Is there something seriously wrong with trying to find a boyfriend in a horror game? - Reviews

The dialogue in this novel is what makes it sing. Let me just quote a few lines because they're too good not to share. "You short little—" *punch* "Take me back." That's it. That's the entire conversation. Xia Miao threatens to stomp on his foot, he picks her up like a baby, she punches him for calling her short, and then she just orders him to take her back. The economy of dialogue here is perfect. No exposition, no explanation—just two people who know each other so well that their entire relationship is communicated through action and one-liners. And Lu Yan's voice! The way he stammers and blushes and tries to play it cool but fails every time. "F—Fifty-six points?" He's a terrifying murder ghost who can probably kill anyone in this game, but ask him about his romantic progress and he's sweating cold sweat. The contrast between his creepy chuckling ("hee-hee") and his complete inability to handle simple romantic situations is hilarious. But the real standout is how natural their banter feels. They're not reciting lines from a romance novel—they're two people who are awkward around each other, who pretend not to care, who use humor to deflect from their true feelings. When Xia Miao says "Be a good boy and let's get some sleep" and kisses his cheek, that's not dialogue—that's a declaration of war on his heart. And Lu Yan? He's completely defeated.

The pacing in these chapters is absolutely wild. You go from a scene where a guy gets his heart literally ripped out of his chest—"a splash of bright red bloomed, staining the ground"—to Xia Miao delivering a full-on romantic confession like she's at a dating show. The tonal whiplash is intentional and it WORKS. The author knows exactly when to hit you with horror and when to pull back for comedy. Chapter 2 starts with the aftermath, the survival room, the mockery of Lin Gaoshan—then BAM, Xia Miao kicks him in the groin and struts upstairs. The transition from the executioner dorm scene (Old Gardener trimming plants while a headless woman digs through skulls—such a vivid, unsettling image) back to the bandaged boy's rage is perfectly timed. And that ending with the shadow boy getting accidentally dumped? Perfect cliffhanger. It leaves you wanting the next chapter immediately. The only thing I'd say is that the classroom/daytime scenes feel slightly rushed compared to the night scenes, but honestly, the author is building this world efficiently without bogging down. Every scene serves a purpose.

'Do I look handsome?' — said no horror villain ever, and yet here we are. The bandaged boy's dialogue is genuinely hilarious. He goes from 'A stinky man full of lies' (gouging out eyes) to 'M-M-M... Have babies?!' in the span of three lines. The way he stammers when flustered versus the cold, flat delivery when he's being murderous? That's character voice right there. And Xia Miao's dialogue is equally distinct—she speaks in this grand, theatrical, almost archaic style ('this young lady,' 'the very first moment I saw you, I locked that image in my mind!') which contrasts perfectly with the modern survival game setting. The conjoined twins speaking in unison is a nice touch too—'Oh~' and 'Is he an idiot?' in perfect sync. But my absolute favorite is the shadow boy's internal monologue at the end: 'How strange. Did he just get dumped? Wait a minute, is something terribly wrong here?!' The shift from menacing peeper to confused breakup victim is comedy gold. The author's voice is sharp, witty, and never lets the dialogue feel generic.

Okay so let's talk about Lu Yan for a second because this boy is a walking contradiction and I am HERE for it. On one hand, he's the kind of guy who thinks watching blood splatter during a slaughter is more entertaining than some garbage adult film. He's got this terrifying physical power that Xia Miao herself acknowledges — "at least with her hands pinned beneath his grip, she stood zero chance of breaking free." That's not a guy you want to cross. On the other hand, he's hovering above her and completely frozen. Can't do it. Why? Because she's "the most terrifying person in the entire world" and every single thing she does strips away all his defenses. She's powerful in a way he can never match, and instead of feeling threatened by that, he just... surrenders to it. The moment that broke me was when he asked, voice all raspy and stuttering: "Can I kiss you?" After all that tension, all that scorching heat building up, and he just... asks. Like a boy who's never touched anyone before, which apparently he hasn't. And Xia Miao's response — "That's it?" — is so perfectly in character. She's the one who's been ready to give in, and he's the one who chickens out. But then the real gem comes later when they're walking hand in hand and she's scolding him for not eating. "If you end up getting sick, guess who's the one who's going to hurt?" And then she immediately backpedals with this ridiculous line about only liking him "a tiny bit" and him needing to "put on some meat" so maybe she'll like him more. The most vulnerable confession disguised as a threat. And Lu Yan? He just tightens his grip on her hand and whispers, "I'll make sure Miaomiao likes me a whole lot more." This boy would die for her. Not dramatically, not heroically — just quietly, completely, without hesitation. And the fact that he brings her bird eggs and pine cones like some kind of feral courtship offering? I'm deceased.

The bone flowers are the single most important symbol in this entire passage and I want to unpack why they work on so many levels. On the surface, they're a romantic gift — awkward, bizarre, slightly horrifying claw-shaped things made from bone. But they're also a metaphor for how these characters express love in a world where love is dangerous. Lu Yan can only make things from death and decay. His version of romance is literally constructed from the remnants of what was once alive. And Xia Miao's act of carefully piecing them back together — despite the frustration, despite the broken fragments — is an act of profound acceptance. The headless woman is another symbol I can't stop thinking about. She's a monster, yes, but she's also a worker. She complains about overtime, about workplace bullying, about not wanting to go to work. The author is using horror imagery to comment on something deeply human: the exhaustion of existing in systems that don't care about you. She changes heads like she changes shifts. She's trapped in a job she can't quit, even after death. The scoring system itself is symbolic — love as something quantifiable, gamified, almost clinical. But the fact that it's out of a hundred and Lu Yan is desperately trying to reach it reveals the opposite: love is infinite and unmeasurable. The numbers are just a language these two characters use because direct emotional expression is too terrifying. And the bandages. Lu Yan is wrapped in bandages — hiding, protected, perhaps damaged. But Xia Miao sees through them. She touches his hand and feels his temperature rise. She doesn't need to see his face to know he's blushing.

The atmospheric writing in this novel is absolutely top-tier. Let me just start with this image: dark clouds swallowing the moon, a light drizzle turning into a cold night breeze, and this terrifying murder ghost carrying a girl inside his hoodie like she's some kind of precious cargo. The visual of his hoodie bulging and twisting as Xia Miao struggles inside? I could see this as a scene in a film. It's so cinematic. And then the power outage scene—pitch black darkness, two people pressed together on a small bed, the only light coming from... well, nowhere. But Lu Yan can still see everything. The description of Xia Miao's hair being pitch black, her brownish irises, her fair skin, those red lips. All of this painted in complete darkness where only one of them can see. That's such a clever use of the setting to create intimacy and tension. The room itself is described with such care—the claw-like white flowers on the desk, the pine cones, the flickering lights. It feels like a horror movie set, and that's intentional. The author is constantly reminding us that this is a dangerous world where beauty and death coexist. Xia Miao's dorm room becomes this sanctuary, this warm space where a monster can feel human again. The contrast between the cold, rainy outside world and the warm, intimate inside space is everything. "The horror-movie atmosphere grew thicker by the second. Amidst the dimming and brightening lights, the setting was practically optimal for shooting a slasher flick." This line alone tells you everything about how the author uses setting to enhance mood.

Okay so this plot is actually kind of wild when you think about it. You've got this 'murder ghost' character—Lu Yan—who's basically the terrifying boss enemy in this survival game, and then he ends up getting all soft and clingy for Xia Miao? Like, the setup where Ruan Zhizhi is hiding behind a tree watching him approach Xia Miao and her heart is probably about to explode thinking he's gonna kill her? That's classic misdirection. The reader expects violence, and instead we get... romance? He literally just yanks her into a hug and they start bickering like a normal couple. The subplot with Ruan Zhizhi's internal monologue is also doing a lot of heavy lifting here. She's this moral compass character who absolutely despises what Xia Miao is doing—sleeping with the enemy, using her beauty as a weapon, all that. But then you realize she's projecting her own insecurities onto Xia Miao. The narrative is playing with perspective in a really smart way. And the point system! That's a great plot device. Lu Yan needs 100 points to presumably become human again or win the game, and every romantic interaction seems to be part of this calculation. It adds this ticking clock element to the romance that keeps you hooked. I love how the author uses the survival game framework to justify why these two shouldn't be together, making their relationship feel dangerous and forbidden at the same time.

The dialogue in this section is genuinely excellent and I want to talk about why. First, let's address the elephant in the room: Xia Miao's lying is so bad it's comedic. "Don't get the wrong idea, though. Me saying I'd hurt doesn't mean I'm head-over-heels in love with you right now, you know. I still only like you a tiny bit!" Bro. You just admitted you'd be hurt if he got sick. You were literally scolding him to eat. Your actions are screaming love and your words are whispering "it's fine, I don't care." The dissonance is delicious. Lu Yan's dialogue is equally good because it's so sparse and raw. He barely speaks but when he does, it means something. "I... I don't know either." "Can I kiss you?" "That's it." "I'll make sure Miaomiao likes me a whole lot more." Short sentences. Stuttering. He doesn't have the words for what he feels, so he just... says what he can. Lin Gaoshan's voice is distinct too — he's calculating, manipulative, always trying to negotiate. "We're both smart people here, so let's drop the act." "If we can manage to capture a monster together and smuggle it out of here, the people at SU will reward us with a fortune we could never spend in a lifetime." He's performing confidence while clearly panicking inside. And that moment when he slips and says "The suppressor is right inside the school cafeteria kit" before catching himself? Chef's kiss. You can literally see him realize he just handed her all the information. Xia Miao's response to all of this? Cool as ice. "I don't do business with liars." Not a hint of fear. She's playing him the entire time and she knows it. The dialogue between Fang Ke'ai and Xia Miao is also worth noting — it's light, almost casual, which makes the tonal shift into the storage room even more jarring. One minute they're discussing boys and snacks, the next it's life or death.

OK so the stakes in this section go from personal to lethal in about five minutes and I was NOT prepared. Let's break it down. On the personal level, we have Lu Yan's entire emotional world revolving around Xia Miao liking him more. The bird eggs. The pebbles. The pine cones. He's a feral creature who has found something worth being gentle for, and the thought of losing her — even hypothetically — makes him grip her hand like she's his anchor to reality. But then Lin Gaoshan enters the picture and suddenly it's not about feelings anymore. It's about survival. He's got gambling debts, he's desperate for a suppressor, he thinks Xia Miao has a special ability, and he's willing to gas her, record her, and hurt her to get what he wants. The threat is real and immediate. What makes this scene so tense is that Xia Miao is clearly the stronger fighter — she takes him down with a dumbbell — but the environment works against her. The gas. The fire. The oxygen being consumed. Lin Gaoshan grabs her ankle and refuses to let go even while bleeding and paralyzed. She's coughing, her limbs growing weak, and she's trapped in a burning room with a man who won't stop. And then — and this is the part that had me screaming — LU YAN SMELLS HER. The text says: "The pleasant scent belonging to Xia Miao had vanished. No, rather than vanished, it felt as though it had been smothered beneath an overwhelming, suffocating scent—the unmistakable odor of burning fire." This boy can SMELL her distress from a distance and he drops from the tree like a avenging angel. The conjoined twins are just standing there like "oh look, another human coming to die" and he doesn't even care. The stakes just went through the roof. Who is he going to save? Can he get to her in time? What happens when he finds her? I need answers and I need them NOW.

The stakes in this text operate on wildly different levels across the three storylines, and that's what makes it so gripping. Xia Miao's survival game has the most immediate, visceral stakes. People are dying. A bandaged killer with a slit-mouth is hunting survivors, and the survival rate against him is literally zero. "If there were fifty survivors in the dead of night, running into another executioner might leave seven or eight survivors. But running into the slasher? The survival rate was zero." This is life-or-death tension, and the author doesn't let up. The middle-aged man's terror is contagious—you're running alongside him, heart pounding, wondering what's behind you. But here's what worries me about Xia Miao: she doesn't seem to register the stakes the way everyone else does. She's looking for "the most dazzling man" while bodies are piling up. Is she immune to fear? Does she have special knowledge? Or is she about to walk right into the slasher's knife because she's too busy scanning for her target? The dramatic irony here is absolutely delicious. Anxin's stakes are different—economic and social. She's trying to lift her home village out of poverty by creating employment opportunities. Village Chief Hu Zhigang's initial assumption that she's here to borrow money reveals the depth of the village's desperation. If her plan fails, what happens? Does she lose face? Does the village remain stuck? The stakes feel slower-burning but no less real. Wen Nian's stakes are the most internal. She's running from something (Shanghe Village, apparently)—she explicitly thinks "Absolutely not!" when considering returning there. What did she leave behind? The text hints at loss and trauma but doesn't spell it out, and that restraint makes the stakes feel heavier. She's not just tutoring a girl with bad English; she's building a future while carrying whatever burden brought her to Wei Ying's doorstep.

The stakes in this novel are layered in the best way possible. On the surface, it's a survival game where characters are fighting to stay alive. But underneath that, there's this entire emotional battlefield where love and trust are the real currencies. Xia Miao is playing a dangerous game. She's aligning herself with a murder ghost in a world where everyone is trying to kill each other. Ruan Zhizhi's internal monologue captures this perfectly: "Wasn't she afraid he'd just butcher her in her sleep?!" And yet, Xia Miao does it anyway. Why? Because in a world where beauty is a weapon and survival is everything, she's choosing to weaponize her affection instead of her body. That's a statement. But the real conflict is internal—for both of them. Lu Yan is a monster who's learning to feel human emotions again. Every point he earns brings him closer to... what? Humanity? Victory? Or just the ability to be with Xia Miao without the game mechanics in the way? The question of whether he can ever truly be human again hangs over every scene. And Ruan Zhizhi? She's the external conflict made flesh. She represents the moral judgment of the world—what Xia Miao is doing is wrong, dangerous, shameful. But the narrative keeps undermining her perspective, making us question whether her judgment is really about morality or about jealousy and fear. The tension is maintained through this constant push-pull between danger and desire. Every romantic moment is undercut by the knowledge that Lu Yan is literally a murder ghost. Every kiss could be his last. Every point earned could be his undoing. That's what makes this story so compelling—you're rooting for love in a world that doesn't believe in it.

The rat swarm scene is the kind of moment that just plays in your head like a movie. Let me paint it for you: corridor, clogged with spectators, Xia Miao getting shoved into Ruan Zhizhi, Leng Yeting going all protective boyfriend mode, the tension building between all of them—and then 'Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak!' and a literal tide of black rats comes bolting through. But the real visual masterpiece is what happens AFTER everyone flees. Xia Miao stands completely still while the rats part around her like the Red Sea. That image alone is iconic. And then the camera pans to this corner where Lu Yan is hiding—'a dark figure hidden behind it, his hands pressed flat against the wall in a death grip, his fingernails clawing terrifyingly deep gouges into the surface.' The author really committed to the horror aesthetic here. 'His lifeless eyes, which had shifted back into cat-like vertical slits; the whites were tinged with a heavy aura of resentment, while his pupils blazed with pure fury.' This is not a cute boy in bandages anymore, this is a feral creature. And then the contrast: 'By the time Xia Miao reached him, he was already curled into a tight ball in the corner of the wall, clutching the hood of his cloak and presenting only his back to her like a rotting mushroom about to sprout mold in some dark, gloomy alcove.' A ROTTING MUSHROOM. The author's metaphors are wild and I love them. The way the scene shifts from terrifying horror to this tender moment where Xia Miao just kicks him and asks what's wrong—it's so perfectly tonal. This world feels alive because the horror and the sweetness exist in the same space without apologizing for each other.