In various historical dramas like 'Secret Records of the Brocade Bag' and 'Rain Clouds Over Ink', we often see women wearing a piece of cloth over their heads when going out. These women weren't necessarily heading to weddings - so what was the purpose of this head covering? The answer lies in what was known as the 'Gaitou' (盖头) during the Song Dynasty. The Song Dynasty inherited many systems from the Tang Dynasty, including its clothing customs. According to Zhou Hui's 'Qingbo Magazine': 'Scholars wore cool robes when riding horses, while women walking in public places covered half their bodies with square purple silk veils, commonly called Gaitou, which followed the Tang Dynasty Weimao (帷帽) tradition.' This reveals that the Song Dynasty Gaitou evolved from the Tang Dynasty Weimao. However, there were differences between the two. As noted by scholar Shen Congwen: 'The Weimao was a stiff hat with a hanging net curtain,' essentially a bamboo hat with a black net. The Gaitou was simpler - just a square piece of fabric, often made of silk ('Luo'), that could cover half the body. Shen Congwen wrote: 'The Gaitou was indeed a common head covering for Song Dynasty women.' Gao Cheng…

In the Tang Dynasty, it was considered outdated for women not to wear large flowers in their hair. Today, who would dare to wear such big, red flowers? The Tang people's preference for peony hairpins was inseparable from their love for peonies. Because peonies were sufficiently luxurious and gorgeous, and some rare varieties were even more precious, it was necessary to wear a whole flower to display one's status. Moreover, after wearing a peony, other flowers could not be worn, hence the popular custom of wearing a single large flower on the head. Additionally, the Tang Dynasty's "big head" hairstyle left some blank space, making a large flower appear less "flashy." The most famous example is the "Court Ladies Wearing Flowers" painting, which perfectly illustrates this adornment. This custom of wearing flowers reached its fashion peak during the High Tang period. However, as peonies were not easy to obtain, women also adorned their hair with lotus flowers, crabapple flowers, gardenias, and peonies as symbols of wealth and status. Not only women but also men wore flowers, often on their turbans. Some opted for modest small flowers, while others flaunted large blooms. How much did the Tang people love peonies? Every…

In modern historical dramas, it's common to see characters wearing skirts with extravagant long trains. This naturally raises questions: Are these designs purely for cinematic effect, or were they practical in daily life? Did ancient people really wear such garments without worrying about dirt? Some netizens humorously remark that these skirts could double as mops. Not All Hanfu Had Long Trains First, let's clarify that not all Hanfu (traditional Chinese clothing) features long trains. While there are indeed styles with trailing hems, these were typically reserved for formal occasions or ceremonial wear, not everyday attire for commoners. Even nobles didn't wear such cumbersome skirts daily—they were reserved for grand, formal events. Exceptions Due to Fashion Trends However, there were exceptions driven by fashion trends. During certain periods, especially in the mid - to - late stages of dynasties, affluent families in society embraced extravagant styles, including wide - sleeved robes and floor - length skirts. This phenomenon, often associated with the 'decadent luxuries' of a dynasty's decline, involved garments worn infrequently, frequently changed, and maintained with the help of servants—thus minimizing concerns about cleanliness. Practicality in Daily Wear For daily wear, practicality was key. Historical artifacts reveal that the average…

Bilibili has become a hub for high-quality Chinese animation, offering diverse genres and fresh storytelling. This list highlights standout titles that resonate with both casual viewers and anime enthusiasts, prioritizing engaging plots and unique styles over abstract praise. The Outcast 一人之下 The Outcast (2016-present) is a Chinese animated series blending urban fantasy, dark comedy, and martial arts. With 5 seasons so far, it follows Zhang Chulan, a college student dragged into the hidden world of "Heteromorphs"—people with supernatural abilities—after his estranged grandfather’s death. Teaming up with the enigmatic, deadpan Feng Baby (who wields kitchen knives and an immortal past), he uncovers family secrets while dodging rival factions seeking ancient power. The show stands out for balancing gritty action with quirky humor. Fight scenes mix traditional Chinese martial arts (like Baguazhang) with creative superpowers—a villain manipulates chess pieces as weapons; another controls paper. The animation, while not ultra-polished, delivers kinetic choreography and distinct character designs, especially in later seasons. Character dynamics drive the story. Zhang Chulan evolves from a cynical slacker to a cunning strategist, using wit rather than brute strength. Feng Baby’s emotionless demeanor hides tragic depth, and villains like the scheming Wang Ye feel layered—driven by ambition, not pure…

Love and Destiny (宸汐缘) is a sweeping celestial romance where gods and mortals clash in a world of divine law, ancient prophecies, and love that defies fate. At its core is the slow-burning relationship between Jiu Chen, a war-weary god bound by cosmic duty, and Ling Xi, a spirited fairy whose very existence threatens to awaken a long-dormant evil. As their bond deepens, loyalties shift, and the cost of love becomes a question not of happy endings, but of whether the world can survive their connection. Can their love endure across three lifetimes—or will it unravel the very heavens? Chapter 1: The Spark of Fate (Episodes 1–10) "A Peach Blossom, a God's Oath, and the Apocalypse in Disguise" Love and Destiny opens not with thunderous wars or grand deities, but with a world haunted by the past. Jiu Chen (played by Chang Chen), the solemn God of War, has returned to the heavenly realm after centuries of sleep following his defeat of the Dark Lord. Though restored in body, he remains emotionally distant, weighed down by the cost of war and the fragility of peace. Enter Ling Xi (played by Ni Ni), a carefree and optimistic fairy living a quiet…

What if your family stood at the peak of honor—only for you to watch it collapse from within? What if the legacy you're meant to carry… is a trap? Would you carry a legacy that could kill you? Welcome to Nirvana in Fire II: The Wind Blows in Changlin—where loyalty bleeds, power devours, and every smile could hide a blade. Chapter 1: The Shadow of the Past (EP 1–10) The story begins not with triumph, but with absence. Years ago, the flames of political treachery consumed the Chiyan Army—an elite force wrongfully condemned for treason, only to be posthumously exonerated through the sacrifice and strategy of Lin Shu, also known as Mei Changsu. His quiet war of wits reshaped the imperial court, dethroned a corrupt crown prince, and placed a young, idealistic emperor on the throne. It was a new beginning—or so it seemed. Now, nearly two decades later, the scars of that past still linger beneath the surface. The once-glorious Changlin Army, formed in the aftermath of Chiyan's tragedy, stands as the empire's last great shield. Led by Prince Xiao Tingsheng—Lin Shu's uncle by blood and brother in arms—the Changlin banner represents discipline, justice, and unwavering loyalty to the…

Before Michelle Yeoh—Michelle Yeoh (杨紫琼)—became a global icon, she was already a standout presence in Chinese-language costume films. While most international fans know her from films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, her roles in historical TV films are just as revealing. These films show a different side of Yeoh: not just a martial artist, but a storyteller navigating dynastic intrigue, loyalty, and sacrifice. Her work in costume films isn't extensive, but it's meaningful. Each project—whether based on classic wuxia novels or original scripts—places her in morally complex roles shaped by tradition, power, and personal duty. She's played warriors, nobles, and strategists, all grounded in different periods of Chinese history. This article highlights some of her most notable films—both mainstream and lesser-known—where history meets performance with striking results. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon 卧虎藏龙 Released: 2000 Period Background: Set during the Qing Dynasty, but in a fictionalized jianghu world Genres: Wuxia, Historical Fantasy, Action, film Main Roles: Michelle Yeoh as Yu Shu Lien; Chow Yun-fat as Li Mu Bai; Zhang Ziyi as Jen Yu Adapted From: The fourth novel in the Crane-Iron pentalogy by Wang Dulu The film tells the story of Li Mu Bai, a legendary swordsman who plans to retire…

Fan Bingbing (范冰冰) , known for her magnetic presence in historical dramas, Fan doesn't just act—she resurrects legends. Take The Legend of Wu Mei Niang, where she transforms into Wu Zetian, the Tang Dynasty's ruthless empress. In one scene, Fan's character coldly outmaneuvers a rival, her gaze sharp as the ceremonial dagger she wields. Moments like these—raw, tense, and steeped in history—define her roles. From mischievous maids to cunning monarchs, Fan's performances bridge centuries, offering viewers not just entertainment but a visceral connection to China's dynastic sagas. The Legend of Wu Mei Niang 武媚娘传奇 Aired: 2014–2015 Period Background: Tang Dynasty (618–907 CE) Genres: Historical, Political Drama Main Roles: Fan Bingbing as Wu Zetian (武则天), Zhang Fengyi as Emperor Taizong Adapted From: Historical accounts of China's only female emperor Spanning 80 episodes, the series chronicles Wu's ascent from a curious palace maid to China's only female emperor, a journey Fan embodies with striking nuance. Her performance captures both the vulnerability of young Wu Ruyi, who defies court norms by refusing to kneel during her first encounter with Emperor Taizong, and the calculated ruthlessness of the ruler who later dismantles political rivals. A standout moment occurs when Fan's Wu, wielding a ceremonial…

Jackson Yee (易烊千玺) isn't just a pop idol turned actor—he's a master at breathing life into historical roles. From strategists to poets, his costume dramas blend sharp storytelling with meticulous period details, making history feel urgent and relatable. Take The Longest Day in Chang'an, where he plays Li Bi, a Tang Dynasty genius racing against a 12-hour terrorist plot. The series doesn't just showcase palace politics; it thrusts viewers into dusty market alleys and smoke-filled war rooms, with Yi's calm intensity anchoring every scene. Or consider Hot Blooded Youth, where his character A Yi evolves from a revenge-driven orphan to a revolutionary hero, mirroring China's turbulent shift from dynasty to republic. These roles aren't pageantry—they're about flawed, thinking characters navigating crises that still echo today: corruption, identity, and sacrifice. Here are 3 Historical Series with Jackson Yee that you'll love watching over and over again. The Longest Day in Chang'an 长安十二时辰 Aired: 2019 Period Background: Tang Dynasty, during the Tianbao era under Emperor Xuanzong's reign, a golden age marked by cultural prosperity and political intrigue. Genres: Costume suspense, political thriller, action Main Roles: Lei Jiayin as Zhang Xiaojing, a disgraced detective-turned-prisoner; Jackson Yee as Li Bi, a prodigious young strategist.…

Under the Moonlight (锦囊妙录) offers a refreshing take for viewers tired of over-the-top fantasy romances in historical dramas. This Ming Dynasty-set mystery series combines crime-solving with a grounded, emotionally complex love triangle—a rare feat in a genre often dominated by clichés. With no flashy special effects or exaggerated power dynamics, the show focuses on relatable characters navigating personal growth, moral dilemmas, and realistic relationships. Breaking Stereotypes The story follows Luo Shu (Hu Bingqing), a former music courtesan turned detective, as she works to clear her name and gain freedom from her "low-status" identity. Her partners in crime-solving are Qi Menglin (Zhai Zilu), the impulsive yet well-meaning son of a high-ranking official, and Han Muzhi (played by an understated but compelling actor), a pragmatic county magistrate. What sets the love triangle apart is its avoidance of typical tropes: No "Chosen One" Nonsense: Luo Shu isn't a flawless genius. Her strength lies in sharp observation and emotional intelligence, particularly when interacting with female victims. Realistic Conflicts: Han Muzhi, engaged to a governor's daughter, initially prioritizes career over love. When he falls for Luo Shu, their relationship faces tangible barriers—class differences and existing obligations—not mythical curses. Growth Over Grand Gestures: Qi Menglin evolves…

In various Chinese historical dramas such as Jiuchong Zi, Jinnang Miaolu, Futu Yuan, and Canghai Zhuan, actors like Xiao Zhan, Li Yunrui, Wang Hedi, and Zhai Zilu are often seen wearing what appears to be stockings or fishnets on their heads. However, these are not stockings but a traditional headgear known as Wangjin (网巾), a net-like accessory used by adult men in the Ming Dynasty to tie and gather loose hair. Practical Uses of Wangjin Wangjin was primarily used to keep hair in place and prevent hats from slipping. It was a practical accessory for daily life, especially among commoners who wore it without additional head coverings. For those of higher social status, Wangjin was often worn under formal hats during important occasions. The popularity of Wangjin can be traced back to Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang of the Ming Dynasty. According to historical records, Zhu Yuanzhang once visited a Taoist temple in casual attire and observed a priest weaving Wangjin under lamplight. Intrigued, he inquired about its purpose and later issued a decree mandating its use across the empire, regardless of social status. Wangjin typically featured a top drawstring called Wangdai (网带), tied at the crown, and small strings at the…

In the historical drama 'The Glory of Tang,' a stunning peacock crown caught the audience's attention. This crown, inspired by a real artifact from the Tang Dynasty, raises the question: Did people in the Tang Dynasty really wear peacocks on their heads? The answer lies in the exquisite craftsmanship and cultural significance of the era. The design of the peacock crown is based on a painted pottery figurine of a horseback female drummer, housed in the Xi'an Museum. This figurine belonged to Jinxiang Xianzhu (金乡县主), the granddaughter of Emperor Gaozu of Tang, Li Yuan, and the third daughter of Li Yuanying, the Prince of Teng. The artifacts excavated from her tomb reveal a life of luxury and sophistication, vividly depicting the prosperity of the Tang Dynasty. Xianzhu (县主) was a title within the Zongnü (宗女) hierarchy, a system that defined the status and privileges of royal women. This hierarchy included titles such as Gongzhu (公主, princess), Junzhu (郡主, princess of the crown prince), and Xianzhu (princess of a prince), each with distinct ranks and privileges. For instance, Gongzhu held the first rank, Junzhu the second, and Xianzhu the third. As a second-rank noblewoman, Xianzhu wore elaborate attire, including a Diyi…

Have you ever wondered why some classical Chinese portraits depict women with strikingly red cheeks that almost look like bruises? This distinctive look is actually an intentional and celebrated makeup style from ancient China called Jiuyun Zhuang (酒晕妆), or "Drunk Blush Makeup." This bold cosmetic trend originated during the prosperous Tang Dynasty (618 - 907 AD), particularly popular during Empress Wu Zetian's reign. The style involved applying vibrant red pigment across large portions of the face - not just the cheeks, but often extending to the eyelids, jawline, and even ears. Historical records from the Zhuangtai Ji (妆台记), an ancient Chinese cosmetic manual, describe three intensity levels of this look: the most dramatic Jiuyun Zhuang (Drunk Blush), the softer Taohua Zhuang (Peach Blossom Makeup), and the subtle Feixia Zhuang (Flying Sunset Makeup). Beauty Standard of the Time What modern eyes might perceive as excessive was actually a sophisticated beauty standard of its time. The warm Wozhe (渥赭) hue - a traditional pigment made from cinnabar and ink - served multiple purposes: enhancing healthy complexion, creating facial dimension, and projecting an image of vitality. During mid - Tang period, women often paired this look with bold eyebrows for an even more…

In many historical dramas, the veiled hat, known as Weimao (帷帽), is an indispensable element. A classic scene often features the heroine making her first appearance, with the wind lifting the delicate veil to reveal her breathtaking beauty. This accessory has earned the playful nickname "beautiful yet useless" among netizens, highlighting its aesthetic appeal over practicality. Origin and Features The Weimao originated as a decorative item in Hu (胡) attire. Before its emergence, another style called Mili (羃篱), made of bamboo, was prevalent. Typically crafted from cloth or gauze, the Weimao features a wide brim with hanging silk nets or thin silk panels that extend to the neck, serving as a face cover. During the Sui and Tang dynasties, the hanging nets were shortened, earning it the name "Qianlu" (浅露). Unlike the Mili, which covered the entire body, the Weimao's veil only concealed the upper body. Early Usage Historical records, such as those in the "Book of Jin," note that both men and women initially wore the Mili to shield themselves from wind and sand. Over time, it became predominantly a women's accessory, used to obscure their faces from public view during outings. Some humorously suggest that introverts might have…

In a whirl of silk and sweeping sleeves, the third Caoxian County Hanfu Cultural Festival (曹县汉服文化节) recently unveiled its 2025 spring-summer collection, dazzling audiences with runway shows that spotlighted 320 brands from 160 local companies. This spectacle wasn’t just eye candy—it cemented Caoxian’s reputation as China’s undisputed Hanfu capital. The county’s rise began in 2024 when its Horse-Face Skirts (马面裙) became a Lunar New Year sensation, propelling Caoxian to dominate 50% of China’s Hanfu market with ¥12 billion ($1.7 billion) in annual sales. By 2025, projections suggest a 15.8% quarterly growth spike. But how did this rural county transform fleeting hype into lasting influence? Government as Growth Catalyst “I finished all licensing paperwork in one day—unthinkable elsewhere!” exclaimed Mr. Li, a Hanfu manufacturer expanding his workshop. At Caoxian’s government service center, nine approval processes for Hanfu businesses were streamlined into a single “one-stop” portal, slashing processing time by 93% and paperwork by 44%. "Businesses drive this industry, but our role is to remove roadblocks," said Zhao Fulong, Caoxian’s Party Secretary. This efficiency-first ethos has fueled a manufacturing boom: today, one in two Hanfu garments nationwide originates from Caoxian factories. While viral TikTok moments grab headlines, Caoxian’s real edge lies underground—18,000…

If you’ve ever wandered into the comments section of a Chinese historical drama, there’s a good chance you’ve seen someone ranting about whether the actors are wearing their robes “correctly.” And by “correctly,” they often mean one of two things: first, is the hair tied up or left loose? And second, is the robe crossing left-over-right (zuo ren, 左衽) or right-over-left (you ren, 右衽)? This second one—zuo ren—is where things get weirdly intense. What Does “Zuo Ren” Actually Mean? So what’s the big deal with zuo ren? Technically, it refers to the way a garment crosses over the body. If the left side overlaps the right, that’s zuo ren. Right over left? That’s "you ren", which is traditionally considered “correct” in Han Chinese dress. Confucius (孔子) even name-dropped zuo ren in the Analects (论语) , saying that if not for the statesman Guan Zhong (管仲) , “we’d all be wearing our hair down and robes crossed the wrong way”—basically, we’d be living like barbarians. Which sounds dramatic. But here’s the thing: even in Confucius’s time, not everyone outside the Central Plains actually wore zuo ren. For example, the people of Chu (楚国) —a powerful southern state considered “semi-barbaric” at the…

When we think of ancient Chinese clothing, one of the first things that come to mind might be the iconic "y"-shaped collars seen in many historical dramas. These images, often simplified for visual appeal, don’t quite capture the complexity and diversity of collar styles throughout China’s long history. From the loose, expansive collars of the Northern Dynasties to the structured, high collars of the Ming and Qing periods, the evolution of the collar is a testament to both fashion and function. A Closer Look at the "Big Collar" Trend The concept of the "big collar" in Chinese historical attire is intriguing because it defies many modern expectations about what a collar should look like. Rather than being a rigid feature of the garment, the collar often served as a playful and dynamic part of the outfit’s overall structure. Take, for instance, the mural from the tomb of Xu Xianxiu (徐显秀) of the Northern Qi (北齐) Dynasty. The image depicts his wife wearing an outfit with an unusually large collar that seems far from the typical “cross-collar” or “y”-shaped design that we expect from Chinese traditional garments. At first glance, the garment worn by Xu Xianxiu’s wife might look like a…

There’s a certain kind of outfit that turns heads, not just because it’s beautiful, but because it leaves people wondering: Is this really how ancient people dressed? Enter the Qixiong Ruqun (齐胸襦裙), a style of Hanfu where the skirt is tied all the way up to the chest—sometimes even under the armpits. It’s dramatic. It’s feminine. And it’s sparked years of debate over whether it’s based on history or pure fantasy. The Rise of a Silhouette That Defies Gravity At a glance, the Qixiong Ruqun feels like a distant cousin of the Korean Chima Jeogori—a wide-skirted dress worn high on the torso, paired with a short jacket. In fact, when you fluff out the skirt and widen the waistband, the two styles can look eerily similar. But the rabbit hole runs deeper than visual resemblance. Questions around the Qixiong Ruqun don’t just come down to aesthetics. They ask something more fundamental: How do you even keep this thing from sliding down? Anyone who’s tried wearing one has likely felt that awkward sensation—the pull of gravity on a waistband that doesn’t seem to be anchored to anything solid. It’s not a minor wardrobe inconvenience. It’s a design flaw. And it’s raised…

If you opened your wardrobe today and found not a single pair of pants, chances are you'd be horrified. Pants are so essential to modern life that we rarely stop to think about their origins. But dig a little into the dusty archives of history—or better yet, into ancient tombs—and you’ll discover that the invention of pants was not only a practical breakthrough but a sartorial milestone born from the needs of a changing world. Layers, Loops, and Crotches: How Ancient Chinese Dressed Forget the meme-worthy myths about ancient Chinese courtiers inventing pants to manipulate palace intrigue. There’s a rumor that during the Western Han dynasty, a powerful official named Huo Guang (霍光) came up with the idea of pants with crotches to help his granddaughter win the emperor’s favor by sabotaging the rest of the harem. Entertaining? Absolutely. True? Not really. The real story is messier, more fascinating, and rooted in functionality. The word “pants” in ancient China didn’t mean what it means now. You had “ku (袴 or 绔),” which referred to garments covering the lower leg, basically like gaiters or leg warmers. Then there was “kun (裈),” which were crotched garments that wrapped the lower body and…

Hanfu (汉服, traditional Chinese clothing) isn’t just a nostalgic trend—it’s a global movement. What began as a niche subculture in China has evolved into a thriving industry, with brands blending historical accuracy with modern wearability. Forget stiff costumes; today’s Hanfu ranges from silk-adorned ceremonial robes to minimalist office-friendly pieces. Here’s a breakdown of the brands driving this revival, their signature styles, and why they resonate with Gen Z shoppers from Los Angeles to Jakarta. 1. Minghuatang (明华堂) Founded in 2007, this Guangzhou-based label has become synonymous with meticulous craftsmanship and eye-watering price tags—think ¥10,000 ($1,400) for a single set, with wait times stretching up to a year. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guu1ad17AH8 The Founder’s Obsession Hong Kong-born Zhong Yi (钟毅), a fashion design graduate from Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts, noticed something odd in the early 2000s: At formal events, Koreans wore hanbok, Japanese wore kimono, but Chinese attendees rarely wore Hanfu. He started designing his own pieces, wearing them daily to normalize the tradition. In 2007, he co-founded Minghuatang with a clear mission: to recreate historically accurate Ming Dynasty (1368–1644) attire with museum-level precision. What Justifies the Price? Minghuatang’s garments aren’t just costumes—they’re wearable history. Every stitch follows 15th-century texts and artifacts, from…