"Hello, you can have your people discuss the detailed terms with our staff."
After seeing off yet another advertiser seeking collaboration, Jing Yu let out a long breath.
The biggest difference between running his own company and working as a screenwriter at a TV station was the sheer amount of business operations he now had to deal with. Of course, he didn't need to personally handle the details—he had an entire team of legal and business personnel for that. But he still had to attend meetings, shake hands, and deal with formalities. He disliked such social obligations, but if others insisted on this routine, he could only go along with it.
Fortunately, by now, the company's operations had stabilized. Whenever Jing Yu had a new work to release, most of the company's resources revolved around it.
If he didn't have a new project…
Well, like this quarter, despite 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' airing explosively on TV right now, it had actually been completed the previous year. Many of the company's production staff had only just returned from holiday.
But some of the newly hired, promising junior screenwriters already had two projects approved and ready to begin filming.
Jing Yu's presence in this world all these years has greatly influenced the industry. Among the new generation entering the field, nine out of ten were his fans. Naturally, their writing styles resembled the works Jing Yu had brought to this world—
To put it simply, strong anime vibes, heavily inspired by his past life's Japanese dramas and anime.
Jing Yu was quite happy with this. Great Zhou's people weren't stupid—they learned fast, and they improved fast.
It was just like Japan in the 1990s in his past life: the industry was mediocre for a while, then one or two geniuses—sparked by exposure to excellent works—rose, triggering an entire wave of creative prosperity.
Works like 'Dragon Ball', 'Slam Dunk', 'Naruto', and 'One Piece' all burst forth during that decade. But once the decade passed, the industry seemed to decline again.
Jing Yu felt Great Zhou's industry now showed similar signs. Recruiting more promising talent might very well produce a few creative geniuses.
Thus, this quarter, Jing Yu boldly approved an investment of seventy to eighty million for the new scripts written by the company's recruits. These dramas would be filmed and released next quarter on Qingyun Video.
Of course, Jing Yu wasn't planning to slack off either. After his conversation with Cheng Lie, he had already begun preparing a new work himself.
As for TV dramas, he didn't have any particular ideas at the moment. After all, aside from the new manuscripts written by the company's screenwriters, he still had the three main storylines of the 'Fate' series.
Naturally, Jing Yu had to appear in that series—he was the definitive actor for Gilgamesh. Without him, audiences would never accept a recast.
But Gilgamesh didn't appear all that often—mostly acting as a mastermind behind the scenes—so filming the 'Fate' series wouldn't take much of Jing Yu's time.
As for his new creation—or rather, his new development direction—Jing Yu had long decided:
He would move toward films.
Regarding what movie to choose, Jing Yu was quite relaxed. At this point in his career, he lacked neither money nor fame. He stood at the pinnacle of the TV drama industry. As for films, though he wanted to eventually reach the same peak, that would take time. Right now, he cared more about personal preference—
He wanted to film something he liked, not a formulaic commercial film with guaranteed profits.
Jing Yu thought for a moment.
In his past life, he paid most attention to anime movies, shows, OVAs—especially Japanese works.
Because in his previous world, China's film and TV industries were dominated by content aimed at female audiences: BL, bromance, CEO romances, cheating stories, divorce melodramas, workplace dramas, mistress plotlines, childbirth stories… These themes were everywhere. And Great Zhou now produced the same films and series from the six major TV stations, which were all relationship melodramas.
Of course, some female-led dramas in his past world were actually great. For example, Jing Yu had rewatched 'Empresses in the Palace' three times—he genuinely liked it. But if he tried adapting something like that to Great Zhou, he wouldn't even know where to start. Qing dynasty palace intrigue and Great Zhou had nothing to do with each other.
So his thoughts returned to what he was best at—
Adapting Japanese works from his previous life.
Two names appeared in his mind almost instantly—
Hayao Miyazaki and Makoto Shinkai.
Japan's box office charts were dominated by the two.
Japan was unique: in nearly every other country in the past world, the box office was dominated by live-action films.
But in Japan, the top fifty films were mostly anime.
As for Shinkai's works, Jing Yu felt only two truly met his standards and had a global impact:
'5 Centimeters per Second' and 'Your Name'.
'Voices of a Distant Star' and 'The Garden of Words' didn't count as feature films—their runtimes were too short, essentially medium-length animations.
Later works like 'Weathering With You'—well, the box office was good, but the plot… was complicated. He wouldn't consider it.
Miyazaki, on the other hand, had far too many masterpieces. But many required historical context—
For example, 'The Wind Rises' and 'Grave of the Fireflies' carried strong anti-war themes.
Only a few were suitable for adapting into Great Zhou—
'Spirited Away', 'Laputa: Castle in the Sky', and something like 'My Neighbor Totoro'.
Most of these were fantasy or alternate-world works.
Thinking so much only made Jing Yu's mind more tangled.
He had a mild case of selection anxiety.
But after checking the system pricing for these works and his remaining fan value, he simply stopped overthinking.
Since he planned to enter film, he shouldn't hesitate. The company had plenty of idle staff—he didn't need to worry about manpower.
Jing Yu made up his mind.
Soon, after burning a huge amount of fan value, three works were redeemed:
'Laputa: Castle in the Sky', 'Your Name', and 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time'.
Compared to the first two, 'The Girl Who Leapt Through Time' was far less famous, but it was one of Jing Yu's personal favorites.
He produced it simply because he liked it. Nothing deeper.
As for 'The Garden of Words' and 'Voices of a Distant Star', Jing Yu also loved them, but they weren't suitable for full live-action adaptation. After hesitating, he redeemed them anyway.
Since he had already made '5 Centimeters per Second' and 'Your Name' into films, leaving these two Shinkai works untouched felt wrong. He liked them too much.
If they couldn't become films, then he'd simply make them into short dramas.
If they didn't air in theaters, they could go straight to Qingyun Video.
Profit didn't matter—what mattered was letting Great Zhou's audience experience Makoto Shinkai's unique beauty from another world.
Of course, he wouldn't act in all these works himself. He didn't have that kind of time.
Without anyone else in the company—including Cheng Lie—knowing anything, Jing Yu sat alone in his office, opened his computer, and began typing furiously, drafting scripts.
Two days passed in a flash.
And once again, it was Sunday—the day Episode 2 of 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' would air.