The TV series wasn’t very long. The national conflicts took up most of the time, while the romantic subplots were kept to a minimum. After all, the original historical story was only so long. If they adapted too much or padded the episodes to make more money, it would lose its original charm. With Zheng Kezhen’s straightforward personality, she would never do something as irresponsible as padding the plot for profit.
Chinese TV station was the exclusive broadcaster for the premiere of *Tang Legend*. They set the price for the show incredibly high, scaring off many competitors. Their terms were strict: other networks had to air the show two episodes behind HuaYu. Many stations were hesitant because of the conditions and the steep price. But HuaYu didn’t care! They were flush with cash and wanted to make a big impact. Just cleaning up online piracy and dealing with copyright issues cost them a fortune. They were after solid, verifiable ratings!
During the prime-time slot, *Tang Legend* aired two episodes a day. It didn’t disappoint anyone. Just like the trailers, the show’s attention to detail, starting from the opening sequence, reflected the production team’s meticulous care for the project.
The plot was concise, filled with dramatic highlights, yet easy to follow. The scenes were grand and majestic. By the end of the second episode, the tension between the Li brothers had already reached its peak, and young Fuzhu had appeared twice at Li Jiancheng’s side.
Unlike the aloof and cold Fuzhu that people had come to know from promotional stills, the younger version exuded a purity and innocence unique to youth. Li Jiancheng wasn’t particularly kind to him, but Fuzhu still saw himself as a future loyal confidant, tirelessly devoting himself to their relationship, even though he was often met with indifference.
Compared to his later, more mature and stunning portrayal, the young Fuzhu evoked a sense of pity. His clear eyes, wide with fear every time he was scolded for telling the truth, made viewers anxious, wondering when this boy would finally grow up.
But when that moment of growth came, many would wish he could have stayed naïve forever.
The moment his family was destroyed, and he learned of Li Jiancheng’s death, his empty, extinguished gaze made many viewers, who were focused on the plot, burst into tears.
How could a character with such a limited presence leave such a deep impact? He was just a supporting role with barely any screen time. Even his facial expressions were understated. So why did he resonate so profoundly?
No one could explain it. The young Fuzhu and the older Fuzhu shown in the stills looked so different that, if not for Luo Ding’s striking features, people would have assumed they were played by two separate actors. It’s not easy for an adult to convincingly play a young person. Makeup can help, but eyes—those can’t be easily faked.
Yet Luo Ding managed to pull it off. The young man on screen, trying hard to appear mature, didn’t need to resort to childish behavior. Even viewers unfamiliar with the story had no doubt about his character’s age.
Luo Ding’s fans had long known he could act. He had starred in Pan Yiming’s music video, his own music videos, and even participated in Hollywood productions. With so many recognizing his talent in acting, it was clear he had an extraordinary gift. But no one expected that gift to be displayed so impressively.
Although the first glimpse of him came from *Tang Legend*’s stills, his highly successful EP and the revelation of his long-standing history as part of a music group had left most people thinking of him primarily as a singer. Compared to the many films and TV shows being churned out, his EP’s success had been undeniable. His vocal range, his singing style, and even the way he paired his music with dance were all incredibly impressive. While fans could be irrational at times, they were still discerning enough not to heap unwarranted praise on their idols. After all, blindly idolizing someone wasn’t love—it was setting them up for failure.
The excitement surrounding *Tang Legend*’s ratings was high, but most people only wanted to support Luo Ding’s venture into acting. Few had anticipated a performance that would leave them in awe.
But just a few days later, discussions about the show had completely overshadowed talk about his music.
“I should’ve watched the show on my laptop in secret. I was watching TV at home, and my grandma joined me. She cried all afternoon yesterday, holding a box of tissues, saying how pitiful Luo Ding was. I’m seriously worried she might cry herself sick.”
“My grandpa asked if he could send Luo Ding some food, like some stew delivered to his company.”
“LOL! Are we about to welcome a bunch of elderly fans into our fan group??!!”
The discussions about the show weren’t limited to Luo Ding’s fanbase. Plenty of casual viewers had joined in, and the buzz was unprecedented. At first, many thought the show was just a hit online. But a few days later, when Chinese TV station’s ratings were officially tallied—wow!
The highest rating hit 8.6!
Everyone was stunned.
This wasn’t the era of *Water Margin*, where TV ratings could reach 70 or 80. With the growth of the media industry, the widespread availability of TV, and the endless stream of new shows, the viewing audience was spread thin. The more options people had, the smaller the slice of the pie each show received.
Chinese TV station’s previous rating champion was a South Korean drama they had imported. The overly dramatic and convoluted plot attracted countless viewers. While the show wasn’t highly regarded, its 4.9 rating made other stations envious for years.
That success had propelled HuaYu to the forefront of local networks, boosting their assets and status.
But resting on their laurels wasn’t wise, and the taste of success from that Korean drama was what pushed them to invest heavily in *Tang Legend*.
The show’s target audience was mostly middle-aged viewers. If a TV series was done well, it would naturally attract the main TV-watching demographic: the elderly. Once they tuned in, the ratings would inevitably climb. However, if the show was purely sensationalist or poorly made, audiences wouldn’t hesitate to abandon it.
With the highest rating now at 8.6, *Tang Legend*’s intricate and dramatic plotline could easily push it to 9.6 or even 10.6 as the show progressed!
Other networks, which had hesitated to purchase the broadcast rights earlier, were now scrambling to buy them. The price that had once seemed exorbitant now felt like a steal compared to the potential earnings from such high ratings.
Negotiations became fierce, with networks kicking themselves for passing on the opportunity earlier. Their hesitation stemmed from *Tang Legend* being a historical drama. In recent years, historical shows had struggled with ratings, as younger audiences weren’t particularly interested in historical themes. They wanted romance, palace intrigue, and love triangles with handsome actors and beautiful actresses. Even state-owned CCTV had produced numerous large-scale historical dramas that ended with lukewarm results. While they didn’t fare terribly in the ratings, they fell far short of expectations.
Networks cared more about profits, so they naturally favored shows that could guarantee strong viewership. This was why sensationalist dramas, often mocked yet widely watched, continued to dominate. If a quick and cheap production could pull in so much revenue, why bother putting in more effort?
But *Tang Legend* shattered the curse that had hung over historical dramas in recent years.
With a near-explosive reception, local networks began airing the show in their prime-time slots. Even though HuaYu had already taken the largest slice of the pie, the scraps left were still worth fighting for.
Before *Tang Legend* had even reached its midway point, the lead actors had all skyrocketed in popularity.
It had been years since anything like this had happened. You could walk down the street during the show’s broadcast and hear the opening and closing themes playing from countless TVs. With such visibility, it was impossible not to gain fame. Already popular stars like Wu Yuan and Pan Yiming, as the lead actors, were undoubtedly the biggest winners. Endorsements and advertisements poured in for them, and the events they attended were far more lively than before the show aired. They were on the verge of breaking into a new level of fame.
Luo Ding’s sudden rise was both surprising and expected.
Although his role was challenging, it was incredibly compelling. A tragic backstory, a life of hardship, a resilient yet kind heart—this kind of extreme character drew the audience in. His outstanding looks and the intentional focus on his character in the editing room made his rise to fame seem inevitable.
Even though he was just a supporting character and died halfway through the show, the mere mention of “Fuzhu” was enough to erase many imperfections.
In the blink of an eye, Luo Ding had gone from a young idol to a leading actor.
Film companies began sending offers his way, and his popularity skyrocketed even higher than when his EP was at its peak. Now, even people who didn’t follow celebrities knew Luo Ding’s face and name.
The tangled relationship between Fuzhu and Li Shimin in the show was as melodramatic as it gets. But it struck a chord with the audience, who simultaneously pitied him and wished he would wake up. Watching him corner himself into an increasingly tragic situation, torn between reason and loyalty, viewers felt both frustrated and powerless.
In the final scene, Fuzhu sent off the soldiers heading to battle, then quietly returned to his small courtyard.
Li Shimin had treated him well, always caring for him. Believing Fuzhu enjoyed the open wilderness, he had planted dense foliage in the courtyard, trying to recreate that freedom.
The green leaves cast heavy shadows, and the white-robed youth knelt in the middle, sunlight filtering through the branches and leaves, dappling the ground with light.
The blade pressed against his skin, leaving a deep red mark.
For a moment, time seemed to reverse, and he was back to being that naïve boy who always said the wrong thing. But his eyes, weathered by hardship, could never return to that innocence. He gazed into the distance, his eyes filled with a profound sadness.
But the sky was blocked by the leaves, and he saw nothing.
Blood sprayed, and he collapsed. The camera panned upward, showing him lying among the fallen leaves, his once white robes slowly turning red. His delicate hand, looking like it would snap at any moment, still reached out to grasp something.
He held onto the short sword, now bloodied with his own blood, and Fuzhu moved no more.
The scene froze. A thousand miles away, Li Shimin pulled out three white silk pouches from his pocket, looking forward to victory and reunion, his eyes filled with soft smiles.
Heartbreaking.
Viewers couldn’t even imagine how devastated Li Shimin would be when he returned to Chang’an and learned of Fuzhu’s suicide. For now, they were already heartbroken enough, long before Li Shimin. Although Fuzhu was only a small side character, with fewer lines than Li Jiancheng, and he died halfway through the show, his death felt like it carved out a piece of everyone’s heart, leaving them breathless with grief.
Keep me fueled with caffeine! Support me on Ko-fi! It helps a lot ! Thank you so much ♡(´･ω･)(･ω･`)♡
Discover more from Shy shy shy
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
