“The Ties of Affection, the Tao of Destiny” (composed by Artistic Director D.F., orchestrated by Qin Yuan and Junyi Tan) is a symphonic adaptation of a 2019 dance production performed by Shen Yun Performing Arts. As introduced, this work tells a story of unwavering love and faith in the power of the divine. However, Shen Yun does not merely present a romantic narrative; rather, it brings to life faith in the Tao, the clash between two types of “beliefs”, and, above all, the noble values that transcend personal affection to become the higher ideals guiding each individual’s life.
The following is a detailed composition analysis, examining the musical transitions and their connection to the unfolding story.
The Taoist Statue and the Inner World of the Artisan
At the very start of the piece, the harp paints a serene yet solemn space—its arpeggios sketching the image of an artisan quietly absorbed in carving a Taoist statue. The harp’s pure timbre brings a sense of clarity, drawing the listener into an inner world where devotion is everything. We can envision the artisan standing alone, chisel in hand, his mind calm yet filled with quiet joy, despite the solitary and demanding nature of his work.
Following the harp’s introduction, flute, clarinet, and bassoon enter one after another, weaving a measured, even-tempered quality to the piece. Notably, the flute is pivotal in portraying the artisan’s character. Here, only a single flute is employed, emphasizing his “solitary” state while also highlighting his dedication to his craft. Although he appears alone, the bright and unforced tone of the flute reveals an inner vitality. He pours his entire heart into every careful stroke of his chisel, viewing his work as an act of reverence toward the Tao and, on a deeper level, as an expression of the life ideals he strives to fulfill.
At ((0:49)), the sound of woodblocks appears, subtly woven into the fabric of the music, mimicking the rhythmic tapping of the chisel striking the statue. This brief, rhythmic accent mirrors the physical act of sculpting: it requires both precision and a steady, deliberate tempo. Meanwhile, the flute remains clear and light, capturing the artisan’s unshaken spirit. There is no trace of fatigue—only quiet fulfillment in dedicating himself fully to a sacred endeavor.
This opening passage is both delicate and exudes an air of quiet transcendence. In just these few moments, the music vividly conveys the artisan’s inner world—a soul devoted to the Tao, silent yet overflowing with sincerity and unwavering faith.
New Characters and a Fateful Encounter
((1:07)) The trombones rise with a bold and commanding voice, heralding the arrival of a new character in the story. Almost immediately, the timpani strikes with resounding beats, elevating the orchestra to a powerful intensity—one that carries the echoes of the battlefield. It evokes the presence of an authoritative figure, one forged through countless battles, now stepping into the scene—a stark contrast to the serene and introspective world we had just witnessed through the artisan.
((1:23)) The strings and trombone intertwine in a solemn atmosphere. The orchestral colors are regal and unyielding, portraying the decisive aura of a seasoned general, shaped by years of battle. Yet, even within this resolute, “steely” atmosphere, the orchestra allows for a fleeting warmth: at ((1:32)), the flute—representing the artisan—reemerges alongside string voices, subtly calling back to the purity of his inner world. This is the moment when two vastly different realms—one guided by innocent devotion to the Tao and the other wielding worldly power—briefly touch as if destiny itself has brought them together.
Then, at ((1:40)), the pipas delicately enter, exuding femininity and grace. In the storyline, she is revealed to be the general’s daughter. The way the pipa is introduced conjures the image of a noble lady from an esteemed lineage, embodying traditional beauty and refinement. Its mellow timbre contrasts with the trombone’s firm resonance, suggesting her understated sophistication as it subtly weaves through the commanding aura of her father.
The orchestra seamlessly interlaces these elements, shaping a setting where a tender and budding love begins to take root—born from a sincere admiration for noble ideals and harmony of kindred spirits.
When the Harp Weaves the Red Thread: A Predestined Bond Begins to Bloom
((2:08)) The harp emerges once more, shimmering with an otherworldly lightness as though destiny itself is taking voice. The piece conveys that their attraction is not fleeting but arises from a profound karmic affinity—whether one calls it “destiny” or a “fated reunion”.
In traditional Chinese thought, the idea of yuanfen (affinity) or karmic ties is not simply the outcome of a chance meeting but rather the “causes and conditions” sown beforehand. Though we cannot see that thread, there remains a mysterious “link” that brings two seemingly different individuals—and their separate worlds—together at a certain moment in time. In Shen Yun’s portrayal, the artisan is devoted to the Tao, while the noble girl is imbued with virtue and a heart willing to listen. They meet, and their connection instantly sparks.
The orchestra translates this celestial moment into music: the harp’s shimmering tones float above a gently grounded orchestral texture, while the woodwinds—especially the flute and oboe—glide effortlessly, creating a serene and joyous backdrop for a lovely affinity blossoming between these two souls.
At this moment, the artisan, filled with conviction, speaks of his ideals, and the orchestra responds with a sincere, radiant, and steady melodic line—a musical reflection of his firm devotion to the Tao.
((2:29)) The oboe enters, intertwining with the pipa—the instrument that represents the girl—conveying how she listens intently and welcomes the artisan’s words with an open mind. Through the interaction of their melodies—his (on flute) and hers (on pipa and oboe)—we sense a pure affection, unencumbered by worldly concerns, beginning to bloom.
Then, at ((3:13)), the closing measures of this section envelop us in a fairy-tale-like reverie. Both characters—and the audience—are immersed in a harmonious, blissful realm. In the spiritual context of Eastern tradition, one might say it is a “fortunate destiny” coming to fruition in a moment heaven and earth have jointly ordained.
The Clash of Two Worldviews
From ((3:24)), the composition takes a dramatic turn: the love that had begun to blossom now faces a formidable trial. Yet, beneath this personal struggle lies a greater question—whether they can remain unwavering in their devotion to the Tao. The orchestra darkens, the music thick with tension and prohibition. The brass section erupts in commanding, unrelenting phrases—like the general’s cutting words, severing all argument. To him, the artisan’s aspiration to follow the Tao is nothing but an illusion, a delusion unworthy of consideration. At this moment, the music masterfully illustrates the inner turmoil of a man whose reality has always been bound to the tangible—to what the eyes can see and the hands can grasp—now being pushed to the limits of his understanding by a truth far beyond the physical world.
At ((3:36)), the flute—the voice of the artisan—persists with calm and clarity, its gentle tone an earnest effort to explain his belief in a composed and gentle manner, a stark contrast to the overpowering force of the general. The artisan seeks to explain, yet his voice is nearly drowned out by the relentless tide of sound from the brass. The orchestration exposes the widening gulf between these two opposing perspectives: the flute, unembellished and sincere, carrying the artisan’s faith with unadorned purity, while the general, consumed by an ocean of conviction, prejudice, and sheer dominance. The orchestra, in turn, surges in relentless waves, with each section intricately layered to emulate a psyche roiled by suspicion and anger. To the general, the artisan’s faith appears to be a dangerous illusion—capable of upending the entire, firmly entrenched “tangible” belief system he has clung to for so long. By setting the lone flute in response to the combined force of brass and strings, the composer underscores the stark imbalance between these two characters. Although the flute’s slender, pristine timbre manages to stand out against the general’s roiling anger, it is unmistakably overpowered by the sheer volume of the full orchestra roaring behind the general.
Moving on to ((3:44)), the general’s anger intensifies further: strings and brass swell in volume, mirroring his heightened agitation as he strives to shield his long-held convictions. The orchestral portrayal becomes even more vivid, revealing a mind locked beneath layer upon layer of intractable notions—doubt, scorn, and fear of transcendent realities—all woven together to form a formidable “defensive wall” within him. Ascending chords and urgent pacing convey this mounting tension, creating an oppressive, suffocating atmosphere. The dense, overlapping tapestry of sound illustrates how anger steadily eclipses the general’s reason, paralleling how his narrow pragmatism hinders any openness to higher spiritual realms. At this juncture, he compels his daughter to forsake the artisan and renounce all beliefs related to the Tao.
The conflict reaches its apex at ((4:20)) when the orchestra surges to a dramatic peak: the melody is steeped in tragedy as the strings press on relentlessly with layered, repeating motifs. Enraged and blinded by fury, the general raises his sword against the artisan. In a split second, his daughter throws herself in the blade’s path to protect the artisan, only to be struck down by her father’s own hand. The orchestra then delivers a sudden “cut,” creating a stark, silent moment that marks the tragedy’s climax, leaving listeners in stunned shock.
In sum, this passage is highly theatrical. The orchestra masterfully captures the psychological nuances of each character—especially the one trapped in a complex state of mind, grappling with truths beyond his comprehension, and held back by deep-seated biases that impede his acceptance of life’s vast mysteries, including the extraordinary.
A Sincere Prayer and the Manifestation of the Divine
((4:31)) The atmosphere descends into lamentation as the erhu voices a mournful strain, illustrating the young girl’s slow collapse following the fatal sword strike. Its poignant, heartrending tone carries neither rage nor reproach; instead, it conveys sorrow for her own fate while accepting the sacrifice she makes for her faith and love. At this moment, the sense of grief transcends mere physical suffering—there is regret for love unfulfilled and an inkling of the Tao that vanishes just as it begins to emerge. The decision to feature two traditional instruments speaks to a nuanced contrast: while the erhu “weeps” for sudden departure, the pipa evokes the lofty beauty of sacrificing oneself for higher principles, of letting go without succumbing to resentment.
Here, the musical idiom diverges from the typical “tragic” motif. While the erhu’s plaintive strains convey sorrow, the orchestra as a whole avoids sinking into stark, oppressive darkness. Subtle sparks flicker within the harmonic texture—glimmers of hope stemming from the artisan’s earnest prayers to the heavens. Rather than submerging everything in grief, the music retains a flicker of hope, symbolic of his unwavering faith. He believes there is a gateway of hope—not a desperate gamble or a final throw of the dice, but a genuine conviction in divine guardianship, a profound certainty that miracles are real. It is precisely this stance of “steadfast faith” that allows the tragic tableau to retain a subtle radiance instead of being engulfed in total gloom.
At ((5:29)), the gong rings out powerfully, as though shattering the tragedy of fate. In that instant, all sorrow, doubt, and even the barrier between life and death fall away, making way for divine intervention that rescues the girl. The sudden shift in the orchestra’s tone—from somber to radiant—seems to affirm that the artisan’s earnest plea and her courageous heart have stirred the heavens. A miracle unfolds, marking a glorious moment previously hinted at only faintly—like the first ray of dawn woven into the music.
Then, in the final section at (5:58), the once-solitary flute motif is “elevated” into a duet, conjuring the image of a devoted couple lifting their voices as one. This metaphorical image signifies that the couple now stands side by side, united on the path of the Tao. His innate spiritual fortitude is now shared with her, and the interwoven lines of the two flutes depict two hearts, filled with virtuous intent, that overcome every conflict and ascend to a sublime resolution.
Reflections on the Storytelling Purpose of the Piece
After experiencing “The Ties of Affection, the Tao of Destiny” in its entirety, the audience may easily recognize a motif reminiscent of childhood fairy tales: there is a kindhearted protagonist faces an imposing obstacle, and at the pivotal moment, a “miracle” intervenes to avert disaster, concluding in a blissful resolution. This naturally raises the question: why do so many ancient tales feature the involvement of gods, fairies, or other supernatural beings who stand ready to assist the virtuous?
In fairy-tale motifs, miracles serve not only to resolve dramatic tension but also to illustrate “cause and effect” or “heavenly justice”. Yet as we grow older, we tend to place more trust in “reality” than in “miracles”. Science advances, society grows ever more complex, and we become skeptical of anything not readily explainable by logic. Moreover, the moral environment around us may be too fragile to uphold such faith—people often mistrust one another, leaving little room for innocence or a “pure-hearted benevolence”. As that gap widens, we shut ourselves off from the possibility of miracles, much like the general who trusts only his sword’s blade, dismissing the Tao statue. Consequently, the fairy-tale motif seems to lose relevance because we ourselves have abandoned the purity or simplicity essential for belief.
For this reason, Shen Yun deliberately employs such a narrative framework: a straightforward, unembellished story that, though modest in form, conveys a profound message—do not allow the pressure of harsh realities to erode “virtue” and “faith”. While we may not witness “miracles” as vividly as onstage or onscreen, if we maintain moral integrity and keep our hearts untainted, “divine wonders” (in whatever form they may take) can indeed appear—at least enough to shift our mindset, fortify our resolve, and help us rise above adversity. Ultimately, qualities such as compassion, faith in goodness, and a commitment to higher principles form humanity’s moral bedrock, regardless of how societies or eras may change.
In times past, people naturally believed that humanity was linked to the Divine, and that “miracles” were hardly rare for those who were deserving. If, today, we do not sense the presence of miracles, it may be because we have lost the “capacity” to treasure them or no longer cultivate the “soil” for a virtuous heart, as in the societies of old where wonders could take root. It is not that our predecessors lacked reason, nor that modern science irrefutably proves a purely material world; at times, we simply distance ourselves from the environment in which the fairy-tale motif can flourish. Hence, though its simplicity, “The Ties of Affection, the Tao of Destiny” gently guides the audience toward a deeper faith. It echoes those stories “from long ago”—where good and evil are clearly distinguished, and “supernatural forces” protect the righteous. As adults, we need not revert to a childlike innocence, but we can “reawaken” a heart that remains genuine and open. Let us not deny the existence of wonders, nor block the possibility that they might still find us. This, in the end, is Shen Yun’s gentle reminder—a fervent wish for humanity to draw nearer to all that is noble and beautiful, and to the silent yet miraculous power that ever awaits us.
How the Story’s Symbols Reflect Real Life
Contemplating this work, one cannot overlook the striking imagery of the general’s sword and the Taoist statue meticulously carved by the artisan. At a glance, the sword appears merely as a symbol of paternal authority, while the statue seems to represent the artisan’s devout faith. Delving deeper, however, these two objects function as distinct “spiritual anchors”—the core values to which each character clings. The general invests his trust in a tangible, razor-sharp blade, associating it with power, control, and reliability. Meanwhile, from his perspective, the artisan’s steadfast belief in a transcendent realm appears mystifying and unfounded.
For the general, holding the sword parallels the human tendency to cling to a “sure thing”, convinced that possessing military might will allow him to dominate any situation. This worldly mindset embraces only what can be seen and measured. Thus, when confronted with a concept beyond the limits of ordinary perception, he immediately rejects it. The feeling of “gripping the sword” at all times is akin to the safety he derives from the worldview he has inherited—a system he was taught, learned, and matured with. Yet ironically, it is this very sword that triggers tragedy, taking the life of his own daughter. In this critical moment, the sword—his once-reliable pillar of belief—can neither restore her nor reverse his fatal error. Faced with the boundary between life and death, the general’s highest form of faith proves powerless.
By contrast, the Taoist statue emerges quietly, born of the artisan’s devotion. His carving entails more than mere wood or stone work; it is imbued with his deepest prayers and commitment to the Tao. Devoid of rank or authority, he invests his entire being in the pursuit of higher truths, “chiseling” his own spirit towards purity in tandem with sculpting the statue. In the end, that faith leads to an extraordinary outcome: his heartfelt pleas reach the divine, granting new life to the girl. In Shen Yun’s artistic language, this is the miracle—a testament that a transcendent faith can break through conventional constraints.
Such a contrast compels us to reflect on the degree to which our secular frameworks may restrict our awareness, blinding us to truths, especially when confronted with life’s toughest questions.
Through this lens, “The Ties of Affection, the Tao of Destiny” transcends a mere star-crossed romance; rather, it subtly raises the question of which “faith” we choose to uphold. Each viewer, in turn, may contemplate their own life and wonder: Am I gripping the sword or laying my hands upon the statue?
Turning to the narrative choice of depicting the father as a general—rather than some other archetype—we see how Shen Yun effectively heightens the conflict between “earthly power” and “transcendent faith”. A general embodies a certain “active force” of a mortal order, a bulwark of the regime, and a figure of “legitimate” authority in secular society. Consequently, any belief that transgresses typical logic appears, he would perceive as a threat to be eradicated.
Shen Yun’s choice of a military figure extends beyond creating a sense of drama or pageantry. It highlights the “self-defense mechanism” within everyday thought: whenever something surpasses common understanding, suspicion arises, followed by efforts to extinguish it. Yet once the artisan’s faith breaches this seemingly impregnable “armor”, we recognize the true limitations of human control in the face of divine power. Ultimately, temporal authority cannot override what is preordained; in other words, no force can stifle a “miracle” once it has been willed by the divine.
In retrospect, each of the three characters represents a distinct archetype. The artisan acts as a “catalyst”, awakening profound spiritual conviction; the general personifies reliance on a logical, worldly mindset; and the girl stands as a compassionate heart, open to truths “beyond” everyday comprehension.
It is her deeply instilled virtue that enables the girl to embrace the Tao with such ease, perceiving the beauty of a transcendent path and entrusting herself wholly to goodness—far beyond her father’s narrower viewpoint. In her, we see a free-spirited, warm-hearted soul who is resolute in her faith and courageous enough to defend them when called upon.
In bringing these three characters, each with a distinct worldview, the narrative creates a conflict that resonates with real life. The girl stands out as someone of bravery who, upon encountering the Tao, dares to step onto a path toward genuinely exalted ideals—empowered by a pure conscience and the force of a virtuous will.
For those eager to immerse themselves in the world of Shen Yun, their compositions, including this gem, can be streamed online via Shen Yun Creations (Shen Yun Zuo Pin).
