Hidden Love: Takeaways from Director Li Qing Rong’s Drama for Writers
The C-drama that is steadily rising in popularity has more to offer than just swoon-worthy romance and great acting.
#goodcontent #romance #writing #fiction #contentcreation #writingtips #fictionwriters
*spoilers ahead*
Background
I recently started watching an on-air Chinese romance drama because it was being hyped up quite a lot in my feed. Thumbs up for the algorithm, because I ended up with a gem on my hands. Firstly, feel-good content that delivers can never go wrong. And secondly, while admiring aspects of the direction I couldn’t help but note some takeaways that would translate well into content writing (my primary love). And so here we are.
The drama ‘Hidden Love’ is based on a web novel by Zhu Yi (竹已) called “Secretly, Secretly; But Unable to Hide It” (偷偷藏不住). There is also a Manhua adaptation. The story basically goes like this: The FL, Sang Zhi, falls for her older brother’s friend-slash-roommate. The primary conflict in the story is the age gap between the leads (the secondary is the ML’s past). When the FL is just in middle school the ML, Duan Jia Xu, is almost done with university. She develops a major crush on him when she’s about 13, but although he always cares for her he does not seem to think of her as anyone other than his friend’s little sister. Once she enters university in the same city the ML is, however, and they come together again he realises that ‘little’ Sang Zhi has really grown up. His general protectiveness towards her slowly morphs into something more, and he falls for her as well. Your typical ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ scenario.
This might seem like an average, run-of-the-mill romance to the casual reader.
Let’s discuss why it is not.
Praise for Li Qing Rong
Let me begin by saying this: the entire reason I am writing this article is because I was impressed by the direction of ‘Hidden Love’ by director Li Qing Rong. It’s not even the cinematography I am obsessing about, although it is just the right blend of understated and flutter-inducing while using the drama’s main strengths to full effect, a.k.a. the lead actors. Their chemistry is off the charts, and Li Qing Rong has picked the best cuts to show us their talent. I’m talking soulful gazes and heart-melting tension. In truth, it is difficult to pick out something tangible and declare it as the sole reason for the drama’s obvious success. I am more concerned with the reasons I will explore below, which I think highlight some aspects of Li Qing Rong’s directing strategies (I can only speculate) we can all — as writers and content creators — take a page out of.
I also can’t help but draw a parallel with a review I found online (snippet below) of another drama that Li Qing Rong directed, also starring Chen Zhe Yuan, called ‘Mr. Bad.’
Clearly, Li Qing Rong has a knack for giving fresh identities to the most trite romance plots.
A word about the Drama
The drama is directed by Li Qing Rong and stars Zhao Lu Si and Chen Zhe Yuan as Sang Zhi and Duan Jia Xu, respectively. At the time of writing this article, it is trending at #5 in India — I expect it will only rise with the release of more episodes.
[Let’s get one thing out of the way first: I will watch anything with Chen Zhe Yuan’s name on it after his performance in this drama (read: dreamy). Both Lu Si and Zhe Yuan have been cast perfectly, especially since the drama’s screenwriting and direction go in a slightly different direction than the novel. The supporting cast is also exactly what this needed. 10/10 casting.]
It is telling that the director, assistant director, and screenwriter for Hidden Love are all women. Yes, Zhu Yi has done a great job birthing these characters. The story itself is good, with both leads standing up and caring for each other equally. As romances go — especially typical Asian romances — that’s saying something. But the changes to Jia Xu’s character (for e.g., the added sensitivity) and therefore the overall story, are clearly a ‘by women, for women’ endeavour. A man written by a woman does not often go wrong, after all. Consider the casting itself. Here’s a snippet of a review of the novel I found on Goodreads (find here).
Though the actor playing Duan Jia Xu isn’t who I would be choosen (in my imagination Duan Jia Xu is a bit rough and has thick wall because of his dark past)…
The ‘bad boy’ and much older Jia Xu in the novel has been replaced by an attentive, almost-too-nice, slightly older Jia Xu in the drama. Props to the screenwriter, Shen Fei Xian. Jia Xu is also much darker in the novel/Manhua than in the drama. Li Qing Rong’s vision for Jia Xu is the ‘ideal’ everything, and it shows. He’s a great friend, an amazing boyfriend, and generally a top-notch human (probably for the best such paragons are fictional, or people would be on the warpath). Li Qing Rong understood what would appeal to the audience more, and she ran with it. Even Sang Zhi appears more mature in the drama adaptation, which is a blessing since it is sometimes disturbing that we’re supposed to buy into the blossoming crush of a girl who is still obviously a child over a jaded much-older man, as shown in the Manhua. The initial period in the story is admittedly a little dicey, but I think it has been handled as tastefully as possible in the drama. Praise to Zhang Xi Wei for her depiction of a young Sang Zhi.
Everything just clicks together quite perfectly in Hidden Love, making it the equivalent of an unputdownable book. I truly believe that it is Li Qing Rong’s sublime direction that does an excellent job of raising a regular romance to a feel-good binge-able show with fan favourite characters.
In the interests of full disclosure, I haven’t gotten around to reading the novel yet. Mainly because reading the translation is an adventure in itself, but also because I would much prefer the original. If only I managed to learn Chinese overnight…I have skimmed through the Manhua, however, and I can see the creative choices made by the director in the drama. For example, in the drama Jia Xu is only 5 years Sang Zhi’s senior, while in the novel and Manhua, he is 7 years older. There is a subtle nod to this in episode 14 of the drama where Sang Zhi’s roommate and friend Ning Wei (played by Smile Wei) puts to rest Sang Zhi’s concerns about the couple’s age gap by saying that even a 7–8 year age gap was common this day and age. Jia Xu’s smoking habit has also been done away with in the drama.
I also felt Hidden Love is missing some of the comic elements that exist in the Manhua (I can’t speak for the novel), instead having a more mature feel that goes more with the tone of the show.
So what do we learn from this?
Now let’s get down to business. As a writer, you are embodying multiple roles. You are the all-in-one director, screenwriter, editor, critic (alas), as well as the rest of the crew. So it will not be a bad idea to take lessons from a well-directed show.
As a writer, you only need three powers at your disposal. They are the powers of:
- Imagination;
- Knowledge; and
- Execution
You need imagination (duh) to actually have a vision about your characters and how they would play out in the jumble of a plot scattered half in your head and half on random Word documents, diaries, and sticky notes. You need to educate yourself on different types of content because you never know what might trigger inspiration. Dan Brown has some great advice in this regard. And you need the ability of execution, the only key to which is trial and lots of error. This is not unlike the job of a director of a show or a movie.
We don’t often stop to think why we like some content; we just know that we do and then thrive on the dopamine. But never underestimate metacognition. Cogito, ergo sum and all that. Every content creator worth their salt would break down the elements of good content to get to the bottom of the two fundamental questions:
Why? and How?
Make sure to nail the casting
Never mind if you are a plotter or a pantser. One can assume you would have to at least create your characters before you sit down and write about what’s happening to them. Whatever you do, give time to their casting. As I have mentioned ad nauseam above, Hidden Love works because the director’s vision and the actors slot together perfectly. What she wanted, they delivered.
As a writer creating your characters, remember to not entirely base your characters on some other character you loved or recently saw, unless that is what you intend to do. Let your own uniqueness flow through so they follow your vision. Whether it’s the story following the characters or vice-versa, spend time planning what qualities and personality traits you need to give a certain character to make it work. What makes them different and exactly right for the story you have in mind. Then interview them, weed out what you don’t need or add qualities as needed, and if everything goes well, go ahead and cast them.
It’s all in the *dEtAiLs*
Mess it up, and you’ve ruined a potential masterpiece.
This is my favourite takeaway, and what I think elevates good content to great, memorable content. The tl;dr version is if the content makes the viewer/reader stop because they need a moment to digest it, then something has been done right.
Every time I see a well-executed scene, I simply pause the show and take a moment. The same goes for a book. Not only because I want to file it away for future reference when I am writing (ideas can be gathered everywhere) but because I like to revel in the fact that my viewing/reading experience has just been knocked up a notch because of a perfectly put-together scene that made me feel just the right things. And I get excited to replicate the same in my own work, with my own style.
Everyone enjoys content differently, but for me, it’s all in the nuances befitting the genre. For instance, in romance dramas such as the case-in-point a subtle glance or a knowing smile, the expression of tenderness or mirth in the eyes (Zhe Yuan nails this), or the thoughtfulness of a character shown through actions that are extremely meaningful but subtle is enough to wreck the viewers. For example, in Hidden Love when Sang Zhi develops a crush on Jia Xu, a point is made of her staring at his retreating back until he is out of sight. Notably, he never once turns back. When in episode 13 Jia Xu decides to pursue Sang Zhi seriously (props to you if you survive that) and gifts her a bracelet with her initials inscribed on it, she turns to find him watching her until she is safely in the house, even peeking once more after she is inside for good measure. There’s so much subtlety here to show where the characters are at in terms of their feelings, and the actors did a fantastic job. But of course, credit also goes to the director for showing these scenes.
I have read so many scenes which are clearly aiming to inspire a certain feeling in their readers but fail miserably because the entire thing is just too try-hard and in-your-face (I’m sure we can think of many, many examples; consider the noise The Idol is attracting). The writer is almost telling you to feel ‘this’ way and react ‘that’ way and you go along with it half-heartedly because, well, you did pick up the book. The difference is when you actually get a feeling, which admittedly is easier said than done. Say, when a particular character is acting on some hidden motivation and you are genuinely curious when it would be confirmed.
For example, I didn’t need to force myself to anticipate Jia Xu’s feelings towards Sang Zhi turning into something more. There were hints since the first episode. How Jia Xu is noticeably, pause-in-his-tracks concerned when Sang Yan (played by Victor Ma) mentions his sister going through “puppy love”, prompting him to ask Sang Zhi for her “online dating” companion’s number because he is worried the “older guy from Yihe” would take advantage of Sang Zhi, who is yet underage. Or when Sang Zhi is ordering dessert for her and her friend from a cafe Jia Xu is working part-time at, and he casually asks her with a smile which one of the two desserts was hers, warming it up so she wouldn’t catch a cold. Don’t even get me started on how he takes care of her when she’s on her period (it’s quite significant that in the Manhua, Sang Zhi gets her first period in front of Jia Xu, something which is omitted in the drama. Another creative choice, since in the original story we’re clearly being hit over the head with the idea that Sang Zhi ‘grew up’ before Jia Xu’s eyes, adding to the tension in their pre-dating, will-they-won’t-they era). Or how about Jia Xu’s misty eyes when Sang Zhi drunkenly confesses to him about really liking someone and being heartbroken about it (not knowing she is talking about him). There are so many examples I can come up with.
Note that these are details that I didn’t find in the Manhua, that are unique to the drama thanks to the screenwriting. There is a gradual non-creepy build-up here, and we as viewers barely have to work for it. That is what content creators should aim for.
Naturally, all this would translate for written content, as well. Granted, a lot of this would be difficult to translate into writing since there’s only so much of “he glanced at her subtly” or “she stared at him longingly” one can put in a book before running out of adjectives. This is where the magic of dialogue comes in.
Painstakingly worked-on dialogue
With that perfect segue, let’s talk about the power of good dialogue. I don’t need to spell it out for you, since it’s quite obvious that good or bad dialogue can make or break a script. Conversation is, after all, at the heart of a story, especially a romance.
Consider this: “I can’t stop worrying if I don’t look after you myself.”
This translated dialogue nearly took me out. In the age of “he growled, ‘you’re mine’”, can you see how the above is mineral water in a desert? The former is doing exactly what shouldn’t be done, i.e., telling readers that here is an alpha guy who is also possessive, and you better believe it. The above dialogue (from episode 12), instead, is also conveying the same thing but with more depth, maturity and without the underlying cringe. This is the difference between ‘Hey, good for her’ and ‘damn if only it happened to me’. Good dialogue also works great standalone, since they tell an entire story in a line.
That being said, there is no judgement about preferences for the former style of dialogue. I personally find it annoying and on-the-nose at best, but reading it is a canon event.
Connecting scenes
Connecting scenes or referencing something shown in one scene in another scene four chapters down the road is another important element of great content (storytelling). This means investing time in foreseeing how your story will progress.
Readers/viewers like nothing better than when things tie back together. When the meaning of something supposedly unimportant is revealed to actually be a critical plot device. It’s foreshadowing, it’s preparation. It is every scene having a purpose because it either contributes to the character or plot development or it is a setting for a later scene. All this might seem common sense — and it is — but execution is equally important. And tricky.
In Hidden Love, for example, Sang Zhi has a habit of making small notes of significant thoughts or dreams, rolling them up into cute little stars, and putting them into a milk jar previously given to her by Jia Xu. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the notes would come up later. And they do, since they are later used to confirm Sang Zhi liked Jia Xu much before he did. The notes are referenced several times across the show. In one scene, Sang Zhi unravels and crosses out a note, indicating a shattered dream. That’s the point of connecting/referencing scenes. It brings an element of significance to the content — it gives something to focus on. It’s simple math; something given more screen time equals something important and worth remembering.
We love to have things to consider important and hold on to, it is a natural human urge. So consider which scenes you want to attach significance to, and use it for some good old referencing or foreshadowing.
Non-fiction like fiction
I was struck by how relatable everything was when it came to Sang Zhi’s family. I believe there is more emphasis on the characteristics of her family members in the drama than in the original story, but I may be wrong. Regardless, as a girl hailing from an Asian household with a supportive family myself, I can vouch for the reactions and behaviours of Sang Zhi’s older brother and parents. When she travels to Yihe to confirm a hunch about Jia Xu (she’s still underage here), Sang Yan calls her to inquire why she was late for her tuition classes, only then learning that his sister skipped town on a whim. She then gets a call from her parents who refrain from scolding her and first ensure her safety. Even when she gets back, they tactfully agree after seeing how miserable she was that she had learnt her lesson, and aside from some obvious consequences like her phone being confiscated, there would be no biting her head off.
This familial worry about the young daughter dating online, the accompanying sleeping chair in the hospital when Sang Zhi cares for Jia Xu, the depiction of the movie theatre and malls or the simple act of buying a drink outside the cinema hall are so simple, so realistic, so believable you will instantly connect to the show.
Therein lies the secret to writing memorable fiction. The best lie is closest to the truth, after all. Draw your readers in with depictions of reality, and keep them hooked with your fictitious creations.
Let it flow naturally
I really liked how Hidden Love remembers to humanize ‘perfect’ Jia Xu. When he is going through work problems and other personal issues right after he commits to pursuing Sang Zhi, Sang Zhi is stood up on multiple occasions. He returns after a long day, tiredly replying back to her message. He then pauses, and despite his exhaustion, asks her out again. This is how a person in love who also has his own life and problems can be expected to react. This ties back to the last point about keeping things real for the best reception.
I bet you would care more about Jia Xu’s fate than, say, a billionaire CEO with superpowers who always has time for everything but working to earn the money he allegedly owns. Again, I am not trying to dump on an entire genre. But the same concept and idea can be executed in a mature, studied way to make it more palatable to a wider audience.
There are a lot of us hungry for good content at any given time, after all, which is put forth quite aptly by Tim Denning in this article.
Silly 30-second TikToks, short tweets, 3-minute read essays. What’s missed is long-form builds writing careers. Long-form has depth that leads to real wisdom. And readers are starving for wisdom and exhausted by short, dopamine-driven writing.
Final blurry thoughts
As a parting comment, remember to expose yourself to a variety of content from different regions. Soak it up; be a real sponge about it. The idea is to educate yourself. For example, for many of us the Asian culture of calling an older male Gēgē (哥哥, Chinese) or Oppa (오빠, Korean) [this is if you are a woman referring to a man; the address changes if you are a man referring to a woman] notwithstanding if they are your blood relation or your significant other can be disturbing. But once you get over the initial shock, you will be much more creatively enlightened. Sang Zhi calls Jia Zu Gēgē for a good chunk of the story, and without understanding the meaning of the address properly you might not appreciate the content well.
Do note that these are random takeaways from personal experience and some ‘metacognition’. It all boils down to what works for you. If anything in this article scratched a creative itch, my job is done. If not, I hope it at least made for an entertaining read.
[All the uncensored praise for Hidden Love is unsolicited. I am not being paid to write this, just FYI.]
