Side note: Some argue the FL’s actions are justified. But tell me—what reasonable person stabs someone in…
The thing is, that scene really unsettled me. Stabbing someone—even in fiction—takes a lot of cold blood. If you told me it was in self-defense, that you were being attacked and your life was at stake, I’d say: then yes, stab them until it’s necessary. But in this case? Was it really necessary? It felt so unfair and harsh that I lost the warmth I had left for the female lead. I understand many people might want to find a justification for it, but honestly, I just can’t.
Side note: Some argue the FL’s actions are justified. But tell me—what reasonable person stabs someone in…
I’ve already shared my point of view, and I guess we won’t see eye to eye on this, but I respect your opinion. Personally, the drama has kind of worn me out, but I’m still watching it just for Liu Yu Ning.
Side note: Some argue the FL’s actions are justified. But tell me—what reasonable person stabs someone in…
I see what you're saying, but I think it's a little more nuanced than that. Yes, at the beginning, NH might have had the intent to kill SYM under the script’s influence—but so did she. Both were reacting to a predetermined narrative. What makes NH stand out is that he consistently breaks from that narrative to protect her, even when it goes against his own safety or mission. SYM, on the other hand, never really pauses to reassess her views—even when the evidence before her keeps changing. So while her initial mistrust is understandable, the continued mistrust, despite everything NH does, feels a bit stubborn and unfair. Anyway, my points are clear — that’s just my personal opinion. And I don’t blame the actress, who has a great presence and voice; I blame the writers for giving her such a dumb role.
Side note: Some argue the FL’s actions are justified. But tell me—what reasonable person stabs someone in…
That’s a fair point—but I’d argue the nuance is missing.
Yes, the script compels him to save her, but how he does it—and how many times he goes beyond what the script demands—matters. He could’ve just fulfilled the bare minimum, but again and again he protects her with urgency, strategy, and genuine concern. There’s emotional intention behind his actions, not robotic obligation.
And let’s not forget: the FL is also bound by the script. Yet when she believes the Seventh Prince is her enemy, she plans to kill him without hesitation—based solely on future knowledge, without reevaluating based on his present behavior. He is judged entirely on what he might do, not on what he actually does.
So if we apply the same standard, why does she get a pass for following the script blindly while he’s condemned for doing the same—even when he shows clear signs of conflict, compassion, and growth?
In short: “he had no choice” oversimplifies a far more layered dynamic. Because if he truly had no agency, then we wouldn’t see the cracks of humanity in his choices—and we certainly wouldn’t feel the tragedy in watching him be misunderstood again and again.
Episode 23 should’ve been a turning point—the unmasking of the FL’s beloved should have brought emotional…
Side note: Some argue the FL’s actions are justified. But tell me—what reasonable person stabs someone in the arm just to make them release their wrist? Especially someone who’s saved her life multiple times and is clearly too hurt, physically and emotionally, to speak? That isn’t logic—it’s narrative nonsense. I don’t blame the actress. I blame the writing—uninspired, circular, and confusing irrationality for complexity.
Episode 23 should’ve been a turning point—the unmasking of the FL’s beloved should have brought emotional and narrative payoff. Instead, we’re hit with yet another wave of tired misunderstandings. The scene, meant to be charged, is hollow and repetitive.
At this point, I genuinely want the Seventh Prince to ride off into the night with his Nightwalkers and leave this exhausting plot behind. His arc exists only to highlight the FL’s blind stubbornness and baffling ignorance. Despite supposedly knowing every romantic trope, the FL acts like a textbook TSTL heroine—“Too Stupid To Live.” It’s not the actress’s fault—she’s got presence and power—but the writing undermines her entirely. Mediocrity in the script, not in performance.
Liu Yu Ning carries this show like Atlas. Without him, the whole thing crumbles. We have an emperor so absurdly evil he borders on satire, and the Crown Prince is so spectacularly dim-witted, I half-expect him to sprout donkey ears mid-scene and start braying.
This drama could have joined the legacy of great masked romances—like Christine and Erik, Roxane and Cyrano, Marguerite and the Scarlet Pimpernel, or even Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. All heroines with emotional intelligence, complexity, or growth. Our FL? She charges toward bad decisions like it’s a competitive sport.
What could’ve been a blend of romance, intrigue, and psychological depth has become a carousel of recycled conflict. And still, I watch—for Liu Yu Ning alone. He deserves a script that matches his performance.
Let’s just hope that tomorrow, the writers decide to let the plot actually move. Or at the very least, stop punishing us for expecting character development.
Possibly—but then again, we also have a general with more red flags than a battlefield. With each passing day,…
With all these misunderstandings, I’ve honestly started wondering myself! At this point, the drama shouldn’t be called A Dream Within a Dream — it should be called A Misunderstanding Within a Misunderstanding! 😂
Possibly—but then again, we also have a general with more red flags than a battlefield. With each passing day, I find myself loathing the character of Chu Gui Hong more and more.
At this point I want NY to end up with YT. I’m liking her more than the FL.
The way things are going, I wouldn’t mind if NY ended up with YT instead. At least she’s consistent and actually listens. I’m just exhausted by the female lead’s tunnel vision and the never-ending misunderstandings. Here’s hoping the plot finally moves forward tomorrow.
I'm curious, if you found your lover in such a compromising position, would you sit, listen and brush it off immediately?…
The problem is, he is not "her lover". She has tried to kill him no fewer than five hundred times, has never once truly listened to him, and has actively plotted his assassination another five hundred times. I can believe she cares about her sister, but if you see someone you supposedly hate spending time with your beloved sister, the first thought that should come to mind is that he’s not exactly ideal brother-in-law material. And let’s not forget—she has never trusted him. From the very beginning, she’s clung obsessively to her preconceptions about how the story is “meant” to unfold, utterly blind to anything that deviates from her internal script.
Now, more than just unfairly—which it absolutely is, considering she puts blind faith in every character, including a masked man who didn’t even exist in the original manuscript, let’s start there—what truly frustrates me is the writing. As I said in a previous comment, the only thing keeping me tethered to this drama is Liu Yu Ning, who is single-handedly carrying the entire production with his magnetic performance.
The core issue is the female lead. For someone who allegedly knows every plotline, twist, and turn of this world, she acts with maddening foolishness. She doesn't even begin to question that the masked man shares the same voice, height, and bearing as the Seventh Prince. And then there's Chu Gui Hong—supposedly a formidable general—who, when it came time to offer his back to take a punishment for her father, simply didn’t. All of this leaves me emotionally detached from her journey.
At this point, the FL's sister is easily the most intelligent female character in the series, tantrums and immaturity notwithstanding. She even told the protagonist herself: Live, because it doesn’t look like you are. Which says everything.
We’re now 22 episodes in, and the series has been nothing but a repetitive cycle of attempted murder, emasculation, and shady conspiracies between a general with more red flags than a battlefield and a masked bandit with questionable motives. Many of us are thoroughly exhausted with the lack of narrative progression. The status quo is stagnant, and the misunderstandings—so many of them, so forced—are beyond tedious by this point.
As I see it, the fault lies with the writers. They’ve chosen complication over complexity, and in doing so, have sacrificed logic and character development. I’m still here for Liu Yu Ning and because I was initially intrigued, but at this stage, I honestly detest Chu Gui Hong, and the female lead simply doesn’t measure up.
Perhaps it’s that I’m still enchanted by The Prisoner of Beauty, which—though an entirely different genre—surpasses this show in every possible respect. By comparison, this one doesn’t even touch the hem of its garment.
And yet, despite all these issues, I’ll finish the series—if only because Liu Yu Ning has an undeniable aura and a captivating acting style that I truly enjoy. The story, for all its structural flaws, remains fun and imaginative. But the misunderstandings? They’ve long since stopped being tolerable—they’ve tipped straight into the realm of the ridiculous.
The only thing keeping me from fully enjoying this drama is the frustrating naivety of the female lead. For someone supposedly well-versed in romance manuscripts, plotlines, and subplots, the endless misunderstandings are starting to wear thin. Liu Yu Ning's stellar performance and the hope that his true identity will soon be revealed are the only reasons I’m still watching. I must also add that I absolutely detest the character of Chu Gui Hong.
A group of users gave low ratings to all the episodes, even up to episode 36. I really don’t understand this kind of behavior — it just comes off as childish. It’s probably someone who’s upset that this drama is being rated higher than the one they’re currently watching. Purely immature behavior, nothing more. Up to episode 5, the drama is actually very engaging, with solid performances. There’s no over-the-top acting, no forced comedy, and thankfully no exaggeratedly childish female voices either.
Finally, someone who sees it like I do... I had to drop this drama—between the silly plot, the low-quality acting,…
So, it seems we’re both here exchanging thoughts—do I need a VIP pass to chime in? I tip my hat to the fervent aficionados whose dedication and time elevate the discourse.
Wow, this is SO bad. Sets look like plastic, costuming is terrible, plot is abysmal, as is the acting. Poor Liu…
Finally, someone who sees it like I do... I had to drop this drama—between the silly plot, the low-quality acting, and the FL’s 80s fringe paired with that babyish voice, it was just too much. I randomly checked the rating today, and honestly, not surprised it keeps dropping. Felt like everyone else was watching a completely different show. I’ve started The Prisoner of Beauty instead—first five episodes are promising and refreshingly grounded, far from the over-satirized mess of this one.
Loving how this drama pulls you in without resorting to forced satire or exaggerated tropes. The storyline is compelling, the atmosphere feels authentic, and thankfully, no overacted comedy or those painfully squeaky 'childlike' female voices. Just solid performances and a plot with real weight.
I agree with everything you’ve said, and I’d add a couple more things. I was really disappointed with the…
Layla, I appreciate your perspective, and I agree that trauma is complex, often dictating actions in ways that may not seem rational to an outsider. However, my issue isn’t with the idea that Wen Yifan acted irrationally due to fear—it’s with how the narrative handled that irrationality.
You’re absolutely right that trauma isn’t something you can simply “choose” to get over, and healing isn’t linear. But acknowledging that doesn’t mean we should abandon accountability in storytelling. The way a character’s actions are written should still align with the emotional and psychological groundwork the narrative has built. Wen Yifan was initially portrayed as someone determined to fight for herself and those she cared about, making her sudden departure feel more like a convenient plot device than an organic development. The presence of trauma doesn’t mean a character’s choices have to be predictable, but they do have to feel earned within the story.
As for the cat—while I understand your point that people in distress sometimes detach from things they love, this moment wasn’t framed as a nuanced exploration of trauma’s impact on decision-making. Instead, it came across as an abrupt contradiction to how deeply she cared for her pet earlier in the series. The problem isn’t that she left the cat behind—the problem is that the writing didn’t meaningfully engage with that decision. If the show had taken a moment to acknowledge the emotional weight of her leaving her pet, it could have strengthened the realism of her struggle rather than making it feel like an overlooked inconsistency.
Additionally, while I understand that survivors of sexual harassment often fear seeking legal action due to systemic failures, this doesn’t change the fact that reporting is still crucial. It’s not just about personal justice—it’s about preventing future harm. Abusers thrive in silence, and while it’s never the survivor’s fault for being afraid, the legal system only has the chance to improve if more cases are brought forward. Every report adds pressure for reform and increases the likelihood that repeat offenders are held accountable. The fear and distrust survivors feel toward the system are valid, but acknowledging these barriers should go hand in hand with advocating for change, not resigning to inaction.
Ultimately, my disappointment isn’t that Wen Yifan made an illogical choice—it’s that the script didn’t do enough to explore the emotional and psychological complexity behind that choice. Realism isn’t just about depicting trauma accurately; it’s about ensuring that the character’s journey is narratively cohesive.
2 
2 
Yes, the script compels him to save her, but how he does it—and how many times he goes beyond what the script demands—matters. He could’ve just fulfilled the bare minimum, but again and again he protects her with urgency, strategy, and genuine concern. There’s emotional intention behind his actions, not robotic obligation.
And let’s not forget: the FL is also bound by the script. Yet when she believes the Seventh Prince is her enemy, she plans to kill him without hesitation—based solely on future knowledge, without reevaluating based on his present behavior. He is judged entirely on what he might do, not on what he actually does.
So if we apply the same standard, why does she get a pass for following the script blindly while he’s condemned for doing the same—even when he shows clear signs of conflict, compassion, and growth?
In short: “he had no choice” oversimplifies a far more layered dynamic. Because if he truly had no agency, then we wouldn’t see the cracks of humanity in his choices—and we certainly wouldn’t feel the tragedy in watching him be misunderstood again and again.
At this point, I genuinely want the Seventh Prince to ride off into the night with his Nightwalkers and leave this exhausting plot behind. His arc exists only to highlight the FL’s blind stubbornness and baffling ignorance.
Despite supposedly knowing every romantic trope, the FL acts like a textbook TSTL heroine—“Too Stupid To Live.” It’s not the actress’s fault—she’s got presence and power—but the writing undermines her entirely. Mediocrity in the script, not in performance.
Liu Yu Ning carries this show like Atlas. Without him, the whole thing crumbles. We have an emperor so absurdly evil he borders on satire, and the Crown Prince is so spectacularly dim-witted, I half-expect him to sprout donkey ears mid-scene and start braying.
This drama could have joined the legacy of great masked romances—like Christine and Erik, Roxane and Cyrano, Marguerite and the Scarlet Pimpernel, or even Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. All heroines with emotional intelligence, complexity, or growth. Our FL? She charges toward bad decisions like it’s a competitive sport.
What could’ve been a blend of romance, intrigue, and psychological depth has become a carousel of recycled conflict. And still, I watch—for Liu Yu Ning alone. He deserves a script that matches his performance.
Let’s just hope that tomorrow, the writers decide to let the plot actually move. Or at the very least, stop punishing us for expecting character development.
Now, more than just unfairly—which it absolutely is, considering she puts blind faith in every character, including a masked man who didn’t even exist in the original manuscript, let’s start there—what truly frustrates me is the writing. As I said in a previous comment, the only thing keeping me tethered to this drama is Liu Yu Ning, who is single-handedly carrying the entire production with his magnetic performance.
The core issue is the female lead. For someone who allegedly knows every plotline, twist, and turn of this world, she acts with maddening foolishness. She doesn't even begin to question that the masked man shares the same voice, height, and bearing as the Seventh Prince. And then there's Chu Gui Hong—supposedly a formidable general—who, when it came time to offer his back to take a punishment for her father, simply didn’t. All of this leaves me emotionally detached from her journey.
At this point, the FL's sister is easily the most intelligent female character in the series, tantrums and immaturity notwithstanding. She even told the protagonist herself: Live, because it doesn’t look like you are. Which says everything.
We’re now 22 episodes in, and the series has been nothing but a repetitive cycle of attempted murder, emasculation, and shady conspiracies between a general with more red flags than a battlefield and a masked bandit with questionable motives. Many of us are thoroughly exhausted with the lack of narrative progression. The status quo is stagnant, and the misunderstandings—so many of them, so forced—are beyond tedious by this point.
As I see it, the fault lies with the writers. They’ve chosen complication over complexity, and in doing so, have sacrificed logic and character development. I’m still here for Liu Yu Ning and because I was initially intrigued, but at this stage, I honestly detest Chu Gui Hong, and the female lead simply doesn’t measure up.
Perhaps it’s that I’m still enchanted by The Prisoner of Beauty, which—though an entirely different genre—surpasses this show in every possible respect. By comparison, this one doesn’t even touch the hem of its garment.
And yet, despite all these issues, I’ll finish the series—if only because Liu Yu Ning has an undeniable aura and a captivating acting style that I truly enjoy. The story, for all its structural flaws, remains fun and imaginative. But the misunderstandings? They’ve long since stopped being tolerable—they’ve tipped straight into the realm of the ridiculous.
I must also add that I absolutely detest the character of Chu Gui Hong.
Up to episode 5, the drama is actually very engaging, with solid performances. There’s no over-the-top acting, no forced comedy, and thankfully no exaggeratedly childish female voices either.
You’re absolutely right that trauma isn’t something you can simply “choose” to get over, and healing isn’t linear. But acknowledging that doesn’t mean we should abandon accountability in storytelling. The way a character’s actions are written should still align with the emotional and psychological groundwork the narrative has built. Wen Yifan was initially portrayed as someone determined to fight for herself and those she cared about, making her sudden departure feel more like a convenient plot device than an organic development. The presence of trauma doesn’t mean a character’s choices have to be predictable, but they do have to feel earned within the story.
As for the cat—while I understand your point that people in distress sometimes detach from things they love, this moment wasn’t framed as a nuanced exploration of trauma’s impact on decision-making. Instead, it came across as an abrupt contradiction to how deeply she cared for her pet earlier in the series. The problem isn’t that she left the cat behind—the problem is that the writing didn’t meaningfully engage with that decision. If the show had taken a moment to acknowledge the emotional weight of her leaving her pet, it could have strengthened the realism of her struggle rather than making it feel like an overlooked inconsistency.
Additionally, while I understand that survivors of sexual harassment often fear seeking legal action due to systemic failures, this doesn’t change the fact that reporting is still crucial. It’s not just about personal justice—it’s about preventing future harm. Abusers thrive in silence, and while it’s never the survivor’s fault for being afraid, the legal system only has the chance to improve if more cases are brought forward. Every report adds pressure for reform and increases the likelihood that repeat offenders are held accountable. The fear and distrust survivors feel toward the system are valid, but acknowledging these barriers should go hand in hand with advocating for change, not resigning to inaction.
Ultimately, my disappointment isn’t that Wen Yifan made an illogical choice—it’s that the script didn’t do enough to explore the emotional and psychological complexity behind that choice. Realism isn’t just about depicting trauma accurately; it’s about ensuring that the character’s journey is narratively cohesive.