It’s difficult to fairly assess this manhua because the current translations are a disaster, leaving entire mechanics and character motivations in a haze of confusion. But even beyond the language barrier, what emerges is a story that operates less on coherent narrative logic and more on the relentless grind of a formula—one that repeats itself without ever deepening its own stakes.
At its core, the plot revolves around a protagonist who rises by systematically dismantling those with high fortune and destiny. His method? A vaguely defined system that rewards him for humiliation, strategic spending, and recruiting lackeys who, more often than not, have personal ties to the people he’s crushing. There is something vaguely intriguing about this setup, a concept that could allow for a deeper psychological game—watching a master manipulator plant seeds of doubt, slowly unraveling the confidence of his opponents. But the story never gives itself room to breathe. Everything happens at breakneck speed, as though the author is afraid to linger too long on anything that isn’t a direct setup for the next face-smashing confrontation.
Consider one early subplot: A woman, engaged to one of the main character’s targets, turns to him for help after her fiancé, partially overtaken by an evil spirit, begins treating her as an object—offering her to others, physically abusing her, even pouring hot oil on her. In another story, this might be a moment of weight, a disturbing turn that forces characters to reckon with cruelty and dehumanization. Here, it is a single panel, a fleeting image that the story brushes past as quickly as it introduces it. Her childhood bond with the protagonist? Given the same treatment—acknowledged in a blink-and-you-miss-it flashback before being discarded.
This, more than anything, is the defining flaw of the manhua: its complete disinterest in emotional resonance. It presents shocking moments without consequence, relationships without weight, and a protagonist whose victories feel as preordained as the system that grants them. It is not about the thrill of strategy or the tension of outplaying an opponent; it is about the repetition of an expected result. Every new adversary follows the same trajectory: stronger at first, doomed in the end.
Even if later chapters slow down and flesh out the world, the early pacing suggests a fundamental lack of patience, an unwillingness to let the reader sink into the stakes before moving on to the next encounter. The result is a story that, while built on the idea of power, feels curiously empty—devoid of challenge, unpredictability, or the kind of emotional impact that makes victories satisfying.
Perhaps a better translation would reveal a hidden depth to the system, a cleverness lurking beneath the surface. But as it stands, the story doesn’t demand engagement so much as passive acceptance. The protagonist wins, the opponent loses, and the wheel turns again. If that’s enough, then it may entertain. But if a story is going to be about power, it should at least make us feel it.
(-5)
(+115)
