The Hung King's Festival

During my time in Vietnam this April, I had the chance to witness the country come alive in celebration of one of its most sacred and historically rich traditions—the Hung King's Festival, also known as the Death Anniversary of the Hung Kings. Although I didn’t journey to the bustling heart of the official festivities in Phu Tho Province, I found myself embraced by a more intimate version of this national holiday. Instead of heading to the ancestral land of the Hung Kings, I spent the day with a group of kind-hearted locals who brought me to a quiet neighborhood temple where we burned incense and offered silent prayers—a small but powerful gesture that captured the true essence of the festival.

A Legacy Written in Legend

The story behind the Hung King's Festival stretches back nearly 5,000 years, woven into the mythological tapestry of Vietnam’s origin. It begins with the union of Lạc Long Quân, a sea dragon lord, and Âu Cơ, a mountain fairy. Their love brought forth 100 eggs, which hatched into 100 children—the ancestors of the Vietnamese people. The eldest among them became the first Hung King, founding a dynasty that would span 18 generations and shape the roots of modern Vietnam.

This tale of origin, steeped in symbolism and reverence for both land and sea, continues to hold a deep spiritual significance for Vietnamese people today.

A Festival of National Unity and Remembrance

Recognized by UNESCO in 2012 as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, the Hung King’s Festival is far more than a public holiday—it is a profound reminder of unity, identity, and ancestral gratitude. It brings together families, communities, and even Vietnamese expats around the world to reflect on their shared heritage.

In 2025, the festival took place from April 5th to April 8th, with the main celebration held on April 7th, the 10th day of the third lunar month. While the spotlight shines on the Hung Kings Temple Complex on Nghia Linh Mountain in Phu Tho—where grand ceremonies and processions attract thousands—smaller temples across the country offer quieter but no less meaningful gatherings.

And it was in one such small temple, tucked away from the crowds, that I lit a stick of incense beside a group of local elders. Though I didn’t understand every word of their prayers, the sentiment was unmistakable: reverence, remembrance, and deep respect for those who came before.

A Closer Look at the Celebrations

In the grand celebrations at Phu Tho, the festival opens with the dawn ceremony, marked by the deep, echoing sound of bronze drums and ceremonial gongs. The palanquin procession, or Lễ Rước Kiệu, follows—an elaborate parade of offerings carried by villagers in traditional attire. At its heart lies the incense offering ritual, Lễ Dâng Hương, during which national leaders and pilgrims alike pay homage to the Hung Kings.

One of the most solemn acts is the Nam Giao Offering, a ceremony where food and wine are presented on behalf of the Vietnamese people, echoing centuries-old traditions of ancestor worship.

Beyond the rituals, the festival pulses with life—traditional Xoan singing, cultural performances, and games like tug-of-war, duck-catching, and cake-making contests. Stalls brimming with Vietnamese delicacies—including the symbolic Bánh chưng and Bánh giầy—dot the festival grounds, drawing people together to celebrate not just their past, but their shared joy in the present.

A Quiet Celebration, A Lasting Impression

Though I missed the parades and pageantry of Phu Tho, I gained something equally valuable by staying local. The warmth of the people who welcomed me into their tradition, the gentle murmur of prayers drifting through the incense-filled air, and the shared silence around the altar offered me a deeper understanding of the festival’s true purpose: to remember, to honor, and to connect—with ancestors, with community, and with identity.

The Hung King's Festival is not just a historical commemoration—it's a living, breathing celebration of Vietnamese culture. Whether experienced in a mountain complex surrounded by thousands or in a quiet corner of a neighborhood temple, it leaves a lasting imprint on the heart. I’m grateful I was here to feel it firsthand.