Scarlet Heart - Blog Posts

Many people in the Asian drama-watching community know of 2011 Chinese production Scarlet Heart (available on Dramafever) as a girl-meets-many-boys time-travel romance, but the rich cultural tapestry within perhaps deserves more credit. Over 35 episodes, viewers are treated to an eye-opening array of Qing costumes, headdresses and jewelry as well as fascinating references to various Chinese teas and snacks. The talented but doomed eighth prince, for instance, is described as favoring “Rizhu Snow Buds” or “Day Cast Snow Buds” (a word-by-word translation; Rizhu is actually a geographical location)—a type of green tea which name is thought to conjure up an image of beautiful snow melting away with the rise of the Sun, leaving only sadness in its place.

Certainly, too, the drama includes a great wealth of literary references, of which a Tibetan poem and a passage by Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi have been discussed on this site before. As a sample of the plethora of Chinese prose and poetry also woven into the script, below are the poems in scenes corresponding to some of those aired in the Korean adaptation so far:

1. The eighth prince sends the heroine, Ma’ertai Ruoxi, Song poet Qin Guan's “To the Tune of Magpie Bridge Immortal,” an extraordinarily spectacular and romantic poem that provides much comfort to couples in long-distance relationships. Its lines would solve the supposed mystery of the above headline. (Original text | Translation)

2. He next sends her “Fallen Low,” a succinct and highly rhythmic work which historically has different interpretations bound by the common theme of human-inflicted suffering. (Original text | Translation – one of the interpretations)

3. When Emperor Kangxi orders Ruoxi to explain why she calls him a good ruler, she quotes the lines "But alas! Qin Shihuang and Han Wudi [...] Look to this age alone”€ from Mao Zedong’€™s “€œSnow.”€ They may sound sycophantic to modern ears but mark the start of their friendship. If we put aside political differences and regard its mentions of archery and literary prowess as mere symbols of less advanced stages of human civilization, the poem is additionally a reminder that the best need not be in the past — €”the sources of our problems may also be the sources of our solutions. This is a dose of optimism the world at large can benefit from as it grapples with political, economic and environmental upheavals. (Original text | Translation)

It is unfortunate that time constraints prevent The Chair from listing the numerous other classical texts referenced and far more so that few Western-language drama review sites seem to take a profound interest in East Asian literature. The analysis of the portrayal of regional literature in East Asian dramas is a niche area in cultural critique is badly in need of new blood and, pun intended, a few more scarlet hearts.

The following poems appeared in the episode broadcast on Tuesday:

1. The 21-st century time-traveling heroine, Hae Su, is mesmerized by a Goryeo prince’s beautiful calligraphy. What the family-loving and genteel man writes is a piece of prose titled “Home Again” by Six Dynasties Chinese poet Tao Yuanming, which describes the poet giving up his governmental post for a peaceful, simple life at his countryside home. (Original text | Translation)

2. As a confession, the prince gifts her “Bamboo Stalk Song,” a poem by Tang author Liu Yuxi that uses inconstant weather as an analogy for ambiguous love. (Original text | Translation – be sure to read the footnote)

3. Since modern-day Koreans are generally not as well-versed in classical Chinese, Su has to depend on his brother and wife (also her cousin) for the interpretation. This, of course, leads to some awkwardness and fury, which Su fails to notice. Then, ignoring the romantic undertones of the poem, she hilariously attempts to copy Goryeo official Kim Ji-dae’s poem on majestic and serene scenery, “Yugasa Temple,” as her response to the prince. Since no translation is available online, The Chair is supplying its own below:

瑜伽寺 유가사 (note that the Korean alphabet has not been invented then)

寺在煙霞無事中 (사재연하무사중) 

亂山滴翠秋光濃 (난산적취추광농) 

A mist surrounds the tranquil temple in the evening light 

A jumble of green mountains and the marvelous sights of autumn beckon

雲間絶磴六七里 (운간절등육칠리) 

天末遙岑千萬重 (천말요잠천만중) 

Steep stone steps rise for six to seven miles into the clouds 

Numerous layers of hills lie at the faraway horizon

茶罷松簷掛微月 (다파송첨괘미월) 

講闌風榻搖殘鍾 (강란풍탑요잔종) 

After sipping tea, one sees a new crescent hanging at the pine canopy 

After a lecture, one hears lingering bell notes from the sleep chambers

溪流應笑玉腰客 (계류응소옥요객) 

欲洗未洗紅塵踨 (욕세미세홍진종) 

The streams must be laughing at the government official, 

Who tries to but cannot wash away his worldly marks

(References: Naver, Apple Daily)

Su eventually settles on this reply: \^0^/

According to Apple Daily, the netizen who identified this poem noted that the current name for a temple which used to be called Yugasa is Donghwasa / 桐華寺. 桐華 is the name of the Chinese novelist who penned the book the show is based on. Readers may like to know that there is another Yugasa Temple, which retains its name to this date and has been associated with the poem. All the same, we are free to regard the coincidence as a cross-cultural tribute.

Similar plots can be found in Scarlet Heart, the 2011 Chinese drama adaptation of the novel. Most poignantly, the quick-witted, Chinese time-traveling heroine there struggles to pronounce the exquisite vocabulary used in letter writing in Qing China, finding herself as good as illiterate despite her education and white-collar background. In both cases, too, it may be one thing to read about polygamy and marriage between closely related individuals as a side note in history books, but another to see it simulated three-dimensionally, with actors viewers emotionally identify with. Time slip shows, clearly, provide excellent opportunities for examining how robust people’s connection to their ancestral past can or should be. On one side, there are the issues of lost heritage and pardoning historical figures for being products of their times. On the other, we have arguments for cultural pride in using language entirely of your own (for Koreans), heightened literacy rates brought about by simplified languages, and support for modern ethical sensibilities.

For more Sino-Korean and Chinese poetry, you are welcome to explore this site category or search for Kuiwon’s very informative WordPress blog, which The Chair has long wanted to introduce here. Kuiwon has also written at length about his thoughts on the issue of Chinese character usage in South Korea. His view, however, neither reflects nor contradicts this site’s.

One mistake in the Korean adaptation warrants notice. As the netizen reported, the story takes place in the AD 900s, but Kim Ji-dae lived from 1190 to 1266, so the writing Su copied from could not have been lying around. At least it is a romantic notion that a book traveled back in time with you—theoretically more romantic, perhaps, than being wooed by the husband of your sick cousin.