Tanky Toon

According to their official IG page, you can watch this on the Tunwalai App.

I agree with you that and will not believe this "confirmation" is real unless it passes muster. Like if 1 year after the show and they are still "dating" then I maybe inclined to believe it, otherwise I would chuck it up to Fan service.

Even so, I saw a lot of naysayers of the Plus and Minus couple and they say that it's all part of fan service even after 2 years of them posting pictures together. But to each their own what they want to believe. I'm always cautious with these type of things after being disappointed when my a few of my OG ships sank years and years ago so I am more skeptical now and have avoided shipping altogether.

I have no issue with people deeming this as a great drama, as evidenced by the high rating and rave reviews. What I have an issue with is the antagonistic tone of that remark, as if I was not entitled to my own opinion.
Your remark was conciliatory and not condescending like theirs. As if my observation is wrong, because they say it's wrong, and there's no ifs and buts about it.

There's a difference between telling somebody who doesn't like strawberries, all the goodness of a strawberry; versus, telling somebody that who doesn't like strawberries, that there's a problem with them because they don't like strawberries.

My post is just an observation, one of many. I believe people are smart enough to make the decision for themselves whether to watch or not watch, like or not like based on their own discretion.

We can agree to disagree, that's the point of a discussion. At least I'm not the one gatekeeping and making comments on every post that is not in line with my views. I'm not that bitter enough of XY's decision to express my dissatisfaction of her choice of a partner.

Sorry I meant Yang Zi. but yes I did watch the right drama and yes I felt bored. Also, I praised the acting, that was not the issue for me, but for me acting alone, even with all the micro expressions etc, cannot hold my attention if the movement of plot does not hold any interest. I am not telling others NOT to watch it, even if my stance is in the minority, my opinion is as valid as the next person's.

This came highly recommended, with glowing reviews and sky-high ratings that practically dared me to dive in. The premise promised a rich blend of wuxia, reverse harem intrigue, and a gender-bending lead—what’s not to love? But five episodes in, I was already eyeing the exit. My thumb hovered over the “drop” button like it was a lifeline. I told myself to be patient, that maybe the magic would kick in soon. Instead, my fast-forward thumb got more of a workout than my attention span, and by the halfway mark, I finally threw in the towel.

To be fair, the production is gorgeous. The cinematography is lush, the costumes are exquisite, and the acting is solid across the board. Even Yang Zi—who’s never been my favorite—won me over with her performance as the male physician Xiao Liu. She brought charm and grit to the role, and for a moment, I thought maybe this drama would redeem itself. But charisma alone couldn’t justify wallowing through a plot that felt like it was wandering in circles. This story could’ve easily been told in half the runtime.

Then came the kicker: there’s a second season. Because apparently 39 episodes weren’t enough to wrap up this slow-motion saga. That revelation didn’t feel like a cliffhanger—it felt like a trap. My decision to quit felt less like giving up and more like reclaiming my time.

Watching this drama is like driving down an endless highway while Bob Ross narrates a painting tutorial. Undeniably pretty, but not exactly riveting. There’s potential in its tropes, but with pacing this glacial, I couldn’t bring myself to keep going. Beautiful, yes—but forever is a long time to be this bored.

After watching him in My Decoy Bride, Yu Xuan Chen holds his own again. He’s charming, and the pairing with the female lead is visually sweet, and the romance is abundant. But every kiss feels like a distraction tactic, an attempt to keep viewers invested while the narrative flounders. The drama leans heavily on over-the-top theatrics—blood-spitting, anguished stares, dramatic proclamations—as if those alone could manufacture the emotional weight the story fails to deliver. Spoiler: they don’t.

The villains are laughably one-dimensional. Their schemes are predictable, their motives paper-thin, and they might as well have been drawn with crayons. They deserve each other, and honestly, the whole “celestial politics” subplot collapses under their petty antics. Any tension evaporates faster than a phoenix tear, leaving you wondering why anyone bothered scheming at all.

In the end, this drama is all style and romance, little substance. Gorgeous costumes, plenty of smooches, and moments of charm can carry it so far—but if you were here for story or stakes, consider this a reincarnation lesson in disappointment.

With its decent MDL rating and a poster that practically twins Money Is Coming, I walked into this drama expecting a fantasy-romance feast. What I got instead was a buffet of kisses trying to cover up a plot that barely showed up. The premise—immortal love, demon realm politics, and celestial drama—had potential, but the execution felt like someone forgot to include a story arc between the smooches.

Full review in the spoiler below:

Wu Ming Jing as Qiu Yu looks like she’s emotionally clocked out. Whether her romantic partner is Brian Chang or a decorative pine tree, she barely spares either a glance. And considering they’re supposed to be the central couple, it gives major “I’m just here for the paycheck” energy. Meanwhile, Brian Chang’s Li Jian spends most of the runtime trying to convince himself that Qiu Yu is his wife. Either he can’t believe a general would marry him, or he’s too busy sulking about being the seventh prince instead of the first or second. All along maybe he's just wondering how many siblings had to mysteriously disappear before it was his turn at the throne.

Maybe Qiu Yu’s apathy is less about romance and more about survival. With a scheming stepmother and a sister who wants her dead, she spends most of her time reciting excuses (probably ripped from the “Tragic Heroine’s Bible”) for why she’s still entertaining the 2nd prince—even after his betrayal in a past life. The drama tries to paint this as noble, but it mostly feels exhausting.

By the end, Qiu Yu’s expression is permanently stuck in “let’s get this over with” mode. Unfortunately, so was mine. The drama had the bones of an intriguing palace saga, but the lack of spark, urgency, and emotional investment left me disengaged. If indifference were a love language, this couple would be soulmates.

Transmigration and Chinese short dramas—name a more chaotic combo. It’s like every heroine has a punch card for reincarnation, but with barely enough runtime to unpack one lifetime, let alone two. This drama sets up a promising revenge plot with a reborn general, scheming royals, and a wedding night rewind. But the delivery? More ho-hum than high drama. The acting isn’t outright bad, but the chemistry between the leads is… well, not chemistrifying.

Full review in the spoiler below:

Still, this drama is a wild ride. The pacing is relentless—in the best way possible. With only eight episodes, there’s no room for filler or unnecessary meandering; it’s like downing an espresso shot laced with adrenaline. The characters are also surprisingly multi-dimensional. Lee Jun Hyuk, in particular, floored me. After seeing him play mild, boy-next-door types in Love Scout, I never imagined him turning in such a gloriously unhinged performance. He steals every scene, veering between chaos and magnetism.

Where the drama stumbles is in its moral tightrope walk. Ji Yong isn’t Batman-lite—he’s more Venom-adjacent, and I’m not exactly a Venom apologist. The show constantly asks you to root for him while he spirals deeper into blood-soaked justice, and I kept asking myself: when does applause turn into condemnation? Reform beats revenge, but Vigilante doesn’t always agree.

And then there’s the final straw: the unnecessary sacrifice of Ji Yong’s friend. I started out wanting him to stay untouchable, but by the finale I was torn—either he should’ve been caught, or the one who died should’ve lived. Instead, we got an ending that felt both cheap and sequel-baiting. Still, if you’re after a fast-paced, morally messy thrill ride, Vigilante delivers in spades. Just don’t expect to walk away with clean hands.

When this drama dropped, I thought I was in for another Healer-style ride—rooting for a morally gray hero who doles out justice with flair. The setup had me intrigued, but here’s the catch: I wasn’t sure if I wanted an anti-hero whose methods made me squirm. Yes, the system is broken, yes, the law sucks, but do I really want to cheer for a guy who rewrites morality with his fists? Jury’s still out.

Full review in the spoiler below:

Her chemistry with He Cong Rui is another highlight. Their pairing is adorable, light, and refreshingly natural, which is rare in a short-format drama where relationships usually feel rushed. Watching Yao Zhi scheme her way out of her marriage to Zi Qian had me chuckling—she handles feudal patriarchy like a woman drafting divorce papers with a side of snark.

But then comes the murkier part: Yao Zhi’s dalliance with Cen Zan while still technically married. Sure, Zi Qian was parading his mistress around like a shiny new medal, and concubines in that era were as common as rice, but it still felt unsettling. The drama wants you to root for Yao Zhi’s choices, and for the most part you do—but the moral arithmetic doesn’t always add up cleanly.

And then there’s Zi Qian’s whiplash-inducing transformation. One moment he’s the cold, detached husband, the next he’s rewriting his vows with all the sincerity of a reformed romantic. In such a short series, that kind of 180 feels more like a script shortcut than believable growth. Still, between Liu Nian’s strong performance and the breezy pacing, it ends up being a light, enjoyable watch—even if not all the moves on the board make sense.

I’m glad I gave this drama a second chance—because my first review? Completely useless. Turns out I was roasting an entirely different drama with the same title. Once I found the right one, it was like discovering the better twin hiding behind a bad first impression. And the real saving grace here is Liu Nian as Song Yao Zhi. She nails the balance of modern sass and period poise, delivering a heroine who makes you root for her even when the story drifts into morally gray waters.

Full Review in the Spoiler below:

Then we get to the bromance—Shi Guang and Yu Liang’s dynamic teeters on the edge of plausible deniability. Yu Liang’s devotion sometimes looks less like rivalry and more like romantic fixation, but since his social world is basically nonexistent, his intensity is almost forgivable. Still, I often wished he was let in on Shi Guang’s secret. It would’ve deepened his arc instead of leaving all the emotional heavy lifting to the latter.

Speaking of which, Shi Guang’s insistence on carving out his own path rather than relying forever on Chu Ying’s genius was one of the most satisfying parts of the drama. But his attachment to Chu Ying? Absolutely heartbreaking. Whether it’s the absence of a father figure or simply the bond of a mentor he can’t keep, that goodbye landed like a punch.

My only stumbling block was Go itself. The show explained it with patience, but unless you’re already fluent in the game, the finer points remain a mystery. Still, I watched every match like it was the Super Bowl, rules be damned—because by then, it wasn’t really about the board anymore. It was about the bond.

This is a drama with a premise begging to be a sleek, modern fantasy-sports hybrid—and yet it looks like it crawled out of a VHS tape from 1987. The biggest culprit is Chu Ying’s makeup: part “ethereal 11th-century ghost,” part “community theater eyeliner enthusiast.” It’s a creative choice that sort of works in context, but it does take a moment to adjust when your ancient spirit looks like he borrowed from an ’80s glam kit.

The real triumph here is the acting. The child cast didn’t just perform—they owned their roles, and the adult actors carried those same quirks and rhythms with eerie precision. Too often in dramaland, growing up equals a full-on personality transplant, but here it felt seamless, like the characters had truly aged rather than been swapped out. That continuity alone makes the story more immersive.

Review continued in the spoiler below:

I believe it's because any type of reincarnation or Time travel is banned in China so they have to reframe it as either a Dream sequence or a fictional world within a novel. A lot of dramas had to do this, like Joy of Life , The Romance of Tiger and Rose, Save Myself and so many others. Any kind of supernatural elements like ghosts, spirits, demons are also restricted so the productions have to do a workaround to be able to pass Chinese censorship and making the whole drama a dream sequence is the most common method.

Not sure, because A Familiar Stranger and The Killer is Also Romantic are also penned by Zhao Lin and they are in my top 10 favorite short length series. 🤷‍♀️

Fermat’s Cuisine isn’t trying to be prestige television, and Takahashi Fumiya isn’t here to win Oscars—but he is here to deliver, and he absolutely does. His performance has that raw, earnest quality that makes you believe in Gaku’s journey from math-obsessed recluse to culinary prodigy. Watching him apply formulas to food could’ve been a gimmick, but instead it’s clever, oddly satisfying, and surprisingly moving. His transformation is, dare I say, chef’s kiss—a quiet triumph that sneaks up on you.

What elevates the drama beyond its premise is the palpable camaraderie. The cast clicks in a way that feels lived-in, and the standout dynamic is between Gaku and Asakura Kai, the enigmatic chef who recruits him into the culinary world. Their bond is layered with mentorship, tension, and mutual respect, grounding the story in something deeper than just kitchen theatrics. It’s about people—about building trust, finding purpose, and learning to communicate through flavor.

And speaking of flavor, the food is practically its own character. Every dish is shot with reverence, sizzling and gleaming like it’s auditioning for a five-star review. You’ll want to pause and rewind just to admire the plating. The multicultural cast and global influences add richness to the world, making it feel inclusive and refreshingly modern.

For those hoping for a BL angle—this isn’t that dish. At best, Gaku might lean gay-coded or asexual, given his obliviousness to the affections of his female friends. But that’s not the story Fermat’s Cuisine is telling. It’s about heart, growth, and the quiet magic of finding your place—served with warmth, sincerity, and just the right dash of spice.

This is the second Zhao Yi Qin drama that left me emotionally unmoved, despite its glowing reviews and dreamy premise. The story, inspired by the classic Liang-Zhu romance, had potential, but once again, Zhao’s performance didn’t pull me in—and the open ending only added to my frustration. I’m not here for ambiguity masquerading as depth. If you’re wondering how I feel about this one, just refer to my review of his other work: the review summary remains unchanged. https://kisskh.at/755723-hard-to-find#comment-22557646

Beautiful visuals, decent pacing, but ultimately forgettable. I wanted to care. I didn’t. And I’m not sticking around for a third try.