Top 10 Chinese Anime on Tencent You Can't Miss

Tencent Video and Tencent Animation have become hubs for China's animation gems, blending ancient myths, futuristic sagas, and everything in between. Here are 10 must-watch Chinese anime series that redefine what Donghua can be.

Battle Through the Heavens 斗破苍穹

At first glance, Battle Through the Heavens fits squarely into the classic cultivation formula: a fallen genius named Xiao Yan sets out to regain his status and surpass his former self. But unlike many shows where power-ups come too easily, BTTH is unusually committed to making every stage of Xiao Yan's progress feel earned—and hard-won.

The early loss of his talent isn't just a narrative hook; it forces him to rely on intellect and resourcefulness rather than sheer force. When he gains a mysterious old mentor, Yao Lao, their relationship doesn't just serve as a shortcut for instant power. Yao Lao is more like a chessmaster, constantly reminding Xiao Yan that in this world, raw power alone won't keep you alive—reputation, alliance, and careful timing matter just as much.

One of the most distinctive features of this show is its emphasis on alchemy. In many xianxia stories, alchemy is just background dressing—here, it becomes a central tool of conflict and control. Pill crafting, ingredient gathering, and auction politics are as strategically important as any duel, and they ground the world in rules that feel both magical and logical.

BTTH also paces its arcs with a sense of slow-burn satisfaction. The story doesn't rush from one big fight to the next. It builds tension between clans, governments, and hidden forces, and makes sure Xiao Yan's victories change the political and personal landscape around him. By the time he begins confronting the enemies who wronged him early on, he's not just stronger—he's fundamentally changed. That long arc of transformation, both external and internal, is where the series earns its emotional weight.

Soul Land 斗罗大陆

While BTTH thrives on tension and revenge, Soul Land takes a different route: it constructs a full ecosystem of martial souls, soul beasts, and rank systems, then dares to play it all out in the open like a tournament chessboard.

Tang San, the protagonist, is a tactician first and foremost. Unlike many leads who simply "awaken" power, his journey is rooted in understanding mechanics, finding loopholes, and learning how to apply theory in real-time combat. His dual martial souls give him a major advantage, but also draw dangerous attention. The story constantly pressures him to find creative solutions to uneven battles, especially as his team—the Shrek Seven Devils—becomes one of the emotional and strategic backbones of the series.

What makes Soul Land stand out in the cultivation genre is how it rethinks the purpose of its fights. Instead of pure displays of strength, battles often turn into puzzles. Characters can win or lose not because they're stronger, but because they adapted better or worked as a team. Soul beasts, the source of characters' power, aren't just resources—they reflect values, risks, and emotional attachments. Some arcs even question the morality of harvesting them.

The school-setting portion, while familiar, adds a controlled environment for testing character development. Each member of the Shrek team brings their own history, power type, and interpersonal tension, making battles feel like narrative crossroads rather than just performance showcases.

Over time, the story expands into larger political arenas and deeper personal stakes. But it never loses its commitment to tactics—to the idea that knowing your opponent is just as vital as overpowering them. That brain-over-brawn dynamic gives Soul Land a sense of intelligence that's often missing in similar action-heavy stories.

Hua Jianghu: Bad Guys 画江湖之不良人

Of the three, Hua Jianghu: Bad Guys is the darkest and most cynical—and also the most grounded in traditional Chinese wuxia storytelling. Here, the line between hero and villain barely exists. Instead of presenting a noble sect versus an evil cult, the series drops us into a world where every organization is corrupt, every alliance is temporary, and everyone has blood on their hands.

The protagonist, Li Xingyun, isn't out for justice or revenge. His goal is survival—and maybe a little power on the side. He's clever, selfish, and rarely idealistic, but the show doesn't treat him as a cold anti-hero either. Instead, it gives him small moments of hesitation, strange loyalties, and flashes of empathy, all buried under a carefully maintained mask of detachment. His journey feels less like a straight path to power and more like a constant negotiation between his own desires and the forces trying to use him.

What sets Bad Guys apart is its focus on political manipulation and the dirty business of influence. Martial arts aren't the centerpiece—they're just one tool among many. The real weapons are deception, leverage, and shifting loyalties. Characters lie more than they fight, and betrayals carry permanent consequences. When someone dies, they stay dead. When an alliance breaks, it scars everyone involved.

The animation style is deliberately stylized, almost theatrical. Blood flows freely, and facial expressions are exaggerated for emotional effect. Combined with a dark color palette and noir-like tone, this gives the show a gritty, stage-play intensity.

Perfect World 完美世界

Perfect World opens with a child—Shi Hao—born with a broken fate in a brutal world. This setup could easily have led to a cliché "chosen one" arc. But the series doesn't coddle its main character. From the very start, Shi Hao's journey is about survival, not destiny.

What makes Perfect World stand out is its willingness to let the world itself dominate the early story. The Great Wilderness isn't a romantic backdrop; it's a harsh, primeval setting filled with ferocious creatures, clans obsessed with bloodlines, and cultivation systems that treat children like investments. There's no soft introduction. The moment Shi Hao shows potential, the world around him tightens its grip—both to protect and to exploit him.

The cultivation system in Perfect World is heavily tied to physical bloodline abilities and ancient inheritances. It emphasizes raw, evolutionary power over technique. This allows the show to build arcs where personal strength has real impact, especially when tied to artifacts or legacies that shape entire regions. But power doesn't come free. Every breakthrough invites new enemies, and Shi Hao often finds himself navigating the politics of elders, sects, and ancient grudges.

As the story evolves, the tone shifts from tribal survivalism to cosmic exploration. The "perfect world" in the title isn't paradise—it's an idea: a peak form, a complete state of existence that Shi Hao must reach even as the universe reshapes around him. The mythological scale doesn't overshadow character, though. Shi Hao remains grounded—a boy hardened by betrayal, driven not by ideals, but by sharp memory and stubborn will.

Shrouding the Heavens 遮天

Shrouding the Heavens is a different beast. Where Perfect World builds from childhood, STH starts with college students stumbling into a cosmic trap. Ye Fan and his friends begin the story as regular people—modern Chinese youths on a trip to Mount Tai—but are thrown into an alien cultivation world through ancient technology buried beneath a sacred site.

This jarring shift from Earth to a distant cultivation civilization is the heart of the story's appeal. It doesn't just tell a "cultivation journey"—it dissects it. STH treats immortality like an ancient puzzle. Its world isn't just a backdrop for conflict but a vast, decayed relic of a previous age. Cultivation, in this setting, is a language of ruins. The most powerful techniques aren't learned from living masters, but discovered in half-buried temples, crumbling tombs, or broken stone tablets under a collapsed star.

Ye Fan, the protagonist, is smart, skeptical, and slow to trust. His advantage isn't an overpowering talent, but his adaptability. He knows he doesn't belong in this world, and that outsider perspective lets him question assumptions that native cultivators take for granted. Instead of rushing toward strength, Ye Fan spends much of the early story observing, surviving, and absorbing information—a process that becomes increasingly important as he uncovers just how deep the power struggles of this world go.

Thematically, Shrouding the Heavens asks a simple question: What happens to the first generation of immortals, and what do they leave behind? The answer is rarely noble. Ancient bloodlines hoard knowledge. Hidden forces use "destiny" as a leash. And each time Ye Fan levels up, the story demands he understand the history—and moral consequences—of the power he wields.

Renegade Immortal 仙逆

Compared to the sweeping mythologies of the other two, Renegade Immortal is claustrophobic. It's a story that lives inside the mind of a single man, Wang Lin, and follows him as he turns from an ordinary youth into one of the most feared beings in existence.

Wang Lin doesn't begin with talent. He doesn't even begin with ambition. What sets him apart is persistence and an unusual amount of self-awareness. After a cruel twist in his early training, he realizes something most characters ignore: cultivation is a brutal system, and those who rise often do so at the expense of others. From that moment, his path is marked by cold calculation. Not evil, not righteous—just pragmatic.

Where Perfect World is about evolution and Shrouding the Heavens is about lost knowledge, Renegade Immortal is about choices. Every major turning point in Wang Lin's life stems from decisions made under pressure: to kill or not, to trust or not, to take revenge or walk away. And more often than not, those choices have irreversible consequences.

The cultivation system here is deceptively simple, but brutal. Each level matters, and each step forward requires trade-offs. Time becomes a recurring theme—not just in technique, but in lifespan, memory, and relationships. Wang Lin outlives friends, loves, and enemies. And the longer he lives, the colder the world becomes. But he never forgets where he started—and that grounding makes his later decisions all the more tragic or triumphant, depending on how you read them.

The Founder of Diabolism 魔道祖师

The Founder of Diabolism isn't just another fantasy drama with flashy spells and ancient costumes—it's a tightly woven character study disguised as a supernatural adventure. The story follows Wei Wuxian, a former prodigy turned feared cultivator, whose unconventional path into demonic cultivation gets him labeled a villain by the very world he once protected. But this isn't a tale of simple rebellion or fall from grace. It's about what happens when someone refuses to follow the rules—not for pride, but for justice.

The series thrives on contradictions. Wei Wuxian is playful yet ruthless, principled yet unpredictable. His foil, Lan Wangji, is stoic and rule-bound—until he isn't. Their bond isn't built overnight or broadcast with grand declarations, but unfolds through silences, glances, and actions that speak louder than words. Watching them navigate a world where loyalty can be punished and power often masquerades as virtue is where the real tension lies.

What makes The Founder of Diabolism gripping is how it uses its fantasy elements—resentful spirits, cursed objects, necromancy—to mirror its characters' inner turmoil. Resurrection, in particular, becomes a narrative tool to reframe the past: to question which stories are remembered, and which are rewritten.

This is a story about misjudgment, memory, and quiet resilience. It asks what it means to be truly righteous, and whether the truth can survive in a world built on appearances. With its layered structure, emotionally charged reveals, and sharp social commentary hidden under sword fights and spirit-hunting, The Founder of Diabolism rewards viewers who pay attention—not just to what is said, but what's left unsaid.

A Will Eternal 一念永恒

Bai Xiaochun, its loud and self-centered protagonist, is the kind of character you'd normally expect to be a sidekick or comic relief in most xianxia stories. But here, he drives the narrative—not despite his cowardice, but because of it. The show mines huge amounts of tension and hilarity from the contradiction between Bai Xiaochun's fear of death and the way he stumbles into great power. His cultivation breakthroughs often come from ridiculous accidents, desperate attempts to escape danger, or even emotional breakdowns.

Traditional xianxia protagonists cultivate with solemn determination, enduring hardship without complaint. Bai Xiaochun whines, cheats, begs, and manipulates. But the brilliance of A Will Eternal is how it gradually reveals that Bai's cowardice is often rooted in genuine emotional vulnerability. His fear of death is real. His love for his friends, his sect, and even the people he annoys—also real. This tension creates a character who is emotionally consistent, even when the plot turns absurd.

The worldbuilding keeps up with this tone. The sect system is richly populated with quirky characters who feel like part of a living world. The conflicts—whether internal politics, competitions, or external invasions—are all framed through Bai Xiaochun's distorted point of view, which filters everything through exaggerated stakes. But when moments of tragedy or responsibility hit, they hit harder because they interrupt the pattern. Bai's journey toward genuine maturity doesn't come through quiet cultivation—it comes through losing things he thought would always be there.

Later seasons introduce more cosmic stakes, but the emotional center always stays grounded in the question: "What happens when someone who fears loss more than anything is forced to keep letting go?" If you're tired of grimdark xianxia, but still want meaningful growth, this is a near-perfect entry.

Sword of Coming 剑来

Sword of Coming is the opposite in tone—quiet, literary, and deliberately slow. It's not a cultivation story in the usual sense. It's a character study. Chen Ping'an, the protagonist, starts off as a fragile, isolated boy in a rural town—one of the weakest and least likely candidates for cultivation in the entire genre. He's sickly. He's bullied. He doesn't have a strong background, a mysterious artifact, or a great master. But what he does have is patience—and an unshakable code.

The story builds slowly, like a historical novel rather than a power fantasy. Every arc is packed with detail: geography, local customs, the dialects of different towns, the economic systems of inns and ferry stations. This grounded realism isn't just background flavor. It's the framework for Chen Ping'an's moral growth. He learns how to interact with others, how to survive, how to pay debts and earn trust—all long before he begins formal cultivation.

When he does enter the cultivation world, it's not treated like a door opening, but like a heavy responsibility. The swords in Sword of Coming aren't just tools—they're symbols of belief systems, philosophies, burdens. The novel treats swordsmanship not as technique, but as temperament. Many of the most important lessons Chen learns come from talking with traveling scholars, boatmen, drunk poets, and small-town widows—people whose words stay with him even as he enters higher realms of power.

What makes this story stand out is that the cultivation path isn't measured in clear tiers or flashy breakthroughs. Instead, it's structured around internal contradictions: how to be both soft and hard, how to love and fight, how to hold fast without turning bitter. Sword of Coming uses language carefully—naming, calligraphy, verse, idioms—and ties these linguistic systems into its magic and martial systems. Chen Ping'an's sword is forged as much from restraint as from power.

Stellar Transformations 星辰变

The story centers on Qin Yu, a prince born without the natural ability to cultivate inner energy, which in his world is the foundation for all martial progress. Unlike Bai Xiaochun's cowardice or Chen Ping'an's moral ambiguity, Qin Yu is defined by sheer stubbornness. He refuses to accept the limits that others put on him—and finds a new path.

The core innovation here is the external energy body cultivation path. Qin Yu trains his physical body through extreme conditions, effectively building a power system from scratch. The story pays close attention to training methods, realms, and the integration of weapons and techniques. It's highly technical—not in a complicated way, but in a consistent one. Breakthroughs make sense, stages are well-defined, and the power curve escalates at a satisfying speed.

The world of Stellar Transformations expands cleanly. It begins on a terrestrial level—kingdoms, clans, martial sects—and then shifts to the cosmic, introducing planets, divine realms, and a layered universe structured around hierarchies of immortals, gods, and demons. It never tries to be too mysterious or philosophical—when secrets exist, they are uncovered through action, not vague metaphors.

Qin Yu's relationships are functional rather than deeply emotional—but his bond with his family and his lover remain driving forces. The romance arc, especially, is handled with relative subtlety by cultivation standards. His love interest, Jiang Li, is not a damsel nor a battle-maniac, but a character with her own motivations who complements Qin Yu's worldview. That said, the real drama lies in cosmic conflicts: Qin Yu versus fate, versus stronger cultivators, versus divine rules that favor elites.

What sets Stellar Transformations apart from other "rise from trash" stories is how lean and purposeful it is. There's very little filler. Side characters have arcs, but they never overwhelm the protagonist. The pacing is relentless—not in the form of constant fighting, but in progress.

Whether you're into sword-and-sorcery epics or cyberpunk thrills, Tencent's library proves Chinese anime isn't just "the next big thing"—it's already here. As The Founder of Diabolism's English dubbers say: "Every fate is a reunion waiting to happen."