Does it sound good? It’s a crisp slap in the face from the female supporting character. - Reviews

Up until this point, the stakes felt personal — Zhao Xiaoyu vs. Sheng Qianyu, Chen Zhou's quiet devotion, academic rivalries. Then the vice dean walks in and suddenly it's life or death. Like, actual life or death for the Zhao family. The author ramps up the tension so smoothly here. First it's Song Jincheng trying to steal credit — annoying but manageable. Then he produces documents about Qin Fang's spy contact — oh. Now it's political. Now people disappear. Now the whole family could be destroyed. And Sheng Qianyu's calculation in that moment — she doesn't panic, she doesn't run to Zhao Daxiong (who's already under surveillance), she goes to the one person she barely knows because he's the only option left — that's when the stakes become genuinely terrifying. Because she walks into another trap. The vice dean wants her research, not to help her, but to use it as leverage. And she knows it. The internal conflict here is brutal: protect her adoptive family by handing over her life's work, or refuse and watch them suffer? The author doesn't give her an easy out. No deus ex machina. Just a brilliant woman backed into a corner, making the only choice she can. And that ending — 'Thus, she could no longer stay at the Agricultural Science Institute' — that's not a resolution, that's a detonation. What happens next?

The dialogue in this book is genuinely excellent. Every character has a distinct voice, and the conversations feel like something you'd actually overhear at a family dinner. Take Zhao Daxiong: "Daughters are nothing but debts." That line alone tells you everything about this man—pragmatic, military-minded, not particularly sentimental but not cruel either. And then there's Qin Fang, who says so much through what she doesn't say. Her sighs, her half-finished sentences, the way she keeps bringing up how sensible Qianyu is while clearly missing her... it's all there in the subtext. The exchange between Qin Fang and Sheng Qianyu about cooking is perfect. Qin Fang's surprise—"Qianyu, you know how to cook now?"—followed by Sheng Qianyu's gentle deflection about inheriting it from her Sheng family mom. You can feel the bittersweetness in that moment. Qin Fang is happy but also hurt, and the dialogue captures that perfectly without anyone saying "I'm conflicted." And Zhao Daxiong's response to Qin Fang's midnight confession: "Don't worry about things that aren't your concern." Classic military man. Practical, dismissive of sentimentality, but also trying to comfort his wife in his own way. The compound gossip scene is also great—those quick, overlapping remarks from neighbors that feel authentically chatty and slightly malicious. Real people really do talk like this.

Okay, let me just... breathe. The way this plot unraveled is absolutely brutal and I need to process it. So Sheng Qianyu — this girl, fifteen years old, gives up her own research to protect a family that actively abandoned her. She goes five days without food or water, nearly dying, while her biological parents are at home doting on Zhao Xiaoyu. The director literally says: "How old was she then? Fifteen. While other children were still growing, thinking about food and drink, and attending school carefree, she nearly died from exhaustion just to protect your Zhao family." FIFTEEN. She was fifteen. And the Zhao family? They never contacted her. Not once. For ten years. They believed Zhao Xiaoyu's lies about protecting them from being sent down, and they never once reached out to the girl who actually saved their lives. The plot twist here isn't just that Zhao Xiaoyu is a fraud — it's that the entire foundation of the Zhao family's safety was built on Sheng Qianyu's silence and suffering. And the director's final line? "Since the debt of upbringing has been repaid, it's time to sever this familial bond." That's it. That's the knife twist. The adopted daughter who literally risked her life for them is told to move on because she's done her duty. And honestly? I get why she did. She had a family who truly loved her now. She didn't need them. The Song family subplot with Song Jianü dying with resentment in her heart? That's the collateral damage of this whole mess. Everyone's a pawn except Sheng Qianyu, and even she was treated like one. This plot is a masterclass in dramatic irony. We know the truth from the beginning — Sheng Qianyu is the real hero — and we watch the Zhao family blindly favor the wrong daughter. Every scene with Zhao Xiaoyu taking credit is just... God, it makes me so angry.

Can we just appreciate the scene where Old Mrs. Song is yelling at absolutely nobody? She's spitting on the ground, threatening her sons and grandsons will "make something of themselves," and the narrative just deadpans: "Still, no one responded to her." I laughed out loud. The author's use of silence as a comedic weapon here is masterful. And then there's the contrast with Sheng Qianyu's dialogue — or lack thereof. "Mm." That's it. That's her entire response to Chen Zhou's phone call. Cool, detached, barely there. But then she adds, "Even if there were issues, I could handle them myself," and suddenly you feel this tiny crack in the armor. The mentor's speech is another highlight — he goes on this whole passionate tirade about how she's the future of the motherland and those critics are "boosting others' morale while undermining our own country's prestige." It's so earnest and slightly over-the-top that it perfectly captures the era's political flavor. And Chen Zhou's line to his fellow soldier: "I've said it before—there's absolutely nothing between us." Cold, sharp, definitive. Each character's voice is distinct. Old Mrs. Song sounds like a bitter gossip, Sheng Qianyu sounds like someone who conserves words like currency, Chen Zhou sounds like a man who's tired of explaining himself, and Zhao Xiaoyu sounds like a calculator wearing a crying face.

The dialogue in this section is remarkably distinct for each character, and I want to highlight a few moments that really showcase the author's skill. Sheng Qianyu's conversation with the dean is probably the most impressive piece of dialogue. When she says, 'We are now moving forward in the dark, but we do so because we believe light will come. Not only do I believe in the country, but millions of Chinese people also believe it!' — this isn't just words, it's her entire philosophy compressed into a single speech. And then she immediately pivots to the personal: 'I have things and people I care about. I cannot disregard them for the sake of my career.' She's not choosing between patriotism and personal life; she's saying both matter, and she'll find a way to honor both. The dean responds with 'Go. When the storm subsides, I hope you will return.' Short. Warm. Perfect. Zhao Daxiong's dialogue with Political Commissar Chen about his daughter is hilarious and painful at the same time. 'She said older men know how to cherish their partners!' — the fact that he had to OMIT the part where Chen Zhou ran away to an island shows how much he still wants to protect his friend's reputation, even while being utterly exasperated. And Chen's internal monologue — 'suppressing the wild joy in his heart and the trembling of his hands holding the enamel mug' — this is comedy gold. But Zhao Xiaoyu's line 'What a show' after Sheng Qianyu's emotional farewell? That single line tells us everything about her character. She can't process sincerity. To her, genuine emotion is performance. That's the tragedy of someone who's been rewarded for manipulation their entire life.

"I'm sorry." That's it. That's the line. Three words and I was absolutely destroyed. Let me just sit with this for a moment because Chen Zhou is — how do I put this — he's the most complicated man in this entire novel and I am HERE for it. On the surface, he's the perfect husband. He waited ten years. He proposed multiple times. He fought for her. He adopted a child when she couldn't have one. He stood up to his mother. He's a Political Commissar's son who climbed higher than the older generation. By every metric, he's the prize. But then you read between the lines and oh boy. "Have you ever loved me?" — he asks this at their wedding anniversary basically, when there's still no child, when she's forty and still devoted to science. And her answer? "I thought I had already answered that question when you proposed for the last time." She said yes. That was the answer. But he wasn't satisfied. He literally admits: "I've already obtained you, so why am I still unsatisfied?" That's not love, friends. That's possession with a heartbeat. He calls her "the bright moon in the sky, something he could never truly grasp." He knows it. He KNOWS it. And he married her anyway because the marriage certificate "served to cut off others' covetous gazes toward her." Meanwhile Sheng Qianyu? She places her hand on his cheek. She stands on her tiptoes. She kisses him. She says "I will try to love." That is... that is actually the most tender thing anyone has ever done for someone in a novel. She knows he's greedy. She knows she can't give him what he wants. And she still chooses to try. Then he deepens the kiss with "dominance, possessiveness, and deep-seated grievance." The narration doesn't even try to hide it. This man is not a romantic lead. He's a man who won the girl and still feels like he lost. And the adoption scene with Mother Chen? Chen Zhou's father literally defends Sheng Qianyu better than any husband has ever defended his wife. "If it weren't for your son insisting on marrying no one but her, would Qianyu have married him?" Oof. The old man sees it clearer than the son. I keep thinking about this scene. I can't stop thinking about it. The way she kisses him to comfort him while simultaneously saying "even if this marriage ends" — she's already prepared to leave, and he's the one who won't let go. Who is actually trapped here?

This story is fundamentally about what makes a family. Not biology. Not blood. Choice. Every major character in these chapters has to confront this question. Qin Fang chose to love Zhao Qianyu for twelve years, and that choice hasn't been erased by a DNA test. Zhou Dahua chose to raise Zhao Xiaoyu, and that bond is real too. The Sheng family chose to love the girl they thought was theirs, and their grief proves it. Sheng Qianyu's decision to return to the Sheng family is itself a statement about this theme. She could have stayed with the Zhao family—they're wealthier, more prestigious, and they clearly love her. But she recognizes that the Zhao family already has their biological daughter, and staying would create an impossible situation. Her choice is about fairness, about minimizing harm, about being practical. It's also, I think, about respecting the bonds that already exist. The engagement subplot with Chen Zhou adds another layer. The arrangement was made between families, not between individuals. Chen Zhou wants to break it because he likes Sheng Qianyu, but she refuses to let him. Why? Because the engagement was always meant for Zhao Xiaoyu, and she won't let her own happiness come at the cost of creating more chaos. She's protecting everyone, even the person she's supposed to be engaged to. There's also the symbol of the bus ride. Sheng Qianyu, who has never taken public transportation in her life, choosing to ride a bus instead of accepting a car from her father. It's a small detail, but it represents her independence, her willingness to step into a new world on her own terms. She's not being carried into her new life—she's walking there. And the malted milk moment with Sheng Jiandang? It's a symbol of the old family's habits, the routines built around a child who is no longer there. His guilt at almost offering it to Sheng Qianyu shows how deeply those habits are embedded. But her response—telling him not to avoid mentioning Xiao Yu—suggests that the old bonds don't have to die. They can coexist with the new ones. What I find most compelling is that the story doesn't resolve this theme neatly. There's no easy answer to "which family is the real family?" Both are. Both matter. And Sheng Qianyu is brave enough to acknowledge that instead of forcing everyone to choose.

I need to talk about Zhao Daxiong because this man is a walking tragedy of his own making. The scene where he finds out his biological daughter pushed Qin Fang and immediately yells at her — 'If you really don't want to stay in this family, then get out!' — and then scoops Qin Fang into his arms and carries her out? Meanwhile, Sheng Qianyu just stands there silently watching. And what does she do? She says 'Dad, you will always be my dad' and bows deeply. That's it. That's the moment the debt is repaid. Twelve years of raising her, and she walks away without a single complaint. What breaks my heart is that Zhao Daxiong KNOWS. The text says 'Out of consideration for Qin Fang, he said sternly' and later he looks at Sheng Qianyu with 'an apologetic expression.' He sees it. He sees his biological daughter throwing a tantrum and his adopted daughter handling everything with grace, and he still chooses the wife. Not because he doesn't love Sheng Qianyu — the text makes it clear he feels guilt and shame — but because he's been blind to Zhao Xiaoyu's manipulation for too long. And Zhao Xiaoyu! 'What a show.' She calls Sheng Qianyu's emotional farewell a performance while she's the one who literally pushed her mother to the ground. Then she runs off to 'celebrate' at a restaurant with money and coupons. This girl is so thoroughly corrupted that she can't even recognize genuine emotion when she sees it. Meanwhile, Political Commissar Chen is literally suppressing 'wild joy' when the marriage arrangement between his son and Zhao Xiaoyu gets called off. The man can't even hide it.

So. Chapter 19. Let me just — let me catch my breath. The author drops a completely self-contained rebirth story in the MIDDLE of the main narrative and I was NOT prepared for this. One minute I'm reading about Sheng Qianyu's wedding and marriage, the next I'm watching Zhao Xiaoyu's entire life unravel in what, what, eight thousand words? And it's somehow MORE complete than most full novels I've read. Here's what's actually impressive about the pacing: the chapter starts IN MEDIA RES with Zhao Xiaoyu already reborn and already making her moves. We don't get a long exposition dump about how she got reborn or what she remembers. We just drop into her timeline and watch her fail. It's ruthless. It's efficient. It's perfect. The structure mirrors the main story almost too perfectly. Zhao Xiaoyu tries to replicate the path that led to Sheng Qianyu's success — get close to important people, align with the right families, marry well. But she keeps making the same core mistake: she sees other people as tools instead of humans. Her ex-husband in the original timeline became rich because he was ambitious. In the rebirth timeline, she picks a sponger who spends all her money because she's looking for easy wins instead of real partnership. And the ending — oh the ending. She dies alone, her husband mocking her, and her final realization is that Sheng Qianyu wasn't just her rival, she was her OPPORTUNITY. "If you could have accepted Academician Sheng, with her noble character, what couldn't you have had?" Then Chapter 20 hits like a freight train. Sheng Qianyu opens her eyes in a new body. New world. New story. The pacing here is almost jarringly different — we get exposition about Duan Ziheng, the child star, the family bankruptcy, the engagement. It's slower, more methodical. After the emotional whiplash of Chapter 19, this chapter feels like the author is letting us breathe. But is it letting us breathe or is it setting us up? The Film Emperor wealthy fiancée setup feels like it could go in a dozen different directions. I'm equal parts relieved and anxious. Also can we talk about how the author handles the transition between timelines? No warning. No chapter title indicating a shift. Just — you're reading about Sheng Qianyu's wedding, now you're reading Zhao Xiaoyu's death. The structural audacity is insane.

Okay, I have to say this opening is genuinely clever. Most transmigration stories with the fake heiress trope just dive into drama and scheming, but here the author makes the protagonist herself choose to leave. That is such a fresh move. Sheng Qianyu doesn't fight it, doesn't try to keep both families, doesn't play the victim. She just says okay, this happened, and I'm going back. It immediately sets her apart from every other fake heiress protagonist I've ever read. The structure is also tight. Chapter 1 establishes the premise, the conflict, and the decision all in one go. No dragging. The Chen Zhou engagement subplot gets introduced naturally through a scene at the gate, and it raises the question of what happens next without resolving it. That's good hook writing. Chapter 2 shifts to her journey to the Sheng family, and Chapter 3 starts the new family dynamics. The pacing feels deliberate but never slow. What I found most interesting is how the plot avoids the usual fake heiress revenge fantasy. There's no malicious scheme, no one trying to steal anything. The biological mother Zhou Dahua and the adoptive mother Qin Fang both genuinely don't want to separate the girls. The conflict isn't about villains—it's about two good families facing an impossible situation. That makes the story feel more grounded, more real, even though it's set in a very specific historical moment. I'm curious where the plot goes from here. The Sheng family's reaction to her arrival is still unfolding, and I want to see how the two families navigate this new relationship. Does the engagement with Chen Zhou get resolved? How does Zhao Xiaoyu adjust to life with the Sheng family? The setup has promise, and I'm not bored yet, which is rare for this genre.

Okay so let me just say this plot twist about the sweet potato yield research is absolutely genius. The author sets up this whole thing where Sheng Qianyu has been working on something huge, and then Song Jincheng and the vice dean have clearly been plotting against her for a while. The fact that they 'dug a pit long ago, just waiting for her to jump in' — that line hit me so hard. It's not just a random betrayal, it's calculated. And the way the author reveals it through the transfer of credit rather than some big dramatic confrontation? That's how real betrayal works, you know? It's quiet and bureaucratic. But then the national impact of this research — doubling sweet potato yields, going from three-tenths full to six-tenths full — this isn't just personal drama, it's tied to something massive. The irony is brutal: the nation celebrates Song Jincheng for a breakthrough that saved millions from hunger, only to find out later it was stolen. The state strips him of his achievements and sends him to a farm, but the true researcher can't even be publicly named. That ending note about the matter 'finally came to an end' feels so heavy. It wasn't justice, really. It was damage control. And then Sheng Qianyu's transfer to the fighter jet research institute — another pivot that shows she's not just surviving, she's strategically moving. She investigated the whole place through Chen Zhou's connections first. Smart. She doesn't throw herself blindly into another system. The plot keeps layering these decisions on top of each other, and I love how nothing is accidental.

This section moves at a pace that's absolutely addictive. Let me break down why it works so well. The chapter opens with the aftermath of the credit theft — we're already past the inciting incident, which means the author isn't wasting time showing us the betrayal itself. We get the consequences, the dean's conversation, Sheng Qianyu's decision to transfer, and then immediately we're into the Zhao family drama. There's no lingering, no filler. Every scene pushes the story forward. The transition from the research institute to the fighter jet institute is handled in just a few paragraphs. 'Before entering the fighter jet research institute, Sheng Qianyu had actually relied on Chen Zhou's connections to investigate the entire institute.' Boom. Done. We don't need a chapter about her job hunt. The author trusts us to fill in the gaps. But then — and this is where the pacing really shines — after all the tension of the Zhao family confrontation, the narrative drops us into a historical time jump: 'In 1967, the situation grew even more tense. Starting in 1968, large-scale mobilization...' This gives the story breathing room while also raising the stakes. The personal drama is now set against a backdrop of national upheaval. And then the Chen Zhou phone call. After all that tension, we get this quiet moment where he's literally waiting by the phone, swapping training rooms, counting seconds. 'In just three seconds, Sheng Qianyu heard Chen Zhou's voice.' The pacing here slows down beautifully. It's a breath after the storm, and it makes the romance feel earned rather than rushed.