The series I remember best from childhood is a Chinese TV adaptation of Journey to the West, the classic novel about a monk travelling to India with his disciples, including the Monkey King. I grew up in Chengdu, and it was shown on television every summer holiday.
I must have been about seven or eight, and I watched it every afternoon with my grandfather, who looked after me while my parents were at work. We'd sit on the sofa with slices of watermelon, and he'd explain the parts I didn't understand. The story follows the monk on a long journey to collect holy books, and on the way he's attacked by all kinds of demons who want to eat him. The Monkey King, who's mischievous and incredibly strong, always protects him using magic, like turning into different creatures or flying on a cloud. The special effects look quite old-fashioned now, but at the time they seemed amazing.
I think I remember it so well for two main reasons. First, it's tied up with my grandfather. He passed away when I was in high school, and those afternoons are some of my happiest memories of him. He used to do the Monkey King's voice and pretend to fight me with a chopstick. Second, the story taught me quite a lot without me noticing. The characters are always arguing, but they keep going and look after each other, which is a good lesson about loyalty and patience. Now I'm a nurse and work long night shifts, and whenever I'm exhausted, I sometimes think of the monk just continuing to walk.