3
This review may contain spoilers
This show isn’t flawless, but it’s perfect for me.
It’s the kind of story that doesn’t march from beginning to end, but opens itself from all directions, letting moments and truths surface until they meet at one point.
It carries a bittersweet soul, but the bitter stands bold. Even in the lightest scenes, there’s a shadow, a sadness that lingers no matter how much the characters laugh.
Everyone here has their own path, their own choices, regrets, and mistakes. There are no pure heroes, no clear villains. They’re just human, too young to know if what they’ve done is forgivable and old enough to be responsible for their own actions.
Zhen Zhen is not the type of female lead I usually enjoy. In her shoes, I would have chosen differently every single time. But I understood her. I felt her pain so clearly it almost bled through the screen. Yin Rui gave her such depth that there were moments I wanted to step inside the story just to hold her for a moment, to let her breathe.
Jiang Ling, too, isn’t my usual favorite type, the cold kind who gradually warms. But he’s more than that. Literature runs in his blood; books and words shape him. Watching that part of him was a quiet joy, especially when you catch the little foreshadowings hidden there. He cared for Zhen Zhen in his own way, guarded their friendship, and carried his own grief. She became the color in his grey world, even while hers remained grey. And when we see his perspective, poetic, precise, remembering the smallest things about her; it gives their bond an even richer shade.
Gu Ming is the class president everyone likes, but beneath that smile is a tangle of pain that pushes him toward choices you can’t quite call right.
Qiu Qian is another one, in another drama I’d call her a villain without hesitation. She’s done so much wrong it feels strange to pity her, yet I do. She’s just a young girl trying to survive, and the show redeems her in such a quiet way I didn’t even notice it happening.
Qi Shuo is similar, his actions almost unforgivable, yet I can’t see him as purely bad, just another victim of what adults can do to the young.
The friendship between them felt whole and warm, which made watching it fall apart all the more painful, even though you can sense from the start that it will. Seeing their adult selves, still carrying the weight of lost youth and unrealized dreams, adds another layer of ache.
The two timelines run side by side: older Jiang Ling speaking to a Zhen Zhen who never made it past high school. That alone brings a somber note, as if the story is reminding you again and again that their happiness is fleeting. In both timelines, joy never seems to stay.
This is not a love story, but the bond between Jiang Ling and Zhen Zhen is tender, innocent, and threaded with a quiet ache. Every little interaction between them is soft, even sweet, yet there’s always the bitter aftertaste. I’ll think of them every time I eat noodles now, noodles that marked a beginning, a journey, and in a way, an answer.
It’s also worth praising the cinematography and the camera angles, the way the camera lingers just long enough to let the emotions breathe. The styling was especially well done for older Jiang. The opening and ending songs fit beautifully, even if the background music within the episodes could have been stronger. The ending felt right. Not the overused kind of time travel resolution, but one that suited the tone and left me satisfied, even in its melancholy.
It may not be flawless, but Fell Upon Me is the kind of story that stays with you , lingering, like a dream you can’t return to. I would absolutely recommend it.
It carries a bittersweet soul, but the bitter stands bold. Even in the lightest scenes, there’s a shadow, a sadness that lingers no matter how much the characters laugh.
Everyone here has their own path, their own choices, regrets, and mistakes. There are no pure heroes, no clear villains. They’re just human, too young to know if what they’ve done is forgivable and old enough to be responsible for their own actions.
Zhen Zhen is not the type of female lead I usually enjoy. In her shoes, I would have chosen differently every single time. But I understood her. I felt her pain so clearly it almost bled through the screen. Yin Rui gave her such depth that there were moments I wanted to step inside the story just to hold her for a moment, to let her breathe.
Jiang Ling, too, isn’t my usual favorite type, the cold kind who gradually warms. But he’s more than that. Literature runs in his blood; books and words shape him. Watching that part of him was a quiet joy, especially when you catch the little foreshadowings hidden there. He cared for Zhen Zhen in his own way, guarded their friendship, and carried his own grief. She became the color in his grey world, even while hers remained grey. And when we see his perspective, poetic, precise, remembering the smallest things about her; it gives their bond an even richer shade.
Gu Ming is the class president everyone likes, but beneath that smile is a tangle of pain that pushes him toward choices you can’t quite call right.
Qiu Qian is another one, in another drama I’d call her a villain without hesitation. She’s done so much wrong it feels strange to pity her, yet I do. She’s just a young girl trying to survive, and the show redeems her in such a quiet way I didn’t even notice it happening.
Qi Shuo is similar, his actions almost unforgivable, yet I can’t see him as purely bad, just another victim of what adults can do to the young.
The friendship between them felt whole and warm, which made watching it fall apart all the more painful, even though you can sense from the start that it will. Seeing their adult selves, still carrying the weight of lost youth and unrealized dreams, adds another layer of ache.
The two timelines run side by side: older Jiang Ling speaking to a Zhen Zhen who never made it past high school. That alone brings a somber note, as if the story is reminding you again and again that their happiness is fleeting. In both timelines, joy never seems to stay.
This is not a love story, but the bond between Jiang Ling and Zhen Zhen is tender, innocent, and threaded with a quiet ache. Every little interaction between them is soft, even sweet, yet there’s always the bitter aftertaste. I’ll think of them every time I eat noodles now, noodles that marked a beginning, a journey, and in a way, an answer.
It’s also worth praising the cinematography and the camera angles, the way the camera lingers just long enough to let the emotions breathe. The styling was especially well done for older Jiang. The opening and ending songs fit beautifully, even if the background music within the episodes could have been stronger. The ending felt right. Not the overused kind of time travel resolution, but one that suited the tone and left me satisfied, even in its melancholy.
It may not be flawless, but Fell Upon Me is the kind of story that stays with you , lingering, like a dream you can’t return to. I would absolutely recommend it.
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