The Most Ambitious Chinese Animation of This Summer Never Found Its Audience
Over the past few years, Light Chaser Animation has been the most “consistently reliable” domestic animation studio at the box office, and in 2023 it scored a massive hit with Chang An. This summer season, however, the “New Culture” series encountered an “unexpected” turn.
On July 10, Light Chaser Animation's new film *The Three Kingdoms: Part One — The Battle for Luoyang* was released nationwide. Word of mouth climbed steadily, opening at 8.0 on Douban, but 15 days after release the box office had yet to break 100 million yuan — the studio even launched a “refund if you don't like it” campaign.
On July 25, The Three Kingdoms: Part One — The Battle for Luoyang suddenly announced it was pulling out of theaters. The theatrical key expires on August 9, so audiences who still want to see it on the big screen have only limited chances left.
01 History as the Backbone
We were all taught from childhood that Chinese classical literature has Four Great Novels, but the most widely read and adapted are only Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Journey to the West.
Water Margin is constrained by its historical context and controversies and now invites divergent interpretations, while Dream of the Red Chamber's high literary threshold limits its popular appreciation. When it comes to Journey to the West, the straight adaptation is the CCTV TV series, comedic takes include Happy Pig: Bajie and Journey to the West: The Aftermath, and deconstruction brings to mind A Chinese Odyssey, Wukong Biography, and Black Myth: Wukong. Thanks to the naturally fictional nature of gods and demons, these immortals and monsters can freely visit one another's stories — Sun Wukong can crossover with the gods of the Investiture of the Gods, and even drop by Japan and America.
But the Three Kingdoms is different.
Broadly speaking, the Three Kingdoms period covers nearly a hundred years of history, from the Yellow Turban Rebellion in 184 AD to the fall of Wu to Jin in 280 AD. Romance of the Three Kingdoms is an adaptation of a real stretch of ancient Chinese history, a compilation of folk legends, plus imaginative elaboration of details not covered by the histories of the time (including but not limited to the *Records of the Three Kingdoms*, *Book of the Later Han*, *Book of Jin*, and *Zizhi Tongjian*). From this perspective, Romance of the Three Kingdoms is itself an epic tale, an ancient legend (or a massive work of fanfiction).
Some stories can be freely embellished or distorted, but the Three Kingdoms is different. When modern creators adapt the Three Kingdoms, on the one hand they want to break free of the framework set by the Records of the Three Kingdoms and Romance of the Three Kingdoms; on the other, they can't overlap too heavily with existing adaptations. And in either case, no one dares to tear it all down and build a new Three Kingdoms in which no one can tell who is who.
From this angle, Light Chaser's Three Kingdoms: The Battle for Luoyang is ambitious: on one hand, it bills itself with the slogan “Honoring History, Carrying On the Original” printed right on the poster; on the other, the title format nearly explicitly signals an intent to shape the material into something akin to Hollywood's millennium-era epic historical films.
In the past, whenever anyone attempted a new Three Kingdoms work, they invariably stressed their “respect for history.” But having seen the film, the author can confidently say that Light Chaser's screenwriting team put real effort into honoring history, keeping adjustments and changes for dramatic purposes to a minimum.
In fact, the three-way struggle among imperial in-laws, eunuchs, and scholar clans presented in The Battle for Luoyang's trailer is only the first part of the story; it then unhurriedly transitions to Dong Zhuo entering the capital, Cao Cao's assassination attempt on Dong Zhuo, and the coalition of warlords against Dong Zhuo. Throughout, the story follows the perspectives of two young talents — Cao Cao and Yuan Shao — viewing the struggles of high-ranking late-Han ministers through their relatively “lowly” eyes.
In the film's first part, the narration succinctly summarizes the late-Han power struggle: eunuchs battling imperial in-laws, imperial authority sidelined, and scholar clans maneuvering for profit with the wind. Unlike recent Three Kingdoms adaptations that focus on battlefield deployments and war scenes, The Battle for Luoyang makes a bold attempt at portraying “Chinese-style political thriller”.
From the rivalry between Empress Dowager He and Empress Dowager Dong, to the Ten Attendants' about-face from arrogance to fawning, to the starkly different temperaments of He Jin and Dong Zhuo, we see how the young Emperor Xian, Liu Xie, is utterly powerless, and how the subjects Cao Cao and Yuan Shao, while doing their best to assist the General-in-Chief, gradually grow into the deeply scheming regional warlords of later years.
When Cao Cao first appears, he has already displayed his martial bravado leading troops into battle. But sometimes, more terrifying than visible blades and spears on the battlefield are the invisible knives in the shadows of the court. The scene of He Jin entering the palace to be executed is the first time Cao Cao feels fear; the wobbling, off-balance camera composition perfectly mirrors the shattering of his first ideal: earning merit cannot save the Han, because while he is holding up one pillar, someone else is pulling down the others.
Light Chaser struck an excellent balance, painting the late Eastern Han political struggles — which most audiences know relatively little about — in rich, vivid detail. The screen time devoted to it rivals even the 1994 straight adaptation of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, while the better-known coalition against Dong Zhuo is briskly covered at a faster pace.
Dong Zhuo's entry into the capital is the second act of The Battle for Luoyang: when the imperial in-laws and eunuchs have all been exterminated, someone will inevitably covet the power vacuum. Dong Zhuo claimed kinship with Empress Dowager Dong, granting himself the status of an imperial in-law. Then, the peace Yuan Shao and Cao Cao hoped for never arrived; instead, Dong Zhuo's tyranny brought even greater bloodshed.
In this section, the pacing accelerates as many familiar characters appear in quick succession, leading straight to the climax of the coalition against Dong Zhuo: here the film stunningly showcases the different landscapes of the Central Plains' provinces, with place names rising in artistic lettering styled after local terrain, set against a montage of prefects and governors raising armies. This also neatly ties up the fates of characters like Bao Xin and Yuan Shao mentioned earlier: after leaving Luoyang they did not despair, but rebuilt their fortunes with trusted followers from their home regions, waiting for a chance to restore the Han.
For audiences unfamiliar with this history, or for children still learning it, Light Chaser saves a highlight for the end: this epic dual-protagonist story of Cao Cao and Yuan Shao concludes with the debut of brand-new characters — who will also deliver the action highlight of the entire film: the Three Heroes battling Lü Bu.
Beyond grounding itself in serious history, Light Chaser Animation has, since White Snake and Chang An, been devoted to filling the gaps of historical legend with meticulously researched cultural and artistic design. If audiences remember children reciting classical poetry in unison in theaters during Chang An, then The Battle for Luoyang certainly has its share of such moments. From Cao Cao reading The Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art at night and getting a headache over math problems, to Han dynasty bricks and various lacquerware, hall settings, and costumes — everything reflects deep cultural research, and one can easily imagine how long they spent digging through museums to achieve such fidelity.
02 From Hero to Demon King
“Many years later, as the Yuan army collapsed before him, Cao Cao was sure to remember that afternoon when he and Brother Yuan went off to steal a bride.”
As “the first part of Three Kingdoms,” “The Battle for Luoyang” — which tells of “the Three Kingdoms before they became the Three Kingdoms” — seems at first glance a somewhat counterintuitive choice.
But Luoyang as the center of the known world and a symbol of the Han's old order, in an era when the court was teetering and warlords were about to contend for supremacy, means that how various figures fought for a foothold in Luoyang symbolizes precisely different personalities, even different ideologies — different attitudes toward the establishment.
In the film, Cao Cao holds a lower position, full of realism and materialist color, with steadfast execution hidden beneath an unassuming surface; he divines with falling leaves yet “doesn't believe in fate,” revealing a materialist outlook ahead of his time;
Yuan Shao believes in order and places his hopes in reputation and legitimacy, yet is tormented by his status as a concubine's son — lawful good and indecisive (hard to say whether it's a lack of conviction or being too kind to make hard calls); He Jin is reckless and blindly self-confident yet unable to truly control events; Dong Zhuo is vicious and flamboyant, choosing to violently smash the order…
Cao Cao is the film's first protagonist. Born into a eunuch family, unlike more illustrious relatives or other scholar-officials, Cao Cao's odds of rising far lower than theirs — and precisely because of that, he worked exceptionally hard and was exceptionally attuned to survival wisdom. Historical records note that Cao Cao was unpopular for his frivolous behavior, yet at the same time the young Cao Cao genuinely worried for his country and people, and it's hard to say he didn't give his all serving under the General-in-Chief He Jin.
The film opens with an adaptation of the A New Account of the Tales of the World anecdote in which Cao Cao and Yuan Shao steal a bride, and Cao Cao schemes to help Yuan Shao escape — a small scene that showcases Cao Cao's flexible survival wisdom and Yuan Shao's uprightness. The idealism of these two young talents is later worn away by reality, and they ultimately take different paths.
And so that audiences unfamiliar with the Three Kingdoms can remember the characters amid the flood of historical events, the animation team necessarily had to apply a degree of characterization.
Some of it is apt; some comes across as overly exaggerated.
For example, Yuan Shao covering his face when indecisive, or Cao Cao's occasional loud laughter. Such theatrical flourishes suit Li Bai, the unrestrained poet immortal of Chang An, but on a warlord who will one day command vast armies and reshape the fate of the realm, they can feel somewhat juvenile and jarring.
Still, the character work in the film is commendable. Cao Cao's ideals are shattered twice: the first comes after He Jin's execution, when he realizes that in a dark court, scheming is sometimes more powerful than a sense of justice; the second comes when he witnesses Dong Zhuo brutalizing commoners attending a village opera, and realizes he must ultimately rely on his own strength to destroy evil. Together, these become the villain-hero we know: a believer in scheming, cold and ruthless, trusting no one, whose idealism can only be spoken to himself in dreams.
Cao Cao's striving first half of life was also his failed first half. He supported He Jin but won no trust; he trusted Yuan Shao but saw that Yuan Shao could never achieve great things; after Dong Zhuo entered the capital and the ministers' ugliness was fully exposed, he ceased to trust human hearts, believing only in the power and talent he held in his own hands.
“When Duke Zhou feared the rumors, and Wang Mang humbly served before usurping.” That line fits Cao Cao remarkably well. From aide, to one of the Eight Commandants of the Western Garden, to regional warlord and Imperial Chancellor of Han, Cao Cao unified most of China, restored production, and protected livelihoods — yet he truly did execute advisors and massacre cities, becoming the demon king in the eyes of the half of China he did not unify. Between “capable minister” and “hero,” and “villain-hero” and “traitor,” how many times did Cao Cao's heart grow cold? How did he gradually come to accept what he shared with the very people he despised?
Unlike Cao Cao, Yuan Shao was already everyone's big brother by the time he made his name. In the film he is both the favored child and the abandoned one. As the eldest son of the Yuan family of Hebei, with four generations of high office, Yuan Shao could advance to serve the Han emperor, or retreat to his family seat in Hebei after the anti-Dong Zhuo affair and unify the north. But as a concubine's son, he was overshadowed within the Yuan family by his legitimate half-brother Yuan Shu. Yuan Shao, full of pent-up drive, likewise wanted to achieve great deeds, but he saw through the Han's problems; after his mourning period ended, he privately befriended heroes and wandering knights rather than sink into court life.
Unlike Cao Cao's flexible, pragmatic survival wisdom, Yuan Shao's standing rested on his family's reputation and his personal charisma — heroes of the realm came unbidden. History records: “The Yuan family has held high office for generations, their lofty principles renowned throughout the land. Shao's prestige was long established.” Thus when Yuan Shao draws his sword and denounces Dong Zhuo in the film, Dong Zhuo still fears him and cannot touch him, even later trying to co-opt him with promotions.
Yuan Shao had abundant resources and a knight-errant air, never worrying about lacking a way out. But in the film's latter half, the flaws of this character gradually emerge: Yuan Shao is impulsive yet lacks execution; he listens to advice, but he takes in diametrically opposed opinions alike; once he acts he charges with unstoppable spirit, but once he fails, he's so enraged he cannot rise again.
The maladies of the later, sprawling Yuan army are much like a big internet tech company: beautiful financial reports, but tangled internal relationships, alienated colleagues, everyone scheming to look good before the boss, even tripping up others to do so. Yuan Shao himself was “grand in ambition but small in wisdom, fierce in appearance but thin in courage, suspicious and lacking in majesty” (Cao Cao's words), unable to manage his own coterie of strategists, his style of governance “I want it all” and “you're all right” — until he could no longer withstand history's cruel filtering. These two young friends, Cao Cao and Yuan Shao, finally took up arms against each other.
They could have joined hands to restore the Han; instead, it all came to nothing.
03 What Is a True Hero?
In The Battle for Luoyang, the imperial in-laws and eunuchs fight for power and check each other, with the scholar clans mediating between them. With Emperor Ling of Han's death, the in-laws and eunuchs seized the chance to fight each other to the death over the power vacuum. During this time, Cao Cao hopes to move slowly and at least maintain a surface balance; Yuan Shao, harboring his own ambitions, hopes the scholar clans can rise through this, and so vehemently urges He Jin to slaughter every last eunuch.
If things had only progressed to this point, it might have been relatively simple, but the imperial in-law faction was not monolithic: besides the He family, the Dong family was also part of the in-laws, competing with the Hes; and He Jin's relationship with Empress Dowager He was not as simple as it appeared.
What follows is depicted brilliantly in The Battle for Luoyang — the stifling history of the late Han opens the age of heroes precisely with this scene of blood.
Which brings us to this: dull and obscure is exactly why mainstream opinion finds the film lacking in appeal.
The political and battlefield landscape facing the Three Kingdoms heroes is inherently tangled; the film chooses not to oversimplify these conflicts, preserving as much room for thought as possible for the audience. It does not shy away from dark, cold scenes, nor chase the market's “lowest common denominator.”
It's all struggle, but compared to the court-style scheming we're used to in film and TV, the bloodshed within the late Han palace, the struggle of heroes' ideals, and the lament of displaced commoners are far crueler. Perhaps once the film hits streaming and reaches more viewers, The Three Kingdoms: The Battle for Luoyang will be understood anew.
The small work Light Chaser has done is not to spend a huge budget parroting a classic story, but to give young audiences a reason to walk into a theater and learn the details history textbooks never covered — and, one day when they've learned enough, to feel this: the difference between a hero and a demon king sometimes lies only in a single heart, and many things that seem self-evident are not so simple after all.
At the end of The Battle for Luoyang, on the other side of the warlords' march on Luoyang, the director uses montage to reveal each of their fates — many not dying at Dong Zhuo's hands, but betrayed and swallowed by their own allies.
For us, with our god's-eye view, we may quietly feel it was a pity, a waste. But in that moment of heroes clashing before Hulao Pass, none of them was thinking much about what tomorrow would bring — only of today's surge of hot blood.
And so we return to the question from the beginning: we are so passionate about watching and adapting the Three Kingdoms — what exactly makes it different?
Just as the World Cup ends and fan numbers swell once every four years, just as we remember Haaland, Mbappé, and Kane, when we speak of the Three Kingdoms, we think of those vivid faces, one by one.
The Three Kingdoms was an era with true heroes. And every era needs true heroes.