The biggest regret of "Young and Promising" is that even though they bought a big house, their parents never lived in it for a single day.

Tenda’s entire staff holds 49% of the shares, but the portion under Pei Qian’s name actually belongs to Mr. Sima. Tenda’s entire staff owns 49%, but the part under Pei Qian’s name is actually Mr. Sima’s property.

This sentence is like a knife. It pierces through the glamorous celebration. Everyone on stage is cheering. Pei Qian sits in the corner, his eyes full of emptiness.

The story begins with Lin Wan. She is the only daughter and heir of Shenhua Group. Shenhua has assets across various regions, far more substantial than Sima’s Jinghong Group. Zhou Muyan’s Tianhuo, Pei Qian’s Tenda—all rent Shenhua’s office buildings. Lin Wan is the sole heir of Shenhua Group. She resigned from Tianhuo and joined Tenda, and her parents eventually supported her to develop in Jinchuan.

Initially, Lin Wan’s parents disapproved of her entering the gaming industry. They preferred her to return to the group early for training. But Lin Wan wanted to make a game she loved. She resigned and went to Tenda. Seeing her happier, her parents moved to Jinchuan to support her. All this sounds like an ideal turning point.

The emotional thread quietly unfolds. The sister duo base their novel on them. Lin Wan pays more attention to Pei Qian. Pei Qian also begins to understand her. But don’t misunderstand—liking is not an equal sign. Reality has gaps. Pei Qian regards Lin Wan as a colleague and partner. Even with natural interactions, sparks didn’t turn into love. Although feelings developed naturally, Pei Qian and Lin Wan never got together.

This is the most heartbreaking part. Many viewers think that “rich daughter + talented young man” will surely have a happy ending. But the drama has no fairy tale. Pei Qian’s ideal is to “become the richest by losing money,” but the ending is an open-ended Tenda growing steadier, expanding in scale, celebrating publicly. The laughter fills the stage. Behind the scenes, he hides a bitter smile like a knife. Pei Qian is only a nominee holder, earning more but still working for others.

There’s an even more realistic pain. Pei Qian has wanted to give his parents a good life since he was young. His old neighborhood has no elevator, and his parents are getting older and have difficulty walking. The promise of a luxury apartment became his motivation. He finally bought that large flat. But he couldn’t afford the renovation costs. To pay for renovations and mortgage, he started driving for rideshare, exhausted and turning into walking bills. The large flat he bought for his parents remained unrenovated, while he spent two years living in a tent, doing rideshare work.

Two years is a cruel milestone. The tent wasn’t romantic heroism; it was a money-saving tactic. Every ride income was treated as a ticket to bring his parents into the city. But the script didn’t give him a happy ending. In the end, he had to sell the house. That moment of helplessness was harder to swallow than any failure.

Even more absurd, his shares are still held in proxy. This means his name is prominent in the company, but key decisions are still made by others. Even though Tenda’s share structure looks good, in reality, he’s still contributing value to the Sima family. He is nominally the chairman, but because of the proxy holding, his fate is tied to others.

Memory fragments jump around. Pei Qian once was full of ambition, full of ideals. He sacrificed youth and energy for his dreams. But when reality and emotions intertwine, the result isn’t the happy ending he expected. Lin Wan’s parents eventually moved in to support, praising Pei Qian’s abilities. But this praise didn’t translate into crossing social classes. The gap in status and pre-set identities created an invisible wall. Shenhua Group’s background and Lin Wan’s status as a daughter became obstacles rather than help.

Some say that stories detached from reality are more comfortable. But “Young and Promising” chose a path closer to brutal truth. Unrenovated houses, two years of rideshare, failed house sales, proxy shares, unfulfilled love—these fragments form a sense of realism’s pain. The audience’s emotions are tugged, not soothed.

Looking again at Pei Qian’s parents. They ultimately didn’t move into the city’s luxury home. The old neighborhood finally got an elevator, but they said they didn’t want to go to the city. That seemingly “solved the problem” ending actually left Pei Qian with a huge sense of guilt. Filial piety didn’t change, but anxiety grew. The warmth he thought money could buy often isn’t something money can fix immediately. Despite all efforts, he still feels he owes his parents.

The show didn’t tie all the threads into a sweet ending. This makes many uncomfortable. Viewers are used to being comforted by the plot and hope for clear rewards for effort. But life doesn’t always give answers, and the drama instead chooses to leave room for interpretation. This approach sparks discussion and controversy.

The last line is like an unsharpened knife: when we applaud and celebrate “the company’s growth and impressive shareholding,” do we forget to look at the person in the corner bleeding for his ideals? Is this a faithful reflection of reality, or are we deliberately romanticizing our struggles? Do you think he deserves our celebration, or should we feel sorry for him?