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Aside from the MC's visuals and flirting though, what makes this drama so good is the wealth of multi-dimensional characters, dramatic intrigue, political twists and turns that kept me on my toes. The cinematography is also something to be admired, especially the seamless battle scenes. What I also liked about this drama is that there are no overtly annoying secondary characters that I want to wring their necks or slap them across the face. Yes, there are pretentious villains, there are ambitious eggheads, and murderous mistresses but what historical Chinese drama does not? At least, in this drama, they were more than just stick-figures. I also liked how compact this drama is, that they managed to condense this story in 40 episodes with hardly any fillers.
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The situations that Ha Ri find herself in are hilarious and Tae Moo's unusual responses to her antics make for comedy gold. ABP is rom-com done right, and is lighthearted despite all the clichés. The secondary couple isn't too shabby either, and their story is also endearing. Other characters are also multi-dimensional, and I especially liked Tae Moo's grandfather who is a hoot. Love, love this drama.
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I'm not really fond of FML chasing ML first, especially if they are clingy and looking desperate for male attention, but after a few episodes of this drama, I'm not as averse to Yuan Bing Yan as the Princess Chang Le as I thought. But what really kept me going is Zheng Ye Cheng as the aloof Commander of the Guards. He first caught my attention in Love O2O as Hao Mei who was in this bromantic relationship with Vin Zhang. But here, Ye Cheng is a totally different person, much older and with better acting. As Shen Yen, he endures the silly antics of the stalker-y Princess, sometimes even to the detriment of his missions. The Princess thinks that she has charmed her way in Shen Yen's heart as he was as firm in his rejection. Portrayed as a pampered brat, especially over-indulged by her doting Grandfather, Chang Le is most likely a misunderstood woman who had to deal with political machinations (even from her own father) since her mother's death. Of course, we know eventually that Shen Yan will cave in and profess his undying love for the Princess but before they can live happily after, the couple has to go through the usual trial and tribulation set forth by their conniving relatives and friends and relatives of said conniving relatives.
The drama would not be complete without secondary and tertiary couples, between ML's brother and FL's bestie, and also between their two servants. Contrived couple-dom for the win. This drama is lighter than your usual historical drama, just by counting by the number of times that the FML strategically falls into the ML's arms, and eye-rolls at said "accidental" tripping.
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In the course of the drama, we see the introduction of many characters, with some falling for the Mulan and God of OPL, and while some are harmless crushes, others fans were far more vindictive. The drama takes this opportunity and others to demonstrate how being a keyboard warrior can affect the lives of the people being talked about. Despite the popularity of some of these players, they are also human who are vulnerable to unwarranted criticism, especially if they are attacks on a personal level. The drama also showcases the level of cooperation between teammates while playing a game, as well, as how they operate in their private lives. For example even though Si Cheng's tenacious protectiveness of his colleagues is well-intentioned, he had to learn to trust his teammates to carry the burden.
In other notes, Though the in-game animation /CGI is pretty badass, sometimes it is difficult to follow the gaming strategies especially if you are not an active player of a MOBA game like Onmyoji Arena. Although the drama imparts many kernels of wisdom regarding teamwork, online bullying, lack of parental support and/or self-esteem, etc. sometimes it tends to get preachy. Otherwise it is a feel good drama.
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Story: I am happy that finally that an LGBTQ film/short didn't feature hot studs or even unattractive but fit/skinny males who seem to get more action than the ones who tip the scale.We can see that the MC is trying to put himself out there, trying to overcome his shyness by going to the pool and giving himself opportunities to get closer to his object of affection but sadly, most of us are all creatures who look towards physical appearances first before delving deep into the person behind it, even the MC is not exempt to this rule.
But towards the end, MC realizes that he can't force attraction that isn't mutual.
Acting: Average
Music: Nothing worth noting.
Rewatch value: Not really. Once is enough as it hit too close to home for me.
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Psychological Warfare Wrapped in Crime Fiction’s Finest Silk
This drama came at me like a slow-burn crime thriller with its finger on a psychological trigger—and despite walking in blind, it pulled me in with surgical precision. I hadn’t read The Silent Reading, skipped the 2023 release, dodged fan theories like landmines. Just me, the short MDL synopsis, and Zhang Xin Cheng’s face staring back like it knew my brain was about to be turned into a moral Rubik’s Cube. I expected moody vibes, vague plotlines, maybe a queer-coded bromance dusted with plausible deniability. Instead, I got the kind of storytelling that grips your chest and whispers, “You’re not getting out of this sane.”The first three cases weren’t exactly diabolical. I pegged the culprits early on—suspiciously easy—but that didn’t kill the tension. In fact, it sharpened it. The show wasn’t playing for shock value; it was slow-dripping psychological decay. Each case framed guilt less as an act and more as a symptom—of trauma, of pressure, of a broken system. Watching Pei Su move through each unraveling was like peeling back the skin of human behavior layer by raw, bloody layer. He didn’t solve crimes; he dissected them. And when cases four and five hit? My ego got taken out back and got shot. Since episode 8 or 9, I was convinced Pei Su’s mentor—the one hiding behind the shadows—was the Janitor. The signs were textbook. But the story zagged instead of zigged, and it was glorious. That rare moment when a drama outsmarts you without cheating? Chef’s kiss.
Zhang Xin Cheng doesn’t just play Pei Su—he IS Pei Su. The man radiates control, damage, and repressed anguish so tightly wound you’re afraid blinking might break him. His performance doesn’t ask for sympathy—it commands understanding. And Fu Xin Bo’s Wei Zhao is the perfect foil: calm, grounded, quietly loyal. Their dynamic walks the tightrope between emotional intimacy and unresolved tension, but the show doesn’t queerbait—it lets their bond simmer in the ambiguity of shared pain. What blossoms isn’t romance, but a kind of moral codependency forged in fire. And the result is compelling as hell.
But even masterpieces have cracks. Let’s talk loopholes—because this drama expects a lot from your suspension of disbelief. Pei Su, initially not part of the official task force, strolls in and out of crime scenes like he’s got diplomatic immunity. The rest of the team breaks protocol like it’s a group hobby—no reprimands, just moody lighting and ominous music. And the bomb scene? Peak absurdity. A live explosive, no bomb squad, just Wei Zhao casually defusing death while everyone else stands around like they're waiting for fireworks. Add to that the team’s baffling tendency to abandon suspicion the moment someone looks mildly pitiful, and the cracks start to widen. Oh, and remember that burning question Wei Zhao asked Pei Su? Yeah. Never answered. Just... ignored. Narrative silence where catharsis should have been.
Then came the ending—the soft dismount after a track paved with tragedy cues. Everything about the finale screamed sacrifice: the tone, the symbolism, the emotional escalation. The show wanted you to believe Pei Su wouldn’t make it. And honestly, that would’ve been the narratively consistent choice. Not because I crave death, but because the story had earned it. But instead of catharsis, we got a hesitant pivot into safe territory. A finale that blinked when it should’ve stared us down. That kind of emotional bait-and-switch doesn’t just miss the mark—it undermines the entire arc. I didn’t need blood. I needed resolution that meant something.
And yet, somehow—it’s still perfect. Not in the flawless, pristine sense. Perfect in the way only something raw, jagged, and emotionally loaded can be. Justice in the Dark doesn’t hand out answers. It weaponizes them. It challenges your empathy, your judgment, your belief in redemption. It lingers in your chest like a moral hangover. No, the logic isn’t always airtight. Yes, the climax fumbled the ball. But the ambition? The performances? The sheer emotional weight? Unmatched. It didn’t just sneak into my top 10—it carved its place there with blood, guilt, and a very quiet, very devastating scream. If you can stomach the mess, the brilliance is undeniable.
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Story: Cat and Dog are actually people and not animals who chase each other around: one seeks pleasure outside of his supposedly-committed relationship, while the other seeks stability, but neither really getting what they wanted. Acting/Cast: No acting prowess to speak of, but what can you expect from an adult entertainer.
Music: Nothing to write home about.
Rewatch Value: If only to figure out the logistics of how two men can fit in a small bath tub.
Overall: The film poses the question whether a “carnal connection can transcend into love?” And for me, the film does not answer this hypothetical query, and only serves to be gratuitous and self-indulgent.
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This drama simmered so gently, I forgot it was on.
I have mixed feelings about this drama — the kind that makes you sigh dreamily because the main couple is genuinely sweet, then immediately sigh again out of frustration because the story itself feels like a slow descent into narrative purgatory. Zhang Ling He was the magnet that pulled me in; his face card could carry an entire dynasty, but sadly, not this drama. Xu Ruo Han was lovely too, more than holding her own. So let’s be clear: the leads were not the problem. The problem was everything happening around them — or rather, the lack thereof.I love slow burn romance. Give me longing glances, emotional repression, even years of unresolved tension if it pays off in fire. But this wasn’t slow burn — it was just slow. Like wading through lukewarm bathwater, tepid and bland, with no heat in sight. The “romance” mostly consisted of walking, flower-staring, and meandering scenes that had the narrative commitment of a lost tourist. I needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open — and not in a binge-worthy, “I can’t stop watching” way, but in a “why am I still awake for this?” way.
And then there was the dreaded intoxicated first kiss. Can we retire this trope already? It wasn’t romantic, swoony, or even messy fun — just tired. They also tried to stir in angst with the ex-boyfriend and his one-dimensional outbursts, but it barely registered, except give Xi Fan the trauma-induced backstory she needed to see Su Ye in the first place, and later an excuse to run into Su Ye’s arms.
Oddly enough, I found myself liking Xi Fan’s parents. The resolution Xi Fan had with her parents was surprisingly healthy and mature — they were quick to recognize their shortcomings and have an honest heart-to-heart with their daughter, which was refreshing to see. For once, the elders weren’t the source of melodrama, and even Professor Yu — Dr. He’s grandfather — added a layer of warmth. But liking a handful of side characters isn’t enough to drag me through a drama that refuses to spark.
In the end, The Best Thing felt like a drama that wanted to be tender and introspective but ended up sleepy and safe. Sweet couple, yes. But sweetness without spice just leaves a bland aftertaste — and no amount of face card could make that worth finishing.
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