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

Okay so I just finished this chunk and my brain is still spinning. Let me just say this — the author completely rewrote the original plot and I am HERE for it. In the original story, Xie Chengze beats Zhu Xiaobiao to death on the street and then six years later, some assassins show up at the Qionglin Banquet seeking revenge. But now? Now he SPARES him. Takes him along to Yi Province. What is the man even thinking?? The flashback Shen Yuan discovers is honestly the most important plot device in this entire section. Zhu Xiaobiao wasn't just some random bully — he was a genuinely good person who rescued abused people, hired tutors for them, treated them with kindness. The top scholar who tried to assassinate Xie Chengze? Zhu Xiaobiao saved his life. And in the original timeline, that same Xie Chengze who was supposed to be the villain ended up losing the hearts of the people because of how he handled things. The author is basically saying: one decision changes everything. Xie Chengze choosing mercy over violence isn't just a character moment — it's a PLOT BOMB. If Zhu Xiaobiao lives, those concubines live, the assassination never happens, and the entire political landscape shifts. I literally sat there going "wait, so the Second Prince is actually trying to AVOID the bad ending now?" That's some serious butterfly effect stuff. Also the scene where Xie Chengze throws the green command slip at them — that was such a power move. He goes from playful to icy in one second. "Are you implying that this Crown Prince has known hardship?" CHILL. The tension in that room was suffocating and I loved every second of it.

Okay so let me just say this: Xie Chengze is a menace. A complete menace. And I love it. The entire scene where he stages this whole violent confrontation with Zhu Xiaobiao only to reveal moments later that it was all an act? Chef's kiss. But here's what actually blew my mind - the layering. He wasn't just putting on a show for Zhu Xiaobiao. He was putting on a show for SHEN YUAN. Think about it. Shen Yuan was watching from the shadows, trying to figure out what was going on, and Xie Chengze knew he was being watched the whole time. That's next-level paranoia and manipulation. The plot mechanism here is brilliant too. Xie Chengze needed to identify which of the concubines were willing to risk their lives for Zhu Xiaobiao - the ones who had survived the previous assassination attempt. By creating a fake life-or-death situation, he forced them to reveal their loyalty publicly. Jing Ze and the others stepped up, and now they're his personal guards. In the original timeline, Xie Chengze just executed them all out of rage and fear. Now he's repurposed them. The plot twist isn't just that it was fake - it's that Shen Yuan is watching this unfold and realizing Xie Chengze is still fundamentally the same vicious person from his past life. Except now he's smarter about it. More calculated. That's the real horror. And then there's the subplot of the embezzled silver. Zhu Xiaobiao had been hoarding his father's stolen money, and Xie Chengze just... took it all. Clean. While Zhu Xiaobiao was busy pretending to be terrified. The father and son betrayal moment where they'd both sacrifice each other for survival? That's the kind of detail that makes this world feel real. Every character is playing multiple games at once.

I have to be honest — the backstory about Zhu Xiaobiao's concubines made me actually emotional. Like, genuinely. These were women from impoverished families, some abused by their own parents, some forced into submission by real bullies. And Zhu Xiaobiao didn't just take them in — he provided for them, hired tutors, treated them with respect when no one else would. The text says: "The world mocked the county magistrate's son for being indiscriminate in his affections, but he knew that Lord Zhu was the finest of men." That line hit me hard. Society judged him for his unconventional lifestyle, but the people he actually helped? They knew the truth. And then in the original timeline, Xie Chengze kills him, and those same people he saved spend six years plotting revenge. The newly crowned top scholar sheds his blood at the Qionglin Banquet. "They failed, yet they succeeded." That line — that absolutely destroyed me. They failed to kill him, but they succeeded in destroying his reputation, his popularity, his political standing. Love and loyalty can be the most dangerous weapons. Now with Xie Chengze sparing Zhu Xiaobiao, all of this changes. Those concubines might actually be safe. The top scholar might never become an assassin. The entire emotional trajectory of these characters is being rewritten by one act of mercy. I also loved the moment between Xie Chengze and the Vice Minister — the quiet understanding between them, the unspoken agreement about the silver. There's a whole layer of political alliance and mutual benefit happening beneath the surface that I find incredibly compelling.

There's this one moment — just one — that I can't stop thinking about. Xie Chengze deliberately pats Shen Yuan's shoulder after his whole Long Yang's Preference performance, and the text says Shen Yuan's body "gradually stiffened." That's it. Two words. But it carries so much. In their previous life, this relationship was defined by violence. Shen Yuan killed Xie Chengze. Xie Chengze stabbed him first. There was no touching, no closeness, only the Azure Sword and blood. Now Xie Chengze is choosing to initiate physical contact — a pat on the shoulder, casual and friendly — while internally scheming to keep Shen Yuan as far away from him as possible. The dissonance is almost painful to read. And Shen Yuan? He's forced to nod and smile back while internally wanting to shove him away. He's exhausted. You can feel it in every interaction. The headache he gets isn't just from the rumors spreading through the palace — it's from the constant, grinding tension of pretending everything is normal with the man you once killed. The emotional undercurrent between them is so complicated. There's fear, yes. There's suspicion. But there's also this weird intimacy — they know each other better than anyone else in the story. Shen Yuan knows exactly which words will provoke Xie Chengze. Xie Chengze knows exactly which sword to fear. They're trapped in a dance where every step is calculated, every gesture loaded with history neither of them can escape.

Let me just say this: the stakes in this chapter are deceptively small and absolutely massive at the same time. On the surface, Xie Chengze is refusing to pay forty taels of silver. That's it. That's the conflict. But underneath? The entire political structure of the empire is hanging by a thread. The original host built his power on a system of bribes, visitation gifts, and factional loyalty. Every minister who brought gifts was buying influence. Every donation slip was a vote. And Xie Chengze just... stopped participating. He didn't declare war on the system. He didn't give a speech about reform. He simply stopped showing up and stopped paying, and the whole thing started crumbling around him. The ministers outside are genuinely distressed. Some are worried about making up the shortfall from their own salaries. Imperial Censor Chen is drafting memorials. Rou Fei and Xi Fei are suddenly competing with three thousand taels and higher offers. This is what happens when one person refuses to play a rigged game—the rig becomes visible to everyone. And the suspense? The author has us wondering: what is Xie Chengze actually planning? Is he setting a trap? Is he trying to survive? Or is he just a lazy transmigrator who accidentally became a revolutionary? The fact that we don't know yet—and that every scene builds tension without any explicit danger—is masterful.

The visual storytelling in this chapter is absolutely insane. Let me just start with the grapes. Wuji peels grapes with a long blade and somehow makes them look like limbless torsos with tiny remnants of arms and legs still attached, pale juice trickling across a crimson plate. Xie Chengze's reaction is just... "That's so badass." And Wuji genuinely doesn't know what that word means and then compliments him back. This scene is grotesque and funny and somehow tender all at once. Then you have Wuhen's lychees—"the pyramid-like neat pile of lychee flesh arranged on it." Obsessively perfect. Contrast that with Wuji's chaotic grape corpses and you immediately understand these two characters without a single line of exposition. The author is worldbuilding through fruit presentation and I am not okay. The scene outside Cheng Huan Palace is equally vivid. Ministers crowding around like vultures, Chen Yushi arriving with a simple food container while everyone else brings gift boxes, the minor official from the Ministry of Revenue looking increasingly distressed holding his donation slips. And then the eunuchs from Jade Lotus Palace burst in carrying rosewood chests that are "straining under the weight." The contrast between the gilded luxury inside the palace and the petty corruption happening at the gates is painted so clearly. Even the Persian wool blanket and the jade divan—these small details make the setting feel lived-in and real.

Okay so I need to talk about this premise because it is genuinely fresh. The transmigration-into-a-villain trope is everywhere, but here's the thing that makes this one click: Xie Chengze's motivation isn't about redemption or even survival in the traditional sense. He's just... done. He reads about his original owner getting impaled on the Dragon Throne by Shen Yuan and his immediate reaction is: the 996 schedule of being emperor sounds worse than death. That's hilarious and oddly relatable. The plot sets up this delicious irony where the Emperor is literally using him as a whetstone to sharpen the Crown Prince's reputation, and our guy just decides to opt out entirely. The Yi Province flood memorial scene is a perfect example of how the author builds tension without any actual violence. The ministers are throwing each other under the bus, the Emperor is playing his political games, and Xie Chengze's response is the ultimate power move of lying flat: "I dunno, ask the Crown Prince!" Watch Xie Jinyu's entire world tilt. This is plot comedy gold.

Okay so let me just say this about Shen Yuan and Xie Chengze's dynamic because I am STILL recovering. In the original story, Shen Yuan would deliberately provoke Xie Chengze by praising his beauty in flowery language, and Xie Chengze would fly into a rage every single time. That was their whole thing. But now? Shen Yuan draws his Azure Sword — the very sword that killed Xie Chengze in his past life — and Xie Chengze just... gives him a thumbs up and says "A fine sword—just like you." A THUMBS UP. I nearly fell out of my chair. This is not the Xie Chengze I remember. He's either a master manipulator or his brain got scrambled from being stabbed. Shen Yuan clearly thinks it's the former, and honestly? Same. The way Shen Yuan kept testing him, looking for cracks in the mask, you could feel his paranoia growing. He kept thinking Xie Chengze was reborn earlier, that he was biding his time. But here's the thing that got me — when Xie Chengze deliberately acted shameless about his love for romance novels and patted Shen Yuan's shoulder, Shen Yuan's body went completely stiff. The roles are so beautifully reversed. The hunter has become the hunted, and neither of them knows the full rules of the game anymore.

I keep coming back to the imagery in these chapters and I think there's more going on here than meets the eye. Let's start with the begonia. Xie Chengze's robe is described as vibrant as an autumn begonia, and his scent is Begonia Incense. The begonia is his signature — beauty that's also dangerous, something that turns heads and then cuts you. But autumn begonias are fleeting. They bloom brilliantly and then fade. Isn't that exactly what the original Xie Chengze's trajectory was? Brilliant, terrifying, and then suddenly ended by a single sword strike. Then there's the bronze mirror. He holds it up examining his face over and over. This is a transmigration protagonist checking his new vessel, sure, but it also feels like a meditation on identity. Who is he now? The vicious villain from the novel, or this person who just wants to nap? The mirror doesn't give him an answer. And the Dragon Throne itself — the most coveted object in the story, the thing that everyone is maneuvering for, the thing Xie Chengze literally stares at with undisguised craving... except his craving isn't for power. It's because it has a Golden Silk Cushion and looks comfortable for napping. The author is doing something really clever here. The throne symbolizes everything the original story was about — power, ambition, death — and our protagonist is subverting it by wanting something completely different. The Emperor using him as a whetstone is another layer of this: the idea that your value to the system doesn't have to define your value as a person. Xie Chengze is literally refusing to play the game, and that refusal is the most radical act in the story.

The line that's been stuck in my head since I finished reading: "It seems I truly am the reincarnation of the Child-Sending Guanyin! Hahahaha—" Xie Chengze says this while literally just arrived and someone's wife gets pregnant. He's mocking himself, or maybe he's making a genuine observation — but either way, the irony is thick enough to cut with a knife. The Second Prince, known for bloodshed and executions, is being called a deity of fertility and life. And the timing — right after he spares a man who should have died — makes it feel almost prophetic. The silver is another huge symbol. Six hundred thousand taels meant for disaster relief in Pingcheng, but instead it becomes a bargaining chip, a bribe, a test of loyalty. The Ministry of Revenue offering silver to pledge allegiance to a prince — that's corruption masquerading as politics. And Xie Chengze accepting it so casually, laughing about it, calling the Vice Minister's work "well done" — is he complicit or is he playing a longer game? Then there's the command tokens. Red ones for death, green ones for... what exactly? Life? Service? The way Xie Chengze rummages through them and pulls out a red one, tossing it to the ground like it's nothing, says so much about how he views power and life. And then he doesn't use it. He chooses differently. The whole chapter feels like it's asking: what makes a hero and what makes a villain? Is it the actions themselves, or the intentions behind them? Xie Chengze in the original story was the villain who killed an innocent man. Now he's the one showing mercy. But is that mercy genuine, or is it strategic? The text leaves that beautifully ambiguous.

Let's talk about stakes, because this chapter is a masterclass in layered conflict. On the surface, it's a political drama: flood control policy, disaster relief funding, Spring Examination reform. The ministers are arguing about money and procedure, and the emperor is playing them all like instruments. Standard court intrigue stuff. But underneath that, there's this MUCH more personal conflict that the author keeps building toward. Xie Chengze is sick. He's genuinely, seriously ill. And everyone around him is noticing—but they're interpreting it through the lens of their own politics. Xie Jinyu sees his rival suddenly yielding power and thinks: Is he giving up? Is he planning to sabotage me? Or is he actually dying? The anxiety in Xie Jinyu's reactions is palpable. He's losing control of the narrative, and that terrifies him more than any political defeat would. Xie Zimiao is worried about his brother's health—genuine, sibling concern cutting through all the political maneuvering. The officials are interpreting everything through their own self-interest. When Xie Chengze coughs and stumbles out, they don't think "he's dying." They think "he's turning over a new leaf" or "he's near his end." Their political frameworks blind them to the human reality. And the emperor? He's watching. Always watching. That final glance toward Xie Chengze when the treasury issue arises—it's not just political calculation. There's something else there. Something tender. The conflict that's killing me is the dramatic irony. We (the readers) know Xie Chengze is genuinely ill. We see the tear stains, the coughing, the weakness. But every character around him is filtering this through their own agendas. The tragedy is building in real time. The stakes keep escalating too. First it's about flood policy. Then it's about who donates the least. Then it's about Censor Chen's integrity being defended. Then it's about Xie Chengze's health. Each scene raises the emotional temperature while also deepening the mystery. By the time Eunuch Zhao notices the Second Prince being polite for the first time in nearly a decade, I was absolutely wrecked.

"Father, is he praising your son for being good-looking? How embarrassingly sweet~" — I need to just sit with this line for a moment. Xie Chengze's voice in this text is absolutely unhinged and I am HERE for it. The way he flirts with danger and then some, turning everything around with these teasing, almost childlike tones... it's genius writing. Every time he opens his mouth, you have no idea if he's being genuine or if he's setting a trap. And the narrator keeps reminding us that in his previous life, Xie Chengze HATED being called beautiful. Now he's leaning into it so hard it's dizzying. Then there's the whole Long Yang's Preference bit. "Shen Lang, I've bought many books on Long Yang's Preference! If you're truly interested, I'd be happy to share!" — shouted LOUDLY in the palace courtyard where guards could hear. This is either the most brilliant act of self-preservation I've ever seen (scare Shen Yuan away by being too weird) or Xie Chengze has genuinely gone feral. The guards' faces are described as "a picture of shock as if they'd overheard something scandalous" and I literally laughed out loud. The dialogue between Shen Yuan and Xie Chengze walking out of the palace is pure tension wrapped in fake politeness. Every line has two meanings. Every compliment is a knife. And Xie Chengze's inner monologue where he's cackling "Hehehe. Serves you right" while Shen Yuan is internally seething? Perfect contrast.