Frankly, the recent K-drama series, The Tale of Lady Oh and Check-in Hanyang, are insipid compared to older historical dramas, Kingdom, and The Alchemy of Souls that had viewers riveted to their screens. The dearth in engrossing Korean historical dramas has made Chinese dramas, with their fascinating storylines and impressive production, considerable alternatives.
Topping the list is The Double, a revenge-thriller centered on Duke Su, played by Wang Xingyue. Duke Su is the quintessential warrior in the slew of Chinese dramas streaming on Netflix. He’s confident and extraordinarily skilled in martial arts. Naturally, he fights for the underdogs.
It’s mystery, romance, and the supernatural in ‘Blossom.’ (Image from @liuxueyi06)
But The Double premiered almost a year ago, leaving you looking for the next warrior who can match Duke Su. There are three who qualify for the league of warriors: Song Mo in Blossom, Pan Yue in Blossom, and Murong Jing He in Kill Me Love Me.
Song Mo and Dou Zhao—through thick and thin (Image from @official.wetv)
The somber foreshadowings in the first scene of the romance-fantasy Blossom quickly reel you in to marathon-watch the 34 episodes. You’re further lured by the plot—Song Mo (Li Yin Rui) and Dou Zhao (Meng Zi Yi) getting a chance to reset their moribund lives. Likewise, you’re piqued to learn how and why they are at death’s door.
Their slow deaths by poisoning are aggravated by personal circumstances. Song Mo’s falling out with the emperor has made him a fugitive, while Dou Zhao faces her husband’s blatant flaunting of his affair with her half-sister. They meet accidentally on the same route. She’s exiling herself to her old village, and he’s returning to his headquarters, and then they’re hurled back to their teen years.
Undoubtedly, logic is suspended, like in a miracle. Still, the storyline holds, with the combined elements of mystery and time travel in ancient China tethered to relatable characters navigating relatable circumstances.
The attraction to Song Mo is instantaneous when he appears on screen with his flowing silver hair. He stands regally in his battle armor and wén wǔ xiù, a robe that leaves one arm bare. The wén wǔ xiù was originally worn over the armor to keep the body from overheating, explains creator Phoenix (@achinesetranslator) in his IG, adding that Tibetans still wear it today.
Li Yin Rui is the silver-haired General Song Mo in ‘Blossom.’ (Image from @lyr_linray)
The young general is admirable, especially given his dexterity with twin blades and his strong balletic leaps in battlefields. Actor-singer Li Yin Rui is meant to play Song Mo because of his athleticism. Video creator Candise Lin (@drcandiselin) says in her IG that Li Yin Rui is a sports major who excels in basketball, high jump, horse riding, and snowboarding.
Actor-singer Li Yin Rui is meant to play Song Mo because of his athleticism—he is a sports major who excels in basketball, high jump, horse riding, and snowboarding
While most of Dou Zhao’s contemporaries are husband-hunting, she’s running a business empire and managing her domestic affairs with ease. Intelligent as she is, she navigates the social and political complexities of the Ming Dynasty with cunning and grace.
Shunning the clichéd coup de foudre—love at first sight—Song Mo and Dou Zhao’s romance is realistic, with the gradual changing of feelings, from distrust to admiration to love. They grow to trust one another completely, so much so that their minds are in synchronic agreement. Song Mo isn’t a misogynist and treats Dou Zhao with respect; Dou Zhao neither plays the gender card nor uses her feminine wiles to get what she wants.
Interestingly, Phoenix declares Blossom one of the best Chinese dramas for its appropriate portrayal of the hairstyles of the Ming Dynasty, where married women and single women had different coiffures. Married women sported the dí jì, which was also a status symbol, he says. Dou Zhao did up her usually loose hair in a dí jì after she married Song Mo, now the Duke of Yin. Phoenix adds that the dí jì of the Grand Princess, Empress Wan, and Dou Zhao’s grandmother was different. They had a cone-shaped, embellished black gauze covering their hair.
Imperial censor Pan Yue (Image from @liuxueyi06)
Pan Yue (Liu Xueyi) can hold his ground in a sword fight in the romance-fantasy Blossom, the popular drama last year. It surpassed the 10,000 mark of Youku’s Heat Index two days after its premiere. The Heat Index measures a show’s popularity during its broadcast, and Chinese streamers have their own “explosion level” mark, i.e., 10,000 for iQYI and Youku, and 30,000 for Tencent.
Pan Yue’s combat skills help protect him against officials who loathe imperial censors like him. He disposes of several attackers without injury to himself or a strand of hair out of place. He parries arrows flying towards him nonchalantly, and jumps effortlessly onto building roofs to escape assassins, while holding Yang Cai Wei (Ju Jing Yi), his childhood sweetheart.
Viewers are fixated on the 32 episodes because of two factors. One is the death of Yang Cai Wei on the night of her and Pan Yue’s wedding. Pan Yue is the suspected murderer. Their wedding causes a stir among the villagers who wonder why Pan Yue married an ugly duckling (Yang Cai Wei has a diagonal scar across her face).
Another factor is the body swap of Yang Cai Wei and Shangguan Zhi, a woman obsessed with Pan Yue. Shangguan Zhi intentionally performs the body swap through an eerie ritual, a sinister act more interesting than the run-of-the-mill accidental body swap, making the series doubly engrossing specially when the “reincarnated” Yang Cai Wei and Pan Yue meet.
Pan Yue’s self-importance is quickly established in the first episode. He arrives late—and leaves before anyone else—at the painting competition presided over by Princess Chang Le, and shows up all artists, including his plain half-brother, Pan Hui. He’s nonchalant about the adulation of the crowd awed by his good looks, natty robes, and elegant bearing.
Pan Yue’s combat skills help protect him…He parries arrows flying towards him nonchalantly, and jumps effortlessly onto building roofs to escape assassins
However, his arrogance is a mask for his tortured soul. People want him dead. His family is broken: Pan Hui is frosty towards him, disdaining his illegitimate status, while his father, the current minister of justice, deliberately withholds information from him on the whereabouts of Yang Cai Wei, who’s been missing for a decade. They were to marry, but she disappeared after her father, a former minister of justice, was framed up for a crime and exiled.
Teaming up, Pan Yue and Yang Cai Wei investigate the murders in Heyang, with his knowledge of the law and her expertise in forensics pathology.
Liu Xueyi is Murong Jing He in ‘Kill Me Love Me’ (Image from @liuxueyi06)
Liu Xueyi returns in the revenge-romance Kill Me Love Me as Prince Murong Jing He, the crippled third prince of the Great Yan kingdom and general of the elite Weibei army. Although outranking Song Mo and Pan Yue in the social hierarchy, he’s as skilled a warrior as they are.
The story of a disabled prince secretly leading Shadow Work, an assassin group, is compelling, and more so when it also shows imperial China’s monarchical politics, i.e., power grabs at all levels and clever subterfuges. There’s also the obvious detail that Jing He is hot even if he’s just sitting on his chair, casually affronting the whole kingdom with his calculated recklessness, or smirking while stepping out of the tub. He’s particularly seductive when his robe is partially open and a strand of hair brushes his cheek.
Jing He’s enemies make him monstrous—he’s nicknamed Butcher General—when they massacre Qingzhou, a city he and his army reclaimed from the Xiyan kingdom. They frame him, incapacitate him, and kill his soldiers. In time, he heals from his injuries, but hides it. He lets the rumors of his monstrosity proliferate to misdirect his enemies. Would anyone suspect that a dissolute, pretend-cripple is secretly hunting down those who burned Qingzhou and killed its residents?
The first 23 of the 32 episodes are exciting, with Crown Prince Murong Xuanlie plotting Jing He’s death to get the throne and the story of Jing He and Mei Lin (Wu Jin Yan) as master-subordinate, allies, and lovers. It becomes a royal mess towards the end, with the forgettable characters—Concubine Yan, Emperor Murong Qian, Yue Qin—and their stories of heartbreaking betrayals which are immaterial to the prince and his assassin.
Jing He acting unhinged is evocative of Prince Hamlet and his plan “to catch the conscience of the King”—the Crown Prince, in Jing He’s case—but his actions manifest a deeper madness. He takes in Mei Lin, an orphan from Qingzhou, and trains her as his personal assassin. Undoubtedly, she’s the perfect pawn: malleable, submissive, vengeful. He takes his lunacy further by sending her on a mission to kill the third prince—she’s oblivious of Jing He’s dual identity—but not before poisoning her and withholding the antidote until her mission is completed.
Surprisingly, Jing He becomes less menacing towards Mei Lin and, as if afflicted with the Stockholm syndrome, the two begin manifesting the phrase “love strikes in the most unexpected places.” It starts with Mei Lin kissing Jing He in the tub and she, disguised as a Xiyan beauty tribute, needs a ruse to elude arrest for attempting to murder him. Like Song Mo and Dou Zhao’s romance, theirs is slow, each one gauging the other’s true intentions. However, while love has a positive effect on Jing He and doesn’t lose sight of his goal of revenge, Mei Lin runs away to forget him and her past, and becomes a baker.
Viewers are like readers. They look for drama writers who can spin a good yarn, which often is a case of hits and misses. A drama engages viewers when varied storylines—a call for justice, mysterious deaths, revenge, romance—are seamlessly combined in an engaging narrative with relatable characters. Chinese dramas have mastered these elements, upping the ante with breathtaking cinematography and amazing costumes (including hairstyles) and props.
Fictional as Song Mo, Pan Yue, and Murong Jing He are, they represent real-life goals: justice for the oppressed and comeuppance for the oppressors. They illustrate how self-centeredness can and must be overcome. They push for the ideal person and society to become the norm.
Watching the league of warriors choose right over wrong is cathartic. It helps in remembering basic wisdom and even briefly imagining a better world amid the frustrations and chaos.
