both shared a deep love for red sandalwood. Comedian Guo Degang once visited their home. Upon seeing a beautifully crafted chair in the living room, he praised it and casually asked for the price. Qi calmly replied, not expensive, just over 3 million yuan. Guo was instantly stunned, scratching his head and sighing, I really am poor. After marrying into wealth, Qi seemed to step straight into the pinnacle of life. But as the saying goes, entering a rich household is like diving into the deep sea. And that applies to men as well. Over their 30 years together, Chen always addressed her husband formally as Mr. Chen. While Qi referred to her as Chairwoman, even using honorifics akin to Your Excellency. Within the household, Chen held absolute authority. As a Manchu, she upheld family traditions with strict discipline. Until she sat at the table, no one was allowed to eat. Dozens of family members gathered for dinner every day, and attendance was mandatory no matter how late it was. No one could start eating before she did. And when she stood to leave, all children and grandchildren had to rise to see her off. These rules were demanding even for family members, let alone for Qi, an outsider. Yet he never complained, quickly adapting himself. At the dining table, if the Chairwoman hadn't started eating, neither would he. In public, when she spoke, he never interrupted. Even in sleep, there were expectations. He had to lie properly on his side in a refined, scholarly posture. From speaking and eating to resting, even the smallest aspects of daily life followed clear rules, let alone more significant matters. Alongside all this were countless moments where he chose to yield and accommodate. So how did he manage to live together for 32 years without constant conflict? The answer is simple. He chose to yield. Gentle by nature, he never felt wronged. When asked whether he ever felt pressure, he replied calmly, During his acting days, Qi Zongrui once shaved his head for a role, then later grew his hair back. But Chen Lihua's son, Zhao Yong, felt that with long hair, Qi standing next to his mother made them look more like mother and son. He said he preferred Qi with a shaved head. Understanding the implication, Qi accepted it. In fact, the shaved look made him appear less youthful and striking, easing any potential discomfort for his wife and helping improve relations with her children. From then on, he never grew his hair out again. He didn't just care for his wife attentively, he deeply respected her career. Wherever Chen Lihua went, he followed quietly behind, handing her water or her glasses. At company meetings, he would only sit after she had taken her seat. And even then, he chose an inconspicuous corner, like an ordinary employee. To outsiders, his life seemed stifling. But he genuinely admired strong, authoritative women. Though people describe their relationship as polite as guests, the truth is that over 30 years, he endured and sacrificed a great deal. After marriage, he became a full-time husband, treating his wife's children as his own and supporting her career wholeheartedly. Even in old age, he livestreamed to sell products and filmed videos to earn extra income. There were reports that he charged 2,000 yuan for personalized congratulatory videos, which drew criticism from some. But marriage is like drinking water. Only the person involved knows whether it's warm or cold. Only he can truly judge whether that life was worth it. As early as 2019, at the age of 77, Chen Lihua had already arranged her will to prevent disputes over her estate. Each of her children was allocated 10 billion yuan, around 1.46 billion, while the remaining 18 to 23 billion yuan, approximately 2.6 to 3.35 billion dollars, along with the China Red Sandalwood Museum, was left to Qi Zongrui. The museum itself is immensely valuable, housing more than 300 pieces of Ming Qing-era red sandalwood furniture, as well as a 110-scale model of Beijing's ancient city gates. It is widely seen as a testament to their love, and was specifically entrusted to him. Yet as soon as these figures became public, Qi Zongrui faced a fierce wave of online backlash. Harsh accusations flooded in, calling him hypocritical, a better actor than Liu Bei, or claiming he had finally waited long enough to inherit a vast fortune. Many believed his decades-long devotion was nothing more than a perfectly performed act in exchange for immense wealth. In response, Qi remained silent. Recent images from the Red Sandalwood Museum show him looking worn and subdued, his eyes heavy with sadness as he stands quietly before the artifacts that hold memories of their life together. Of course, as an unspoken rule, no billionaire in China rises to the very top without strong backing from Beijing's inner circles of power. Chen Lihua served as a member of the National Committee of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference across its 8th through 12th terms. She also held the position of Vice Chair of the Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, and Overseas Chinese Affairs Committee under the CPPCC during its 11th and 12th terms. Within China's political system, the CPPCC is often described as a forum where top entrepreneurs offer advice to the party. But in reality, it also functions as a mechanism of political protection. As a standing committee member, Chen had direct access to central leadership, attended state banquets, and contributed to high-level policy discussions. This effectively made her a figure largely untouchable by local inspections. Her connections extended from municipal authorities all the way up to figures within the Politburo of the Communist Party of China, forming a multi-layered network of protection. More recently, a video interview on the Daxing Community Channel featuring journalists Wu Wei and Jia Jia, both formerly associated with major outlets such as Xinhua News Agency, Phoenix Television, and Tencent, offered a very different perspective on Chen's rise, Jia Jia raised questions about the origins of the red sandalwood that Chen donated to the National Museum. How did such valuable materials come into her possession? Ming Qing furniture has long been a highly prized field of collecting, but why did it become a channel for earning foreign currency and building wealth in the 1980s? This, he suggested, is tied to historical context. In the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, a vast number of confiscated cultural artifacts were left without clear means of disposal. The state needed intermediaries to handle them, and Chen Lihua became one of the figures involved. Beginning with directives from high-level leadership, she was able to acquire large quantities of valuable wooden artifacts. Over the following four decades, she rose to the very top of China's antique wood collecting world. But the key question remains, why could she do what ordinary people could not? According to this view, it reflects a long-standing pattern of official business collusion in China, where such items were gathered and then sold in Hong Kong and overseas markets. Beyond that, her museum evolved into a high-end reception venue for the state. Visiting heads of state and senior officials in Beijing were often brought there. By donating rare red sandalwood works to international institutions and major museums, Chen effectively positioned herself as a cultural ambassador. Once a business figure becomes a cultural symbol of the nation, any move against them becomes politically sensitive. This network of cultural diplomacy helped her maintain her standing even during waves of anti-corruption campaigns that swept through the real estate sector. The Jinbao Street Redevelopment Project further illustrates this network. Stretching about 1.5 kilometers and linking Wangfujing to Beijing's Second Ring Road, it sits on some of the most valuable land in the capital. To relocate thousands of residents from traditional courtyard homes in such a short time required near-total alignment with city authorities. Wu Wei and Jia Jia also pointed to Beijing's leadership in the 1990s and early 2000s. Figures such as Zhang Baifa, then Executive Vice Mayor with decisive authority over construction and urban planning, are often mentioned in this context. Known for his aggressive push to modernize Beijing, even at the cost of demolishing historical structures, Zhang represented the kind of political force behind such transformations. Chen Lihua, in this narrative, became an extension of that agenda, carrying out projects the government wanted, but preferred not to confront public opinion directly. What do you think about this perspective from the two journalists? Feel free to share your thoughts below. Thank you and goodbye.