How Can I Bow and Scrape to Men of Power - Reviews

I'm still thinking about the moment between Xie Chengze and Xie Jinyu in Chapter 1. Let me just say this: the Crown Prince is one of the most complicated characters I've encountered in a while, and I haven't even finished the first two chapters. On the surface, he's the perfect heir—elegant, calculated, always smiling. But then there's this one detail that absolutely wrecked me. When Xie Chengze calls him "Crown Prince Younger Brother" again, the narrative says it's like floodgates opening. We get these flashbacks of a younger Xie Jinyu getting whipped by the Empress, and Xie Chengze—then just a beautiful, gentle second brother—caring for his wounds, crying harder than the injured party. Xie Jinyu once said he liked his Crown Prince Younger Brother the most. And then at some point, Xie Chengze stopped saying it. He started calling him "Third Brother" with extreme hypocrisy, as if to say: I am also of imperial blood, I do not recognize you as Crown Prince. But now he's saying it again, and Xie Jinyu can't figure out if this is a trap or something else entirely. The power dynamic between these two is so tense and layered. Xie Jinyu wiping that tear from Xie Chengze's eye with too much force, leaving a red mark—that's not just dominance, that's something messier. And Xie Chengze pulling the Fourth Prince into the middle as a shield? Genius. But also, I'm genuinely worried about what Xie Jinyu is going to do with this information.

There's a symbol running through these chapters that I can't stop thinking about: the silver. Ten thousand taels that disappeared from the treasury, then reappeared, then got taken by Xie Chengze along with all of Magistrate Zhu's embezzled savings. Money as power. Money as leverage. Money as the thing that reveals everyone's true colors. Zhu Xiaobiao had been hoarding his father's stolen money - and when mortal danger arrived, he'd give it up without hesitation. Magistrate Zhu and his son would betray each other. The silver exposes the rot in their family, in their province, in the system itself. And Xie Chengze just takes it all and rides away like it's nothing. Then there's the imagery of cages and traps. Shen Yuan traps himself against the pillar. Xie Chengze traps him. Then Shen Yuan reverses it. The silver vault was a literal trap. The carriage becomes a moving prison that's also their only escape. Zhu Xiaobiao calls the situation a "pit of fire" - and Xie Chengze is leading them from one pit into another. The salted fish metaphor for Xie Chengze lying on the windowsill is doing heavy thematic work too. Salted fish is preserved, dead but not dead, useless yet surviving. That's basically Xie Chengze as a character - emotionally preserved in whatever state he was in, incapable of genuine warmth but remarkably good at staying alive. And yet Zhu Xiaobiao stays with him anyway. The tangerines - small, sweet, forgotten - represent everything that was lost. Innocence. Friendship. The possibility of different paths. Shen Yuan carries that memory like a weight, and it colors everything he sees. When he watches Jing Ze throw himself in front of a blade, he's not just seeing loyalty - he's seeing the ghost of what he lost, and the cruel irony that Xie Chengze still knows how to make people sacrifice themselves for him.

I keep coming back to this one moment and I can't stop thinking about it. Shen Yuan watches Jing Ze throw himself in front of Xie Chengze's blade and something in him aches. Not sympathy for Jing Ze specifically - though that's there too - but for the ghost of someone else. A boy who shared sweet tangerines. Someone he carried with him when he left Jingcheng and couldn't forget, until reality caught up and the paths diverged and there was no going back. The text says: "By the time he came to his senses, the two had already embarked on completely different paths, with no possibility of reconciliation." That line destroyed me. It's so understated. So final. Shen Yuan is this powerful, calculating person who can outmaneuver the Second Prince in physical confrontations and political games, but he can't undo the fact that people change. That some connections just... end. And now he's watching this young man throw himself onto a blade for Zhu Xiaobiao, and he sees the ghost of someone he lost, and he feels disappointment at what Xie Chengze has become - or rather, what he never stopped being. And then there's Zhu Xiaobiao's scene with the concubines. He tries to send them away with money, genuinely believing he's doing them a favor. And they refuse. Not out of obligation - out of choice. "In life, we are the lord's people; in death, the lord's ghosts." One of them says she'll beg on the streets to make sure he eats. And Zhu Xiaobiao's response is just... "That really won't be necessary~" with this internal monologue that's equal parts touched and exasperated. The emotional complexity in this text is insane. Every relationship is layered with history, betrayal, genuine care, and self-preservation all at once.

Let me just say: the pacing in these chapters is absolutely ruthless and I am here for it. We start with a quiet nighttime confrontation between Shen Yuan and Xie Chengze. Two guys, a pillar, some whispered threats about ten thousand taels. It's intimate, tense, almost claustrophobic. The prose slows down. You can feel every second stretching. And then - BAM - next morning, over a dozen yamen runners, wooden chests everywhere, Zhu Xiaobiao in golden robes shouting commands, and Xie Chengze suddenly kicking his subordinate across the courtyard like an action movie villain. The transition is jarring in the best way. One moment you're in a slow-burn psychological duel, the next you're watching a man in a theatrical rage swing a blade at someone while beautiful concubines throw themselves in the way. The scene escalates so fast that you barely have time to process before everyone's being loaded onto a carriage like luggage. But what I really appreciate is how the author uses the carriage ride as a pressure valve. After all that chaos, we cut to Zhu Xiaobiao untangling ropes and having a quiet(ish) conversation with Jing Ze. The tension doesn't disappear - it just changes frequency. From external violence to internal dread. Will they survive the journey? Is this really escape or just a different kind of trap? And then the chapter ends with Zhu Xiaobiao collapsing because his addiction is hitting him, and Xie Chengze casually promising to find a physician. The nonchalance is terrifying. After everything that just happened, he's lying on the windowsill like a salted fish. The pacing never lets you catch your breath, and that's exactly what keeps you turning pages.

"Your Highness~ If the ice isn't curious, then I am!" — I literally screamed reading this. The author's dialogue writing is exceptional, but Wuji is on another level entirely. Let me just lay out the evidence. Wuji: "Your Highness is overthinking it. Even when you grow old, you will still be the most handsome old man in the world." This is delivered with such sincere warmth that it's impossible not to love him. Then moments later he's licking grape juice off his sword and offering Xie Chengze a plate of what looks like murder victims. The contrast between Wuhen and Wuji's voices is perfect. Wuhen speaks in flat, clipped sentences: "Your Highness may do as you wish." No emotion, no personality visible, just obedience so absolute it's almost terrifying. Wuji, meanwhile, uses tildes, asks questions, makes jokes, and refers to his grape art as if it's normal. "Did you notice?" "Lychees, all you think about are lychees!" These two have been together since the original host's darkest days and they're still somehow friends. That says something. And Xie Chengze's internal monologue—"No, I'm not badass. You're the one who's badass." This is the kind of dry, self-aware humor that makes reading this feel like chatting with a friend who just happened to transmigrate into a prince's body.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate how funny this author's internal narration is? Because honestly, Xie Chengze's inner voice is carrying half the comedy of these chapters and I am here for it. The contrast between his outward performance and his actual thoughts is where the gold is. Outwardly he's the spoiled, arrogant second prince. Inwardly he's just a tired office worker who thinks the throne is basically a permanent 996 job. The scene where he's dozing at court and literally prays to the Emperor: "Old man Emperor, why aren't you here yet! If you don't come soon, I'm going to be stared into a hole!" — I literally laughed out loud. And then there's the dialogue between the ministers, which is surprisingly sharp. The Minister of Revenue and the Minister of Works going back and forth about whether to abandon Lin City or gather the wisdom of the common people — that's not just filler, that's worldbuilding through conflict. Every character has a distinct voice. Xie Jinyu's dialogue is always layered with double meanings, always polite on the surface but cutting underneath. Xie Chengze's shift from "Third Brother" to "Crown Prince Younger Brother" is one of the most loaded lines in the entire text, and the fact that it's delivered so casually by our protagonist makes it even more devastating. The author's narrative voice itself is witty and observant, never taking itself too seriously while still delivering genuine emotional beats.

I need to talk about how these characters speak because the dialogue here is genuinely exceptional. Xie Chengze's voice is this perfect blend of theatricality and sharpness. Watch how he shifts registers mid-conversation. With Shen Yuan he's teasing and probing: "Lord Shen?" with that eyebrow raise, playing innocent. With Zhu Xiaobiao he's roaring and ferocious one second, then casually insulting him the next. And then with the concubines he's this grand villain: "This prince will take them to Yi Province and 'care' for them properly along the journey!" The quotation marks around care are doing SO much work. But the real masterclass is in how different characters sound even when they're saying similar things. When Zhu Xiaobiao tells the concubines to leave, his dialogue is halting, breathless - "It's fine, it's fine" repeated, scratching his neck, speaking in fragments. He sounds like a person who is physically suffering and emotionally overwhelmed. And then when Jing Ze responds, it's all low growls and fierce declarations. Completely different rhythm. Shen Yuan's dialogue is sparse but loaded. "You did it on purpose." Four words that contain an entire history of rivalry. And his internal monologue is where the real voice shines - the dry observations, the strategic calculations, the moments of genuine confusion when Xie Chengze does something unpredictable. The narration itself has a great voice too. Phrases like "slipped like a slick little loach" and "like a kitten that had won a battle" give us Xie Chengze's perspective without needing to state it outright. The author trusts the reader to understand who's observing whom through the language choices alone.

I need to talk about Xie Chengze because this chapter completely wrecked my understanding of him. On the surface he's this terrifying Second Prince who wears red court robes daily and has a reputation for being murderous. But then he does things like spare Zhu Xiaobiao, laugh about being the "Child-Sending Guanyin," and basically turn a death sentence into a "come serve me and maybe you'll live" situation. The thing that got me was his interaction with Zhu Xiaobiao. This guy is trembling, kowtowing until his forehead bleeds, and Xie Chengze is just... amused? He taps Zhu Xiaobiao's head with his fan like you'd pet a dog. And then he says something that genuinely caught me off guard: "Xiaobiao, I saved you from the Zhu residence. Don't disappoint me. When you leave later, remember to check and lock the doors and windows." Wait. Is he being NICE? To the guy who tried to abduct him? And the way he does it — all casual and offhand, like it's no big deal — that's so Xie Chengze. He's not doing it for praise or recognition. He's just... choosing kindness while maintaining this terrifying prince persona at the same time. Then there's Shen Yuan watching from the roof, completely confused. He knew the original plot where Zhu Xiaobiao dies, and now everything is different. His internal monologue about trying to protect those concubines shows he's genuinely caring beneath his cold exterior too. And Zhu Xiaobiao himself — the man who was sobbing and begging one moment, then later standing there with a "cold and somber" face realizing the pregnancy news was too convenient? He's not just a comic relief character. He's smart enough to piece things together even while terrified. I love that about him.

Okay, let me just say this right upfront—this plot twist is absolutely brilliant. Xie Chengze skips court, refuses visitation gifts, won't pay forty taels of silver, and somehow this one chain of petty decisions spirals into a full-blown political crisis. The original host was a greedy tyrant who collected bribes and built factions. The new guy just wants to lie on a couch and eat lychees. And the result? Ministers are gossiping, the Imperial Censor is drafting memorials, and two concubines are suddenly competing to send chests of silver. That is some next-level butterfly effect right there. What I love most is how the author uses Xie Chengze's laziness as a weapon. He doesn't try to outmaneuver anyone. He doesn't scheme. He just... doesn't play the game. And that confuses everyone so thoroughly that the whole court system starts short-circuiting. The scene where the Ministry of Revenue minor official shows up asking for forty taels while high-ranking ministers are crowding outside like it's a royal event—this is comedy gold, but it's also a devastating critique of how the entire palace faction system works. The Rou Fei and Xi Fei angle is also fascinating. They're sending silver to buy Yun Duan Jin and Cang Hai Zhu, which the original host hoarded greedily. Now Xie Chengze is essentially selling off his late mother's legacy to fund... what exactly? His own slacker lifestyle? Or is he quietly building something? The author hasn't revealed his endgame yet, and that uncertainty is keeping me hooked.

"Odd changes to even remains unchanged?" I need to talk about this exchange because it hit me like a truck. These two have this entire history - a decade of rivalry, apparently - and it's all contained in four words. Xie Chengze is testing Shen Yuan. He's probing. And Shen Yuan's reaction? He recoils. Instinctively. Like a cat whose fur just stood on end. But then he remembers he's leaning against a pillar and traps himself instead. Classic. What's fascinating is the power dynamic shifting in real time. Xie Chengze corners Shen Yuan first, all smug and triumphant like a kitten who caught the mouse. And Shen Yuan? He doesn't break. He literally spins them around and corners Xie Chengze instead. The physical choreography of their interaction is basically a metaphor for everything between them - constant reversal, neither willing to yield, both equally dangerous. But here's what gets me: Xie Chengze is convinced this isn't the same Shen Yuan from his book. He thinks he's dealing with the reborn Powerful Minister version, who would harbor genuine killing intent. And yet Shen Yuan's behavior doesn't quite match what he expected. The text says Xie Chengze was "for the first time unable to see through his mortal enemy's thoughts." That's huge for a character who prides himself on reading people. Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is watching Xie Chengze's performance with the concubines and feeling... disappointment? He admits it. And he even connects it to a childhood memory - someone who shared sweet tangerines with him. Jing Ze reminded him of that boy. That's the emotional core I wasn't expecting to find in what I thought was just a political intrigue scene.

I need to talk about the pacing because honestly? The author is a menace. A absolute menace. The chapter opens with a policy debate—flood control, disaster relief, Spring Examination questions. Sounds boring, right? WRONG. Within three paragraphs I'm already invested because the conflict is immediate: Xie Jinyu proposes something brilliant, the court erupts, and Xie Chengze is forced to respond. The tension builds naturally through dialogue and reaction, not through some forced cliffhanger. Then—BAM—the scene shifts to the Ministry of Revenue and the donation ledger. The stakes go from political to deeply personal. Censor Chen is the lowest donor. He's an upright official who can't afford to pay. Everyone expects the Second Prince to ruin him. And then Xie Chengze undercuts himself by one copper coin. The reversal hits so fast my jaw dropped. What's brilliant is how the pacing accelerates and decelerates. The court scene moves quickly—rapid dialogue, quick reactions, ministers jumping in and out. But then the donation scene slows down. We linger on Censor Chen's defiance, on the ministers' whispered conversations, on Xie Chengze's coughing fit at the end. The author knows exactly when to speed up and when to let a moment breathe. And that ending—Xie Chengze dragging his sickly body out, the officials realizing he's genuinely ill, the final image of him being polite to Eunuch Zhao for the first time in nearly a decade. It's a perfect structural pivot. The political maneuvering is over, and now we're left with this haunting question: what's actually happening to him? The chapter structure also does something really clever with perspective. We get Xie Jinyu's internal monologue—his confusion, his anxiety, his growing dread about Xie Chengze's illness. Then we get the officials' whispered conversations outside. Then we get Eunuch Zhao's observation. The story isn't just following one character's journey; it's building a mosaic of reactions that makes the central mystery (is Xie Chengze really dying?) feel real and urgent.

I need to talk about the lychee scene because it genuinely gave me chills. This is the moment where everything shifts—not with a dramatic declaration or a tearful confession, but with a single piece of fruit. "He used to hate it most when people mentioned his beauty. Last time I said it, he had me beaten with twenty rods." Wuji says this casually, almost offhand, and then Wuhen adds: "His Highness ate the top lychee." They used to deliberately overturn the neatly stacked lychee tower and randomly grab one. But this time, Xie Chengze just... took the top one. Obediently. Without the performative rebellion. This is the most emotionally devastating detail in the entire chapter, and the author delivers it in two lines of dialogue between two background characters. Wuhen and Wuji aren't just loyal guards—they're people who have witnessed the original host's cruelty firsthand, and they're watching their prince change in real time. The fact that they notice these tiny behavioral shifts means they're paying attention. They care. And then there's Chen Yushi, who shows up with homemade food instead of gifts. In a palace full of officials bringing silver and silk to curry favor, one man brings dinner. I don't know where this is going yet, but the author is setting something up and I am HERE for it.