Rainy Season Clears - Reviews

As a reader, the best thing about this novel is that it doesn’t take itself too seriously where it shouldn’t, but knows when to pull back and show real emotion. The balance between jokes about wet pants and the heartfelt goal to save a friend is commendable. I also love the sense of space: the cramped rental apartment, the bright school corridors, the luxury apartment building — each setting has its own colour. The “automated note-taking” style of writing (short paragraphs, frequent dialogue, interjections) makes for a fast read. I finished these three excerpts in one sitting. Now I need to know what happened to the Jingren client, who the elevator man is, and how the school reputation damage will affect Xie’s puppet deliveries. Also, I want to see Li Yanqiao’s full backstory. This is a solid binge-read, and I recommend starting it.

Finally, the “Author’s Notes” add a layer of metatext that I appreciate. It shows the writer is not taking themselves too seriously. Sharing the dream about the flat porcelain creatures humanizes the author and invites readers into their creative process. In web serials and fan works, author’s notes are common, but in an excerpt it feels like extra flavour. It makes me want to follow the author to see more behind-the-scenes thoughts. The note ends with a question: “What would you reaction be?” That direct engagement with the audience is charming. I think including more such notes (without spoiling plot) could build a strong community around the story. It’s a small thing, but it makes the reading experience feel like a conversation.

The kiss scene hasn’t happened yet, but the potential for antagonist-to-lovers tension is thick. The “identical outfits” encounter in the elevator — the description “a bit arrogant and annoying” immediately makes Xie think of Li Yanqiao. Then the hand-on-the-ground, the “cold as winter snow” voice — it’s classic identity mystery setup. I am already imagining the reveal scene where Xie finds out Li Yanqiao is also involved in the Jingren underworld. The mutual realization could be epic, filled with “so you’re the pervert who touched my butt” and “so you’re the creep who mixes paints” dialogues. The chemistry is off the charts even in hate mode. Their current dynamic (perceived harassment versus clean freak) is a perfect enemies-to-lovers foundation. I just hope the romance develops slowly and naturally, with both retaining their sharp tongues.

Overall, this is one of the most entertaining urban fantasy/comedy openings I’ve read. The characters are distinct, the humor lands, and the world has depth. I oscillate between laughing at the absurdity and being intrigued by the dark implications. The three excerpts together create a strong hook for the story: we have a protagonist with a supernatural secret, a chaotic daily life, a brewing rivalry, and a mystery murder that he has gotten tangled in (via the elevator man). I would definitely continue reading. My main recommendation would be to balance the comedy and horror more carefully as the story progresses, and to avoid losing sight of the emotional core (friendship, sacrifice). If it maintains the same energy, this could be a binge-worthy series.

The idea of “confidential delivery” for human-like puppets is genius. It works as a plot device, a comedy generator, and a worldbuilding detail all at once. The backstory of the tricycle purchase and the street-sweeping uncle gives it a life of its own. I also enjoy the specific detail about the chain slipping and making a mournful squeal — it paints a pathetic picture of this guy struggling to transport a humanoid package on a broken bike. The fact that he passes a row of luxury cars while parking his tricycle shows the gap between his world and that of his wealthy Jingren clients. This is a classic underdogs-catering-to-wealthy-monsters setup that works every time. I want to see more of his struggle to make ends meet while also dealing with campus disasters. The economy of the Puppet Masters could be a rich vein for storytelling.

The second excerpt ends with a scene of the protagonist in despair, covering his face and lying on bed, ignoring calls. This moment of defeat after the school humiliation feels genuine. The counselor’s line about losing scholarship is a serious consequence that grounds the comedy. It’s good that the author doesn’t let Xie escape without repercussions. Also, Zhao’s laughter at his misfortune from the scarecrow form adds to the feeling that he has no allies in his misery. But then they have a tender moment when Zhao laments about wanting a body, and Xie says he’s saving money. It hints that beneath the banter, Xie is not just a reckless party boy. The ability to show vulnerability and loyalty in brief beats makes me care about their quest. The scene ends with mention of rain and warm yellow light from dusk to dawn, which is a nice atmospheric close that signals a new phase.

I have a slight issue with the translation (if this was originally Chinese). Some modern phrases like “damn” or “holy crap” feel at home in an English web novel, but occasional phrasing like “Oh wow, little friends” or “the Son of the Demon” for a wet crotch does feel a bit calqued from Chinese slang. Not a problem for me, but some readers might find it slightly off. The author’s note about the dream species also feels inserted in a way that breaks the fourth wall. In a published book, author’s notes might come after chapters, but here they’re woven into the text. I’m not sure if that’s the original format or an artifact of the extraction. Personally, I like the quirky meta inclusion, but it could be jarring if you’re looking for pure narrative. Overall, these minor issues don’t hurt the enjoyment, but they are worth noting for a full critique.

Critique: The story sometimes rushes from high comedy to brutality without a smooth transition. The shift from the silly pants-smelling fight to the delivery scene with a dying Jingren is a sudden tonal lurch. While some readers like contrast, others may feel whiplash. Also, the protagonist’s moral stance is ambiguous but not deeply explored yet. He seems to care about Zhao but treats the Jingren client with disregard. I want to see if his conscience eventually catches up, or if he remains that cold. Also, the side characters other than Zhao and Li feel a bit like props. The counselor and the old man are functional but not memorable beyond their comedice roles. The story could benefit from developing more three-dimensional secondary figures, perhaps the neighbors or the police, to ground the world more. There’s potential, but currently, the supporting cast is thin.

The secondary worldbuilding about “Jingren” and “Homo sapiens” coexistence is done with a light touch. The author gives a history (extermination of other human species, skin-wearing adaptation) and a modern arrangement (controlled by humans, provided puppets). But not all is fully explained: the rules for Puppet Masters, the legal status of Jingren, the consequences of exposure. The story trusts readers to pick it up from context. That’s a sign of respect for the audience. Also, the detail that Jingren and humans can’t reproduce (like gorillas and chimpanzees) adds biological weight. This isn’t just a fantasy; it feels like alternate anthropology. I hope later chapters explore the political tension between human controllers and Jingren rights. The statement “humans had the right to sentence them to death” is chilling and suggests a dark power imbalance.

The banter in this novel is top-tier. It feels natural, not forced. Whether it’s arguing over braised beef, debating where Zhao should park his mouth, or the dry threat to scare people, the conversations flow with a quick rhythm. A lot of urban fantasy suffers from stilted dialogue when characters info-dump, but here they reveal worldbuilding through bickering. When Zhao says “I haven’t eaten anything in over a year, my mouth is so bland” and Xei replies “I wish you had a body too, so you wouldn’t be stuck on me like a tumor,” it’s exposition about their situation wrapped in a joke. The speech patterns also differ: Zhao is more dramatic and emotional (rolling around laughing, wailing), while Xie is more deadpan and exasperated. This contrast makes their interactions dynamic. Good comedy requires great dialogue, and these two deliver.

The communication between Xie and Zhao through the parasitic mouth is a clever way to keep the sidekick active. Zhao can complain, instruct, and joke without having a physical body. The limitation of only one mouth at a time, and needing to retract it, adds a sense of practicality. Also, the scarecrow form being a backup body — clumsy, mobile but not human — allows for visual gags like rolling on the bed laughing. The fact that Zhao can also possess Xie fully, and his “parasitic” method is not explained further, teases a more invasive bond. I wonder if there are risks. Does this arrangement reduce Xie’s lifespan? Can Zhao take over against his will? The story hints at deeper consequences when Zhao slapped Xie’s face (figuratively) but also when the mouth bit his sleeve. It’s a physical and emotional dependency that makes their friendship complicated. I want more exploration of this bond.

The medical/physical details of the puppet-making process are surprisingly educational. The description of boiling leather water and adding gel to get a specific texture, using skin patterns on glass, and even adding pores and blood vessels for realism — it feels like learning about a macabre art. The fact that the protagonist is still “inexperienced” but learning from Zhao adds a nice layer of growing competence. This isn’t a protagonist who is instantly good at his secret job. He fumbled his first delivery, got chased by police, and now he’s paranoid enough to mask up. His process of attaching hair with fish glue while arguing with Zhao feels very slice-of-life despite the context. I enjoy these craft interludes as a change of pace from the school chaos.