Comment for Six Flying Dragons
Six Flying Dragons could have become one of the most profound artistic works in Korean television — if only the writers had the courage to follow the path they themselves had opened.
At its core, this drama is not just about the founding of a nation, but about the loss of one’s soul in the process of believing in that nation’s creation. The best example of this is found in Lee Bang-ji and Mu-hyul — two men who once shared the same ideal, yet came to embody its opposite meanings.
In their sword-fighting scene, the drama falters: Lee Bang-ji, filled with sorrow, refuses to harm Mu-hyul because he understands that doing so would wound the innocence and purity they once shared. Mu-hyul, blinded by loyalty to his king, fights to win — unknowingly wounding himself instead.
The outstanding performances by Byun Yo-han, Yoo Ah-in, Yoon Kyun-sang, and others elevate the entire work beyond its commercial frame — their silences, grief, and dignity give the story its moral weight.
Had the writers allowed Mu-hyul to leave in silence after the fratricide, instead of remaining loyal to Yi Bang-won, the series could have reached the depth of true tragedy. For real tragedy is not in blood, but in the moment when a man recognizes evil yet stays — because he no longer knows who he is if he walks away.
Six Flying Dragons is therefore powerful, yet painfully incomplete. It shows how close Korea came to creating a work of world-class moral art — and how little it takes for greatness to be lost when courage is replaced by compromise.
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