Late into the night, Su Yan was still revising the script for 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal'.
The original OVA's story only covered about one to two hours of content, so the full script wasn't that long—just a few tens of thousands of words.
Normally, it would take one or two months—or even longer—to write a script of that length.
But Su Yan, now a cold and unfeeling writing machine, powered through and finished the first two chapters, 'The Man of the Slashing Sword and The Lost Cat', before 8 PM.
Of course, it was his first time doing this in another world, and Su Yan wasn't exactly a lightning-fast typist.
Adapting the original plot into a screenplay format still took some brainwork.
But even so, this output was enough for one afternoon.
And that was fine. The film and TV industry in Xia, influenced by the Sakura Province, followed a "live-shoot-live-air" model.
In most cases, scripts were revised based on audience reactions after airing.
Sometimes, if a drama tanked in ratings right after launch, the station would immediately demand a rushed ending or even cancel it mid-season—common practice to minimize losses.
So screenplays didn't need to be 100% complete before submission.
By now, the office was nearly empty.
Su Yan walked to the window and stared out at the darkened sky, lit by dazzling neon lights from the city.
He exhaled deeply.
"It's still hard to believe I've transmigrated…
But since I'm here, I've got to live a life more brilliant than the last one!"
—
After leaving Sakura TV and enduring over an hour of bus and subway transfers, Su Yan returned to his small rental room on the outskirts of Hudu.
Just a cramped 10-square-meter studio.
Being a screenwriter sounded glamorous—rubbing shoulders with productions that had tens or even hundreds of millions invested.
And in this world, under the influence of the Sakura Province, screenwriters held a much higher status than in Su Yan's previous life.
Here, screenwriters were just as important as directors or producers.
Famous ones could earn millions through royalties and revenue shares from just a single script.
But that only applied to famous writers.
For a newbie like Su Yan, who'd just gone full-time, his monthly salary barely scratched the surface in a city like Hudu.
Orphan. Single. Poor.
That was Su Yan's label.
Truly worthy of a transmigrator.
Even he found his situation painfully cliché.
The next morning, Su Yan woke up at six, bought two steamed buns on the way, and jogged to the subway—arriving at Sakura TV just before 8 AM.
This world was similar to his old one in many ways… but also very different.
Take the TV industry, for instance:
Aside from the state-run Imperial Capital TV, all other networks were private.
Sakura TV, Hudu TV, and Zhongxia TV formed the "Big Three," with their headquarters all based in Hudu.
Beneath them were a handful of mid-sized stations and dozens of small ones across Xia's provinces.
But in terms of audience share and production capabilities, none could compare to the Big Three.
Although the internet had become widespread, streaming platforms here didn't explode in popularity as they had in his past world.
The media industry was still dominated by these TV giants.
They invested cautiously in web platforms and controlled most of them.
Sure, there were a few large video sites with lots of users.
But behind the scenes?
They were subsidiaries owned by the big TV stations.
As a result, even in this era, TV broadcasting remained the main way audiences watched hit dramas.
The best and highest-budget shows still aired on traditional TV.
Only low-cost, lower-quality projects went to online platforms.
Sakura TV's own streaming service, SakuraNet, was one of the top four platforms in the country.
Su Yan had no delusions about 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' being chosen for TV broadcast.
It wasn't that the script wasn't good enough.
It was that he wasn't qualified.
TV slots were fiercely competitive. Every single spot was fought over by senior writers and production teams with a decade or more of experience.
What chance did a rookie like Su Yan have?
From the start, he had aimed for SakuraNet.
The four chapters of 'Trust & Betrayal' could be adapted into four short episodes—released weekly on the platform.
Of course, that was assuming everything went smoothly.
Entering the office...
"Good morning, Su Yan!"
"Morning, Sister Yoshii! You look stunning today."
"Morning, Sister Nishimura. Congrats on the amazing ratings for 'Tears of Sakura!' If this keeps up, you might become the lead writer next quarter and get your own production team!"
"Morning, Senior Xu Fang!"
"Su Yan, you've gotten even more handsome today. You're in the wrong department. You should sign with an agency and become a star!"
As he walked through the department, Su Yan greeted his coworkers one by one.
Being the newest full-timer, he had to play nice and stay sweet—anything to avoid getting backstabbed.
Then, his eyes sharpened slightly as he greeted another man.
"Good morning, Senior Kiyota."
Although Kiyota Sanji had only joined six months ago, he was older and a well-connected insider. Su Yan had to show surface-level respect.
Honestly, Su Yan hated these fake honorifics between coworkers.
But Sakura TV was a Sakura Island–backed company.
Its corporate culture ran deep, and half the staff were "Hudu drifters" from the Sakura Province.
Su Yan had no choice but to keep his head down.
He was especially wary of Kiyota.
Graduated from a top film school. Handsome. Rich family.
His uncle? The Deputy Director of the Production Department, Akasaka Yoshitoki.
No one in the department dared mess with him.
Even though Kiyota wasn't all that talented, his uncle had helped him jump into several projects, getting credited as lead writer to pad his resume.
In every way—background, status, looks—he outclassed Su Yan.
Which is exactly why Su Yan could clearly sense the man's quiet jealousy.
In the holy trinity of male appeal—tall, rich, and handsome—
Wealth could be earned.
But height and looks? Those were just... luck of the draw.
"Just focus on doing good work. The writing department values talent, not flattery," Kiyota suddenly commented with a raised brow, as if offering unsolicited wisdom.
Su Yan's smile froze for half a second, then returned smoothly.
Talent, huh?
If he hadn't greeted him, Kiyota would've gone straight to HR and gotten him penalized.
But Su Yan had worked real jobs in his past life.
He'd met worse people than this.
He rolled his eyes internally and moved on.
As a full-time scriptwriter whose work hadn't been greenlit yet, Su Yan still had to do grunt work on other writers' projects.
Tedious. Boring.
But every writer had to start somewhere.
Not long into his shift, his mentor Sawai Teruhiro came over.
He was in high spirits, thanks to a recent low-budget show of his performing decently.
"The script you're submitting to the production department—got it ready?" he asked with a grin.
Su Yan handed over the printed and bound script for 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal'.
"Rurouni Kenshin?" Teruhiro raised an eyebrow at the title.
Sounded very Sakura-style.
"What's it about?" he asked casually.
"Historical drama. Martial arts. Romance," Su Yan replied.
"How long is it?"
"Short series—about three to four episodes. Not suitable for TV broadcast. I'm hoping it could go up on SakuraNet instead."
"SakuraNet, huh?"
Teruhiro nodded. "Makes sense. Given your current status, it'd be tough to get major investment from the TV station."
SakuraNet was still a young platform, just under a decade old. Its viewer base wasn't as massive as the main station, but in recent years, several breakout hits had come from there.
"I got it. I'll pass your script up to the department heads for review today. That'll speed things up by a few days. If they approve it, the script will reach the production department tomorrow for the next round of review."
Famous writers had long since stopped going through these steps.
They had connections with veteran producers and could greenlight a project with a simple chat.
But Su Yan, a total nobody, had to follow the formal path.
Even then, getting approval was rare—only one out of ten newbie submissions ever made it through.
In this industry, you needed both talent and luck to succeed.
"Thank you, Master Sawai," Su Yan said gratefully.
"No need for thanks. You're my student. If you succeed, it makes me look good too."
Sawai patted his shoulder. "Work hard. Keep going!"
Then he left to oversee his own project.
Su Yan looked at the half-empty office.
Those still here at this hour were people like him—marginalized, stuck doing assistant work for real writers.
"Kenshin, whether I rise or fall in this industry… It's all on you now."
The Emotion Points he used to draw the Kenshin script were all earned by the original host during two years of assistant work.
If this script got rejected, Su Yan would need at least another year to gather enough Emotion Points to draw another major work.
—
That afternoon, several senior reviewers in the screenwriting department began skimming the scripts submitted that week.
Without visuals or music, reading scripts was dull compared to watching actual shows.
It could get tiresome fast.
But Cheng Junsen, one of the reviewers, had been reading a 20,000-word unfinished script for over half an hour.
"This… really hits different," he murmured, eyes closed, visualizing the brutal era depicted.
A Kyoto assassin. A young killer.
Of course, scripts were just words until a finished product proved its worth.
To someone like Cheng Junsen, whether a script was "interesting" only reflected personal taste—not public appeal.
But 'Rurouni Kenshin'…
Even with just a few scenes, the story of a boy born in chaos, orphaned and starving, dreaming of peace despite being shaped into a weapon—it stuck in his mind.
The tale of Kenshin, the killer molded by politics, and Tomoe, the mysterious girl, paused at their escape from Kyoto amidst flames.
That lingering desire to read more—he hadn't felt it in years, despite two decades of reviewing scripts.
"Interesting... too bad it's just a short piece," Cheng muttered.
Only then did he notice the submission plan—four episodes for web release on SakuraNet.
"Su Yan? Isn't he the rookie under Sawai Teruhiro?"
Made sense.
A new writer couldn't expect a TV broadcast and a million-dollar investment.
If the station was willing to put up a couple of million yuan for a web release, that would already be a miracle.
He paused, then placed 'Rurouni Kenshin' into the "Approved" tray.
Moments later, another script was added to that tray—
A co-written project by staff writer Kanzaki Yusuke and none other than… Kiyota Sanji.
Officially listed as joint creators, but everyone knew the real work was done by Kanzaki.
Kiyota just showed up and claimed credit.
The project was also intended for web release.
Even with his uncle backing him, there was no way Kiyota could compete for prime-time TV with that level of skill.
But thanks to Deputy Director Akasaka's help, any script with Kiyota's name on it would almost certainly pass the production review stage.
Another line added to his resume.
At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he landed a lead writing role on a full-scale TV show.
Each party got what they wanted.
"Having connections… really is powerful."
Cheng Junsen looked at the two scripts again: 'Rurouni Kenshin' and the one co-written by Kanzaki and Kiyota.
He shook his head.
If the station approved Kiyota's script, its budget would likely eat into the allocation for others.
Could 'Rurouni Kenshin' still get funding?
Even if he personally liked it more—
This… is how workplace competition works.
Connections were a form of ability, too.
Su Yan's fate… would come down to luck.