The Glory (雁回时) quietly premiered in Spring 2025, it disrupted China's historical drama landscape dominated by palace romances and martial arts epics. Adapted from Qian Shan Chake's novel Rebirth of the Noble Daughter, the series merges the cutthroat scheming of Story of Yanxi Palace with the feminist grit of The Queen's Gambit. At its core lies Zhuang Hanyan (Chen Duling, 陈都灵), an anti-heroine who weaponizes Confucian femininity to dismantle the system that exiled her—a narrative twist that resonated globally, propelling the show to 800 million streams within weeks.
Zhuang Hanyan's origin story rewrites the "persecuted heroine" trope. Unlike passive Cinderellas awaiting rescue, she opens the series mid-betrayal: bloodied hands clutching a hairpin after killing her foster parents. This act of survival—not virtue—defines her. Returning to the Zhuang family's Jiangnan estate, she trades rural rags for silk Hanfu, but her trauma lingers in subtle gestures: fingers compulsively smoothing non-existent wrinkles, a flinch at raised voices.
Three Main Roles:
Fu Yunxi (Xin Yunlai, 辛云来): The Dali Temple Deputy Minister (大理寺少卿) tasked with investigating her foster parents' deaths. His arc evolves from suspicion to complicit admiration.
Ruan Xiwen (Wen Zhengrong, 温峥嵘): Zhuang's birth mother, whose hatred stems from losing her legs during childbirth—a punishment, she believes, for bearing a daughter.
Madam Zhou (Wang Yan, 王艳): A concubine masquerading as a gentle soul, her signature move? Offering osmanthus cakes laced with aconite.
The show's breakthrough lies in its pacing. Episodes 1-3 compress three years of scheming into 180 minutes, using flashbacks triggered by sensory cues—a teacup's crack mirroring Zhuang's fractured psyche, cicada drones echoing her childhood isolation.
Subverting the "Noble Lady" Trope
Zhuang Hanyan's duality—dubbed "black lotus" (黑莲花) by fans—challenges historical drama conventions. Where most heroines wield swords or poetry, she masters social engineering. In Episode 5, she dismantles a rival by weaponizing Confucian filial piety: arranging for the matriarch to "discover" the rival's hidden love letters during a ancestral worship ritual.
Costume designer Zhang Mei reveals intentional contradictions: "Her pastel Hanfu have hidden pockets for forged documents. The wider the sleeves, the more secrets they hold." This visual metaphor extends to her hairstyles—elaborate braids pinned with needles sharp enough to draw blood.
Chen Duling's performance amplifies the complexity. During a 2025 interview, she noted: "Hanyan isn't 'torn' between good and evil. She's decided the rules are rigged, so she'll cheat to win."
Mothers & Monsters: A Lineage of Pain
The Zhuang-Ruan relationship redefines "family drama." Initially, their interactions drip with venom. In Episode 4, Ruan slaps Zhuang for "stealing" a suitor, hissing: "You're just like me—a broken thing they'll discard." But when Zhuang retaliates by exposing Ruan's opium addiction, their dynamic pivots.
Their uneasy alliance peaks in Episode 8's tea party scene—a masterclass in coded communication. As Ruan distractedly hums You Are My Heart, Zhuang swaps ledgers to frame a corrupt official. The scene's tension derives not from action, but from split-second glances and the clink of porcelain signaling coordinated moves.
Showrunner Lin Ke explains this as intentional subversion: "We wanted to show how systems pit women against each other, but also how shared rage can forge solidarity—even between enemies."
Supporting Cast: A Gallery of Grotesques
Yan Hui Shi populates its world with characters reflecting historical dysfunctions:
Zhuang Yuchi: The incel half-brother whose failed engagement fuels his vendetta. His subplot—sabotaging scholars' exams—mirrors Qing Dynasty corruption scandals.
The Grandmother: A dowager using dementia as a façade to manipulate inheritances. Her "forgetful" repetition of "Who's that girl?" about Zhuang becomes a psychological warfare tactic.
Auntie Liu: A menial servant whose gossip network rivals the Stasi, highlighting how lower-class women navigated oppression.
Madam Zhou emerges as the breakout villain. Her Episode 6 monologue—delivered while embroidering a phoenix that morphs into a skull—reveals her motive: "I wasn't born cruel. The house made me this way." Actor Wang Yan drew inspiration from late Ming Dynasty concubine memoirs, noting: "Her kindness isn't fake; it's her survival script."
Love as a Tactical Move
Zhuang and Fu Yunxi's romance thrives on intellectual friction. Early episodes frame their interactions as spy-versus-spy intrigue:
Episode 2: Fu discovers her bloodstained dress but withholds evidence, intrigued by her audacity.
Episode 5: They play weiqi (chess game), using the board to negotiate terms. "White stones for information, black for silence," he proposes.
Their relationship deepens through collaborative crime. In Episode 7's highlight, they fabricate evidence to implicate a tax embezzler, their chemistry crackling during a candlelit forgery montage set to guqin music.
But the show avoids romanticizing their bond. When Fu risks his career to protect her in Episode 9, Zhuang coldly assesses: "Sentiment is a luxury I can't afford." Only after he nearly dies shielding her from assassins does she acknowledge mutual dependence.
Yan Hui Shi's motifs dissect the "noble lady" myth:
Geese: The opening credits feature V-shaped flocks, mirroring Zhuang's isolation and the Confucian collective's suffocating embrace.
Broken Hairpins: A recurring prop representing fractured femininity. When Zhuang snaps one during a confrontation, shards become lockpicks.
Embroidery: Used to stitch wounds and financial records, blurring domesticity and defiance.
The drama also mirrors modern workplace politics. As Reddit user u/DramaScholar2025 noted: "Zhuang's gaslighting of her half-brother is basically corporate HR tactics in silk robes."
Feminist Circles praised its unapologetic heroine, though some criticized Episode 10's ambush scene as "trauma porn." Conservative outlets accused it of "distorting history," while historians applauded its accurate depiction of Qing clan economics.
The finale's ratings triumph—peaking at 8.9% nationwide—proves audiences crave morally complex heroines. As director Li Xiaolong stated: "Zhuang Hanyan isn't meant to be liked. She's meant to be feared, understood, and ultimately, mourned."
