Guo Liangxian, the husband, is introduced as this triumphant general bringing home a pregnant concubine. And Yuan Xueyue’s cold, calm reaction speaks volumes. In her past life she probably cried and screamed, now she just bows and says “Welcome back.” That silent dignity is a thousand times more impactful than any hysterical outburst. It also makes me wonder: is she really over him, or is this a shield? I need to read more to find out.
The zombie king ability—seeing cores and eating them to grow stronger—is a cool twist on the usual special ability trope. Most stories have humans get powers at the red moon, but here only the protagonist gets his as a zombie. It’s a bit contrived but sets him apart. I keep waiting for other zombie hybrids to show up. No way he’s the only one, right?
The buffet scene is pure chaos and I loved every second of it. Zhang Shuai treating a sixty-nine yuan all-you-can-eat like a life-or-death challenge is peak poor people energy. The waitress Huang Dan’s growing horror as she watches him eat is my favorite part. She’s not even mad about the restaurant losing money; she’s genuinely afraid he’s going to burst or die on the floor. That shift from “this guy has a big appetite” to “this guy is a medical liability” is so well observed.
The scene where the protagonist says, "I've seen this situation before," referring to the open eyes, followed by him relating the story of the bricklayer whose head was sewn back on, is a great way to show his experience without him having to brag. He's been doing this since he was a kid. He saw his grandpa handle a similar situation. So when he acts, he's not guessing. He's applying established protocol using the "politeness followed by force" method. It makes him feel competent. I also like that the method involves tea and coins, which are traditional Chinese funeral items. The author is definitely drawing on real folklore, which adds an authenticity that made-up rules often lack. The fact that he has to physically slap the corpse is both funny and a little sad. Shows that sometimes even ancient rituals just need a bit of brute force and street smarts.
The phone call from Gao Yu at the bar—the pig-like screams and "Sister, help"—suddenly cuts the high-society drama with this raw, chaotic energy. It shifts the genre from family melodrama to street-level action, and I love it. It reminds us that Jiang Li has her own independent life and income source, not just a pawn in the Jiang family game. The bar being called "Xiaoyangyang" is so weak and cute, which makes the fight scene even funnier.
The cry-worthy moment for me was when Granny Qin gave her those sugar-coated hawthorns. It's such a small gesture, but the way the protagonist connects it to her happy childhood before the divorce—it hit me right in the feels. It's a reminder that even in the worst circumstances, kindness can unlock old wounds and make you feel whole for a moment. I had to stop and take a breath after that paragraph.