My Overly Serious Boyfriend - Reviews

The dialogue in this section is absolutely delicious, especially the Xue Chen scenes. His drunk voice is so distinct — childish, whiny, vulnerable in a way he never allows himself to be sober. "Then give me your life contract." "No way! Even if I had one, I wouldn't give it to you." "Then I'll give you mine." This is not the composed, talented, handsome Xue Chen who has countless admirers. This is a man who has been in love with his best friend for years and the alcohol is the only thing giving him permission to say it out loud, even if it sounds like nonsense. Xia Zhen's voice is equally sharp. Her deflection "You sound just like my dad — so heartbroken that I have a boyfriend, as if I suddenly belonged to someone else" is such a perfect Xia Zhen line. She's independent, she's witty, she refuses to be owned by anyone — not even in friendship. And her response to his drunk proposal: "Great. I'll take it and sell it. I could make a fortune." She's not taking this seriously because if she takes it seriously, she has to deal with feelings she's not ready to name. Pei Cheng'an's dialogue is a masterclass in restraint. Short sentences. Practical responses. "Time to get up, or you'll be late for work." "Don't oversleep." "I'd better read to you instead." But underneath all that flatness is this TIDE of care. When he says "Precisely because you're not interested, listening to it will feel boring" — that's not just a joke, that's him showing he KNOWS her. He's observed her. He's paying attention. The author's voice throughout is warm and slightly ironic, never heavy-handed, letting the characters reveal themselves through what they say and what they carefully don't say.

Xia Zhen is one of those characters that I simultaneously want to hug and shake. Like, how is she this calculated and this chaotic at the same time? Let's talk about her internal monologue because it's absolutely unhinged in the best way. She meets this guy, he's handsome, he has beautiful hands (her words, not mine), and her immediate thought process is: how do I make him break up with me? Not how do I make him like me. How do I become so insufferable that he can't take it anymore? This is a woman who has clearly been hurt before and has built an entire emotional fortress around herself. But here's the thing that gets me — she's also completely transparent. She lies to her mother about being in love with him, and the narration literally says she was struggling to add more details. She's bad at acting. She's terrible at manipulation. And Pei Cheng'an? He's not fooled either. He's just... nice to her. Attentive. Opens the car door, shields her head from the frame. These are small gestures but they're doing SO much work. The dynamic between them is fascinating because neither of them is being entirely honest. Xia Zhen is performing a version of herself she thinks will drive him away, while Pei Cheng'an is being genuinely himself and somehow that's more disarming than any act could be. He admits he's boring. He admits most people don't like documentaries. He's vulnerable in a way that makes her strategy feel increasingly pointless. And then there's Xue Chen. The moment his sister says someone should take him in hand and he bolts to pay the bill? That's not just sibling energy. That's a man who has been caught. I'm not even convinced he knows what he's caught for yet.

There's a recurring theme here about ownership and belonging that I can't stop thinking about. Xia Zhen keeps insisting she doesn't belong to anyone — "Even if I marry, I still don't belong to anyone. I'm still my own person, still the master of myself." But then Xue Chen, drunk and desperate, asks for her life contract. The life contract is such a loaded symbol — it's feudal, it's archaic, it's the ultimate act of surrendering autonomy. And yet he asks for it anyway, not because he actually wants to own her, but because he wants PROOF that she'll stay. That she won't disappear into some other life. Xia Zhen's life plan is another symbol worth unpacking. She's mapped out marriage at thirty, starting to date at twenty-eight, and this blind date has to fail because it disrupts her timeline. She's treating her entire romantic life like a project schedule. But then Pei Cheng'an shows up and disrupts everything — not dramatically, but quietly, the way he does. He calls her in the morning. He stays up scrolling her Moments. He offers microbiology lectures as lullabies. He's not part of her plan, and that's exactly what makes him dangerous to her carefully constructed independence. The Cabbage Band itself is symbolic — Xia Zhen left it because being treated as a rival in love was annoying, because it consumed too much energy. She gave up something she loved to avoid drama. But she comes back to it when her friend needs her. Music as connection. Performance as care. The bar as sanctuary. These aren't just settings — they're expressions of what these characters value and what they're willing to sacrifice.

Okay so this whole chapter is basically one long sequence where Xia Zhen tries to prove herself and fails spectacularly, but in the most endearing way possible. The plot here isn't about big twists or cliffhangers — it's about a girl who just got attacked by thugs and decides, no, she's going to learn real self-defense. That's the through-line. And honestly? It works because every beat undercuts her confidence just enough to keep it funny. The spar scene is the centerpiece. She comes in confident — "I studied anti-wolf techniques, so be careful" — and then immediately gets dismantled. Elbow to the neck instead of the face. Wrist grab neutralized. Kick to the crotch dodged. It's a comedy of errors, but it's also doing something smarter: it's showing us that last night's failure wasn't just bad luck, it was a skills gap. And she knows it, even if she won't admit it out loud. Then there's the fall. Classic romantic comedy beat — she trips into his arms, time freezes, heartbeat pounding — but the author immediately undercuts it with the old man clearing his throat and Xiao Qi volunteering the commentary. It's so well-timed. The plot doesn't let the moment get too saccharine. What I also appreciated is how the chapter plants the question of Xia Zhen's future self — will she gain weight, have kids, become someone Pei Cheng'an can't stand? — and then has him literally say "I wouldn't mind" to all of it. That's a plot bomb disguised as a casual conversation. She's trying to push him away by being 'unwife-material,' and he keeps refusing to take the bait. The conflict here isn't external; it's her own anxiety about being worthy, and the chapter is structured around her trying to fail at that anxiety and failing at failing.

Let me just say this: the stakes in this story are deceptively simple and that's what makes them so effective. On the surface, Xia Zhen's goal is straightforward — make Pei Cheng'an break up with her so she doesn't have to be the bad guy. It's a conflict of convenience, right? She needs an out, he needs a girlfriend, everyone wins. But the author keeps raising the stakes by making Pei Cheng'an more... real. More attentive. More genuinely interested. Every time she tries to execute her plan, he does something that undermines it. The wrist grab scene is the turning point. She's been building this wall, brick by brick, and he just reaches through it. One hand on her wrist and suddenly she's feeling things she didn't prepare for. The narration says it directly: the influence of one person was terrifying. She, who liked to bounce around, really needed to stay away from people like Pei Cheng'an. But she can't stay away. That's the conflict. And the external stakes are building too. Her mother is already celebrating. Her friends are going to find out. Xue Nan is watching with this knowing smile. The plan is spiraling out of control not because of anything Xia Zhen did wrong, but because the universe keeps conspiring to keep them together. What I find most compelling is that the real conflict isn't between Xia Zhen and Pei Cheng'an. It's between Xia Zhen and herself. She wants to believe her strategy will work, but every interaction is proving it won't. And that internal conflict — the fear of wanting something she's spent so long preparing not to want — is what makes me care about what happens next.

Okay so let me just say—this whole KTV sequence is a masterclass in dramatic irony and I am HERE for it. Xia Zhen's plan was supposed to be simple: show Pei Cheng'an her 'fiery side,' scare him off, then act heartbroken later when she actually has feelings invested. Classic misdirection tactic, right? Except nothing goes according to plan because of course it doesn't. The moment Pei Cheng'an says 'Alright. Tell me the address. I'll head over now'—without even hesitating—I literally gasped. She tried to dissuade him! She actually said 'You're tired today, you should go home and rest' and he just... didn't take the hint. This man is either incredibly dense or incredibly determined, and I need to know which. Then the plot thickens with Xue Chen. The author drops this beautiful breadcrumb: 'His liking for Xia Zhen had originally been a secret.' I about fell out of my chair. So Xue Chen has been harboring feelings this whole time? And Xia Zhen has no idea? The dramatic tension here is absolutely suffocating in the best way. And the cherry on top? When Xia Zhen is desperately singing those tacky internet songs trying to repel Pei Cheng'an, he's sitting there genuinely moved. 'He was deeply moved and decided he would buy the album from the music store.' NO. She's trying to MAKE him leave and he's taking NOTES. The universe has a sense of humor and it is laughing at Xia Zhen. The structure of this chapter is brilliant—starting with the farewell scene, moving to the KTV disaster, then ending with Pei Cheng'an asking her on a hiking date the next day. Each beat escalates the romantic comedy tension while simultaneously deepening the Xue Chen subplot. The author is playing 4D chess with these plot threads and I am obsessed.

There's a theme running through this text that I keep coming back to, and it's about performance. Everyone in this story is performing some version of themselves, and the question the author keeps asking is: what happens when the performance cracks? Xia Zhen is performing the girl who wants to be loved. She's performing the girl who will be devastated when things end. She's performing for her mother, for her friends, and honestly, I think she's even performing for herself at this point. She's convinced herself that she needs this strategy, that she needs to control the outcome, because the alternative — actually letting someone in — is too scary. Pei Cheng'an is performing the boring guy. He admits it himself. He knows people describe him as boring. He watches documentaries and drives carefully and opens car doors. But here's the thing: is it a performance? Or is it just who he is? The text leaves this ambiguous on purpose, and that ambiguity is where the theme lives. The beautiful hands detail keeps coming back to me. Xia Zhen notices them first, mentions them to her mother, and they become this symbol of everything she's attracted to but doesn't trust. Hands are intimate things. They touch, they hold, they guide. And yet she's keeping him at arm's length while simultaneously cataloguing his physical features. The contradiction IS the point. Even the button phone is symbolic. In a world of smartphones and constant connectivity, he's using a phone from another era. He's deliberate, traditional, maybe a little out of step with modern dating culture. And that's exactly why he's dangerous to her strategy.

Let's talk about the moment that got me. Not the fall into his arms — everyone sees that one coming. I'm talking about the quiet beat after she trips and realizes she's been clutching his waist with both hands. She steps back two paces, cheeks burning, and the old man just says 'You two were sparring quite enthusiastically' with a cheerful smile. That's it. That's the whole romance of this chapter. It's not grand confessions or dramatic touches. It's a girl who is desperately trying to maintain some shred of dignity after getting absolutely owned in a self-defense spar, and the boy who is watching her with this barely-contained amusement and affection. But here's what actually wrecked me: the conversation by the river. She's deliberately telling him all the ways she'll supposedly ruin herself — gaining weight, having kids, becoming a barrel-waisted panting mess — and she's watching his face the whole time, waiting for him to flinch. She's testing him. And he just says 'I wouldn't mind.' The narration says: 'Xia Zhen was left speechless. This wasn't what she wanted at all.' And I just — she wanted him to reject her? She wanted an excuse to stop caring? The fact that he sees through her self-sabotage and just... accepts it? That's the emotional core of this whole relationship. She's been hurt before, she's guarding herself, and he's not even trying to break down her walls. He's just standing outside them, saying 'come as you are.' Also the bit where she challenges him and he gets stepped on? That's not comedy, that's her needing to feel like she has some power in this dynamic. And he lets her. He literally lets her kick him. That's not weakness, that's devotion disguised as cooperation.