After Becoming the Soldier Male Lead's First Love, I Faked My Death - Reviews

Pei Hechuan. Oh my god, Pei Hechuan. The man stood at her grave in full military uniform, rigid as a statue, clutching a photograph, eyes bloodshot and red. He buried her. He saw the charred body. He dug the grave himself. And five years later, a woman who looks exactly like her is riding a bicycle through Shanghai with his possible son on the back. The emotional whiplash in Chapter 2 is unreal. When he grabs her arm and says 'Is it really you?' his voice is hoarse with fear—not just hope, but fear that this is a dream. That's the kind of detail that tells you this man has been broken open and glued back together wrong. And Zhao Yunsheng? She's running. Not because she doesn't care, but because she does. She has two years of history with him, feelings that are still there, and she's actively denying him. 'Comrade, I think you've got the wrong person.' The guilt on her face when she says that—it's palpable. She's lying to the man who loved her enough to stand at her grave for hours. But here's what gets me: Yuanbao. This kid is five years old and he already knows his mom is anxious. 'Mom, do you know that uncle?' He's observant. He's protective. He kicked Pei Hechuan's leg and called him a bad guy. The author didn't need to write a single line of internal monologue for this child to establish that he loves his mother fiercely. The relationship between these three—Pei Hechuan, Zhao Yunsheng, and Yuanbao—is a triangle of grief, guilt, and something that might be love, and it's just getting started.

There's this one scene that I keep coming back to, and I think it's because the author knows how to paint with words without overdoing it. Zhao Yunsheng steps outside for fresh air after the dinner. The text describes it simply: 'The early spring night was chilly. She tightened her coat and lifted the curtain to leave.' That's it. Three sentences. But I could feel the cold. I could feel the weight of that coat, the darkness, the way the Deng family's warmth behind the curtain felt like a different world. Then Pei Hechuan follows her. The author writes: 'The cold wind outside cleared the slight drunkenness from his face, dispersing the smell of alcohol. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings until they locked on Zhao Yunsheng. His inner tension finally eased.' This is such a visual scene. You can see him—standing in the dark, cigarette in hand, watching her like a hawk. The match strike that announces He Dali's arrival is described as 'sharp in the silent night.' SHARP. That word does so much work. It's not just a sound, it's a rupture in the atmosphere. And then the reflection on the window—'staring at the figure reflected on the window of the Zhao family in a trance. It was not until his fingers were burned by the cigarette that he put out the cigarette butt.' This image of him so lost in thought that he burns his own fingers? Cinematic. Absolute cinema. The author also builds this whole world around them—the factory setting, the Deng family home, the courtyard where everyone lives close enough to overhear each other's business. It feels lived-in, specific, real. This isn't a generic backdrop; it's a world where reputation matters, where everyone knows everyone's business, where a single conversation in an office can ripple through an entire community.

I keep coming back to the cloth shoes Xu Mingjuan made for the grandmother. They were worn through, she couldn't afford new ones, so she used cheap yarn and made them herself. This small detail about footwear keeps appearing in Chinese literature for a reason—it's about dignity when you have nothing left. Xu Mingjuan can't give her mother anything material, so she gives her time and labor. That's the entire economy of her life compressed into one image. Then there's the beanbag incident and Yuanbao's snacks. The other children bully him for not having a dad, but he has something they don't—Big White Rabbit candies, yogurt, chocolate, lollipops. These rare treats from who knows where become his currency, his way of buying friendship. When he demands they be returned after the bullying, it's not just a kid being petty. It's someone realizing that the things he shared to belong to a group are now worthless because the group rejected him. The snacks were never about the snacks—they were about being accepted. And Pei Hechuan bringing Moutai to Old Master Pei, saying it was from "your granddaughter-in-law"—that liquor is a symbol of a relationship that exists outside the family structure, a gift that simultaneously honors the grandfather and announces a woman the family doesn't know about. Every object in this novel is carrying weight.

I have to talk about the police station scene because the author really knows how to paint a picture. You've got this swollen-faced Director Xiang spitting blood, Zhao Yunsheng pretending to cry behind Xu Mingjuan, the skeptical police officer, and then PEI HECHUAN walking in like he owns the building in full military uniform with a gun at his waist and two soldiers behind him. The contrast between the dingy, fluorescent-lit police station and this imposing military commander stepping through the door—man, that was a visual. And then the jeep scene! Zhao Yunsheng deliberately ignoring Pei Hechuan while snuggling with Xu Mingjuan, and Pei Hechuan's peripheral vision tracking her the entire time. The author wrote 'a pang of jealousy, but also excitement' and I could literally see the scene playing out like a film. Even the daycare pickup at the end with Yuanbao pouting on the steps, waiting for his mom, was so vividly described. The world of this novel feels real—the meat factory, the military unit, the police station, the daycare. Every location has texture.

I need to talk about this one moment. Just one moment. Pei Hechuan quietly puts a piece of braised pork on Zhao Yunsheng's plate and says 'I remembered you used to like this.' That's it. That's the whole scene. And yet it hits like a freight train. Because here's the thing—she literally tells him she doesn't like sweet things anymore. She corrects him. And he just... persists. He doesn't push harder, he doesn't get angry, he just keeps offering her food like he's been rehearsing this moment in his head for years. The author writes: 'Though Pei Hechuan's expression remained calm, his narrow eyes were full of amusement.' AMUSEMENT. He's amused because he knows she's trying to create distance and it's not working. And then outside, when He Dali finally works up the courage to confess his feelings, Pei Hechuan just... appears. Like a dark cloud. He doesn't even let them have a proper conversation. He drops the Yuanbao bomb and watches He Dali literally stagger away like he's been physically struck. What kills me is that Zhao Yunsheng feels trapped. The text says she was 'so angry that his face turned pale'—and I notice the translation uses 'his' for Yunsheng here, which is... interesting. But the emotion is clear. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want Pei Hechuan circling her like this, deciding her life for her, using their son as leverage. The CP chemistry between these two is toxic and electric and I cannot look away. She keeps saying 'I don't know you' and he keeps proving that he knows everything about her. Who writes like this? Who?

Let's talk about the dialogue because this kid Yuanbao is a national treasure. 'Uncle, it takes a lot of money to marry my mom. Will you spend all the money you earn on us? Mom loves wearing pretty dresses, but our wardrobe is already full. Will you buy her more?' This is a FIVE-YEAR-OLD saying this. The voice writing for this character is impeccable. He's not reciting lines like an adult in a child's body; he's genuinely thinking through the logistics of his mother's remarriage the way a smart kid would. And then there's the line 'I even have to put on her shoes for her in the morning.' That's not a child performing. That's a child who genuinely does that and is stating it as fact. The contrast between his innocence and the adult situation he's commenting on is comedy gold. But the adult dialogue is sharp too. Pei Hechuan's 'Not… her?' at the end of Chapter 2. Two words, an ellipsis, and a question mark. That's it. That's all the author needed. He's been holding this question for five years and now he's asking it and she's denying it. The silence between his lines is doing more work than most people's monologues. And Zhao Yunsheng's internal voice—'The system tricked me!'—that's pure panic, and it's funny because it's so human. The author's dialogue style is lean, punchy, and lets subtext do the heavy lifting.

There's this one moment that keeps bothering me in the best way. Zhao Yunsheng tries to pedal away from Pei Hechuan, and the bike won't move because the tire is flat. She's literally trying to escape him and the universe says no. I think the flat tire is a symbol for her life right now—she's been trying to keep moving forward on her own terms, but something is fundamentally broken underneath. She can't just pedal away from this situation. And Pei Hechuan, who literally punctured the tire, is the one who represents that inescapable reality. Then there's the wine. She sends two bottles to the Deng family—one for Deng Qinglin, one for Deng Lijun to deliver to Pei Hechuan. She's trying to create distance through transaction. I owe you, you leave me alone. But the fact that she needs a messenger, that she can't even deliver the gift herself, shows how much ground she's already lost. The flat tire forces her to walk; the wine forces her to send a proxy. Every attempt at independence is thwarted. Yuanbao's line 'I'm a good boy' is also deeply symbolic. It's not just a kid being sweet—it's about worthiness. Throughout the excerpt, there's this underlying question of who deserves family, who deserves love, who gets to claim belonging. Pei Hechuan claims he's the father. Zhao Yunsheng has been the parent all along. Yuanbao just wants to not be abandoned. The story keeps asking: what makes a family? And Pei Hechuan's internal monologue at the end—'You summon me when you want, brush me off when you don't—what do you take me for?'—this is about agency and control, but also about recognition. He doesn't want to be a convenience; he wants to be acknowledged as part of their lives. The whole excerpt is really about people fighting for their place in each other's stories.

Okay so I need to talk about Yuanbao because THIS kid is absolutely lethal with his emotional damage. Like, Zhao Yunsheng is cooking lunch, all domestic and calm, and this little boy just drops the bomb that he knows Pei Hechuan is his dad. And her reaction—dropping the vegetables, the silence except for boiling water—chef's kiss. The author doesn't over-dramatize it, which is why it hits so hard. But what really got me was Yuanbao's response when she asks if he blames her. He says 'Being with Mom is the best. I love Mom the most. I don't like Dad. He's a bad guy.' And then he hugs her and whispers 'Mom, don't leave Yuanbao. I'm a good boy.' I literally had to put the book down. This kid is five and he's already internalized that he might be abandoned. That line 'I'm a good boy'—it's not a kid being cute, it's a kid bargaining for love. And Zhao Yunsheng's response? 'Anyone who tries to take you away, I'll shoot them!' Which is both terrifying and deeply touching because we KNOW she's been living in constant fear of exactly that. Her entire life has been built around keeping this tiny human safe, and Pei Hechuan walking back in like he has rights is the nightmare she's been avoiding. The romantic tension with Pei Hechuan is there too but it's secondary to the mother-son bond, and honestly that's what makes it work. He wants a family, she's terrified of losing the one she has. Classic but effective.

There's a photograph. That's all the author gives us as a symbol in these first three chapters, but it carries so much weight. Pei Hechuan clutches it at her grave. Later, when he's in the jeep following her, he 'felt the photo in his pocket.' That's it. That's the only mention. But the photograph represents everything—his grief, his refusal to let go, his five years of holding onto a memory. And then there's the fire. The fire that supposedly killed her. Fire as destruction, fire as purification, fire as the thing that was supposed to end the story. But she didn't die in it. She came back. The fire failed to erase her, and that's the central theme right there: some things cannot be burned away. Love, guilt, memory—these survive the fire. And the child, Yuanbao, is another symbol. His name means 'gold ingot.' He's wealth. He's value. He's the thing that connects Pei Hechuan and Zhao Yunsheng biologically, and the author hasn't even hinted at that connection yet. The reader knows. The child knows. Only Pei Hechuan doesn't know yet. The irony of naming him 'gold ingot' when he's riding on the back of a bicycle with bottles of milk in the basket—there's a quiet humor in that contrast. The story is about what survives, what returns, and what was always meant to be.

Okay so I need to talk about this scene where Yuanbao's beanbag goes onto the shed roof and everything just... shifts. Like, the entire power dynamic in that courtyard changes in one moment. The kid gets bullied for not having a dad, his pride is on the line, and then Pei Hechuan literally lifts him onto his shoulders and suddenly he's the coolest kid there. The other children go from mocking him to being starstruck. That's not just plot convenience—that's narrative architecture. The author uses a beanbag as the catalyst for a complete reversal of social status. And get this: Pei Hechuan doesn't even reveal himself to Yuanbao right away. He watches from a distance first. He lets the moment build. The tension of whether the kid will acknowledge him, whether he'll run away—it's all there in those small details before the payoff hits. But what really got me is how the subplot threads are weaving together. Xu Mingjuan's past with Ji Jianmin is bleeding into the present, and now Pei Hechuan is caught between two worlds—his family pressuring him about Jiang Min while his heart is clearly elsewhere. The author is setting up collision courses everywhere. Jiang Ya telling her niece to stay strong while secretly planning to investigate that "little fox"—that's a threat. Grandma Pei demanding Pei Hechuan bring the Zhao woman home—she doesn't know it yet, but she's about to get exactly what she asked for. The plot isn't just moving forward, it's coiling like a spring.

Okay so let me just say—the Deng family dinner scene is one of those moments where everything goes wrong in the funniest, most tense way possible. You've got Pei Hechuan trying to re-establish himself, Deng Xiaotong blurting out whatever's on her mind without a filter, and Zhao Yunsheng just sitting there like 'why is my life like this.' The plot moves in this really interesting way here. On the surface, it's a family dinner, but underneath you've got three men (Pei Hechuan, Deng Lijun, He Dali) all circling Zhao Yunsheng like sharks. The author does this great job of layering the tension—first it's Xiaotong being obliviously pushy about matchmaking, then it's the subtle glances between Yunsheng and Pei Hechuan, and then He Dali shows up outside like a ghost from her past. But the real plot twist? Pei Hechuan's move outside. When he tells He Dali that Yuanbao might be his son—that's not just jealousy, that's calculated. He's using information as a weapon. And Yunsheng? She doesn't even flinch. She just goes back inside like 'fine, whatever.' The way the author handles this is brilliant because we never get a clear answer about whether Yuanbao is actually Pei Hechuan's child. It's left deliberately ambiguous, which means every time these two interact, there's this underlying question hanging over them. Also, the subplot with Director Xiang is introduced almost casually—Zhao Yunsheng just happens to walk in on him harassing Xu Mingjuan, and suddenly we've got a whole new conflict brewing. The author is weaving multiple threads together here, and I'm here for it.

Okay so let me just say this opening is absolutely wild. The system gives her eighty years of life as a reward and what does she get? A pregnancy and a near-miss reunion with the guy she buried. The plot twist here is that she didn't just complete her task and fade away—she came back alive, five years later, with a kid. That's not in the script. That's not what the system promised. The original novel was supposed to be a clean tragedy: she dies, he mourns for five years, then the heroine appears and fixes everything. But now? Everything is off balance. She's alive, she has a child, and Pei Hechuan is still hung up on her. The irony is brutal. She ran from him like he was a viper, but the reader knows exactly why—she doesn't want to steal the heroine's storyline. That's a really smart layer to the plot. It's not just a romance; it's a story about someone trying not to interfere with fate and failing spectacularly. And that child—Yuanbao—is the ultimate plot bomb. Pei Hechuan saw him and his chest tightened. He didn't say it out loud, but every reader is thinking the same thing. The author is setting up this delicious tension where the protagonist is actively running away from the very thing that could change everything.