In Chinese historical dramas, the oil-paper umbrella transcends mere prop—it becomes a silent narrator of elegance. Eight leading actresses have woven this artifact into iconic moments, blending tradition with character depth. From misty riverbanks to snow-dusted courtyards, their interpretations span ethereal poise to defiant strength, proving the umbrella’s timeless power in visual storytelling.
Yang Mi
Fifteen years after her breakout role as Tang Xuejian (唐雪见) in Chinese Paladin (仙剑奇侠传), Yang Mi’s (杨幂) relationship with the oil-paper umbrella has evolved alongside her career. In The Dream of Red Mansions, her early portrayal radiated youthful mischief, the umbrella a playful extension of her character’s restless energy. By Brotherhood of Blades (绣春刀), maturity transformed her stance: as painter Bei Zhai (北斋), she cradled the umbrella like a scholar’s brush—deliberate, grounded, a quiet counterpoint to her earlier vibrance.
Her 2025 collaboration with People’s Artists magazine marked a full-circle renaissance. Against ink-wash backdrops, the 39-year-old balanced the umbrella with regal ease, merging Ming Dynasty-inspired tailoring with contemporary minimalism. No longer just an accessory, it framed her as a custodian of heritage—sturdy yet fluid, much like her own artistic journey from ingenue to industry pillar.
Zhao Liying
Zhao Liying’s (赵丽颖) umbrella narratives trace her path from rising star to cultural ambassador. Early in New My Fair Princess (新还珠格格), a simple yellow parasol highlighted Qing’er’s (晴儿) innocence—a visual haiku next to ornate palace backdrops. By 2021, her advertising campaign reclaimed the prop’s gravitas: crimson silk matched her hanfu’s phoenix embroidery, the vibrant hue asserting modern confidence within classical frames.
Liu Shishi
Trained in ballet, Liu Shishi (刘诗诗) integrates the umbrella into her movement vocabulary. Treading On Thin Ice’s (步步惊心) Ruoxi (若曦) used it as a shield against palace intrigues, her grip tense even in rain-soaked tranquility. Conversely, her 2025 Suzhou garden editorial transformed it into a dance partner—silver threads catching dawn light as she glided through moon gates, each step a sonnet in physical restraint.
What distinguishes Liu Shishi is her symbiotic stillness. Where others pose with umbrellas, she inhabits them. In A Journey to Love (一念关山), Ren Ruyi’s (任如意) fight scenes saw the umbrella snap open like a weaponized fan, yet its closure later cradled a dying ally. This duality—barrier and sanctuary—reflects her acting signature: fierce tranquility.
Yang Zi
Yang Zi weaponizes the umbrella’s emotional weight. Noble Aspirations’ (青云志) Lu Xueqi (陆雪琪) gripped hers like a lifeline, white silk mirroring her character’s emotional isolation. Years later in Lost You Forever (长相思), Xiaoyao’s (小夭) identical prop signaled melancholy growth—the same umbrella, now heavier with memory.
Off screen, her West Lake photoshoot played with contrast. A cheongsam-clad Yang Zi spun a floral parasol with girlish whimsy, proving her range: onscreen tragedy, real-world levity. Even Jia Ye’s (家业) Ming Dynasty merchant role, glimpsed in teasers, hinted at this duality. Her umbrella isn’t decor; it’s a mood ring in silk and bamboo.
Bai Lu
Bai Lu’s (白鹿) mastery lies in environmental storytelling. Story of Kunning Palace’s (宁安如梦) Jiang Xuening (姜雪宁) strode through blizzards, her scarlet umbrella a defiant flare against monochrome landscapes. When promoting Intangible Heritage China, she recontextualized it within Suzhou’s Humble Administrator’s Garden—each step choreographed to make cobblestones and willow reflections co-stars.
Dubbed the "Umbrella Silhouette Queen" by fans, Bai Lu understands scale. Where others focus on facial expressions, she crafts tableaux where the umbrella directs the eye: guiding viewers through mist, framing a tear, or slicing rain into cinematic ribbons. Her genius is making weather a character.
Liu Tao
Liu Tao’s (刘涛) The Legend of the White Snake (白蛇传) cemented the umbrella’s romantic mythology. Sharing it with Xu Xian (许仙) on a moonlit boat, her Bai Suzhen turned practicality into intimacy—the canopy a private world against pouring skies. Decades later, her 2025 editorial revisited this legacy. Standing on a misty bridge, she held it aloft not as a lover but a matriarch, its shadow embracing the viewer like inherited wisdom.
Her career arc—from gentle Bai Suzhen (白素贞) to Ode to Joy’s (欢乐颂) ruthless businesswoman—proves the umbrella’s adaptability. In Liu Tao’s hands, it’s a generational torch: same object, evolving narrative.
Song Yi
Song Yi’s (宋轶) 2024 Spring Festival Intangible Cultural Heritage Night appearance sparked instant nostalgia. As she drifted through gauzy curtains, oil-paper umbrella in hand, classical pingtan music transformed the stage into Dai Wangshu’s (戴望舒) poem Rainy Alley (雨巷). Fans declared her the "Lilac Girl" incarnate—ephemeral, wistful, a vapor of Old Shanghai.
This wasn’t imitation but invocation. Having played The Disguiser’s trench-coated spy, Song Yi understands how props accumulate meaning. Her umbrella isn’t just held; it’s quoted, each tilt referencing cultural memory while creating new iconography.
Wang Churan
Wang Churan (王楚然) rejects pastel romanticism. Her 2024 editorial paired a vermilion umbrella with black-and-gold warring-states robes, the clash evoking "blood on inkstone"—a visual haiku of ambition. In Liu Zhou Ji (柳舟记), she weaponized this contrast further. As rebel leader Cui Zhi’an (崔志安), she marched under a tattered parasol, rain-smeared makeup and torn sleeves challenging the trope of "fragile beauty."
At 25, Wang Churan repurposes tradition. Her umbrellas aren’t shelters but statements: saturated, unapologetic, demanding reinterpretation of classical femininity.
