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The Art of Strategic Retreat
Immortal Ascension is the long-awaited live-action adaptation of the hit xianxia web-novel A Record of a Mortal's Journey to Immortality by Wang Yu (忘语), a defining work of the "mortal cultivation" sub-genre. While the novel chronicles protagonist Han Li's thousand-year journey over a sprawling 2,400 chapters, this ambitious adaptation condenses the first 200 years into 30 episodes. It is set in a brutal, realistic immortal world where might makes right. The Heavenly Dao (天道) is indifferent to concepts of "good" or "evil"; the path to immortality isn't about grand morality or predestined genius, but about raw power and survival. Here, cunning, alchemy, and artifacts can trump sheer talent.
Three borrowed bowls of flour for flatbread. That is why an ordinary village boy, Han Li, stumbles on to a thousand year path to immortality. It isn't a profound or carefully considered decision or even a conscious choice on his part —just survival instinct, pure and simple. It begins in Shenshou Valley, a place that opens his eyes to a world beyond his wildest imagination and offers his first chilling glimpse into the callous utilitarianism and transactional nature of cultivation relationships. He picks up the underappreciated skill of gardening and chances upon his most invaluable artifact. From his first mentor, Physician Mo, Han Li learns the core secret to immortality: live to fight another day. He is the master of the art of strategic retreat—my lips would twitch every time he began stealthily backing away at the slightest hint of hostility.
Han Li is an unconventional protagonist. He isn't motivated by naive heroism and chooses a path that is ultimately selfish and solitary. Often underestimated, he prevails through cautious pragmatism and resourcefulness, relying on methodical long-term planning, deception, and fleeing unwinnable conflicts. Despite the running gag that Han Li is very plain, Yang Yang is perfectly cast. His immaculate appearance and radiant, ageless glow convey the aura of a character who is ultimately unattainable. I've never been a fan of his acting, but this is by far his best role. His portrayal is exquisite: the careful circumspection in his movements, the nuanced flicker in his eyes, the micro-expressions that signal he is always watchful and calculating; that fraught stillness when sensing danger; and the intense, cold-blooded ruthlessness in combat. Yang Yang's power, grace, and natural athleticism are on full display. Instead of just standing around uselessly waving a fan (Who Rules the World), he delivers multiple thrilling, intense, and brilliantly choreographed action sequences that showcase Han Li's ability to think on his feet, using his cunning and resources to level the playing field. The visual effects, however, are a bit dated and at times overwhelm the impressive stunt work, detracting from how flawlessly Yang Yang executes difficult mid-air acrobatics while staying completely in character.
I love the decision to shoot mostly on location—it vividly reinforces the vastness, timelessness, and solitude of Han Li's journey. It may have made lighting and framing more difficult to control, but it's far superior to the typical fake, over-lit, and stagnant xianxia set. The plot feels condensed, and the pacing is uneven, alternating rapidly between character introductions, heavy world-building via dialogue, and high-octane action. Some important characters—Physician Mo, Mo Caihuan, and a few of Han Li's Yellow Maple Valley mentors—are fleshed out, but too many others zip by cursorily. While Wang Duo plays the villain with great relish and humor, Wang Chan's character is a cardboard cutout, because Han Li's greatest antagonist is truly the indifferent universe—and Han Li himself, and the humanity he must leave behind.
At times, this feels like a video game, but it is actually a quite sad and profound story. The narrative tone doesn't indulge in sadness; Han Li's moments of temptation and regret are subtle and transient: a pause, a concealed glance behind lowered eyelids, the slightest hesitation, the moment he gives in to a brief hug. It's all in the subtext, in how he regularly shouts out to Li Feiyu, recalling his last mortal friend. Han Li is not a relatable protagonist; it's hard to feel sorry for him, as he does not feel sorry for himself or for the people he coldly leaves behind.
Fittingly, at the end of this first phase, we come full circle to a precious piece of flatbread that Nangong Wan casually snatches from him. Ms. Mo would never have done that. It's why she is not the endgame; she isn't ruthless or selfish enough to accompany him on his journey. While this is not a romantic story, the character who moved me most was Ms. Mo. It is with his first love and final obsession that Han Li almost allows himself to be mortal.
I don't know how to feel about this kind of story or Han Li's path. It is inspiring as a tale of how an ordinary person can become extraordinary. And a sobering lesson about at what price. It is a story that has stayed with me. I have to rate it 9/10.
Three borrowed bowls of flour for flatbread. That is why an ordinary village boy, Han Li, stumbles on to a thousand year path to immortality. It isn't a profound or carefully considered decision or even a conscious choice on his part —just survival instinct, pure and simple. It begins in Shenshou Valley, a place that opens his eyes to a world beyond his wildest imagination and offers his first chilling glimpse into the callous utilitarianism and transactional nature of cultivation relationships. He picks up the underappreciated skill of gardening and chances upon his most invaluable artifact. From his first mentor, Physician Mo, Han Li learns the core secret to immortality: live to fight another day. He is the master of the art of strategic retreat—my lips would twitch every time he began stealthily backing away at the slightest hint of hostility.
Han Li is an unconventional protagonist. He isn't motivated by naive heroism and chooses a path that is ultimately selfish and solitary. Often underestimated, he prevails through cautious pragmatism and resourcefulness, relying on methodical long-term planning, deception, and fleeing unwinnable conflicts. Despite the running gag that Han Li is very plain, Yang Yang is perfectly cast. His immaculate appearance and radiant, ageless glow convey the aura of a character who is ultimately unattainable. I've never been a fan of his acting, but this is by far his best role. His portrayal is exquisite: the careful circumspection in his movements, the nuanced flicker in his eyes, the micro-expressions that signal he is always watchful and calculating; that fraught stillness when sensing danger; and the intense, cold-blooded ruthlessness in combat. Yang Yang's power, grace, and natural athleticism are on full display. Instead of just standing around uselessly waving a fan (Who Rules the World), he delivers multiple thrilling, intense, and brilliantly choreographed action sequences that showcase Han Li's ability to think on his feet, using his cunning and resources to level the playing field. The visual effects, however, are a bit dated and at times overwhelm the impressive stunt work, detracting from how flawlessly Yang Yang executes difficult mid-air acrobatics while staying completely in character.
I love the decision to shoot mostly on location—it vividly reinforces the vastness, timelessness, and solitude of Han Li's journey. It may have made lighting and framing more difficult to control, but it's far superior to the typical fake, over-lit, and stagnant xianxia set. The plot feels condensed, and the pacing is uneven, alternating rapidly between character introductions, heavy world-building via dialogue, and high-octane action. Some important characters—Physician Mo, Mo Caihuan, and a few of Han Li's Yellow Maple Valley mentors—are fleshed out, but too many others zip by cursorily. While Wang Duo plays the villain with great relish and humor, Wang Chan's character is a cardboard cutout, because Han Li's greatest antagonist is truly the indifferent universe—and Han Li himself, and the humanity he must leave behind.
At times, this feels like a video game, but it is actually a quite sad and profound story. The narrative tone doesn't indulge in sadness; Han Li's moments of temptation and regret are subtle and transient: a pause, a concealed glance behind lowered eyelids, the slightest hesitation, the moment he gives in to a brief hug. It's all in the subtext, in how he regularly shouts out to Li Feiyu, recalling his last mortal friend. Han Li is not a relatable protagonist; it's hard to feel sorry for him, as he does not feel sorry for himself or for the people he coldly leaves behind.
Fittingly, at the end of this first phase, we come full circle to a precious piece of flatbread that Nangong Wan casually snatches from him. Ms. Mo would never have done that. It's why she is not the endgame; she isn't ruthless or selfish enough to accompany him on his journey. While this is not a romantic story, the character who moved me most was Ms. Mo. It is with his first love and final obsession that Han Li almost allows himself to be mortal.
I don't know how to feel about this kind of story or Han Li's path. It is inspiring as a tale of how an ordinary person can become extraordinary. And a sobering lesson about at what price. It is a story that has stayed with me. I have to rate it 9/10.
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