Reviews

dare I say season 2 was much better

I know season 1 was like greattt!!! and there were many people who stated they didn't like the season 2 as much as season 1 and but in my opinion this season was much better , iguess because it had a more mature rhythm and the guilt that si eun had when suho was in a vegetative state was really something to see , he couldnt do anything and almost gave up on fighting , it was very painful to see but natural too. one more reason is that they had a full team fight and si eun s clever tactics was more used in this season and ofcourse the seong jun was my fav too but he was a literal psycopath who just wants to have fun .
about na baek jin , i pitied him throughout the series, sure he did very hurtful things but he was really lonely and i bawled my eyes out when he died ( not sure how he died) but anyways both the season were really good and I hope to see more series from these actors.
I do think i found this masterpiece a little later but I am glad I did.

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“The body may be gone. The weight never leaves.”

Two mothers, Wang Hui Chun and Chao Ching, bring their daughters’ killer back to life for seven days. It might sound like the start of a fantasy story. But it isn’t.
What emerges is not the supernatural, but a system built on abuse, money and bodies held captive. A bold premise, almost a narrative gamble, capable of drawing the viewer right into the thick of the action before throwing them off balance.

At first, to mislead him with elements that seem to belong to the realm of fantasy, only to gradually reveal a more down-to-earth, contemporary dimension, where exploitation and money reshape every balance.

That's where the story draws its strength: in the constant deception—not just as a theme, but as a structural device—which leads the viewer to doubt, time and again, not only the nature of the story, but also that of its characters.
This suspended space is inhabited by two figures who share the same trauma, yet are separated by a circumstance that radically reshapes their perspective.

On the one hand, a definitive, irreversible loss—a daughter who cannot be brought back, not even symbolically. On the other, a suspended presence, a body that still breathes, and which keeps alive a possibility, however fragile.
It is in this asymmetry that the story finds one of its deepest tensions: for whilst the pain is shared, its direction is not. One moves within absence, the other within a state of waiting.

And this difference – subtle yet decisive – ends up gradually undermining not only their alliance, but also the very meaning of what they are trying to achieve.
In this context, revenge does not hold the same meaning for both of them. For someone who has lost everything, it may well become the only possible form of redress—or of survival. For the person who still clings to a glimmer of hope, however faint, it risks becoming a choice that calls into question what remains to be protected.

And when the target of this revenge is a man who is already dead, the matter becomes even more complicated: for what remains is no longer justice, but an extension of it—prolonged, organised, and increasingly difficult to distinguish from the very thing it was meant to fight.
This delicate balance is further destabilised by the portrayal of the daughters, Jin Jin and Hsin-yi, which operates by way of reflection and, progressively, through reversal.

Whilst the two mothers follow divergent paths—one rooted in absence, the other held back by a possibility—their respective daughters initially seem to confirm this dichotomy, presenting the viewer with an apparently orderly, almost reassuring interpretation.

It is a perception that the narrative carefully cultivates, leaving it to the viewer to construct a system of correspondences: innocence and guilt, protection and betrayal, victim and complicity. But it is here that the deepest deception takes root.
As the narrative unfolds, what seemed set in stone begins to crumble, and identities start to defy any fixed categorisation.

The daughters do not merely mirror their mothers: they challenge their mothers’ assumptions and complicate their choices, to the point where the distinction between victim and active participant in the system becomes increasingly difficult to draw.
The figure of the torturer, brought back to life, also forms part of this ongoing shift: no longer merely the source of evil, but an element that reveals, by contrast, the extent to which that evil is already widespread, internalised, and ready to resurface elsewhere.

The ending does not introduce a sudden revelation, but brings to a conclusion a process already underway: that of a gaze that is guided, directed, and ultimately disillusioned. Not so much because the truth is hidden, but because it is gradually rendered unrecognisable.

If the narrative tension unfolds naturally, culminating in an inevitable emotional breakdown, it is also thanks to the perfect and complementary performances of the two leading ladies.
Shu Qi’s presence is, at least in my view, the main draw of the story: a measured performance, often achieved through understatement, restrained yet deeply empathetic.
In contrast, Lee Sinje defines the measure, the stylistic signature, through a modulation of pain that unfolds in the absence of any prospect of hope, allowing choices to emerge that, almost inevitably, become increasingly irrational.

Around these characters, a context unfolds that does more than simply serve as a backdrop; it actively contributes to the construction of meaning.
A world in which money circulates without any apparent source, fuelling a culture of get-rich-quick schemes, identities that are constantly being constructed and renegotiated, and life paths defined more by opportunity than by choice.

In this network, deception is not an exception, but an organisational principle. It takes various forms, adapts and transforms: from the violent and direct structure orchestrated by Zhang Shih-kai, to the more subtle and seemingly legitimate version reflected in his mother’s activities, where the promise of redemption is intertwined with strategies of control and profit.
Two distinct yet perfectly interconnected models, which paint a picture of a system capable of replicating itself without interruption.

Even where the possibility of detachment seems to emerge, it ultimately gets swallowed up by the same pattern: relationships built on self-interest, performed identities, and dynamics that reverse roles to the point of turning the observer into an integral part of the mechanism.

Alongside this dimension lies a contrasting and complementary realm: that of opulence, of impersonal spaces, of hotel rooms and boutiques, of an aesthetic that suggests possibilities whilst concealing structural fragility.
And, in contrast, marginal realities, peripheral environments, places that bear the tangible traces of a system that consumes and redistributes without ever truly making up for what it takes away.

It is in this constant shifting—between visibility and invisibility, between construction and loss—that the drama establishes its identity, creating a dialogue between a seemingly ‘fantastical’ framework and a reality that, by contrast, seems all too familiar.
At this point, one cannot help but question the very nature of the framework underpinning the narrative: the resurrection, the seven days granted, the final return.
These elements, when viewed through a strictly realistic lens, would seem to call for a precise, almost demonstrative explanation.

But the story never seeks such coherence. From the very beginning, it establishes its own balance, in which death ceases to be a definitive limit and becomes a state of limbo, serving the purpose of what is yet to emerge.
And it is exactly in this suspended space that the reversal takes on meaning: not as an exception, but as the logical outcome of a perspective that is already biased, already susceptible to deception.

What concerns daughters—their nature, their role—does not require explanation, but rather recognition of what it becomes the moment certainties begin to crumble.
It is not, then, a question of whether or not to believe in the process, but of accepting the ground on which it operates: a system in which identity, responsibility and truth are constantly being redefined, to the point where every distinction becomes unstable.

The final return does not open up a new perspective, but brings to completion a dynamic already in motion: that of a world in which nothing truly comes to an end, but everything is absorbed, reorganised, and put back into circulation.

It is also in this choice—risky, exposed, at times imperfect—that the drama finds its own identity: an unstable equilibrium which, precisely in its imperfections, defines its strength.
Nothing truly ends. It simply changes hands.

7 ½

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Stellen sie keine fragen!!!

(interrogation room, light shining in eyes)

So! I suppose you think you are ready to watch this drama... well I am not so sure, frauline.

(interrogator sits at table, opens thick manila file folder)

I can see from your file that you have watched... 312 dramas. Impressive, frauline. Most impressive. You are probably thinking you are an expert, ya? You are thinking you know everything about the drama Chinesischen. You have seen the Arthursteinen und the Dilrabaschlager many many times und you are thinking this drama will be amusing und clever with the fancy kostume und the spezial effekte. Well not so fast!

(interrogator slams desk dramatically, then gets up, paces slowly, hands clasped behind his back)

If you are to finish this drama successfully, you must not ask any questions! We will ask the questions here!!!

(pauses to clear throat and adjust tie. continues to pace officiously back and forth)

You will see things that make no sense. You must not let that break you. You must not engage your gray matter. It is of vital importance that you stay focused on your mission!

FL is 400 years old. ML is 20. AH AH! I told you not to ask any questions frauline, and look here you are already you cannot take it. I do not think you will survive at this rate. You must concentrate harder on not thinking or I am thinking you will fail your mission.

Now.... this FL has none of her five senses. But she can walk, talk, understand speech, read and write, paint, cook, play music and so forth.

(slap!)

Frauline!!! Get a grip on yourself! No questions! If you allow the questions to come into the brain, they will never end. Why do they forget the kid all the time? How can she have had 22 previous lovers when she can't feel anything? Why does the ML turn from a psycho bloodlust obsessed maniac into a basket of boneless chicken wings? If the producer can afford such gorgeous costumes and sets then why can't they spend some money on a decent hair stylist? If FL is the most powerful being in the known world, how come someone more powerful shows up in the third to last episode? Why as soon as ML and FL agree to be a couple, do they immediately begin a long-distance relationship? Why is ML able to repeatedly win martial arts battles with the second most powerful being in the known universe when he is only a mortal? Why does ML take FL back after she dumped him so brutally? How can she taste the subtle flavors of the food when she gets a sense of taste, but has no sense of smell?! Zum teufel mit deiner wissenschaft! To hell with your science! To hell with your so-called "Emotionale Logik"!

You must swallow the pain and the angst and focus on die freiwillige aussetzung des unglaubens! Willing suspension of disbelief!!!

(peers closely at frauline)

I see you have finished the first half of the drama, and now you are getting sleepy. Wach auf! Wake up!

(firmly pats frauline's cheek repeatedly to revive consciousness)

You must watch the 17 prefectures plot with the side characters! No, i will not 2x it for you!! No we will not be pressing the skip 10 sec button! You must stay awake or the drama will defeat you and crush you utterly! Here I have brought you the toothpicks for the propping open of deine augenlids and keeping the eyes from closing.

(frauline props eyelids open with toothpicks, continues to watch)

Das ist excellent frauline. Now comes the kisses and sweet confessions. Nevermind that he is dying! Das ist fine. It doesnt matter if he has terminal illness breath and can't feel anything, these are simply useless questions again, you musn't let them intrude on the romance of the drama!!

(more agitated pacing)

Und finally, you are at the finale! ML lives forever in a merciless icy blizzard which torments him as he endlessly fights his way toward a blinding sun, trapped inside a jellyfish from which he can never escape. Isn't it lovely? No?!! Well then you can have das 6 minütige Fanservice-Ende!!!!!

(bangs dramatically on desk)

You have finally completed your mission, frauline. Was it not a happy-making time? Was it not everything you hoped it would be, with the Dilrabadamme and the Arthurschteinen and the artifical intelligence? I suppose you will be watching this drama over and over now, correct?

(frauline weeps tears of relief and runs from interrogation room)

BRUTAL TRUTH SUMMARY: The romance was not romancing, the plot was not plotting, ML and FL have very little shared screentime, ML starts as a borderline yandere badass lunatic and ends as a feeble, cucked, dying shell of a man, and the best part about the whole thing was A) Ding Jia Wen as Feng Yi and B) The insanely gorgeous costumes.

With a budget this big and names this big, I'd call this a fail. The story could not support the weight of this big a production.

YES worth watching once just for the costumes and performances, but NO not worth a rewatch. Therefore: 7.5/10

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