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.

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

This sentence feels like a dagger. It pierces through the glamorous celebration banquet. Everyone on stage is cheering. Pei Qian sits in the corner, his eyes hollow.

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 the Jinghong Group of the Sima family. Zhou Muyan’s Tianhuo, Pei Qian’s Tengda—all rent Shenhua’s office buildings. Lin Wan is the sole heir of Shenhua Group. She resigned from Tianhuo and moved to Tengda, and her parents eventually supported her to develop in Jinchuan.

Initially, Lin Wan’s parents disapproved of her entering the gaming industry. They hoped she would return to the group early to gain experience. But Lin Wan wanted to create a game she loved. She resigned and went to Tengda. 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 isn’t an equal sign. Reality is different. 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 girl + talented young man” is bound to end happily. But the drama has no fairy tale. Pei Qian’s ideal is to “become the richest by losing,” but the ending is an open-ended success—Tengda grows steadily, scales up, and celebrates publicly. The laughter fills the stage. Behind the stage, he wears a bitter smile like a hidden dagger. Pei Qian is only a nominee holder, earning more but still working for others.

There’s an even more painful reality. Pei Qian has wanted to give his parents a good life since he was young. Their neighborhood has no elevator, and his parents are getting old 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 remains unrenovated, while he has been camping in it, working as a rideshare driver for two years.

Two years is a brutal milestone. There’s no romantic heroism in the tent. It’s a money-saving tactic rooted in reality. Every fare earned was like a ticket to bring his parents into the city. But the script didn’t give him a perfect ending. In the end, he had to sell the house. That moment of helplessness was more difficult to swallow than any failure.

Even more absurd, his shares are still held in nominee name. This means his name appears prominently in the company, but key decisions are still made by others. Even though Tengda’s share structure looks impressive, in essence, he’s still contributing value to the Sima family. He is nominally the chairman, but because of the nominee holding, his fate is still in others’ hands.

Memory fragments jump around. Pei Qian once was full of ambition, full of ideals. He paid his youth and strength for his dreams. But when reality and emotions intertwined, the outcome wasn’t the happy ending he expected. Lin Wan’s parents eventually moved in to support, praising Pei Qian’s abilities. But that praise didn’t translate into crossing social classes emotionally. 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 advantages.

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

Looking again at Pei’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 their efforts. But life doesn’t always give answers, and the drama chose to leave room for interpretation. This approach sparks discussion and controversy.

The last line feels like an unstabbed knife: When we applaud “the company’s growth and impressive shares,” 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 sorrow for him?