The dialogue in these chapters is surprisingly sharp for a transmigration novel. Let me give you some examples because I'm genuinely impressed. First, Ji Ning's line to her siblings: 'I don't have a cricket jar right now, but I can definitely get you something no one else has.' That's not just plot setup—that's CHARACTER. She's a ten-year-old girl who's been through something traumatic (she was seriously ill), she's poor, she's in a new world, and yet she's already thinking about how to provide for her siblings. The confidence in that line? Chef's kiss. Then there's Ji Song's exchange with his father: 'Don't spoil the child too much. What's the point of buying cakes at a time like this?' vs 'Just to sweeten the child's mouth a bit. No matter how hard life gets, we still have to live it, don't we?' Two different philosophies about poverty and parenting, delivered in such natural, everyday language. And Ji An's 'Knowing is not difficult; putting it into practice is the true challenge!'—that line feels like it came from a actual classical text but it's used so perfectly here. It reveals his character as a scholar, his frustration, and it also hints that there's something he's not telling the family about his exam struggles. The author knows how to let dialogue do triple duty: advance plot, reveal character, AND drop thematic hints. That's craft.
There's this one moment in Chapter 60 that I keep coming back to, and I think it's the emotional core of everything that's happened between Ying Zhu and Cen Xie so far. After they share those memory card experiences—intimate, feverish, almost tender—and then return to reality, the narrative says: "But back in reality, all that remained between them was a vast, hollow blankness." A vast, hollow blankness. I've never read anything that captured the agony of two people who share something profound but can't find the words for it. Cen Xie unplugs the card. The world goes from saturated color to grayscale in one motion. And then they just... look at each other. "Things on the tip of their tongues. Words left unsaid. In the end, there was nothing to say." This is the kind of scene that makes you want to shake the characters. Why can't they just say it? Why is every conversation between them either business or avoidance? And then Zhou Nan walks in, and Cen Xie's panic is almost comical in its desperation. He tries to explain, and Ying Zhu shuts him down with "You don't need to explain yourself to me." But the subtext is screaming. Ying Zhu is hurt. He's jealous. He's trying so hard not to show it, and Cen Xie—Cen Xie, who is otherwise the most perceptive person in this story—misses it entirely until it's too late. The worst part is that Cen Xie actually suspects he might have been in love with Ying Zhu. "Although the memory cards so far were mostly just sex, he could feel a sense of tenderness lingering between them." He figures this out in a car, alone, and his first instinct is to NOT call Ying Zhu. "Better not. Their parting yesterday hadn't been pleasant." Of course he doesn't call. That's Cen Xie for you—terrified of his own vulnerability, choosing pride over connection every single time. And I'm sitting here losing my mind about it.
Can we talk about Xiao Zheng for a second? Because this chapter is the first time I'm really seeing him notice Su He as a person rather than just... whoever he married. The text says it all in one moment: he looks at the rabbit, looks at the herbs, then looks at her face, and there's 'a distinct look of surprise in his eyes.' He's doing this whole internal calculation where he's trying to reconcile the image of a pampered capital maid with the woman who just came back from the mountains with enough herbs to buy silver and a live rabbit. And he doesn't say anything about it. He just watches. That silence is so loaded. Meanwhile, Wang Guixiang's relationship with Su He is developing in this really warm way. She went from defending her daughter-in-law publicly to privately being genuinely awed by what Su He brought back. The moment she nearly loses her balance when Su He says 'a few taels of silver' - that's not just about money, that's a mother-in-law realizing she married her son to someone extraordinary. And Xiao Yue! This girl is pure sunshine. She's the only one who says exactly what everyone's thinking: 'Sister-in-law, you even caught a rabbit?!' and 'Sister-in-law is amazing~' She's not scheming, she's not comparing, she's just genuinely happy. That contrast with Su Lan is everything. Su Lan can't even look at Su He without calculating. Xiao Yue looks at her and sees someone wonderful. The dynamic between these two women around Su He tells you everything about who they are.
I need to talk about Yunsheng because THIS boy. Oh my god. The way the author writes him—every physical detail is a window into his trauma. His lips pressed white from biting them. His hands turning ice cold. The way he instinctively tries to pull away from Su Jiuyue's touch like she's electric. This isn't a child who's had bad luck; this is a child who has been systematically taught that affection equals danger. And then Su Jiuyue does the most powerful thing: she doesn't ask him to speak. She doesn't demand gratitude. She just holds his hand and says "you did the right thing." Two sentences. That's it. But for a kid whose entire existence has been built on being a burden, being told his protective instinct was RIGHT—no, that it was HEROIC—that shatters something open in him. The fever scene is where it really hits me. He's mumbling "Mom, don't leave" in his sleep, and Su Jiuyue holds him all night. But here's the thing that got me—she moves him slightly farther from Jiaojiao afterward. "Call her selfish if they want." That single line tells us everything about Su Jiuyue. She's not a perfect saint; she's a mother making hard choices, and she KNOWS it. She won't let anyone make her feel guilty for prioritizing her own child. And Jiaojiao! The way she automatically puts the biggest piece of candied sweet potato in Yunsheng's bowl—"Big Brother, eat this one! This one has the longest sugar strings!" She doesn't see him as a burden. She sees him as HER brother. That's the family they're building, piece by piece.
The way this author builds the world is incredible. We're in Songjia Village's Red Flag Production Brigade, autumn 1972, just after harvest. The military truck rolling into the village immediately signals something important — this isn't everyday life. The villagers' reactions feel so authentic: the gossiping, the nosy neighbors crowding around, the schadenfreude in one married woman's eyes when she asks if Qingfeng failed to recover. I keep coming back to this one image: Qiao Nianyao in the kitchen, lighting the stove. The description is so vivid — she stuffs dry rice straw into the firebox, adds twigs, then straw again, then firewood. The flames cast a warm glow on her face, making her look rosier and lovelier, but her eyes carry a steadiness far beyond her years. This is such a powerful contrast. The domestic warmth of the stove against the cold reality of her situation. And then the narrator tells us she doesn't even belong to this era. The Educated Youth Compound is another great detail — Zhao Yulan and Chen Xuemei are there, and Qiao Nianyao brings her grandnephew Dadou milk candy while carrying on a conversation about an egg she brought as tuition. These small, everyday moments ground the story in a specific time and place. The dog Dahuang tied up in the corner, the kang bed, the fifteen-yuan monthly subsidy — all of these details make the 1970s rural China setting feel lived-in and authentic. The world feels alive, not like a backdrop but like a character itself.
I need to talk about the woman with the black dog. Just the entire scene. A rural village woman, barely having enough to eat herself, keeping a dog for two months hoping to eat it later, and then this city girl shows up offering money for its blood. The woman's triangular eyes lighting up at the prospect of ten yuan — that single detail tells you everything about the poverty, the desperation, the moral compromise. "If I let the dog bleed, it'll die! I've fed and cared for this dog for so long—it's for guarding the house." She's lying, obviously. But the fact that she even pretends to care makes it more tragic. And then the whole negotiation — fifteen yuan for a basin bottom of blood from a month-old puppy, plus the threat of reporting her for "promoting feudal superstition" if she causes trouble. The power dynamics in that exchange are brutal. Then cut to the youth dormitory, the kang, the river for washing clothes, the communal cooking. The world feels lived-in. You can smell the rural China — the dung pit reference, the barefoot doctor Dr. Ding who hates dawdling sent-down youth, the five-coin medicine fee. This isn't a backdrop; it's a character itself.
There's this one moment where Su Yundai looks out the window and sees two tall figures on the basketball court—one in red, one in black—and the whole scene just hits different. The author describes Shang Beize in a black jersey, quick-dry fabric shimmering under floodlights, compression shirt showing off muscle lines as he grips the rim. He looks entirely different from his usual suit-and-tie self. That contrast is so deliberate. The floodlights, the sweat, the rim rattling like it might shatter—Wei Lin's dunk scene is pure cinema. And then the aftermath: the corridor lamps glowing dimly, Shang Beize with a towel draped over his eyes like a blindfold, his black jersey melting into shadows, "shrouding him in a brooding darkness, as if wrapped in haze." The author keeps using light and shadow as emotional metaphors. Shang Beize is literally half in shadow while Su Yundai is fully visible, vulnerable, crying. The physical space tells the story—the basketball court is where Wei Lin is powerful and visible, but Shang Beize watches from below, from the margins, and that's exactly where his power lies in this love triangle. Even the cramp scene is staged perfectly: Wei Lin crouched, Su Yundai kneeling beside him, Shang Beize standing apart, half-hidden. The geometry of the scene is a love triangle in every sense.
I haven't read school or student base novel in so long, the first chapter overwhelmed me by the long chapter haha, my fault. anyways I liked it the plot is solid alright! lets read more!
Author I would just like to apologize for not releasing any new chapter due to circumstances and that new chapter will being releasing soon.
I really love it I can't wait for more chapters
The story is very good. I liked the concept of neyris and blessings . The story has a lot of offer waiting for new chapters . I hope the next chapters qre as fun to read as the first 3 chapters.
An engaging novel with rich characters and a gripping plot. The pacing keeps you hooked, though some parts drag. A must-read for fans of the genre!