Okay so let me just say—this plot sequence is genuinely tight. We open with what seems like a straightforward teaching montage, right? Lin Qiaozhi tries to adjust Zhou Shu's technique, tanks his score from 55 down to 5, panics internally, then carefully rebuilds him to 60. Classic three-act structure compressed into a single training session. The fact that she nearly ruins everything before finding the right approach actually makes the payoff feel earned instead of handed to her. But then—BAM—the real plot twist isn't about the hammering at all. It's the family dinner scene that detonates. Lin Jiadong's little scheme of pretending to be nice to Zhou Shu so he can guilt his sister into teaching him? That's actually a pretty clever subplot move by the author. The brother isn't just a one-note antagonist; he's calculating, manipulative, and cowardly enough to go behind her back to their parents. And the parents? Oh man. They don't even try to hide it. "You already figured it out, just teach him, it's not like it'll cost you a piece of flesh." The audacity is almost impressive. The table-kicking moment is the climax of this entire sequence, and it lands perfectly because we've been building toward it since Lin Jiadong first showed up with his mung bean soup. Every little interaction was a thread being pulled until the whole thing unraveled. And then—cut to Zhou Shu's family celebrating while Lin Qiaozhi sits alone under a plane tree. That parallel editing is chef's kiss.
Okay so this arc is genuinely brilliant in how it weaves multiple threads. The phoenix tree request from Shen Shutang isn't just a cute subplot—it's the narrative pivot that unlocks Fu Chuan's artistic rebirth. Remember how in his past life he'd inspired her, and now the roles reverse? That's not just poetic symmetry, that's the author telling us Fu Chuan has finally found his purpose. The painting he creates becomes both a gift and a symbol of his transformation. Meanwhile, the Fu Qingqing confrontation is the perfect counter-plot—while Fu Chuan is ascending through art, his family is trying to drag him back into submission. The line "bootlicker, bootlicker, left with nothing in the end" is basically the chapter's thesis statement. And that rooftop scene at the end? Shen Shutang offering to tutor him, wanting to attend the same academy—this sets up the entire future trajectory. The author is playing 4D chess here, planting seeds that will bloom chapters later.
Okay so this premise is actually genius and I need to talk about it. Jin Miao transmigrates into a novel as the villainess, tries her best in life one to avoid her tragic death, and what happens? She still dies before forty. So in life two, her solution is literally just to stop caring and watch the world burn. The irony is delicious. But here's the twist that really sold me — her family can hear her inner thoughts. Not just her, apparently. When she thinks something about Jin Yao and Chen Anguo, Jin Yao hears it too and gets choked up. It's like the whole household is cursed with telepathy but only for negative commentary. The plot setup is tight because every chapter escalates the chaos. Chapter one establishes the rebirth, chapter two reveals the mind-reading ability, and by chapter three we're already dealing with Widow Lin drama and Jin Yao's secret crush. The author doesn't waste time — every scene pushes the family further toward the predicted collapse that Jin Miao mockingly narrates in her head. I also love how the plot uses dramatic irony. We know Jin Miao has lived this life before, but now her family is hearing her thoughts and reacting to information she never intended to share. The factory collapse prediction for Jin Sen? She's basically dooming her brother to know his own fate, which means he might actually avoid it. That's a plot hole she just opened for herself. Can't wait to see how that plays out.
Let me sit with this for a moment because there's so much underneath the surface. The letter. That's the central symbol of everything. A piece of paper that everyone assumes proves Luo Fu is some manipulative seductress, but she says she didn't write it. The letter represents how women's words are treated in this world—either as evidence against them or as something they're not allowed to control. Madam Xu calls her a "reincarnated seductress feeding love potions." Luo Yuanshan says her reputation could ruin both families. But the letter? Nobody actually verifies it. They just assume it's real because it's convenient for their narrative. And the rain—again and again. Rain as purification, rain as obstruction, rain as the thing that forces Pei Ji to ride through it anyway. The roses that can't be picked because of the storm. Everything beautiful is being delayed, interrupted, threatened by forces outside anyone's control. But Pei Ji rides through it. That's the point. Love isn't supposed to be convenient in this story; it's supposed to be inevitable. Then there's the engagement switch itself—the elder sister taking the younger sister's place. This mirrors so many things: how women are interchangeable in political marriages, how individual desire doesn't matter, how the family name is more important than any one person's happiness. Luo Yuanshan literally says "women are everywhere" when talking about his late wife. Fu'er's mother died in childbirth and was already forgotten. That's the world these characters live in. But Pei Ji keeps saying: "Second Miss I was matched with, Second Miss whose birth chart was read, Second Miss I was engaged to." He's not talking about a position. He's talking about a person. That's the rebellion. That's the theme. He's fighting for the right to choose who matters to him, not who's convenient for the family.
There's something deeply symbolic about this scene that I can't shake, even though on the surface it's just two people discussing evening plans. The central image is the walk home—'send sister-in-law home.' Home as a destination, home as a place of safety, home as something that needs to be reached with an escort. But whose home? The sister-in-law's? Or the speaker's? The ambiguity is intentional, I think. Home in this story seems to be less a physical place and more a concept of belonging, and not everyone gets equal access to it. Qingli's 'got it, got it' feels almost ritualistic. The double confirmation suggests this is a pattern, a repeated performance of self-sacrifice. Every time Qingli says these words, they're reinforcing a theme: that some people are meant to hold things together while others are free to move through the world. The friends the speaker is going out with represent freedom, social connection, the kind of evening where you lose track of time. Qingli gets the opposite: a task, a responsibility, a defined route with a beginning and an end. The sister-in-law is another symbol worth examining. She exists in this story through relationship—she's someone's sister by marriage, someone's relative by connection rather than blood. She needs to be sent home, which implies she can't or shouldn't go alone. Is she vulnerable? Is she intoxicating the evening's events? Or is the escort more about social propriety than actual danger? All of these readings coexist, and that's the point. The sister-in-law represents the people in this world who are always slightly off-balance, always needing someone to guide them. And then there's the word 'leave' at the end—'and then you can leave.' Leave where? Leave the sister-in-law? Leave the speaker? Leave the social gathering entirely? The word carries this sense of departure, of ending, of walking away from something. For Qingli, leaving might be the closest thing to freedom this scene offers, but it's freedom defined by absence—freedom from obligation, freedom from being needed, freedom to go somewhere else entirely. The theme here is about who gets to stay and who gets to go, and I'm starting to wonder if that's the whole story.
MEANINGLESS main dailogs A powerful and impactful main dialogue for MEANINGLESS, spoken by a central figure in the story, could be:"In the end, everything fades—gods, warriors, even the stars. Power is borrowed, not owned. And meaning? Just another illusion we cling to before the void swallows us whole. So tell me, will you fight for a world destined to vanish… or will you embrace the inevitable?"Let me know if you want it adjusted for a specific character!
Author's here.Alright, listen up. I made this novel because I was hella bored and had nothing better to do. This is not a serious project—I was just messing around. But then I found out I can’t delete a novel. So, uh… yeah. Now we’re stuck with it.If you’re enjoying this chaotic nonsense, cool. If not, well, I can’t delete it anyway, so whatever.BUT! If you want to read something I actually put effort into, check out my other novel: "The God Threw Us in a Dungeon." That one? Way better.Alright, that’s it. Carry on.
This is Void's novel so I had to leave a review here. It is funny, the MC is cunning as the title says him being a scammer and all. It is a good read and Void knows how to make things interesting. Looking forward to more chapters. :)
It deserves 5 stars, quality Is very high and also feels fresh
Don't mind me. I'm just shamelessly reviewing my first book. don't hesitate to read it guys.
Hey guys, thanks again for the support! I just realized I made a mistake—Bradford is in the fourth tier (League Two of the English league) and is trying to qualify for the third tier (League One) And they are not in the fifth tier (National League).
I really enjoyed this book. I am not one to read Chinese magical books but I think this book might have single handedly changed my mind about that!