Chapter 130: The Crisis of the Son-in-Law

A Collection of Book Reviews: The Crisis of Tedium and Disjointed Storytelling

The core appeal of historical transmigration stories lies in the protagonist's ability to warp the original world. The world is warped precisely because of the protagonist's appearance. Protagonists, transcending the Five Elements and Three Realms, often appear where they least belong—like alternate worlds or ancient times—and use their abilities, consciously or unconsciously, to erode and disrupt the original fabric of these worlds. In reality, there's nothing inherently wrong with this; transmigration is a common genre, and causal paradoxes are largely ignored. The novel "Zhui Xu" even bypasses this issue entirely by directly replacing the Song Dynasty with the Wu Dynasty.

Everyone possesses a destructive impulse. To put it another way, it's a natural inclination to assert one's superiority to overwhelm and dismantle others' ideas, then reconstruct them—survival of the fittest, where the victor reigns and the defeated are vanquished. Transmigrating protagonists generally embody this nature, whether by acting condescendingly or by striving to survive against adversity, ultimately disrupting and reshaping the "original world" through their actions.

Overpowering another person single-handedly is enjoyable; to overpower an entire world composed of countless individuals, however, is a magnificent feat. People always hope for such magnificent occurrences. To be blunt, magnificence equates to satisfaction, and even more so when one feels like the most powerful being in the entire world—that is truly the ultimate thrill.

This "warping of the world" doesn't mean the protagonist becomes a Super Saiyan and obliterates Earth. Rather, it signifies influencing the "original world" by demonstrating the protagonist's unique qualities. This can be a disruptive act, a transformative act, or, more euphemistically, a corrective act.

The term "world" can also be referred to by names such as "heaven and earth," "all under heaven," "human realm," "all things," or simply "era." Given that "Zhui Xu" is set in ancient times, perhaps "all under heaven" would be a more fitting term. The word "world" sounds a bit too expansive; the chessboard of the Central Plains is already vast enough for the protagonist to navigate a lifetime, and other "lands beyond" can be simply ignored.

A protagonist in a historical transmigration story should constantly be reshaping and remaking the ancient world. This is an act of invasion, a contest between the modern world, represented by the protagonist, and the ancient world, represented by its inhabitants. If this contest doesn't occur, and the protagonist's unique qualities aren't showcased, then the protagonist might as well be a native, and their transmigration background becomes entirely superfluous.

This contest can manifest in both minor and major aspects. In terms of minor aspects, "Zhui Xu" handles it exceptionally well. The contest effectively begins from the moment the protagonist awakens in ancient times and encounters the first person. Chan'er, a mere maid, was the first person the protagonist interacted with on the day he woke up, and also the first through whom his unique qualities were demonstrated.

Previously, he was the powerful figure who single-handedly built a vast financial empire. The moment he truly displayed that imposing aura, with just a glance and a gesture, the maid-dressed woman immediately stiffened, stood rooted to the spot, and stammered, "Master-in-law, you're awake..."

Chan'er acts as an observer, regularly reporting the protagonist's activities to Su Tan'er, his nominal wife. These reports include details like his running by the Qinhuai River before dawn, his preference for push-ups as exercise, his strange and incomprehensible poems, his ungentlemanly Go-playing style, and even his teaching Chan'er Gomoku to pass the time. While seemingly trivial, these small actions are crucial and indispensable elements that attract readers, sometimes even more so than grand affairs of state. Through this series of "actions," the protagonist, in the reader's subjective perception, subtly acquires the aura of a conqueror. His every word and deed slowly erode the world intentionally constructed by the author. The result of this erosion is the immense pleasure readers derive from the process of conquest.

However, the intensity of this pleasure depends on various factors. While the "conqueror's brilliance and might" are primary, other considerations include "the conqueror's status," "the conquered's status," "the conquered's gender," and even "the timing of the conquest."

Regarding his status: in his previous life, the protagonist was a financial giant, but in this life, he is merely a "son-in-law." The contrast is stark, yet readers don't feel humiliated by this because his past life is described in only a single, simple chapter. This setup of his past identity merely serves as justification for the protagonist, who mistakenly entered this alternate world, to display his "brilliance and might" while navigating ancient life. His status after entering ancient times is essentially a strategic retreat to advance: taking a step back to then take a giant leap forward. This kind of progression yields a greater sense of achievement than merely jumping forward from the same spot. All is ready, only the east wind is lacking.

Roughly speaking, if we categorize it simply, the gradual conquest of Su Tan'er, Chan'er, Nie Yunzhu, Yuan Jin'er, and others through their interactions with the protagonist represents the "minor aspects" of the contest. Conversely, the gradual conquest of Qin and Kang (two elders), Li Pin, Zhou Pei, Zhou Junwu, and others by the protagonist's intellect and will represents the "major aspects" of the contest.

As mentioned earlier, "Zhui Xu" excels in handling the minor aspects, partly because of the contrast between the "conqueror's status and capabilities" and "the conquered's status and capabilities." Chan'er is merely a maid, and while the protagonist is just a "son-in-law," he still holds a clear status advantage over her. Su Tan'er holds significant power within her family, and the protagonist's status appears to be inferior. Would readers be displeased by this? No, because one must remember that her family is merely a merchant family, while the protagonist's former identity was that of a financial giant. Therefore, even though readers know the protagonist is a "son-in-law," they can still seamlessly perceive, accept, and understand the success of his "conquest" of Su Tan'er. Nie Yunzhu is a former courtesan, placing her at a clear social disadvantage. Even with Gu Yanzhen's later pursuit, her fragile image only intensified. If not for the "Butcher with Bloody Hands" Ning Liheng, whose heart was like a fierce tiger, this sweetly naive mature woman would likely have met a tragic end.

A second reason is that the characters of Su Tan'er, Chan'er, and Nie Yunzhu are quite endearing. This endearment is crucial; an unlikable main character, no matter how fully developed, becomes meaningless and even a burden. However, whether a character is endearing is not something an author can easily control. For example, the characterization skills of the great Luosen are beyond doubt. The plot of *Fengzi Wuyu* might gradually fade with time, but characters like Tian Di You Xue, Li Yu, Wang Wu, Lancelot, and Zhou Gongjin will surely be unforgettable to anyone who has read it. However, in *Dongfang Yun Mengtan*, also by Luosen, the male and female protagonists, though theoretically fully fleshed out, surprisingly come across as soulless puppets (my personal opinion). Ultimately, this isn't necessarily a problem with the author's technique; rather, it's because, as a reader, I fundamentally disliked the protagonists' attributes. This is an insoluble issue, one that to some extent inevitably depends on luck—perhaps more people will like it, or perhaps more will dislike it.

This leads to the first crisis of "Zhui Xu": the decreasing appeal of its female characters as they appear. Ranking them by personal preference: Chan'er > Nie Yunzhu > Su Tan'er > Lu Hongti > Yuan Jin'er. Consequently, scenes where the protagonist appears with Chan'er or Nie Yunzhu are invigorating. As for Su Tan'er, even her interactions with the protagonist after she falls ill feel too rushed, far from the intense sparks I imagined between them during their struggles. Lu Hongti is merely passable, lacking any striking qualities. Yuan Jin'er's role has only recently expanded, so I'll reserve judgment for now. Put simply, the protagonist's success in demonstrating his superiority depends on the charm of the characters he conquers. If the conquered characters fail to gain reader approval, the protagonist's "brilliance and might" will similarly not be acknowledged.

This is a recurring crisis for Banana (the author). Whether it's *Yin Sha*, *Yihua*, or the current *Zhui Xu*, the general style is consistent, characterized as a "leisurely and carefree" approach. According to Banana's examples, this style heavily relies on the "surrounding scenery" as viewed from the protagonist's perspective. Readers are like tourists, and Banana (the protagonist) is like a tour guide, leisurely showing them around. However, no matter how relaxed and calm the guide is, if the "surrounding scenery" doesn't meet readers' expectations, problems will arise, especially when the guide becomes too carefree and forgets to provide detailed "background" information.

"Zhui Xu" initially felt like an ancient version of *Yin Sha*, but recent chapters resemble *Yihua* more. I really liked *Yin Sha*, though the latter half was somewhat disappointing. I tried reading *Yihua* twice: the first time I couldn't get past the early chapters, and the second time I stopped right before the protagonist's anticipated first sexual encounter, without knowing if it succeeded. The success of "Zhui Xu" is unexpected and marks a significant early breakthrough for Banana. As a reader, though not a loyal one, I still hope Banana can progress further, especially since authors who maintain their unique style while achieving widespread popularity are now on the verge of extinction.

Unlike the minor confrontations, "Zhui Xu"'s handling of major aspects can hardly be called successful; this is the second crisis the novel faces. The reason for this, to paraphrase "Xiao He's success and Xiao He's downfall," is that the success in minor confrontations lies in the appealing nature of Su Tan'er, Chan'er, and Nie Yunzhu. However, the problem with major confrontations is the "lack of depth" in the characters. The elder Qin, who appeared early on, was fine, especially when his status and life story were revealed through Song Mao's words in Chapter 3. This significantly elevated the character's gravitas. Firstly, the character was involved in well-known historical events, and secondly, Governor Song Mao is arguably the most "profound" character in the novel so far; his every word and action exude the aura of authority, lending more weight to the introduction of elder Qin's life story through him. Unfortunately, from Chapter 95 onwards, when discussing the political situation, the listener is no longer Governor Song, but merely Li Pin. Here, it's not just about status; more importantly, Li Pin's characterization is simply too thin, lacking any discernible depth. Not to mention that the siblings Zhou Pei and Zhou Junwu are mere background characters. As a result, readers inevitably feel that the protagonist is pontificating. Furthermore, Banana is too eager to unleash his personal insights all at once, rambling on in long passages, forgetting a crucial fact: whether the views themselves are correct or profound is secondary. To put it another way, "whether the viewpoint is actually true is not important"; "what's most important is making readers *feel* the viewpoint is reasonable." The two chapters commenting on the political situation failed to meet the latter requirement.

Furthermore, the timing of discussions about national affairs is also problematic. While it's not impossible to derive satisfaction from a conversation about state matters with a "character" (as perceived by the reader), certain preconditions are necessary. For example, if a specific event occurs at a certain time and place, showcasing the severity of the situation and the limitations of contemporary people, then even if the protagonist casually smiles, his eyes gleaming with insight, pulling someone aside to ramble on about various things and display his ahead-of-his-time perspective—even if that person is just a random passerby—it would still be quite convincing. This is because, at that moment, the passerby is no longer just a simple extra, but an embodiment of the people of that era. However, the discussions by the protagonist in "Zhui Xu" and Li Pin's listening are timed like a leisurely stroll down the street where someone bumps into a neighbor, seems about to say "Nice weather," but instead blurts out, "I think the nation is about to perish." Bystanders, after hearing this, would likely have no reaction other than "Oh, really?"

The protagonist's initial identity as a major figure in the business world, and his subsequent status within a merchant family after transmigration, is presumably not accidental. Logically, the story should have started with business conflicts before moving on to affairs of state. Someone who is extraordinary in one field is often assumed by readers to be extraordinary in other aspects too. For example, the protagonist of *Yin Sha* had incredible combat power, could transform into a woman, and was also a hacker. In reality, these three abilities have no necessary connection, but to readers, it seemed self-evident. That's because the fact of his immense combat power had already been "proven" first. If one is true, then two will follow; a multi-talented protagonist can be forgiven.

In Chapter 111, the father-in-law is assassinated. Perhaps, the business conflict has begun, and perhaps, the crises of "Zhui Xu" are now over.