Tian Gang and Qiao’er

I have seen people say that this film is nothing more than a collection of formulas, or simply cliché. All I can say is that they have watched too much, and paid too much attention to form.

Here I only want to discuss one small thing: what kind of story counts as complete?

The relationship between Yuan Tian Gang and Qiao’er feels more like mutual salvation. Yet as I watched the time the two of them spent together, I unconsciously began to place them side by side in my mind. It felt fitting. Romantic.

Because I knew Yuan Tian Gang was still alive in the end, I was not saddened by his apparent sacrifice to save His Majesty. But at the ending, I found myself quietly hoping—hoping that Yuan Tian Gang and Qiao’er would celebrate a birthday together.

Instead, decades flash by in an instant. Only Qiao’er remains, her hair turned silver; Yuan Tian Gang passes through like the wind, leaving behind that hairpin.

A story and ending like this are exquisitely beautiful. Considered as an essay, they are forceful; considered as a story, they carry a kind of mournful grace.

But whenever I encounter things like this, I habitually extend them into reality. How can decades simply pass by? What happened between them during that time? Qiao’er only knows that Yuan Tian Gang is dead. How could her state of mind have changed?

The Difference Between Immortals and Mortals

Yuan Tian Gang has, in this sense, become an immortal. At least in terms of lifespan, he is already no different from what people understand an immortal to be.

Perhaps immortals differ from people partly because I quietly hope for more stories of Yuan Tian Gang and Qiao’er—perhaps even a lifetime together.

But a mortal life passes in a flicker to an immortal. Qiao’er will grow old and die, while Yuan Tian Gang will not.

I also understand Yuan Tian Gang’s original wish not to live, but to die. It overlaps with something I felt when I previously watched A Record of a Mortal’s Journey to Immortality.

What Kind of Story Counts as Complete?

Back to the point: what kind of story counts as complete?

Many stories—novels, anime, games—are defined as having happy endings, normal endings, or bad endings.

There are also distinctions between a small knife, a medium knife, and a big knife: different degrees of emotional pain.

Let me analyze it from Yuan Tian Gang’s perspective. Looking back, meeting Qiao’er was a fortunate thing for him, though I cannot guess what he was thinking when he delivered the hairpin at the end.

From Qiao’er’s perspective, I would at least be despondent for a long time after mistakenly believing Yuan Tian Gang had died. Then, when I saw that hairpin, a thousand feelings would rush through me. Perhaps I would wonder why he never came to see me. Why not show himself, even at the end? (Though the Bad Guy Commander truly appearing would overwhelm anyone, I think Qiao’er could take it.) The scene where she retrieves the note from the fire moved me deeply.

From Li Chunfeng’s perspective, considering only his final end: he had a kindred spirit beside him, and even after death could still play one last trick on Yuan Tian Gang, leaving him nowhere to look. It feels more like exploring the unknown after death. Having exhausted the patterns of life, he seems to be living toward death—simply departing rather than dying, as if beginning a journey. And once he had mastered physiognomy, Qimen, and every other art, perhaps he had glimpsed some mystery of death in advance. Who can say?

The Paradox of Happy Endings

From my point of view:

I have seen very forced happy endings. I still remember how Tian Can Tu Dou spent a very long final chapter writing the ending of Battle Through the Heavens. It mainly explained the situations of each heroine, another kind of cut-off ending like the one in this film. Yet although it was a happy ending, I suddenly felt sad, because the imaginings opened by the ending were only imaginings—I would never see any more of their stories.

One of the cut-off endings I encountered early on—perhaps there is a more elegant technical term for it, but I am not a professional—was, I would say, perfected in Norwegian Wood.

Of course, I have seen bad endings too.

If a character dies, there is no continuation. Erii was unquestionably written to death by Jiang Nan in the third volume of Dragon Raja, and for a long time I remained caught in the wish that she could return to life.

Ah, human desire is limitless. In pursuit of completion, we want this and that, only to discover that true completion does not exist at all. It seems that only the story itself remains profound.