The First Donghua That Shattered Me (And Probably You Too)
The First Donghua That Shattered Me (And Probably You Too)
A totally unfiltered, emotionally unstable rant about how one Chinese animated series wrecked my life
Let me set the scene.
It’s late. Like, real late. The kind of late where the city’s quiet, the phone’s finally stopped buzzing, and you’ve hit that weirdly emotional part of the night where you’re not even sure if you’re sad or just hungry.
You’re scrolling. Mindlessly. Watching random edits, maybe looking for a new anime to binge. You’re kinda numb. Been there, done that. Shonen? Done. Slice of life? Meh. Everything feels… stale.
And then… you see it.
A clip. Just a few seconds. A boy with long black hair standing in the rain. His eyes are sad in that ancient sadness kind of way. There’s guzheng music playing — soft, ghostly. The animation is so fluid it looks like watercolor come to life. He smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. It’s the kind of smile you give right before you fall apart.
You freeze.
Wait… what IS this?
Welcome to your first donghua.
Mine? It was Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation).
And no, I haven’t emotionally recovered since. Probably never will.
You Think You’re Just Watching a Show. But You’re Not.
At first, you’re just curious. You hit play because, hey, it looks cool. You figure it’s just another anime with fancy clothes and glowing swords.
But something’s different.
The pacing. The music. The way the characters look at each other. The sheer sadness soaked into every frame. You’re not even three episodes in and there’s already political betrayal, trauma flashbacks, forbidden love, and dead people who don’t stay dead.
Your brain’s like “This is interesting.”
But your heart?
It’s screaming.
Because this isn’t just a story. It’s a haunting.
Suddenly, You’re Obsessed
You start bingeing. Not watching — devouring.
You don’t even notice the time passing. You forget to eat.
You’re Googling things like:
- “Xianxia meaning”
- “Who is Wei Wuxian?”
- “Mo Dao Zu Shi timeline help pls”
- “Why is this show hurting me”
- “Is it gay or am I just projecting”
- “Lan Wangji fanart download HD”
Your whole soul is slowly being consumed.
You start recognizing the flute music like it’s your personal ringtone.
You whisper “Wei Ying” in moments of silence.
You catch yourself saying “Hanguang-Jun” with reverence like he’s a saint.
You are not okay.
But also? You don’t want to be.
And Then It Hits You…
Donghua doesn’t play by the same rules.
This ain’t your typical anime with flashy power-ups and filler arcs.
This is slow-burn.
This is storytelling with layers.
Like, “I rewatched it three times and STILL found something new” kind of layers.
Flashbacks inside flashbacks.
Soft glances that say more than monologues.
Cultural references that make you spiral into Wikipedia at 4AM.
Character arcs that are so painfully human you wonder how animation can make you feel this much.
And the silence. The beautiful, agonizing silence between characters. No over-explaining. Just… shared trauma, honor, loyalty, and forbidden love that goes unsaid but screams louder than words.
You Try to Explain It to Friends
Bad move.
You say something like, “So there’s this show where the main guy dies but doesn’t really die, and he comes back in another body, and his soulmate still loves him even though he thinks it’s someone else, and there are ghosts and swords and bunnies and — ”
They blink.
They go, “Oh cool. Sounds complicated.”
It’s not their fault.
They haven’t seen the scene.
You know the one.
The one where Wei Wuxian plays the flute with blood dripping from his mouth.
The one where Lan Wangji whispers “I’ll take you home.”
The one with the paper lanterns.
The one with the guqin.
If they saw it? They’d understand.
But they haven’t. So now you sit in your emotional devastation… alone.
It Changes You
No exaggeration — your first donghua rewires your brain.
You start seeking more. You hunt down other series:
- Heaven Official’s Blessing — more pain, more beauty, more gay.
- Scissor Seven — the comedy that sucker punches you with deep philosophy.
- Fog Hill of Five Elements — a literal moving painting with vibes so strong it hurts.
- Link Click — trauma in 20-minute doses. No mercy.
You start learning phrases in Mandarin. You pick up pinyin. You cry when the OP drops a flute solo. You start noticing how quietly powerful the characters are — no shouting, just presence.
And you realize: Donghua isn’t just content. It’s therapy.
Aggressive, soul-breaking therapy. But still.
The First One Always Stays With You
No matter how many shows you watch… nothing hits quite like the first.
That’s the one that unlocks something in your heart you didn’t even know was locked.
It’s the show that haunts your playlists.
The one you bring up in conversations that don’t need it.
The one whose fanfics you secretly read at 3AM.
The one whose quotes you write in journals.
The one that cracked your emotional shell and said, “Feel this. Deeply. Even if it hurts.”
And it does hurt.
But god, it’s beautiful.
Final Thoughts: Thank You, First Donghua
I don’t even care if I sound dramatic. I probably do.
But if you know, you know.
Your first donghua doesn’t just entertain you — it claims you. It introduces you to a whole new kind of storytelling. One built on silence, sorrow, stillness, music, magic, and raw freaking emotion.
It’s not loud.
It’s not fast.
But it lingers. Like incense smoke. Like a soft goodbye. Like a memory that doesn’t want to leave.
So thank you, Mo Dao Zu Shi — for breaking me, and somehow making me feel whole.
And if you’re reading this and haven’t watched your first donghua yet?
Buckle up.
Because once you fall into this world… there’s no climbing out.
And honestly? You won’t want to.
