antiheroediaries

Lost You Forever as a live adaptation almost made it.

Lost You Forever as a live adaptation almost made it; it could have been perfect. All the elements that brought magic to the world of DaHuang—world-building, complex characters, cinematography, direction, film composition, and editing—were by far the most beautiful and complex I've seen in contemporary Chinese dramas. Based on Tong Hua's novel of the same name, it chronicles Xiao Yao's life and journey to a peaceful existence through entanglements, political upheavals, and depression.

World-building and complex characters were LYF's strongest feats. As a character-led story, we find ourselves moving through all the emotions as we watch our favorite characters succeed and fail, trip and fall, and get up and brush off, in a cycle of questionable decision-making, inability to take action, or willfulness confined in their psychological prisons against a backdrop of reverse harem romance. No character was free from flaws, and no character was inherently good or evil—a melting pot of antiheroes, antivillains, and villains.

Romance-wise, the story plays on multiple tropes present in every Chinese drama one can think of. From childhood promises, 15-year oaths and blood oaths, to piggyback rides, savior complexes, and underwater kisses, Lost You Forever is no exception. There are plenty of heart-inducing moments for all with four different suitors and relationships.

Plot-wise, the story is at its weakest, with Xiao Yao's only ambition in life being to have a life with the person who will always put her first and never abandon her, while Cang Xuan wants to rule the world so he can protect Xiao Yao. Sprinkled among these two plots are cheesy romances, assassination attempts, broken promises, underwater dates, and personal sacrifices (a majority coming from Xiang Liu).

In terms of characters, the drama attempted but failed to portray Xiao Yao's struggle with low self-esteem, self-worth, and depression. These character traits were most prominent in her and plagued her decisions and how she interacted with the people around her. Her feelings of isolation and misplaced identity among her noble peers were also not touched on, all of which were important to her character development (devolving) and her choices, and which would prominently reveal her relationship dynamics among her male leads.

Instead, the drama's attempt to skim over the thematics of trauma-guided decision-making in order to portray an empowered woman whose unwavering requirements for a lover (one who will always put her first and never abandon her) made her out to be a shallow, tunnel-visioned, and uncompromising character wallowing in self-pity. Her dissonance from her environment made her quite ignorant in many aspects. At least, in the novel, her depression can be attributed to her dissonance and disassociation. She desired no power but failed to see the costs of the peaceful life she desired. And without her understanding of those sacrifices, Xiao Yao, as a character like her novel counterpart, has very little character development. In the end, Xiao Yao as a protagonist fails to impress me as the empowered woman the drama had hoped to portray, which comes as such a pity, as XY's character had so much potential in the first act, the Qingshiu Town arc.

In terms of male leads, Cang Xuan's character development being chucked away as some kind of dream in the third act amounted to incredibly lazy writing and it takes away from his growth. From wanting to protect the one he loved the most, to losing her in the end due to his obsession, Cang Xuan emerges to be Xiao Yao's worst enemy, but his eventual self-admittance in defeat to his circumstances and finally realizing that loving Xiao Yao means to let her go comes back in a beautiful circle—that he had lost her once, and he'll lose her again. However, the drama downplaying his villainy took away the power of this narrative.

Jing as a character, ironically, remains true to his novel counterpart, written to fulfill Xiao Yao's requirements, to help bring XY's journey into closure. The drama did attempt to bring dimensionality to his character by giving him extra lines (some stolen from Xiang Liu's character) and extra scenes, attempting to make him more proactive in the plot. However, due to lack of character development and poor character setup, his stagnancy keeps him tied to XY as the plot device to her eventually getting what she had most wanted.

Xiang Liu, the novel readers' favorite character, continues to dominate the story and plot. Despite XL being criticized for several out-of-character scenes and for being too lovelorn, like his novel counterpart who never wasted a single word or page, XL commanded and captivated every minute in the drama. Even though the drama changed and omitted several key scenes and downplayed his relationship with Xiao Yao, XL remains a complete character with a complete arc.

Acting-wise, I believe it is Yangzi's best performance and I hope she continues to grow. She shines the most in her scenes with Tan Jianci, making their on-screen chemistry sizzle like no other. There are a few times where one can tell that Yangzi could have pushed her facial expressions more or that there's just one thing missing to make it a perfect portrayal of Xiao Yao.

Zhang Wangyi portrays Cang Xuan, managing to captivate and bring together a prince whose growing obsession over his love for XY is slowly chipping away his sanity. Zhang Wangyi does a beautiful job of projecting confined jealousy on his face, and these are the moments I live for.

Deng Wei portrays Tushan Jing and my critique of his acting is that he still seems to be very camera conscious, and that shows through his awkward performances. In contrast, Wang Hongyi brings together Chiusui Feng Long, portraying a young noble whose personality is filled with fond memories and optimistic ambitions.

However, it is Tan Jianci's portrayal of Xiang Liu that captivated me the most, as well as many audiences around the world. His immense repertoire for micro-expressions, line delivery, and control body movements brought a convincing Xiang Liu to life.

Among the pretty costumes and beautiful soundtrack, things start to fall at the seams, particularly in the writing of character arcs, conflict resolution, and plot closure. A limited budget also hindered the possibilities within DaHuang that the imagination didn't hold back. Despite strong characters, the adaptation shied away from delving deeper into the heaviest theme present in the novel: how trauma and psychological disorders cripple healthy decision-making.

When you have a world based on mythology, you expect to see a visual interpretation worthy of those myths, which the budget of the drama eventually failed to produce. Production design and CGI were lackluster, in some areas simply looking terrible, i.e., the blood faucet, Xiao Yao's mediocre cherry blossoms, Jade Lake, and Queen Mother's lotus are among the worst culprits. And then throwing in censorship, poor writing experience, and linear storytelling, LYF just couldn't move over the typical threshold that has been holding back Chinese storytelling on the small screen.

LYF had so much potential in the first half, but in the second half where the story starts to come together in closure, it utterly failed to encompass the world of DaHuang, as well as portray the poetry of Tong Hua's novel.

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Tan Jianci shines as angsty teenage boy!

As all eyes on #TanJianci #檀建次 film debut in a dramatic male lead role for I Miss You, his career seems like it's coming in full circle with his costar from Lost. Indulgence, Karen Mok, singing the ost.

I've finally had a chance to rent Lost.Indulgence from appleTV and it's such a nice gem. It's a low budget, quiet, indie coming of age film. It follows the relationships of a woman and son, Xiao Chuan, navigating the aftermath from the apparent drowning of her husband. They both had to take in the woman, Su Dan, who was injured and a unlikely friendship develops between the Su Dan and Xiao Chuan.

Tan Jianci, even at a young age, shines as Xiao Chuan. Here you can already see his knack for acting and small facial movements.

Filled with teenage angst, grownup problems, and unspoken lust, Lost.Indulgence is beautifully shot on 35mm, and remeniscent of the HK era urban narratives. Despite a rushed ending, it is still a fresh breath from all the CGI fested idol dramas.

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Hong Ye, Moral Economy, and the Squandered Potential of The Unclouded Soul

Hong Ye, the Demon Lord of the recently aired C-drama The Unclouded Soul, is not an inherently unsatisfying character. Rather, he is a case study in how narrative structure and genre conventions can suppress complexity in favor of ideological convenience.

At first glance, Hong Ye appears to conform to a familiar xianxia archetype: the emotionally closed-off, jaded lover whose cruelty masks an essentially gentle soul. For nearly two-thirds of the drama, the series reiterates this characterization without meaningful development, asking the audience to accept repetition in place of evolution. The result is a protagonist who feels static, even as the plot insists on his emotional transformation.

The Unclouded Soul is a 40-episode xianxia idol drama starring Hou Minghao and Tan Songyan, framed as a female-centric narrative centered on Xiao Yao—a heroine defined by her unrestrained sense of joy and justice. The drama employs a time-traveling plot device to gradually unfold the mystery of her connection to Hong Ye across multiple lifetimes, positioning their romance as both fated and cyclical. This structure, in theory, should deepen the emotional stakes by layering past lives onto present consequences.

It is only in the third major arc—revealed to be their very first life—that the series briefly fulfills this promise. In this incarnation, Hong Ye is not a demon but a human burdened with the responsibility of saving humanity from extinction. His love for Xiao Yao motivates him to pursue immortality, not out of ambition or malice, but from a desperate desire to remain by her side forever. He steals demon pearls to gain power, fully aware of the moral cost of his actions. This arc finally grants Hong Ye agency, contradiction, and tragedy.

Hou Minghao delivers the pain and complexity of these decisions with remarkable precision. His portrayal captures a man torn between ethical compromise and emotional devotion, embodying the kind of moral ambiguity that xianxia narratives often gesture toward but rarely sustain. For the first time, Hong Ye feels less like a symbolic figure and more like a human subject navigating impossible choices.

Yet this is also where The Unclouded Soul exposes its most troubling ideological framework. Xiao Yao, who is gradually revealed to possess a savior complex, becomes the moral axis around which judgment is distributed. Her unwavering sense of justice—ostensibly virtuous—ultimately condemns Hong Ye to an endless cycle of atonement for sins rooted in love and desperation rather than cruelty. Meanwhile, other characters who commit far more egregious acts are narratively excused through death, narrative convenience, or symbolic punishment. The drama’s moral economy is uneven: suffering is not proportionate to wrongdoing but rather allocated according to narrative usefulness.

Hong Ye’s punishment is not framed as tragic injustice but as necessary balance, positioning him as a sacrificial figure whose suffering stabilizes the world order. In contrast, Xiao Yao’s moral absolutism remains largely unchallenged, despite the devastating consequences of her judgments. The series thus reinforces a familiar pattern in xianxia storytelling: the male lead’s redemption must be endless, while the heroine’s righteousness is treated as inherently correct, even when it is destructive.

Compounding this issue is the prolonged and narratively redundant storyline of the second leads. Their arc serves little purpose beyond manufacturing villains and crises, conveniently positioning Hong Ye to sacrifice himself repeatedly for the “greater good.” This narrative padding not only drags the pacing but actively undermines Hong Ye’s character by reducing his complexity to a functional role within the plot.

Ultimately, The Unclouded Soul gestures toward a far more compelling story than it allows itself to tell. Hong Ye’s character contains the potential for a rich exploration of moral compromise, love, and unjust punishment. Instead, that potential is curtailed by an overextended runtime, misplaced narrative priorities, and an ideological framework that demands his suffering as proof of cosmic balance. The tragedy of Hong Ye is not merely within the story—it is embedded in the storytelling itself.

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Refreshing blend of humor, nostalgia and melodrama

Go East follows the coming-of-age journey of Yuan Mo, a reluctant antihero who loves eating, drinking, and money but hates working. He is smart and witty, yet often runs around like a chicken with its head cut off. To earn a quick buck, he shamelessly concocts schemes. However, beneath his perceived cowardice and loudmouth behavior, the story slowly reveals a deeper trauma, adding layers to his character and hinting at an emotional backstory.

In terms of production quality, Go East featured stronger acting across the board and excelled in making the Hengdian studio sets, on-location shots, and other settings appear visually cohesive. The lighting, cinematography, camera work, and editing were all solid, working seamlessly together to complement the genre without distracting from the storytelling. Although the background music and soundtrack didn’t offer any standout tunes, they effectively accompanied the drama, subtly enhancing the overall atmosphere.

Adding to its charm, Go East evokes a sense of nostalgia, particularly for those of us who grew up watching Chinese dramas of the '90s. The comedic timing of misspoken words leading to humorous situations—like Yuan Mo wanting a new home because he’s tired of sleeping on the ground, while the realtor thinks he’s been overindulging with his maid—brings a sense of lighthearted fun. Additionally, the portrayal of political etiquette, humorously resolving interpersonal misunderstandings—such as trading Yuan Mo’s freedom for Yuqi’s transfer to Si Fang Pavilion—is delightful. When I’m not laughing outright, I’m chuckling at the absurdity of the circumstances.

However, the second half of the series takes a different turn, shifting into a palace melodrama. This change, while still engaging, detracts from the charm of the first half, which was brimming with comedy and quirky cases. As the story leaned more heavily on Ah Shu's arc, we lost much of Yuan Mo’s presence, which was one of the show's early strengths.

Tan Jianci’s decision to tackle a comedic role in his acting repertoire has undoubtedly helped expand his versatility as an actor. His portrayal of Yuan Mo, with his unruly and untamed personality reminiscent of Stephen Chow’s iconic characters, also showcases Jianci’s own talent for facial exaggerations and subtle micro-expressions, adding depth and humor to the performance.

In the end, Go East offers a refreshing blend of humor and nostalgia, making it a delightful journey for anyone who appreciates the charm of comedy dramas. Tan Jianci’s portrayal of Yuan Mo stands out as a significant step in his evolution as a versatile actor, marking this series as both entertaining and memorable.

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