My Dad, the Dragon

The Chinese dragon—properly known as the *Long* (龍)—is an enigmatic creature, at once earthly and mystical. Beyond its striking form, it embodies a host of benevolent qualities: vitality, power, wisdom, and prosperity. It is the bringer of favorable rains and bountiful harvests, the guarantor of stability both in the heavens and upon the earth.

Existing in the space between the natural world and hidden forces, the Long is perhaps less a living creature in the conventional sense and more a dynamic expression of creation and destruction—an embodiment of raw, creative power. The ability to transform, or even to ride upon its back, was historically reserved for the shaman, the court priest, and the perfected Daoist adept.

A dweller of storms, mists, and deep valleys, the Long has been China’s companion since the cradle of its civilization. As a being with a direct link to the seasons and the rains, it became tethered to the cosmic order itself—and, by extension, to earthly political power. Eventually, the Long became an inseparable symbol of imperial authority; from the thirteenth century onward, the five-clawed dragon sat at the apex of the hierarchy as the exclusive emblem of the Emperor.

Yet the Long was not always a harbinger of good fortune. Its appearance in sea storms, mountain mists, or sudden floods could signal impending climate disasters or droughts. Worst of all, a sighting might portend the decline and fall of a dynasty, bringing with it a host of economic and demographic headaches.

Consequently, dragon sightings were not merely folklore for campfire tales, but the subject of rigorous imperial investigation. The court sought to document and verify these occurrences, treating the creature as an elusive celestial barometer. During the Yuan and Ming periods, roughly a hundred such sightings were documented, allowing the court to respond as pragmatically as possible to the economic and ecological warnings echoed in the dragon’s thunder.

Centuries after the fall of the last dynasty, this same timeless Long finds itself in vastly different circumstances. The web series *Dad is a Dragon* (我的爸爸是条龙) offers a hilarious look at the daily tribulations and marital ups and downs of a twenty-first-century urban dragon.

After being displaced from his post at a minor canal due to rampant urban development, the Long relocates to a typical Chinese city. There, he is married to a warm-hearted human woman and serves as the father to a small, singular, and very demanding son.

He works in a dull high-tech office devoid of creative horizons, struggling with burnout, exhausting subway commutes, pointless meetings, and indifferent supervisors. He is a man—or dragon—trying to juggle marriage and parenthood in an era of economic slowdown and general insecurity, all while navigating the identity crisis currently haunting modern Chinese masculinity.

Our Long is, in essence, the average urban Chinese man in the throes of a midlife crisis. He tries to be a diligent worker, or at least to survive the raindrops of the "996" meat grinder. He is devoted to his wife, if a bit clingy and dependent; he is a loving father who isn't particularly mature himself—a clumsy, slightly dim-witted, but well-meaning fellow.

He also carries the weight of a father complex. His own progenitor is a traditional Long from the "Eastern Sea," a paragon of old-school masculinity.

The Dragon Grandfather is conservative, authoritative, and rigid—well-built and well-versed in ancient traditions, mysticism, and combat. He enjoys a comfortable retirement alongside his Phoenix wife, now a typical Chinese grandmother. Both serve as unattainable role models, their poise contrasting sharply with the son’s chaotic home life and daily grind. The series plays—perhaps a bit cruelly, but with great empathy—on the traditional Chinese aspiration to raise an excelling "Dragon Child."

From Neolithic mists to busy city streets, the Long has accompanied China since the dawn of time. Elusive and essentially formless, it represents a latent, limitless potential and the ability to transcend the mundane. It remains the inner spirit of China throughout the ages—even when it looks a little worn out on the subway.