4 Angela Yang Ying’s Most Iconic Historical Dramas

Angela Yang Ying (杨颖), better known by her stage name Angelababy. She has carved a unique niche in Chinese historical dramas, blending ethereal beauty with roles that challenge traditional gender archetypes. From cunning strategists to cross-dressing merchants, her performances thrive on duality—soft yet fierce, vulnerable yet unyielding. While her acting has faced scrutiny, her on-screen charisma and evolution in period pieces remain undeniable. This article spotlights four of her most iconic historical dramas, dissecting how she transforms into characters that defy expectations.

General and I 孤芳不自赏

• Aired: 2017
• Period Background: Fictional Warring States era
• Genres: Historical romance, political intrigue, wartime strategy
• Main Roles: Yang Ying as Bai Pingting, Wallace Chung as Chu Beijie
• Adapted From: General and I by Feng Nong

Set against the backdrop of warring states vying for supremacy, Female Zhuge Liang centers on Bai Pingting, a prodigious tactician whose strategic genius earns her comparisons to the legendary Zhuge Liang, the architect of the Three Kingdoms' balance of power. Her brilliance becomes both her weapon and her curse when she crosses paths with Chu Beijie, a rival general whose military acumen matches her own. Their initial encounters are marked by psychological warfare: Bai devises traps to destabilize his army, while Chu counters with maneuvers that expose her vulnerabilities. Yet, as their battles intensify, so does a mutual fascination that defies their allegiances.

The series' core conflict lies in its refusal to simplify loyalty. Bai's devotion to her homeland, Yan, clashes with Chu's duty to the expanding Bei Kingdom, creating a tension where every strategic victory feels pyrrhic. A pivotal moment arrives when Bai sacrifices a tactical advantage to save civilians caught in a siege, revealing her moral compass—a choice that forces Chu to confront the human cost of his ambitions. Their love story unfolds not through grand gestures but through whispered debates over maps and shared silences heavy with unspoken regrets, culminating in a finale where Bai orchestrates her own political downfall to prevent a massacre, redefining sacrifice as the ultimate act of agency.

A Romance of Equals

Unlike most historical dramas that relegate women to passive roles, Bai and Chu's relationship thrives on intellectual parity. Their dialogues resemble chess matches, where romantic tension simmers beneath discussions of terrain and supply lines. A standout scene involves Bai dissecting Chu's battle formations using a river's tidal patterns, only for him to retaliate by exploiting her emotional attachment to a besieged city—a dynamic reminiscent of The Art of War's emphasis on knowing "yourself and your enemy" .

Strategic Depth Rooted in History

The series mirrors real historical tactics, such as Zhuge Liang's reliance on geographical advantages and psychological warfare, while injecting modern sensibilities. Bai's manipulation of misinformation campaigns and resource scarcity echoes Sun Tzu's principles but is filtered through a distinctly feminine lens, as she navigates patriarchal councils that underestimate her.

Yang Ying's Career-Defining Performance

Yang Ying transcends the "strong female lead" trope by layering Bai's steely resolve with quiet desperation. In one scene, she coolly negotiates a truce while subtly adjusting her sleeve to conceal a trembling hand—a physical manifestation of her internal conflict. Her portrayal of vulnerability peaks in a monologue where she confesses her love to Chu via a coded military dispatch, blending strategic calculation with raw emotion.

Yang Ying's portrayal of Bai Pingting is a masterclass in duality. She adopts Zhuge Liang's trademark poise—delivering strategies with detached calm—but injects moments of humanity, such as a fleeting smile when outsmarting adversaries. Her performance shines in quiet scenes: preparing tea while dissecting enemy motives, or tracing battle scars on Chu's map as a silent apology.

A defining moment occurs when Bai confronts a traitor within her ranks. Instead of resorting to theatrics, Yang conveys fury through controlled vocal inflections and a steely gaze, later undercut by a trembling exhale once alone. This duality mirrors the psychological tension explored in social cognitive theory, where external actions mask internal struggles.

Yunge from the Desert 大汉情缘之云中歌

• Aired: 2015
• Period Background: Western Han Dynasty
• Genres: Palace drama, romantic tragedy, coming-of-age
• Main Roles: Yang Ying as Yun Ge, Lu Yi as Liu Fuling, Chen Xiao as Liu Bingyi
• Adapted From: Ballad of the Desert by Tong Hua

Set against the opulent yet treacherous backdrop of the Han Dynasty, The Promise of Yun Ge follows the journey of its titular heroine, an orphaned healer whose quest to honor a childhood vow unravels into a web of political machinations and emotional devastation. Yun Ge's arrival at the imperial capital, fueled by memories of a boy who once promised her a shared future, quickly descends into chaos when she misidentifies the rebellious nobleman Meng Jue (played by Lu Yi) as her long-lost love. This error sets off a chain reaction: her genuine affection for Meng Jue inadvertently draws the attention of the young Emperor Liu Fuling (Zhang Bin), whose fascination with her defiance and wit evolves into an obsession.

As Yun Ge navigates the gilded cages of the palace, her belief in human goodness becomes both her greatest strength and fatal flaw. Her attempts to mediate between the emperor's authoritarian reign and Meng Jue's insurgent faction expose her to ruthless players skilled in manipulation, including concubines scheming for power and advisors weaponizing her trust. The series distinguishes itself by refusing to romanticize its protagonist's idealism—her refusal to compromise leads not to triumph, but to irreversible losses, including severed relationships, broken alliances, and a shattering of her own moral compass.

While historical romances often rely on predictable arcs of female empowerment or revenge, Yun Ge thrives in moral ambiguity. Its central love triangle isn't a mere contest of hearts but a collision of ideologies: the emperor views Yun Ge as a mirror for his own latent humanity, while Meng Jue sees her as a beacon for his rebellion. Their rivalry transcends romantic jealousy, symbolizing the clash between maintaining order and inciting change. The palace itself functions as a character—its sprawling courtyards and shadowed corridors amplify the characters' isolation, while the costuming subtly reflects their trajectories. Yun Ge's initial earthy tones give way to the pale golds and blues of the imperial court, visually trapping her within a system she once scorned.

The series avoids the narrative stagnation common to harem dramas by maintaining taut pacing. Subplots—like the emperor's struggle to assert authority over his regents or Meng Jue's guerilla tactics—intersect seamlessly with Yun Ge's personal turmoil. Even secondary characters, such as a concubine exploiting Yun Ge's medical skills to eliminate rivals, are granted motives beyond petty villainy, their actions rooted in survivalism. However, the true triumph lies in the series' willingness to let its protagonist fail. Yun Ge's insistence on mediating peace talks between the emperor and rebels doesn't culminate in reconciliation but in a massacre, forcing her to confront the naivete that blinded her to the court's bloodstained reality.

Yang Ying's Performance: Nuancing Innocence's Unraveling

In her first historical role, Yang Ying delivers a masterclass in understated transformation. Her Yun Ge is neither a wide-eyed ingénue nor a hardened schemer, but a young woman whose optimism is eroded by incremental betrayals. Early scenes highlight Yang's ability to convey resolve through subtlety: a determined set of the jaw as Yun Ge tends to wounded rebels, or fleeting hesitations when she realizes the emperor's affections carry dangerous strings. It's in the silent moments, however, that Yang truly shines. A standout sequence—Yun Ge discovering a mentor's corpse—sees her cycle through shock, denial, and fury without uttering a word, her trembling hands and vacant stare encapsulating the death of her idealism.

Yang's chemistry with Lu Yi anchors the emotional core. Their scenes together oscillate between warmth (shared laughter over childhood memories) and chilling distance (Meng Jue coldly dismissing her pleas for mercy). A late-episode confrontation, where Yun Ge realizes Meng Jue manipulated her trust to infiltrate the palace, is rendered devastating through Yang's restrained delivery: her voice doesn't rise, but the fracture in her tone reveals a heartbreak beyond tears. Equally compelling is her dynamic with Zhang Bin's emperor; their charged debates about justice versus stability crackle with intellectual tension, making their mutual attraction tragically believable.

A Visually Stunning Cautionary Tale

The Promise of Yun Ge resonates not as a fairy tale, but as a poignant exploration of how institutions corrupt idealism. Its lush visuals—crisp landscapes juxtaposed with claustrophobic interiors—mirror Yun Ge's internal confinement. While the series revels in Han-era grandeur (embroidered silk robes, ceremonial hairpins), its true craftsmanship lies in using aesthetics to underscore themes. A recurring motif of caged songbirds, for instance, mirrors Yun Ge's trajectory from free-spirited wanderer to a pawn in others' wars. For viewers weary of formulaic historicals, this is a rarity: a drama that prizes emotional authenticity over escapism, offering no easy answers but countless haunting questions about love, power, and the cost of principle.

Everlasting Longing 相思令

• Aired: 2025
• Period Background: Fictional ancient empires with steppe nomadic elements
• Genres: Romantic suspense, gender-bender, political warfare
• Main Roles: Yang Ying as Jun Qiluo /Jun Feifan, Song Weilong as Xuan Lie
• Adapted From: The Stolen Bride by Xi Juan

Set against the arid expanse of a fictional ancient empire, Song of the Desert Thorn follows Jun Qiluo, the merchant heiress of a once-prosperous silk dynasty, as she risks everything to salvage her family's crumbling legacy. With her brother missing and their trade routes besieged by corrupt officials, Qiluo adopts his identity—mastering his gait, voice, and ruthlessness—to infiltrate the male-dominated mercantile world.

Her deception unravels when Xuan Lie, a tribal warlord nursing a decade-old grudge against her brother, kidnaps her, mistaking her for the man he vows to destroy. What begins as a hostage situation evolves into a volatile alliance: Xuan Lie needs Qiluo's mercantile network to dismantle the empire's exploitative trade monopolies, while Qiluo leverages his military prowess to reclaim her family's stolen assets. Their partnership is fraught with mutual distrust—Qiluo stabs Xuan Lie during their first confrontation, and he retaliates by binding her to a life debt—yet their shared enemy forces them to navigate a labyrinth of political betrayal, where loyalty is currency and survival demands moral compromise.

The series distinguishes itself by intertwining personal vengeance with systemic critique. Qiluo's dual identity exposes the fragility of gender and class hierarchies, while Xuan Lie's tribal grievances mirror the empire's colonial exploitation of borderlands. Their cat-and-mouse dynamic avoids romanticizing power imbalances: Qiluo negotiates terms as Xuan Lie's equal, demanding profit shares and intelligence control, while he respects her strategic acumen even as he mocks her "noblewoman's soft hands." The desert itself becomes a character—its sandstorms obscuring ambushes, its oases hosting clandestine deals—and the kinetic battle sequences, choreographed with scimitar duels and horseback archery, underscore the story's raw physicality.

It is a romance where the leads trade bloodied bandages instead of love letters, and a political thriller where the heroine's greatest weapon is her ability to manipulate silk tariffs. The series rejects the "damsel-in-distress" template: Qiluo initiates their first kiss to distract a guard, and later poisons a corrupt magistrate's wine without hesitation. Her aggression is matched by Xuan Lie's vulnerability—a warlord haunted by his father's execution, who wields cruelty as armor.

This moral ambiguity extends to secondary characters: a spy torn between tribal loyalty and love for an imperial soldier, a concubine who burns her own palace to erase evidence, and Qiluo's ailing mother, whose gentle demeanor masks a lethal grasp of family secrets.

The narrative's pacing mirrors the unpredictability of desert warfare. Alliances fracture as swiftly as they form—a trade minister betrays Qiluo to protect his illegitimate child, while Xuan Lie's lieutenant stages a coup to seize tribal leadership. The series also innovates visually: flashbacks are rendered in sepia-toned brushstrokes reminiscent of ancient scrolls, and Qiluo's gender transitions are marked by subtle costume shifts—stiff brocade robes for her brother's persona, flowing silks that tighten like armor during negotiations.

Yang Ying's Performance: A Masterclass in Duality

As Jun Qiluo, Yang Ying delivers a career-defining performance, embodying two identities with precision. Her physical transformation is staggering: as the brother, she adopts a prowling gait and barks orders in a guttural timbre; as Qiluo, her voice softens but gains steeliness, her posture straightening like a dagger unsheathed. In one pivotal scene, she switches personas mid-conversation—first pleading with Xuan Lie as a "helpless noblewoman," then coldly threatening him as her merchant alter ego—her eyes shifting from wide-eyed desperation to flinty calculation in seconds.

Yang's chemistry with Xuan Lie's actor, Li Chen, anchors the series. Their dialogue crackles with tension, whether trading insults over a campfire or silently acknowledging mutual respect during a siege. A standout moment sees Qiluo teaching Xuan Lie to read imperial contracts—a reversal of the "warrior tutors scholar" trope—where Yang's controlled gestures (tracing characters in the sand, impatiently tapping his wrist) convey both authority and burgeoning trust. Critics have particularly praised her action sequences: she performs her own horseback stunts and wields a whip with lethal elegance, her movements blending dance-like grace with martial rigor.

A Saga of Sand and Sovereignty

Song of the Desert Thorn resonates not merely as entertainment but as a commentary on identity and empire. Qiluo's journey—from a woman confined by silk veils to a strategist reshaping trade empires—mirrors the series' broader themes of reinvention and resistance. Its desert battles, scored with throat-singing and war drums, evoke visceral grandeur, while its intimate moments—a whispered confession over shared water rations, a tribal lullaby hummed during a sandstorm—linger long after the screen fades. For viewers weary of sanitized historical epics, this is a story that dares to let its heroes bleed, betray, and rise again, their scars etched as deeply as the dunes.

Destiny by Dust 尘缘

• Aired: 2024
• Period Background: Mythological ancient China
• Genres: Xianxia, reincarnation romance, fantasy epic
• Main Roles: Yang Ying as Linglong, Ma Tianyu as Gu Qianye
• Adapted From: Destiny by Dust by Yan Yu Jiangnan

Destiny by Dust reimagines classic xianxia tropes through a lens of moral ambiguity and existential defiance. The story begins in the celestial realm, where Linglong, a spirit born from a sacred stone, ascends to godhood after millennia of cultivation. Her triumph, however, violates cosmic laws: her ascension drains the life force of the mortal realm, triggering a celestial punishment that obliterates her physical form and shatters her soul. Reincarnated as a mortal woman, Linglong is stripped of her memories but haunted by fragmented visions of her past. Her journey intertwines with two pivotal figures: Qing Yan, her former celestial mentor now bound to guard her as penance, and Xuan Ji, a demon prince whose rebellion against heaven is fueled by a millennia-old grudge tied to Linglong's origins.

As Linglong rediscovers her powers, she becomes a pawn in a celestial game. The Heavenly Court, led by an enigmatic Jade Emperor, seeks to erase her existence to maintain cosmic balance, while Xuan Ji manipulates mortal conflicts to lure her into dismantling celestial authority. Qing Yan, torn between duty and love, secretly aids her but conceals truths that could fracture their bond. The trio's fates collide in a mortal kingdom besieged by drought and political decay, where Linglong's choices—to reclaim her divinity, embrace mortality, or forge a new path—determine the survival of both realms.

Unlike traditional tales of righteous heroes and clear-cut morality, Destiny by Dust thrives in shades of gray. Linglong's "sin" stems not from malice but the heavens' rigid laws, framing her as both victim and revolutionary. The celestial realm, often portrayed as benevolent, is here a bureaucratic force prioritizing order over empathy. Xuan Ji's demonic rebellion, meanwhile, is rooted in legitimate grievances against celestial hypocrisy, blurring lines between villain and antihero. This narrative daring elevates the story beyond mere escapism, inviting viewers to question systems of power—both divine and mortal.

Love Triangle with Philosophical Weight

The relationship between Linglong, Qing Yan, and Xuan Ji transcends romantic rivalry. Qing Yan embodies duty: his loyalty to heaven clashes with his growing disillusionment and love for Linglong. Xuan Ji represents defiance: his connection to Linglong is both personal (hinting at a pre-celestial bond) and ideological, as he sees her as a weapon against the gods. Linglong herself grapples with identity: is she a god forced into mortality, or a mortal with divine remnants? Their interactions—charged with tension, betrayal, and reluctant alliances—mirror the story's central theme: whether destiny is predetermined or shaped by choice.

The mortal realm is not a passive backdrop but a microcosm of the celestial conflict. A subplot involving a mortal king's alliance with Xuan Ji to end a drought critiques how desperation drives humans to embrace destructive forces. Meanwhile, celestial "benevolence" is exposed as self-serving when the gods permit mortal suffering to maintain their energy reserves. This layered approach ensures that even fantastical elements resonate with real-world relevance.

Yang Ying's historical dramas are less about nostalgia and more about reinvention. Her characters—whether scheming tacticians or disguised merchants—reject passive tropes, opting instead for agency and grit. These stories thrive on tension: love clashing with duty, identity battling societal constraints. While not flawless, they showcase her growing range, particularly in balancing emotional subtlety with high-stakes drama.