I keep thinking about the gastrodia tuber as a symbol and I can't shake it. On the surface it's just a valuable wild plant — traditional medicine, high price, scarce supply. But the way the author uses it throughout this chapter, it becomes this test that every character fails or passes in different ways. Zhou Qiong finds it through knowledge and observation. She knows where to look, what to look for, how to process it. The gastrodia represents her agency in a world where she has very little of that. It's her secret weapon, literally rooted in the earth, growing in places others overlook. When she says "No one but me knows about this. If they found out, there'd be none left for us" — that's not just about vegetables. That's about survival in a world that wants to take everything from you. Yang Gongcai represents the opposite force — the one who would take what isn't his and call it entitlement. His attempt to inspect the basket, to dismiss the value, to assert dominance through condescension — it's all about control. The gastrodia threatens his control because it belongs to someone else's family, someone he clearly looks down on. And then there's the river incident, which feels like another kind of root — something buried, something that could surface at any moment. Zhou Qiong claims she was saving a child, but the way Yang Gongcai brings it up with such hostility makes you wonder: what's the full story? What roots are still underground? The whole chapter is about what's hidden and what's revealed. The gastrodia in the basket. The truth about the river. The real intentions behind every smile and every chuckle. I keep rereading this and finding new layers.
I've been thinking a lot about the symbolism in this section, and the milk keeps coming back to me. It's supposed to be nourishment—something healthy, something caring. A bedtime ritual. But Gu Huai turns it into a vehicle for poison, for control, for violation. That's not accidental writing. The author is using the milk as a symbol for everything toxic in this marriage—things that look like care on the surface but are actually weapons. And then there's the wedding ring. Wei Zhao noticing that Lu Zhenzhu has removed it, and then the detail that HE also took off his ring and threw it away. Two people, both discarding the symbol of their commitments, but for completely different reasons. Hers is out of survival. His is... well, we don't know yet, and that mystery is killing me. The most powerful symbol though is the powder itself. It's colorless, tasteless, invisible. Just like the emotional abuse Lu Zhenzhu has been living with. You can't see it until it's already inside you, and by then it's too late to spit it out. She got lucky this time—she caught him before drinking it. But how many other times has she swallowed things she shouldn't have without even knowing?
The morning market scene is absolutely cinematic. I need to pause and appreciate how the author describes this. Narrow streets, a dazzling array of local delicacies—rice wine brown sugar buns, crispy honey rolls, scallion pancakes, crab roe xiaolongbao. The sensory details are so specific that I could literally smell the street food through the screen. And Yan Xingli, a man who has spent years suppressing his carb cravings because of strict diet management, just completely loses it. He leads Yu Yu on this grand feast from one end of the street to the other. The contrast between his public persona as a disciplined celebrity and this private moment of pure indulgence with a child is everything. Then the weather shifts. One second it is blazing sun, the next dark clouds roll in and they are soaked. The winter rain description is chilling in the best way—"winter rain, no matter how light, is always chilly." The author makes you feel the temperature drop. Yan Xingli wrapping his coat around Yu Yu, her sunflower pigtails half-soaked, the way she deliberately splashes water on his face and then giggles when he turns away like he has been slapped. It is so vivid I could see it as a film scene. But what really sticks with me is the surveillance cameras. Seven or eight extra cameras installed in the living room, kitchen, balcony, and bedroom. The show has turned his home into a fishbowl, and yet somehow the most intimate moments happen right in front of those lenses. The rain scene, the morning market, the act of watching his terrible drama together—all of it is being broadcast, and still it feels private. That tension between exposure and intimacy is something the book handles incredibly well. The world feels alive because every location has texture, temperature, and emotional weight.
I need to talk about Xie Yunxuan because this man is genuinely the sweetest thing in this entire novel and it hurts my heart that he's not the love interest. When he sees Ji Mingzhu and immediately notices she's been crying — 'You've been crying' — with this raw distress in his eyes, and he instinctively reaches out to wipe her tears? I literally squealed. And then Xie Yunzheng shows up and ruins it with his jealousy. The scene where the two brothers are standing in the snow and Ji Mingzhu chooses to walk away with Xie Yunxuan, telling him 'If I trip, so be it. It won't kill me. I'll just get back up!' — this is the most alive she's been in the entire chapter. With Xie Yunxuan she's genuine, she's sarcastic, she's herself. With Xie Yunzheng she's performing, she's guarded, she's the perfect orphan cousin everyone expects her to be. And the most heartbreaking part? Xie Yunzheng is watching her leave with his brother and instead of feeling sad, his 'stagnant heart now beat joyfully' at the sight of her glaring at him. She's finally showing him emotion instead of that blank indifference, and he's interpreting it as progress. Meanwhile Xie Yunxuan is the one who actually cares and gets nothing but polite distance. The CP energy between Ji Mingzhu and Xie Yunxuan is so natural and warm compared to the toxic push-pull with Xie Yunzheng. I'm not even mad about it, I'm just emotionally compromised.
Let me just say this upfront — I've re-read the apricot blossom hairpin description five times and I think it's the most important symbol in the entire opening section. "The body of the hairpin was made of warm, fine white jade, and the head was a spring apricot carved from hibiscus stone. The pink stone was tender and warm, appearing translucent and dreamy under the sunlight. It was a beauty that no young girl could resist." Liu Yun slept clutching it all night. She designed it herself. This hairpin is literally her — delicate, self-crafted, wanting to be beautiful but not ostentatious. And then the Crown Prince appears, and his world is purple-gold crowns and jade belts and authority. He doesn't even look at her hairpin. He looks at HER, and it terrifies her. The apricot blossoms themselves are a recurring motif — they bloom in spring, they're delicate, they're associated with youth and fleeting beauty. "Flowers plucked from their branches wither quickly under the sun" — that line when Liu Yun and Zhenzhen decide to find fresh blooms? That's not just about picking flowers for a swing. That's the whole theme right there. And the lychee drink — something that mimics the real thing because the real thing is reserved for the powerful. Liu Yun's family can approximate luxury but never truly access it. She's a fifth-rank official's daughter in a city of nobles. Everything about her world is about wanting and settling and finding beauty in what you can have.
I need to talk about how the author structures these chapters because the pacing is genuinely excellent. Let me break down what happens and why it works. We open with the move—practical, grounded, a bit chaotic. Zou Zhengting carrying bags upstairs, Wang Fenglan organizing things, the siblings climbing into the truck. This is the setup, the new normal beginning to take shape. Then we cut to the old family home, and suddenly the pace shifts. Lin Rongzong is already plotting, Du Hongying is manipulating, Nini is calculating. The tension ramps up immediately because we know these people are still dangerous even though they've lost the house. The Nini subplot escalates quickly—she goes from heartbroken wife to strategic schemer in the span of a few paragraphs. She proposes bringing Aunt Sujuan in, then pivots to her own marriage plans with Yang Wen. It's almost breathless in how fast she moves, which is exactly how a person like Nini would operate. Then we cut back to Lin Zhaoyang, and the pace slows down beautifully. She's dealing with furniture delivery, coming home to the smell of cooking, sitting down to eat with the people who actually care about her. The contrast between the two households—one cold and calculating, the other warm and genuine—is the structural engine of this section. The chapter ends on a note of domestic contentment, but with underlying tension. Zou Zhengting is happy, Lin Zhaoyang is healing, but Nini is still out there plotting. The author knows exactly when to speed up and when to let us breathe, and that's what makes reading this so addictive.
"You make a fair point, but to prevent your wandering eye from causing any catastrophic trouble in the future, I think it's best today if I simply remove this root of all your troubles. Don't worry, it won't hurt much. My axe is very sharp." I need to sit down. Wen Buyu—the gentle, weak, scholarly male lead from the original novel—says this with a GENTLE SMILE while CHASING SOMEONE DOWN WITH AN AXE. The dialogue writing in this book is absolutely phenomenal because it completely subverts expectations at every turn. Every character says things that are wildly inappropriate for their supposed archetype, and it's hilarious. The octopus demon's voice is a masterpiece of comedic writing. His entire personality is contained in lines like "Beauty ~ What kind of game are you two playing? Can big brother join in?" and "I'll sleep right in the middle!" and then his dramatic confession about being an innocent octopus prince who just wanted to find true love on land. The man is absolutely deranged and he KNOWS it. And Sang Nian's internal monologue is perfectly deadpan—"She wanted to slap him, but she was also a bit afraid he might lick her hand." That's not just funny, that's a perfectly compressed summary of the entire tonal vibe of this book. The author's narrative voice has this wonderful rhythm where it goes from genuinely tense to completely absurd in a single paragraph. One moment you're worried about Sang Nian's life, the next you're reading about a man in a powder-pink robe with a catfish in his mouth. The dialogue never feels forced—it's all character-specific and wildly entertaining.
The story is well written, I like it... .
The book definitely has great potential and I'm coming back to read too, great story development ! I hope to see more of your book and how it all unfolds
i really like this story, it goes deep into a teenager girl's life . for me the childhood feels so unreal as we became emotionally distant from our family and our marks also drops .
actually really good so far and an interesting concept.
Shameless author review... Enjoy the book!Also, if you think this novel is worth it, share it with other people who also read novels! Thank you for your time.