‘One day, the love-chord snaps, all beauty dies – then joyous times, like dreams, are lost to sorrow.’
Played during the Backloggd’s Game of the Week (Dec. 13 – Dec. 19, 2022). Many thanks to Detchibe for the articles detailing the production context.
The 1990s and 2000s were very experimental for the adventure genre: the traditional point-n-click saw the end of its golden age before falling into desuetude at the turn of the century, while Myst (1993) imposed a formula that lasted beyond the last great classics, such as Grim Fandango (1998) or The Longest Journey (2000). Under this new influence, Myst-like games flourished, whose quality varied greatly. A fraction of this production was concerned with creating educational titles that would shine a light on other cultures, such as Pyramid: Challenge of the Pharaoh's Dream (1996). The Asian world was not to be overlooked, as the developers tried their hand at this venture on computers, giving birth to cult classics such as Cosmology of Kyoto (1993), Gadget: Invention, Travel, & Adventure (1993) or Aegeankai no Shizuku (1995). Stylistically, these games differed from Myst through a different game design, perhaps explained by the Japanese market's reluctance towards first-person games.
Nevertheless, it is in this general context that The Legend of Lotus Spring is produced, halfway between all those avenues. The intention of the project was twofold, fuelled by the desires of both the developers and the publisher: to pay a vibrant tribute to Chinese culture and the Yuánmíng Yuán, sadly destroyed during the Second Opium War and preserved in ruins today, but also to produce games by women and for women. While one of the inspirations for editor Anne-Marie Huurre was the Purple Moon studio, the situation reminds me more of the Japanese group Ruby Party, led by Keiko Erikawa and best known for their Angelique series (1994). With these considerations in mind, The Legend of Lotus Spring was bound to be a project that would run against the major trends in Western video games.
The player takes on the role of Emperor Xianfeng, travelling to the Old Summer Palace, where his true love He Han Qu had been confined by a jealous Cixi. In Chinese history, Xianfeng is generally presented in the light of the political and military context, particularly unfavourable to him. In 1858, the Qing Dynasty was in a complex situation, torn between the onslaught of Western powers and domestic rebellions. The Legend of Lotus Spring steers away from these events to focus on an introspection of the emperor, faced with love and grief. If the title follows the Myst formula with its cryptic and silent nature, it manages to create a contemplation that works well with the themes explored. In some ways, Xianfeng's silent reminiscences are redolent of the great literary tapestries, which strive to produce memories through experience and the contact with objects. If Marcel Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu (1913) comes to mind, a more specific connection is Cao Xueqin's Hóng lóu mèng (18th century). There are many parallels with this classic of Chinese literature: like the novel, The Legend of Lotus Spring focuses on the inner life of He Han Qu, through the interaction with the various objects of her daily life. The game also touches on a number of themes, ranging from art to religion and even cooking. Finally, the title's emphasis on the Twelve Flower Goddesses, whose romantic stories echo Xianfeng's and He Han Qu's own feelings, is worth mentioning: it is hard not to see a sort of mirror between these twelve goddesses and Jinling's Twelve Beauties, who surround Jia Baoyu, in the Dream of the Red Chamber.
This intertextuality imbues the game with a richness and allows it to observe the protagonist's mourning, but also to explore Chinese civilisation, through different myths and practices. Yuánmíng Yuán is filled with works of art and objects that span the entirety of Chinese history. In the Art Gallery, the walls are covered with paintings from all eras. In one corner of this labyrinth is a statue of Gu Kaizhi, one of the most famous painters of ancient China. The scrolls, like the Nǚshǐ zhēn tú (5th - 8th century), run along the walls, across multiple screens, burying the player in complex and varied textures. It is arguably in these instances that the game shines the most. The long corridors have a special mystique and the perspective of the large empty rooms emphasises the melancholy of the emperor. In the Buddhist temple, the alcove of the golden Buddha envelops the protagonist and exerts a strong attraction on him. On several occasions, the player has to turn towards it to see visions of He Han Qu appear. A permanent dichotomy is formed between these large spaces and the small private interiors of the courtesan.
This reconstitution of the Yuánmíng Yuán is a journey through time, mystified by the interactive experience. The few seconds of melody, played by traditional instruments, support the atmospheric aspect of the experience. The sound of the doors opening and closing also give a timelessness to this imperial visit. In truth, Xianfeng does little to disturb the palace setting. In the Stone Boat sequence, it is possible to undo the picnic box, but it is necessary to rearrange it to continue the adventure. In the Banquet Hall, He Han Qu's overturned cup still remains on the floor, next to her xiùhuā xié, a testimony to Cixi's cruelty. In rare cases, the emperor's actions are irreversible, but because they underline the impermanence of the material world and reinforce the idea of the separation of Earth and the Heavens. The game is traversed by an upward movement of the scenery – a quiet retelling of the legend of Chang'e –, but one that the emperor cannot physically follow, confined to a very horizontal exploration.
The title is not without its faults, however. While exploration is pleasant in terms of interacting with objects and reading explanations – accessed by pressing the I key when entering a new room – movement is more disappointing. Jumping from one screen to another without transition can be confusing, especially as the map is only relatively useful. If the title makes the choice, which seems relevant to me, to have very simplistic puzzles to respect the idea of an introspection through the mundane use of everyday items, the progression can suffer from its fairly cryptic nature. This never detracts from the poetic power of the animated sequences, but it can be somewhat confusing to get from one location to the next. Furthermore, the decision to use the little girl as a cursor undoubtedly hinders readability, though it can be understood by the contrast it creates between the innocent candour of the child and the introspective silence of Xianfeng.
The Legend of Lotus Spring is one of the many games that fuelled the renewal of adventure games at the turn of the century. With a unique approach and a real love for Chinese culture, whether in the reconstitution of the Yuánmíng Yuán or its rich intertextuality the title always tries to exploit within its interactivity, the title has a melancholic charm rarely found in this medium. The intention was indeed to turn away from the virilistic representation that haunted Western video game, and it succeeds in doing so by focusing on the inner lives of two characters. Despite their absolute silence, a true poetic of love and mourning is portrayed.
Played during the Backloggd’s Game of the Week (Dec. 13 – Dec. 19, 2022). Many thanks to Detchibe for the articles detailing the production context.
The 1990s and 2000s were very experimental for the adventure genre: the traditional point-n-click saw the end of its golden age before falling into desuetude at the turn of the century, while Myst (1993) imposed a formula that lasted beyond the last great classics, such as Grim Fandango (1998) or The Longest Journey (2000). Under this new influence, Myst-like games flourished, whose quality varied greatly. A fraction of this production was concerned with creating educational titles that would shine a light on other cultures, such as Pyramid: Challenge of the Pharaoh's Dream (1996). The Asian world was not to be overlooked, as the developers tried their hand at this venture on computers, giving birth to cult classics such as Cosmology of Kyoto (1993), Gadget: Invention, Travel, & Adventure (1993) or Aegeankai no Shizuku (1995). Stylistically, these games differed from Myst through a different game design, perhaps explained by the Japanese market's reluctance towards first-person games.
Nevertheless, it is in this general context that The Legend of Lotus Spring is produced, halfway between all those avenues. The intention of the project was twofold, fuelled by the desires of both the developers and the publisher: to pay a vibrant tribute to Chinese culture and the Yuánmíng Yuán, sadly destroyed during the Second Opium War and preserved in ruins today, but also to produce games by women and for women. While one of the inspirations for editor Anne-Marie Huurre was the Purple Moon studio, the situation reminds me more of the Japanese group Ruby Party, led by Keiko Erikawa and best known for their Angelique series (1994). With these considerations in mind, The Legend of Lotus Spring was bound to be a project that would run against the major trends in Western video games.
The player takes on the role of Emperor Xianfeng, travelling to the Old Summer Palace, where his true love He Han Qu had been confined by a jealous Cixi. In Chinese history, Xianfeng is generally presented in the light of the political and military context, particularly unfavourable to him. In 1858, the Qing Dynasty was in a complex situation, torn between the onslaught of Western powers and domestic rebellions. The Legend of Lotus Spring steers away from these events to focus on an introspection of the emperor, faced with love and grief. If the title follows the Myst formula with its cryptic and silent nature, it manages to create a contemplation that works well with the themes explored. In some ways, Xianfeng's silent reminiscences are redolent of the great literary tapestries, which strive to produce memories through experience and the contact with objects. If Marcel Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu (1913) comes to mind, a more specific connection is Cao Xueqin's Hóng lóu mèng (18th century). There are many parallels with this classic of Chinese literature: like the novel, The Legend of Lotus Spring focuses on the inner life of He Han Qu, through the interaction with the various objects of her daily life. The game also touches on a number of themes, ranging from art to religion and even cooking. Finally, the title's emphasis on the Twelve Flower Goddesses, whose romantic stories echo Xianfeng's and He Han Qu's own feelings, is worth mentioning: it is hard not to see a sort of mirror between these twelve goddesses and Jinling's Twelve Beauties, who surround Jia Baoyu, in the Dream of the Red Chamber.
This intertextuality imbues the game with a richness and allows it to observe the protagonist's mourning, but also to explore Chinese civilisation, through different myths and practices. Yuánmíng Yuán is filled with works of art and objects that span the entirety of Chinese history. In the Art Gallery, the walls are covered with paintings from all eras. In one corner of this labyrinth is a statue of Gu Kaizhi, one of the most famous painters of ancient China. The scrolls, like the Nǚshǐ zhēn tú (5th - 8th century), run along the walls, across multiple screens, burying the player in complex and varied textures. It is arguably in these instances that the game shines the most. The long corridors have a special mystique and the perspective of the large empty rooms emphasises the melancholy of the emperor. In the Buddhist temple, the alcove of the golden Buddha envelops the protagonist and exerts a strong attraction on him. On several occasions, the player has to turn towards it to see visions of He Han Qu appear. A permanent dichotomy is formed between these large spaces and the small private interiors of the courtesan.
This reconstitution of the Yuánmíng Yuán is a journey through time, mystified by the interactive experience. The few seconds of melody, played by traditional instruments, support the atmospheric aspect of the experience. The sound of the doors opening and closing also give a timelessness to this imperial visit. In truth, Xianfeng does little to disturb the palace setting. In the Stone Boat sequence, it is possible to undo the picnic box, but it is necessary to rearrange it to continue the adventure. In the Banquet Hall, He Han Qu's overturned cup still remains on the floor, next to her xiùhuā xié, a testimony to Cixi's cruelty. In rare cases, the emperor's actions are irreversible, but because they underline the impermanence of the material world and reinforce the idea of the separation of Earth and the Heavens. The game is traversed by an upward movement of the scenery – a quiet retelling of the legend of Chang'e –, but one that the emperor cannot physically follow, confined to a very horizontal exploration.
The title is not without its faults, however. While exploration is pleasant in terms of interacting with objects and reading explanations – accessed by pressing the I key when entering a new room – movement is more disappointing. Jumping from one screen to another without transition can be confusing, especially as the map is only relatively useful. If the title makes the choice, which seems relevant to me, to have very simplistic puzzles to respect the idea of an introspection through the mundane use of everyday items, the progression can suffer from its fairly cryptic nature. This never detracts from the poetic power of the animated sequences, but it can be somewhat confusing to get from one location to the next. Furthermore, the decision to use the little girl as a cursor undoubtedly hinders readability, though it can be understood by the contrast it creates between the innocent candour of the child and the introspective silence of Xianfeng.
The Legend of Lotus Spring is one of the many games that fuelled the renewal of adventure games at the turn of the century. With a unique approach and a real love for Chinese culture, whether in the reconstitution of the Yuánmíng Yuán or its rich intertextuality the title always tries to exploit within its interactivity, the title has a melancholic charm rarely found in this medium. The intention was indeed to turn away from the virilistic representation that haunted Western video game, and it succeeds in doing so by focusing on the inner lives of two characters. Despite their absolute silence, a true poetic of love and mourning is portrayed.