CrimsonQuill

★★★☆☆ (5/10) — Four stars for Liu Yuning’s lumbar courage, one for the costume budget, zero for narrative mercy.

Some dramas are good. Some are bad. And some exist in that rare third category: the genre-bending fever dream you watch out of loyalty, finish out of morbid curiosity, and then question your entire concept of narrative coherence.

Let’s start with the central mystery: What genre is this?

Is it a romance? No, unless you define romance as one person emotionally bleeding out while the other flicks metaphysical riddles at them. Is it satire? Perhaps. Parody? Sometimes. A parody of a parody? Getting warmer. A slow-burn fantasy with a twist of self-awareness? Possibly, if the “twist” snapped the narrative spine somewhere around episode 12 and nobody told the scriptwriters.

This is not a slow-burn romance, it’s more of a cold shoulder in silk robes. And yet, like many viewers, I clicked play. Why? Three reasons:

The poster, which promised epic fantasy and emotional depth.
The premise, which teased brilliance through narrative self-reference.
Liu Yuning, whose performance, spine, and general ability to suffer gracefully on screen have become the stuff of legend.

He enters as the God of Death, cloaked in threat and charisma, a walking, brooding contradiction of pain and purpose. But as episodes pass, he degrades into what can only be described as the Patron Saint of Emotional Begging. Watching him go from divine menace to doormat philosopher is both impressive and heartbreaking.

And the FL? She knows she's in a novel world. She has foreknowledge of events. She understands the narrative setup. In short, she holds the cheat codes. And what does she do? She gaslights the ML, fumbles assassination plans, and drops half-baked existential quotes like fortune cookies from a bad philosophy class. This could’ve been the smart kind of self-aware fiction, where a character leverages story logic to reshape her fate. Instead, we got 31 episodes of emotional whirligig, poorly planned sabotage, and dialogue that could be summarised as: “Yes, I’m hurting you. But it’s because I read the spoilers.”

Her reactions? Inexplicable. Her growth? Non-existent. Her emotional intelligence? Hovering somewhere between “toddler in a tantrum” and “taxidermied Victorian doll.” And the dialogue? Forget poetic, every line sounds like she's haggling over bootleg scrolls at a metaphysical flea market. Again, this isn’t the actress’s fault. Clearly someone behind the camera instructed her to exceed parody and she committed with wild-eyed determination.

This is not what a heroine should do in a self-aware fiction drama. What should she do?

Observe the narrative structure and learn its rules.
Make allies- power in fiction equals survival.
Use foreknowledge to evolve strategically.
Stop weaponising emotional trauma as plot filler.
Build an actual arc- with intention, consequences, and vulnerability.

Instead, she walks in philosophical circles, drags the ML along with half-truths, and treats emotional consistency like an optional side quest.

Now, let’s talk about writing.

A good script, especially one dealing with stories that reflect on their own structure and romance, needs three things:

Character Consistency- Development, not regression.
Emotional Logic- If we can’t follow the “why,” we stop caring about the “what.”
Earned Moments- Big scenes must be built upon, not dropped in like surprise confetti from a broken ceiling.

This show ignores all three. Pacing oscillates like a caffeinated metronome. Plot arcs appear and vanish like side characters in a dream. Emotional payoffs? Denied. Instead, we get… the bite scene.

Yes. That cringe-crowned moment when the ML, bleeding from a sword wound and barely conscious, is violently shaken and then bitten by the FL in an act that’s equal parts rabid and romantic-adjacent. No tenderness. No catharsis. Just… jaw-dropping nonsense. The kind of scene that makes you question not the actors, but the writer’s grasp of human interaction, or gravity.

And the Crown Prince? Introduced as a man with the comedic energy of someone who might grow donkey ears and burst into song, he later pulls off a sword-wielding redemption arc. How? No one knows. He undergoes a 180° emotional transformation faster than a Netflix recap can say “previously on.” The Emperor, meanwhile, spends what feels like an eternity inventing increasingly sadistic punishments for his son, only to pivot without warning into "Father of the Year" mode. Don’t look for logic here. Our scriptwriter clearly believed they were penning the drama of the century, possibly while sipping hallucinogenic tea or something far stronger.

Even Gárgamel, with his cat Azrael, had clearer motivation than our eyebrow-wielding villain here. And at least Gárgamel knew what he wanted (Smurfs). This villain? He sneers. He raises an eyebrow. He plots vaguely. He exists in a state of permanent dramatic squint, delivering monologues that suggest he thinks he's in Macbeth while everyone else is stuck in Scooby-Doo. With every new plan, he seems one cackle away from asking where the smurfs went. It’s not menace, it’s theatrical confusion. His villainy becomes so exaggerated it borders on self-parody. It’s not that he twirls an actual mustache, it’s more like he’s auditioning for the role of a moustachioed villain straight out of the melodrama bargain bin.

Which brings us to the supporting cast, criminally underused and suspiciously better written. The Nightwalkers? An intriguing and promising concept, sadly underused and left mostly unexplored. The sister? More logical, more emotionally full of subtlety. Fu Gui? A minor character with more clarity and heart than the entire central arc.

Cinematography? Competent. Wardrobe? Sumptuous and repetitive, at least if you're the FL, condemned to recycle the same gown in several key episodes. The ML’s outfits, on the other hand, seem to have enjoyed both budget and narrative respect. Pacing? Like a rubber band stretched too thin over a 40-episode arc. Dialogue? Cringe-worthy at best, with failed attempts at humour that never quite land.

And the ending?

Equal parts predictable and nonsensical, a rare feat. I watched the final stretch at 2x speed, not because I was bored, but because I needed to emotionally outrun the plot.

So what is this drama?

Not a romance. A romance requires mutual emotional investment, vulnerability, and growth. This gave us martyrdom, manipulation, and confusion. Not a parody either, parody implies purpose. This felt more like someone spilled three genres into a blender, added eyeliner and trauma, and hoped for magic.

And yet. Liu Yuning stands tall. His character bleeds, breaks, and somehow survives, narratively, emotionally, and physically. He lends gravitas to a script that doesn’t deserve him, making the unwatchable nearly worthwhile. He does it all armed with nothing but cheekbones and that gaze, the kind that carries centuries of suffering and half the audience’s emotional investment. In the end, this isn’t a drama. It’s a hostage situation. One where the script holds its characters captive, and only LYN attempts a jailbreak, with no tools but his eyes and a well-fitted cloak.

Would I recommend it? Only with caveats.

If you’ve just emerged from the raw anguish of Moon Lovers, the sharp narrative elegance of Story of Kunning Palace, or the unexpected emotional payoff of The Prisoner of Beauty, my advice is simple: give this one a miss, or at least, wait. Let the memory of strong writing cleanse your palate. This drama might wear the costume of intelligence and genre experimentation, but beneath the surface, it sells you a sheep in wolf’s clothing, and expects applause.

Me? I’m off to rewatch Story of the Kunning Palace and TPOB. I need to remember what good writing looks like.

This is just my personal take, and I hope no one gets offended, everyone’s tastes are different, just like in my book club where we all have our own opinions. If you loved this drama, that’s awesome! I’m happy for you. All I ask is that you respect my view, too. After all, variety is what makes stories interesting… even if sometimes the flavour’s not quite to my taste.