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They say curiosity killed the cat. If that is true, then I’m certainly not purring right now but dead? Whatever, I’m thinking of filing a formal complaint against the Chinese drama screenwriters!

It all began with Ye Pingjun, a young woman determined to save her mother, and Yu Changxuan, a silver-tongued charmer, devastatingly handsome, richer than common sense would recommend, with a bathtub fit for an emperor and his manoeuvres, and an extraordinary talent for finding trouble.

A chance encounter, a hairpin uglier than sin, a wager and a few arguments… and soon enough, two people who seemed destined to drive each other mad were falling in love (one more than the other). Yet the screenwriters, apparently allergic to happiness, decided to make us question Changxuan’s character. And the debates on this forum! Everyone trying to rescue him from those red flag and rapist labels. Had he known what people were saying behind his back, he would probably have applied for political asylum!

Then came Xueting, convinced that Pingjun returned his feelings. He mistook his own desires for reality and allowed unrequited love to turn into wounded pride, jealousy and resentment. Xueting, I disliked you from the very first moment. My hands are still recovering from all the times I wanted to strangle you!

Meanwhile, Changxuan gradually exchanged his carefree playboy days for military duty and responsibility, while Pingjun struggled to find her own place in a world where everyone seemed determined to decide her future for her. Heaven forbid she should be allowed to make her own choices!

Before long, we were swept into a whirlpool of jealous fiancées, military campaigns, political conspiracies, family secrets, betrayals, kidnappings, explosions and endless separations. And through it all, Changxuan kept rescuing Pingjun and sweeping her into his arms. The man deserves a medal for bravery, but his back deserves a pension! At this rate, rescuing his wife should count as a full-time military position.

Then came the fire, the coma and the amnesia. Pingjun awoke with no memories, while Changxuan informed her that he was her husband. Well, well! After all those rejections, our gentleman had discovered an unconventional shortcut to marriage: erase the past and proceed directly to claiming his husband privileges. Convenient, isn’t it? Yet our Queen of Goodbye and Hello still found ways to slip through his fingers.

Against all odds, we finally reached the wedding. AT LAST! Husband and wife. The long-awaited marital privileges. The curtains. Those bloody curtains! Surely we had earned a little domestic bliss without another catastrophe knocking at the door. Was that really too much to ask?

📣 The screenwriter: “Of course not. This is The Lament of the Autumn, not Little House on the Prairie!”

🤡 The viewers: “From now on, you’re our sworn enemy across the entire Chinese drama universe! We’re watching you!” 🫵🏻👀

After a brief bonanza for the happy couple, Pingjun believed yet another lie, said goodbye once more and suffered the heartbreaking loss of her unborn child. In the aftermath, she opened a flower shop. Meanwhile, Gu Rui Tong found her but chose to keep her whereabouts secret from Changxuan. So much for brotherhood! Thankfully, the screenwriter took pity on us this time and spared us an even greater tragedy. For once, someone decided not to make our lives even more miserable.

AND THEN EPISODE 35!

SATISFACTION! As Mick Jagger would say. At long last, the masks fell. The brother-in-law, the Third Concubine, Gu Rui Tong’s father and General Mou were all involved in the conspiracy against the Yu family and Changxuan. What a collection of villains! Nanhuai really does seem to attract the wrong sort of company.

Changxuan emerged victorious, and the conspiracy was finally exposed. For once, justice seemed to have found its way into Nanhuai. We dared to believe the screenwriters had finally discovered mercy. Perhaps, just perhaps, they had decided to let us enjoy a little peace.

How naïve we were!

Another pregnancy followed. Determined not to be separated from Changxuan again, Pingjun accompanied him to the front lines and put her writing skills to use as a chronicler of the civil war. At last, her talent for journalism had found its calling! Who needs a quiet domestic life when one can combine marriage, motherhood and war correspondence? Apparently, Pingjun has no intention of taking things easy.

The final episodes still had war, sacrifice and heartbreak in store. Xueting descended into such depths of madness that I occasionally felt compelled to sprinkle holy water over my tablet and cry, “Vade retro!” Honestly, the man needed more than a change of scenery. Still, Ziyi earned a little redemption by helping save the little one.

And episode 40? Ah, episode 40! Our satisfaction lasted about as long as a heartbeat. One moment we were basking in happiness; the next, the ground had disappeared beneath our feet. For Whom the Bell Tolls? For Changxuan. As though forty episodes of suffering were not enough, the screenwriters had to strike at the very heart of the story. Really, what had we done to deserve that?

Honestly, have all the Chinese dramas set during the Republican era run out of happy endings? Were there any couples who actually got a happy ending in real life during the Republican era? If so, would someone please bring them here to tell their stories to these miserable, joy-killing screenwriters?! Surely there must be at least one example of a happy marriage they could use as inspiration!

Looking back, what began as a romance became a procession of calamities. In Nanhuai, happiness was never allowed to settle. It appeared briefly, like a visitor passing through, before disappearing into the mist. And just when we thought things might finally be looking up, along came another disaster to put us back in our place.

Forty episodes of love and longing, war and betrayal, tears and laughter, rescues, reunions, marital privileges and curtains that tested the limits of our patience. Even a pretzel would have lost its sense of direction! And somehow, we kept watching. I suppose the Lamenters are a particularly stubborn species.

FINAL VERDICT: Remarkable cinematography, memorable artistic direction and performances that gave extraordinary depth to these characters. Cheng Lei’s portrayal of Changxuan, with all its strength, vulnerability, passion and tenderness, will not easily be forgotten. Xu Ruohan and the rest of the cast deserve equal recognition. As for the screenwriters, their understanding of happiness remains under investigation. The fandom deserves a commemorative plaque and, quite possibly, financial compensation.

The bells may have tolled and the curtains may have fallen, but stories have a curious way of outliving their endings. They remain in a favourite scene, a line of dialogue or a character we cannot quite bring ourselves to leave behind.

And somewhere in our imagination, the Emperor of the Bathtub will remain impossibly handsome, hopelessly stubborn and forever entitled to his husband privileges. Some things are simply worth fighting for!

The autumn may end, but the lament continues. And the screenwriters have certainly not heard the last of us.