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  Audiences actually enjoy provocation. The reason they like us is that sometimes we say things they agree with, and sometimes we say things they don't—but that's what keeps them watching. Everyone has a little angel and a little devil inside, and I think they enjoy seeing both sides of us come out freely.
  
  As a group, Barbie and Dee have been famously dubbed " The Truman Show of Taiwan" by Kevin Tsai due to their extensive public exposure from a young age, through which they fostered strong parasocial bonds with audiences and a mutually dependent relationship with the media. In later years, as their family matters increasingly made headlines, the Hsu family was also, at times pejoratively, compared to the Kardashian family of the Chinese world (with Wang Xiaofei compared to "Kanye East"). Barbie and Dee are especially popular among women, urban dwellers and the LGBTQ community, of which they were also among the earliest public supporters in the Chinese-speaking world, including advocating for same-sex marriage on their show in the early 2000s. On the other hand, their shows sometimes sparked controversy with their no-holds-barred topics, sharp sense of humor, and alleged insensitivity toward Taiwan's local traditions and culture, including glove puppetry and Southern Min dialect, which are closely associated with the pan-Green Coalition, contrasting with their pan-Blue background. As Hsu explained one of her controversial jokes from 100% Entertainment on Kangsi Coming: “Little S told me that every time she saw me lying at home with depression, she was terrified that I might grab a knife and kill her. So I jokingly said, ‘If I were to kill someone, I'd start with mom.’ I was really just kidding, but because I happened to be struggling with depression at the time, everyone thought I actually wanted to kill my mom.”
  
  As a public figure, Hsu was often described as “brave,” “kind,” and “true to herself,” drawing comparisons to the “chivalrous women,” the heroines of kung fu films, stemming from stories such as her standing up to her father's domestic abuse to protect her mother during her childhood, and her intervening in a case of child abuse by a triad member after hearing a child crying as she passed their home. Hsu's friends and family often described her as being "ging,” a Southern Min dialect word meaning “tense and unable to relax,” reflecting her strict self-discipline and perfectionism on and off screen. "It's as if, from the moment Barbie Hsu burst out of the bedroom to stop her father, she stopped living for herself,” noted Nothing But Storytelling magazine in a personality feature on Hsu. In the same piece, Mavis Fan remarked, “She needs to love herself more, to embrace this adversary—only then will she begin to feel a bit better."
  
  Hsu's leadership and loyalty to her inner circle were well-known, at times tested by significant pressure. In 2012, in the final days of Da Bing (Tony Fish)—her Hwa Kang classmate and friend, who died of pneumonia in Beijing following a series of drug scandals that derailed his career in Taiwan—Hsu financially supported his family through his younger brother, Xiao Bing, and helped his brother to bring his ashes home. In 2014, one month into her pregnancy—short of the three-month mark traditionally observed in Taiwan before announcing a pregnancy—Hsu revealed the news to the media as an effort to divert attention from the Top Pot Bakery scandal involving Dee's family. In 2015, after Makiyo Kawashima's career had been suspended following an assault scandal, compounded by financial strain as her mother was battling cancer, Barbie and Dee provided her with financial assistance. Hsu also maintained close friendships with Blackie Chen and Christine Fan after the couple lost a defamation lawsuit against Tina Chou, one of the celebrities who accused Chen of sexual harassment during Taiwan's #MeToo movement in 2023; with Pace Wu, whose partner Ji Xiaobo, son of Cui Lijie, became a fugitive after being criminally convicted and declared a “mafia kingpin” by a Beijing court in 2023; and with Janet Chia, who became a vocal supporter for Taiwanese independence, a political taboo in China, following the COVID-19 pandemic.
  
  Hsu's romantic life—marked by fan-approved co-star romances and two “flash marriages”—was popularly described as “daring in love and hate.” Her relationships, often with younger men, were shaped by her fame and strong personality, sometimes viewed as domineering or emasculating, a dynamic acknowledged by Vic Chou as a factor in their breakup and cited by Wang's mother as a reason for Hsu's divorce from Wang. Her entanglement with Wang, which kept her in the media spotlight after she had stepped back from her career, was variously framed as a romantic tragedy, a political parable, or a modern witch hunt—casting her as a sympathetic figure and feminist icon among urban and progressive women, a rhetorical vehicle for nationalists on both sides of the Taiwan Strait, and a target of criticism from segments of the manosphere and conservative housewives who viewed her as a "gold digger" or a deviation from traditional family values. Post-divorce, Hsu faced particularly harsh criticism on Douyin, popular among small-town and rural audiences in mainland China, where the Wang family maintained a successful yet controversial livestreaming presence until her death. By contrast, Wang was portrayed more negatively in Taiwan, where the Hsu family was known for carefully cultivating media relationships through access journalism.
  
  Epitomized by Zhang Lan's Douyin livestreams, Chinese social media platforms operated by various tech giants have drawn reflection for their role in enabling the misinformation campaign that plagued Hsu in her final years. Since around March 22, 2024, after Wang attempted to forcibly enter Hsu's Taipei residence, his name has intermittently disappeared from Weibo's trending list or been replaced with indirect references such as “Barbie Hsu's ex-husband” for unclear reasons. Notably, Weibo CEO Wang Gaofei, known for his pro–men's rights and anti-progressive views, publicly sided with Wang in 2022 during the divorce dispute, deriding Hsu's request for an IOU regarding RMB 26 million she had lent to her then-husband. According to the podcast Sis Highway, a discernible misinformation mechanism took root around Hsu with a pattern emerging on Weibo's trending list, where positive news about Wang included his full name, while negative reports referred to him as “Barbie Hsu's ex-husband,” subtly casting him in a more favorable light while portraying Hsu as problematic. The podcast also challenged the popular belief that the Hsu family paid to trend on Weibo, noting their limited incentive to seek visibility on a mainland-focused platform after largely withdrawing from that market—arguing instead that they were used as content fodder for platform algorithms and opportunistic actors.
  
  In her remembrance, Tencent Entertainment called Hsu a "cyber bestie of a generation," noting the "vibrant" and "entertaining" presence she and her sister brought to the Chinese-speaking world more than two decades ago remains unrivaled. Sanlian Lifeweek called her an “entertainment queen" while reflecting on the burdens of her relentless determination throughout her tumultuous childhood, career and marriage: "Though she never wished to reveal her struggles, never showed weakness, and never lost control in public, the experiences she endured over the years laid bare the challenges she faced as a woman Beyond her iconic role as Shan Cai, her greatest performance was playing herself. If being a celebrity were a profession, she had fulfilled her duty with unwavering dedication—right up until her final moment." Southern People Weekly compared the significance of Shan Cai to Jane Eyre for Hsu's generation, drawing parallels between Hsu's life and her iconic character: "While they undoubtedly embodied pioneering attitudes and perspectives, they were also constantly restrained by traditional values," the article observed, identifying Hsu's marriage to Wang as a watershed moment, after which she put her career on hold as she navigated family drama and health struggles stemming from her pursuit of motherhood. "Yet, it is precisely because of her complexity, contradictions, and limitations that we love her—and love Shan Cai."
  
  Writer Huang Tongtong summarized Hsu's life as the "lifelong forced resilience of East Asian women," describing how she became the protector of her mother and sisters in "a deeply patriarchal family" and a survivor in the cutthroat entertainment industry, both from a young age: "She had no choice but to turn herself into a lone wolf—trusting no one but herself, relying on no one but herself. In many ways, her relentless drive, her desperate efforts, and her habit of living each day as if it were her last became an unshakable fixation in her life." Writer Zuo Li referred to Hsu as the “daughter of television,” a phrase that gained traction thereafter: “The tangled battle between Barbie Hsu and Wang Xiaofei represents the clash between television and short video. The daughter of television dies exhausted, while Wang's family of short video will eventually drain their source of traffic. Had this divorce occurred before 2010, the Hsu family might not have suffered as much—they were fluent in the grammar of television media, skilled at weaving together TV, newspapers, and magazines to craft narratives that minimized harm. But the era of short video and self-media has arrived. What was once seen as dignity in mainstream media is now dismissed as pretension, while bottomless attacks, rumors, and malicious speculation are celebrated as courage and authenticity. Barbie Hsu's death marks the end of the television variety era.” Zuo Li also commented on Hsu's appeal to female audience, attributing it in part to the " Seven Fairies," a celebrity circle she led: “Barbie Hsu was a founder of female ecosystem, an effort that felt ahead of its time. What she gave birth to was not only two children, but also a tight-knit, women-focused community and a social network centered on female connection, flowing with a sense of yi similar to that found in male brotherhoods. This small universe had no kings or patriarchs, no oppression—only horizontal dynamics of friction, collision, support, and solidarity. Women fell in love with this ecosystem, and with Hsu herself: an actress of average skill and talent, seemingly gentle but full of character, and the day-to-day tapestry of female friendship she wove."
  
  In Rappler and Rolling Stone Philippines, Hsu was remembered for the “Meteor Fever” that introduced the Philippines to Asian dramas, shifting the cultural landscape previously dominated by teleseryes and dramas from Latin America and North America. In Initium Media, critics Jia Xuanning and Yang Buhuan offered differing perspectives on Hsu's legacy. Jia noted that Hsu, with her sister, pushed the boundaries of traditional Chinese femininity, demonstrating that women could be "unruly, funny, and sharp-tongued" while freely expressing their emotions. Yang critiqued the dominant memorial narratives, arguing that they placed greater emphasis on Hsu's relationships and family over her professional achievements, romanticizing both her entanglements with Wang through tragic romance tropes and the circumstances of her death: "Drawing from Hsu's approach to life, her views on death, and her proactive and eventful romantic history, some articles have portrayed her death as that of a kung fu heroine—departing with no regrets, young, beautiful, and carefree, as if she had merely taken a fleeting journey through this world. However, this is a perspective I personally cannot accept. A woman of such deep emotions and passion endured over a decade of infidelity and domestic violence. After finally breaking free, she had only three short years to explore a new life—years in which she was relentlessly subjected to slander and humiliation from the outside world," referring to her acrimonious and polarizing divorce. Yang concluded: "If there is any solace to be found in her passing, I believe the most genuine comfort lies in what one netizen put so poignantly: 'Her final years of resistance and defiance won her the chance to return to her maternal, matrilineal family—to be cared for, and to pass with dignity.'”
  
  In a commentary for CNA, Annabel Lim noted the collective sense of loss following Hsu's passing due to her strong parasocial presence, as if "a piece of my youth had been ripped away without warning." In The Straits Times, Jan Lee called Hsu “the TV big sister” growing up while reflecting on her beauty legacy: “She was also the first celebrity I remember who was honest about what she did to look good. As a self-proclaimed ‘Queen of Beauty,’ who released books about skincare and beauty treatments, she talked openly about Botox and Thermage and admitted to always being hungry to maintain her svelte figure. I don't think all her methods were healthy, but I liked that she did not sell me a fantasy.” Luo Beibei, a popular independent entertainment writer in China, observed that while Hsu's beauty standards may be debated today, " same ideas have ignited conversation in every era—that's what it means to be truly influential. Perspectives change over time, but one thing about Hsu never did: her extraordinary will and the determination to see things through. Whatever she set her mind to, she pursued with unwavering resolve—becoming beautiful, becoming a star, love and marriage, children, family, turning domestic life into captivating storytelling... And then, divorce. Followed by a remarriage so swift and unexpected after being applauded for her divorce that the world could barely process it, when she told the world that it was a love story two decades in the making." After Hsu's death, Luo launched an online campaign calling for the ban of Zhang Lan's and Wang Xiaofei's Douyin accounts, which some credited as a contributing factor in the platform's decision to take action.
  
  Kevin Tsai, a close friend to the Hsu sisters, compared Hsu's passing to an unfinished fairy tale, which echoes a widespread sentiment online: “Someone once worked so hard to pursue happiness, and after enjoying it for a while, that happiness came to an end. It's like flipping through a fairy tale, expecting to see the page where the princess and the prince live happily ever after, but that page was never printed—you just turn to a blank page. It's so shocking, like, ‘This isn't what you promised me.’” Meng Jing, an independent entertainment writer and former reporter of Sanlian Lifeweek, noted Hsu as the "backbone" of the “last matrilineal family”: “The Hsu mother and daughters spent their lives both upholding tradition and, at times, resisting it when it threatened to crush them. They were not the fearless, independent heroines of empowerment narratives—there was compliance, hesitation, and entanglement. They never delivered the dramatic slaps to their men that some might have found satisfying, leaving those observers frustrated by their lack of defiance, while others resented them for not fully submitting. But that is real life. The charm of the Hsu sisters lies in how every chapter of their lives resonates with so many people—because when a story is too triumphant, it leaves no room for you to see yourself in it.”
  
  Audiences actually enjoy provocation. The reason they like us is that sometimes we say things they agree with, and sometimes we say things they don't—but that's what keeps them watching. Everyone has a little angel and a little devil inside, and I think they enjoy seeing both sides of us come out freely.
  
  As a group, Barbie and Dee have been famously dubbed " The Truman Show of Taiwan" by Kevin Tsai due to their extensive public exposure from a young age, through which they fostered strong parasocial bonds with audiences and a mutually dependent relationship with the media. In later years, as their family matters increasingly made headlines, the Hsu family was also, at times pejoratively, compared to the Kardashian family of the Chinese world (with Wang Xiaofei compared to "Kanye East"). Barbie and Dee are especially popular among women, urban dwellers and the LGBTQ community, of which they were also among the earliest public supporters in the Chinese-speaking world, including advocating for same-sex marriage on their show in the early 2000s. On the other hand, their shows sometimes sparked controversy with their no-holds-barred topics, sharp sense of humor, and alleged insensitivity toward Taiwan's local traditions and culture, including glove puppetry and Southern Min dialect, which are closely associated with the pan-Green Coalition, contrasting with their pan-Blue background. As Hsu explained one of her controversial jokes from 100% Entertainment on Kangsi Coming: “Little S told me that every time she saw me lying at home with depression, she was terrified that I might grab a knife and kill her. So I jokingly said, ‘If I were to kill someone, I'd start with mom.’ I was really just kidding, but because I happened to be struggling with depression at the time, everyone thought I actually wanted to kill my mom.”
  
  As a public figure, Hsu was often described as “brave,” “kind,” and “true to herself,” drawing comparisons to the “chivalrous women,” the heroines of kung fu films, stemming from stories such as her standing up to her father's domestic abuse to protect her mother during her childhood, and her intervening in a case of child abuse by a triad member after hearing a child crying as she passed their home. Hsu's friends and family often described her as being "ging,” a Southern Min dialect word meaning “tense and unable to relax,” reflecting her strict self-discipline and perfectionism on and off screen. "It's as if, from the moment Barbie Hsu burst out of the bedroom to stop her father, she stopped living for herself,” noted Nothing But Storytelling magazine in a personality feature on Hsu. In the same piece, Mavis Fan remarked, “She needs to love herself more, to embrace this adversary—only then will she begin to feel a bit better."
  
  Hsu's leadership and loyalty to her inner circle were well-known, at times tested by significant pressure. In 2012, in the final days of Da Bing (Tony Fish)—her Hwa Kang classmate and friend, who died of pneumonia in Beijing following a series of drug scandals that derailed his career in Taiwan—Hsu financially supported his family through his younger brother, Xiao Bing, and helped his brother to bring his ashes home. In 2014, one month into her pregnancy—short of the three-month mark traditionally observed in Taiwan before announcing a pregnancy—Hsu revealed the news to the media as an effort to divert attention from the Top Pot Bakery scandal involving Dee's family. In 2015, after Makiyo Kawashima's career had been suspended following an assault scandal, compounded by financial strain as her mother was battling cancer, Barbie and Dee provided her with financial assistance. Hsu also maintained close friendships with Blackie Chen and Christine Fan after the couple lost a defamation lawsuit against Tina Chou, one of the celebrities who accused Chen of sexual harassment during Taiwan's #MeToo movement in 2023; with Pace Wu, whose partner Ji Xiaobo, son of Cui Lijie, became a fugitive after being criminally convicted and declared a “mafia kingpin” by a Beijing court in 2023; and with Janet Chia, who became a vocal supporter for Taiwanese independence, a political taboo in China, following the COVID-19 pandemic.
  
  Hsu's romantic life—marked by fan-approved co-star romances and two “flash marriages”—was popularly described as “daring in love and hate.” Her relationships, often with younger men, were shaped by her fame and strong personality, sometimes viewed as domineering or emasculating, a dynamic acknowledged by Vic Chou as a factor in their breakup and cited by Wang's mother as a reason for Hsu's divorce from Wang. Her entanglement with Wang, which kept her in the media spotlight after she had stepped back from her career, was variously framed as a romantic tragedy, a political parable, or a modern witch hunt—casting her as a sympathetic figure and feminist icon among urban and progressive women, a rhetorical vehicle for nationalists on both sides of the Taiwan Strait, and a target of criticism from segments of the manosphere and conservative housewives who viewed her as a "gold digger" or a deviation from traditional family values. Post-divorce, Hsu faced particularly harsh criticism on Douyin, popular among small-town and rural audiences in mainland China, where the Wang family maintained a successful yet controversial livestreaming presence until her death. By contrast, Wang was portrayed more negatively in Taiwan, where the Hsu family was known for carefully cultivating media relationships through access journalism.
  
  Epitomized by Zhang Lan's Douyin livestreams, Chinese social media platforms operated by various tech giants have drawn reflection for their role in enabling the misinformation campaign that plagued Hsu in her final years. Since around March 22, 2024, after Wang attempted to forcibly enter Hsu's Taipei residence, his name has intermittently disappeared from Weibo's trending list or been replaced with indirect references such as “Barbie Hsu's ex-husband” for unclear reasons. Notably, Weibo CEO Wang Gaofei, known for his pro–men's rights and anti-progressive views, publicly sided with Wang in 2022 during the divorce dispute, deriding Hsu's request for an IOU regarding RMB 26 million she had lent to her then-husband. According to the podcast Sis Highway, a discernible misinformation mechanism took root around Hsu with a pattern emerging on Weibo's trending list, where positive news about Wang included his full name, while negative reports referred to him as “Barbie Hsu's ex-husband,” subtly casting him in a more favorable light while portraying Hsu as problematic. The podcast also challenged the popular belief that the Hsu family paid to trend on Weibo, noting their limited incentive to seek visibility on a mainland-focused platform after largely withdrawing from that market—arguing instead that they were used as content fodder for platform algorithms and opportunistic actors.
  
  In her remembrance, Tencent Entertainment called Hsu a "cyber bestie of a generation," noting the "vibrant" and "entertaining" presence she and her sister brought to the Chinese-speaking world more than two decades ago remains unrivaled. Sanlian Lifeweek called her an “entertainment queen" while reflecting on the burdens of her relentless determination throughout her tumultuous childhood, career and marriage: "Though she never wished to reveal her struggles, never showed weakness, and never lost control in public, the experiences she endured over the years laid bare the challenges she faced as a woman Beyond her iconic role as Shan Cai, her greatest performance was playing herself. If being a celebrity were a profession, she had fulfilled her duty with unwavering dedication—right up until her final moment." Southern People Weekly compared the significance of Shan Cai to Jane Eyre for Hsu's generation, drawing parallels between Hsu's life and her iconic character: "While they undoubtedly embodied pioneering attitudes and perspectives, they were also constantly restrained by traditional values," the article observed, identifying Hsu's marriage to Wang as a watershed moment, after which she put her career on hold as she navigated family drama and health struggles stemming from her pursuit of motherhood. "Yet, it is precisely because of her complexity, contradictions, and limitations that we love her—and love Shan Cai."
  
  Writer Huang Tongtong summarized Hsu's life as the "lifelong forced resilience of East Asian women," describing how she became the protector of her mother and sisters in "a deeply patriarchal family" and a survivor in the cutthroat entertainment industry, both from a young age: "She had no choice but to turn herself into a lone wolf—trusting no one but herself, relying on no one but herself. In many ways, her relentless drive, her desperate efforts, and her habit of living each day as if it were her last became an unshakable fixation in her life." Writer Zuo Li referred to Hsu as the “daughter of television,” a phrase that gained traction thereafter: “The tangled battle between Barbie Hsu and Wang Xiaofei represents the clash between television and short video. The daughter of television dies exhausted, while Wang's family of short video will eventually drain their source of traffic. Had this divorce occurred before 2010, the Hsu family might not have suffered as much—they were fluent in the grammar of television media, skilled at weaving together TV, newspapers, and magazines to craft narratives that minimized harm. But the era of short video and self-media has arrived. What was once seen as dignity in mainstream media is now dismissed as pretension, while bottomless attacks, rumors, and malicious speculation are celebrated as courage and authenticity. Barbie Hsu's death marks the end of the television variety era.” Zuo Li also commented on Hsu's appeal to female audience, attributing it in part to the " Seven Fairies," a celebrity circle she led: “Barbie Hsu was a founder of female ecosystem, an effort that felt ahead of its time. What she gave birth to was not only two children, but also a tight-knit, women-focused community and a social network centered on female connection, flowing with a sense of yi similar to that found in male brotherhoods. This small universe had no kings or patriarchs, no oppression—only horizontal dynamics of friction, collision, support, and solidarity. Women fell in love with this ecosystem, and with Hsu herself: an actress of average skill and talent, seemingly gentle but full of character, and the day-to-day tapestry of female friendship she wove."
  
  In Rappler and Rolling Stone Philippines, Hsu was remembered for the “Meteor Fever” that introduced the Philippines to Asian dramas, shifting the cultural landscape previously dominated by teleseryes and dramas from Latin America and North America. In Initium Media, critics Jia Xuanning and Yang Buhuan offered differing perspectives on Hsu's legacy. Jia noted that Hsu, with her sister, pushed the boundaries of traditional Chinese femininity, demonstrating that women could be "unruly, funny, and sharp-tongued" while freely expressing their emotions. Yang critiqued the dominant memorial narratives, arguing that they placed greater emphasis on Hsu's relationships and family over her professional achievements, romanticizing both her entanglements with Wang through tragic romance tropes and the circumstances of her death: "Drawing from Hsu's approach to life, her views on death, and her proactive and eventful romantic history, some articles have portrayed her death as that of a kung fu heroine—departing with no regrets, young, beautiful, and carefree, as if she had merely taken a fleeting journey through this world. However, this is a perspective I personally cannot accept. A woman of such deep emotions and passion endured over a decade of infidelity and domestic violence. After finally breaking free, she had only three short years to explore a new life—years in which she was relentlessly subjected to slander and humiliation from the outside world," referring to her acrimonious and polarizing divorce. Yang concluded: "If there is any solace to be found in her passing, I believe the most genuine comfort lies in what one netizen put so poignantly: 'Her final years of resistance and defiance won her the chance to return to her maternal, matrilineal family—to be cared for, and to pass with dignity.'”
  
  In a commentary for CNA, Annabel Lim noted the collective sense of loss following Hsu's passing due to her strong parasocial presence, as if "a piece of my youth had been ripped away without warning." In The Straits Times, Jan Lee called Hsu “the TV big sister” growing up while reflecting on her beauty legacy: “She was also the first celebrity I remember who was honest about what she did to look good. As a self-proclaimed ‘Queen of Beauty,’ who released books about skincare and beauty treatments, she talked openly about Botox and Thermage and admitted to always being hungry to maintain her svelte figure. I don't think all her methods were healthy, but I liked that she did not sell me a fantasy.” Luo Beibei, a popular independent entertainment writer in China, observed that while Hsu's beauty standards may be debated today, " same ideas have ignited conversation in every era—that's what it means to be truly influential. Perspectives change over time, but one thing about Hsu never did: her extraordinary will and the determination to see things through. Whatever she set her mind to, she pursued with unwavering resolve—becoming beautiful, becoming a star, love and marriage, children, family, turning domestic life into captivating storytelling... And then, divorce. Followed by a remarriage so swift and unexpected after being applauded for her divorce that the world could barely process it, when she told the world that it was a love story two decades in the making." After Hsu's death, Luo launched an online campaign calling for the ban of Zhang Lan's and Wang Xiaofei's Douyin accounts, which some credited as a contributing factor in the platform's decision to take action.
  
  Kevin Tsai, a close friend to the Hsu sisters, compared Hsu's passing to an unfinished fairy tale, which echoes a widespread sentiment online: “Someone once worked so hard to pursue happiness, and after enjoying it for a while, that happiness came to an end. It's like flipping through a fairy tale, expecting to see the page where the princess and the prince live happily ever after, but that page was never printed—you just turn to a blank page. It's so shocking, like, ‘This isn't what you promised me.’” Meng Jing, an independent entertainment writer and former reporter of Sanlian Lifeweek, noted Hsu as the "backbone" of the “last matrilineal family”: “The Hsu mother and daughters spent their lives both upholding tradition and, at times, resisting it when it threatened to crush them. They were not the fearless, independent heroines of empowerment narratives—there was compliance, hesitation, and entanglement. They never delivered the dramatic slaps to their men that some might have found satisfying, leaving those observers frustrated by their lack of defiance, while others resented them for not fully submitting. But that is real life. The charm of the Hsu sisters lies in how every chapter of their lives resonates with so many people—because when a story is too triumphant, it leaves no room for you to see yourself in it.”