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A Way Back Into Love
Twelve Letters is a masterclass in evocative visual storytelling. My heart already began to ache in the opening scenes. In 1991, an exhausted girl staggers through the dark alleys of Meiwan Town to a bright red mailbox, sending a letter to herself. In 2026 Beixing City, Yu Nian’s confused father waits obstinately in the bitter cold beside an identical red mailbox. The image of this helpless old man clinging to fading memories, awaiting a letter from the past, imprinted itself on my heart. When he goes missing, Yu Nian discovers a mysterious letter and joins forces with Shen Cheng to find their parents. With the help of a ginger cat, a bright red postbox, and twelve letters, they race against time to connect the past with the future and help two people who belong together find their way back to into love.
This immersive twelve-episode modern fantasy is drenched in a nostalgic, bittersweet palette that captures Meiwan Town’s yearning poverty, a constant sense of foreboding, and the faint, deceptive allure of better times ahead.
Tang Yixun is a young man with limitless potential—as a debt collector. This aspiring thug possesses the rare ability to beat the daylights out of a debtor without impairing their ability to pay. On a job, he encounters Ye Haitang, a young girl with a deadbeat dad who dares to stand up to him. He is unaccountably moved by her magnificent fury and her lonely, futile bravado. They meet again in a different setting and become entangled in a misunderstanding involving a mysterious letter—the first of twelve that will weave a magical bond through time and space between two people destined for each other.
The most outstanding aspect of this drama is the acting. I already held Wang Yinglu and Zhou Yiran in high regard, but they astounded me here. Their casting is impeccable—both actors are age-appropriate and look so convincingly the part that they seem to have simply stepped into their roles. Haitang’s pain, rage, and vulnerability leaps off the screen in a raw, visceral way. I was shaken by the authenticity of Wang Yinglu’s portrayal, how she spat the bone-deep hatred and trauma of someone pushed beyond their limits. Zhou Yiran’s smoldering depiction of Yixun’s steadfastness and his quiet joy in her company is no less intense than her fiery outbursts. Together, they were radiant, complete, invincible; their future felt limitless—until the beautiful but cruel world they inhabited intruded and conspired against them.
Twelve Letters is a stirring, emotional journey about a bond that endures through time and long separation. It is, at its heart, Yixun and Haitang’s story; Yu Nian and Shen Cheng serve more as narrative guides. I must have teared up during nearly every scene of this heart-wrenching tale. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more sickening character than Ye Yibo. The main narrative aspect that didn’t quite sit well with me was Yixun’s “noble idiocy,” especially when it was so clear Haitang was not better off without him.
As for the ending itself, I am in the minority that thinks it is just right. I can’t help but feel the writer crafted a story that was simply too sad to be told the way it was written. So I personally don’t fully buy into the fairytale. I will remember this story for a long time.
I rate it 8.5/10.
This immersive twelve-episode modern fantasy is drenched in a nostalgic, bittersweet palette that captures Meiwan Town’s yearning poverty, a constant sense of foreboding, and the faint, deceptive allure of better times ahead.
Tang Yixun is a young man with limitless potential—as a debt collector. This aspiring thug possesses the rare ability to beat the daylights out of a debtor without impairing their ability to pay. On a job, he encounters Ye Haitang, a young girl with a deadbeat dad who dares to stand up to him. He is unaccountably moved by her magnificent fury and her lonely, futile bravado. They meet again in a different setting and become entangled in a misunderstanding involving a mysterious letter—the first of twelve that will weave a magical bond through time and space between two people destined for each other.
The most outstanding aspect of this drama is the acting. I already held Wang Yinglu and Zhou Yiran in high regard, but they astounded me here. Their casting is impeccable—both actors are age-appropriate and look so convincingly the part that they seem to have simply stepped into their roles. Haitang’s pain, rage, and vulnerability leaps off the screen in a raw, visceral way. I was shaken by the authenticity of Wang Yinglu’s portrayal, how she spat the bone-deep hatred and trauma of someone pushed beyond their limits. Zhou Yiran’s smoldering depiction of Yixun’s steadfastness and his quiet joy in her company is no less intense than her fiery outbursts. Together, they were radiant, complete, invincible; their future felt limitless—until the beautiful but cruel world they inhabited intruded and conspired against them.
Twelve Letters is a stirring, emotional journey about a bond that endures through time and long separation. It is, at its heart, Yixun and Haitang’s story; Yu Nian and Shen Cheng serve more as narrative guides. I must have teared up during nearly every scene of this heart-wrenching tale. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more sickening character than Ye Yibo. The main narrative aspect that didn’t quite sit well with me was Yixun’s “noble idiocy,” especially when it was so clear Haitang was not better off without him.
As for the ending itself, I am in the minority that thinks it is just right. I can’t help but feel the writer crafted a story that was simply too sad to be told the way it was written. So I personally don’t fully buy into the fairytale. I will remember this story for a long time.
I rate it 8.5/10.
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