[You have used up all your Emotion Points and initiated a draw.]
[Ding! You have drawn the work: 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal'.]
[Detailed high-resolution data on the manga, novel, movie, soundtrack, script, and more is being uploaded continuously!]
[Ding! As part of the first-draw bonus, you are guaranteed to receive one skill from a character in the drawn work!]
[Ding! Congratulations, you have obtained: Himura Kenshin's Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu Swordsmanship.]
[Ding! As part of the first-draw bonus, the system will enhance the host's physical condition.]
[Ding! Enhancement complete. Body fat percentage is adjusted to an optimal healthy level. Strength, agility, and mental focus significantly improved.]
In the open-office area of the Sakura TV Station's Screenwriting Department...
Su Yan opened his eyes.
A flood of system information surged into his mind.
While absorbing this torrent of memories, he was still mentally processing something he hadn't fully accepted yet—
Yesterday, he had transmigrated. And he'd be bound to a system.
This was a country very similar to the one from his previous life, yet completely different.
In ancient history, the Sakura Region had once been a province of the Xia Nation.
As a result, the country's current mainstream entertainment culture has inherited influences from the Sakura Region's early creative works, stylistically similar.
Many of the major players in the domestic film and TV industry were backed by capital from the Sakura Region.
It was just like how, in Su Yan's previous life, early entertainment in China had been heavily influenced by productions from Hong Kong.
So when Su Yan crossed over, his original plan was to do what Reincarnator does in novels—launch a pop culture shockwave from another world and get rich off it.
After all, in his past life, he was a hardcore otaku, with a head full of anime, novels, and games.
And in this world, his 20-year-old self was already a newly-promoted full-time scriptwriter at Sakura TV—a perfect position for such a plan, both in terms of career and market.
Unfortunately, his system shattered that dream.
According to the system—or the rules of this dimension—if Su Yan wanted to bring works from his past life into this world, he had to spend Emotion Points to draw them in a lottery.
Any time a work Su Yan participated in made the people of this world feel intense emotions, he would receive a small amount of Emotion Points.
The more famous, longer, or commercially valuable the work, the more Emotion Points it would cost to draw.
And if he wanted to directly pick a specific title instead of gambling through the lottery, the cost was six to seven times higher.
Take 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal', for example.
This was drawn only after the original Su Yan spent two years as an intern scriptwriter at Sakura TV, piggybacking on the credits of over a dozen projects to accumulate two million Emotion Points.
If he had wanted to redeem it outright, it would've cost over ten million.
But now—
"Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu swordsmanship..."
Su Yan's eyes lit up.
Although the system prevented him from flooding the world with cultural works at will, it did allow him to occasionally obtain skills from the works he drew.
Give and take.
At the very least, Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu was no joke—it was a deadly, real sword style in the original story.
Back in his past life, Su Yan had always been envious of how cool the protagonist looked while cutting down enemies.
Feeling the swordsmanship skills settle in his mind, Su Yan looked up at a mosquito buzzing over his head.
He grabbed a utility knife from the table.
With a thought—
In the empty office, a flash of light sliced through the air.
The mosquito's wings—each the size of a mung bean—were cut clean off, floating down like feathers.
Now wingless, the mosquito landed on the desk, dazed, crawling aimlessly.
"Even though I can only kill mosquitoes in a law-abiding society... man, I feel strong."
Su Yan's eyes widened in awe.
CLANG!
Just then, members of the Screenwriting Department began returning from lunch.
Su Yan quickly stopped what he was doing.
Sakura TV was one of the three major national TV stations in Xia Nation.
Its screenwriting department alone had hundreds of staff members, producing dramas, variety shows, and prank-style programming every quarter.
And with the rise of online platforms, the station's streaming services had also become massive, creating a constant demand for web dramas and movies.
Writers were busy all year round. Many were out scouting locations or supervising shoots.
Even those working in the office were buried in work.
Still, many of the female employees couldn't help but sneak glances at Su Yan when they had a break.
The original Su Yan had already been handsome, but after the system's physical enhancement, he was now even more striking.
His sharp profile and piercing eyes made him stand out—even in a TV station where people saw celebrities daily.
"Su Yan, have you finished the script that's due to the production department tomorrow?"
A round-bellied man in his forties approached—Sawai Teruhiro.
Though the Sakura Region had a huge influence on Xia's entertainment industry and Tokyo was a major economic hub, national TV stations were, of course, not based on some offshore island.
Sakura TV, while nominally based in the Sakura Province, had its headquarters in Hudu City, and most of its staff were "Hudu drifters" sent from the Sakura Region.
Sawai Teruhiro had been Su Yan's mentor during his two-year internship.
Su Yan had entered vocational school for film and TV writing at age 15, graduated after three years, and then interned under Teruhiro for two more years, only getting his official position last month.
Now that he was a full-time scriptwriter, he no longer had to do grunt work for senior writers.
Every quarter, he had the chance to submit one original script to the production department.
If a producer liked it, the station would invest, assemble a team, and turn it into a show.
Of course, that was easier said than done.
Producing a single drama could cost tens of millions of yuan.
Even web series require investments in the millions.
Many new writers couldn't get a script approved even after one or two years.
They'd end up stuck as assistants in bigger teams, earning low salaries.
If they failed to prove their worth, they'd eventually be let go—or give up on the industry altogether.
Sawai Teruhiro still cared about Su Yan and brought up the script deadline on his own.
"Yeah, thank you for the reminder, Master Sawai. I've been preparing for this for two years—of course, I'm not slacking off."
Su Yan smiled.
From the original host's memories, Sawai Teruhiro might be a bit rigid, but he was a responsible mentor.
"Good, Su Yan. That's what I like about you—calm, confident, and grounded. One day, you'll have your own office here in the screenwriting department."
Sawai's words were both a dream and a dose of encouragement.
He honestly didn't believe Su Yan's first script would make it past the producers, but he didn't want to crush the kid's hopes either.
He'd seen too many young people quit after just a few failed attempts.
Sawai gave Su Yan a final nod and walked back to his office.
Su Yan exhaled deeply and opened his locker in the shared workspace.
Inside were a few old drafts the original host had written.
[Winds of Midsummer]
A story about a young woman who, after failing to find work post-graduation, returns to her hometown and takes over the family business.
Not the most original concept.
Su Yan felt it wasn't much better than the low-effort dramas flooding the market.
He put the draft back, sat down, and opened his laptop.
With practiced fingers, he began typing into the title field of a standard script format:
[Rurouni Kenshin]
Screenwriter: Su Yan
He had drawn 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal', so he might as well go all-in.
Though it was technically a side story of the original manga, its OVA was legendary among old-school anime fans—top-tier production and devastating plot.
It had even been adapted into a live-action film in Japan.
Critically acclaimed, emotionally crushing—it was one of Su Yan's favorites. He loved tragic stories like this.
Surely someone in Sakura TV's production department had decent taste.
There was no way this script would be rejected after submission...
Right?