It was the end of May. The weather was sweltering, and stepping onto the street felt like being hit by a wall of heat.
But for TV stations and the film and television industry, this time of year was a key period.
In the Xia Nation universe, the TV drama industry followed a "live shoot-live broadcast" model.
Most shows only ran for one season—roughly a dozen episodes—and aired on a quarterly schedule.
With July just over a month away, TV stations were rushing to greenlight and begin filming the dramas planned for the summer slot.
The production departments at every station were now running at full tilt.
The overall seasonal budget for each station didn't change much, so who got the biggest slice of the pie depended on each producer's skill and ability to pitch.
At major stations like Sakura TV, a top-tier broadcaster among the Big Three, it was standard to have at least 7–8 dramas airing per season, each with an investment of over 10 million yuan—sometimes much higher. Genres covered everything from romance to historical to mystery, ensuring there was something for every viewer.
But in a country as large as Xia, not everyone liked mainstream stories.
Which was why all three major stations operated their own streaming platforms, similar to iQiyi, Tencent Video, and Youku in Su Yan's previous life, though much smaller in scale and influence.
Besides producing specialized web dramas and variety shows for these platforms, Xia Nation also had countless small- and mid-sized studios that released their work through these same platforms.
Even low-budget web dramas sometimes went viral and became just as influential as shows aired on TV.
Three days ago, after getting a clear agreement from Su Yan to collaborate, Shinozaki Ikumi immediately signed an official Letter of Intent with him using the station's standard format—just to ward off interference from other producers.
Over the next three days, she fully embraced a "shameless" mindset.
Normally, given her past track record, Shinozaki Ikumi would've had zero chance of getting any new TV drama proposal through higher-level approval—not even for a web drama.
She would've been told to go run errands and "gain more experience" for another couple of years.
But Shinozaki's now-retired mother had a decent reputation back when she was still working in the Production Department, and several of the department's executives were her long-time mahjong buddies.
After Shinozaki's proposal was rejected, she had no choice but to ask her mother—still in Sakura Island—to swallow her pride and make a few emotional appeals over the phone to these "aunties."
Thanks to those calls, the four-episode low-budget web drama project, 'Rurouni Kenshin', finally made it through all the necessary review steps—and today, it was officially on the agenda for the Production Department's high-level meeting.
First on the docket were the major dramas set to air on Sakura TV, and their budgets were the main battleground. Senior executives debated so fiercely that it nearly came to blows.
Then came budget reviews for next season's talent shows, variety shows, and documentaries.
Only after that was it time to review the six new web dramas scheduled for production this quarter.
Web drama budgets had internal guidelines—rarely exceeding 600,000 yuan per episode.
Right now, it was time for 'Rurouni Kenshin' to be reviewed.
"2.2 million total investment? For a series that's only four episodes long?" said Akasaka Yoshitoki, a tall, stern-faced executive.
"Since when do we let proposals like this make it into the final review meeting?"
"The script passed all reviews and is of excellent quality," one of Shinozaki's mother's long-time friends said. "Costume martial arts romance dramas are extremely rare in Xia's market. After thorough market research, we believe this series will perform very well."
They spoke up in her defense.
They all knew this project was likely the last chance for Shinozaki Ikumi's production career at Sakura TV. If this didn't work, she'd be out for good.
And since they'd already decided to help their little niece, they didn't hold back—advising her to write the budget proposal using the maximum allowable amount for a web drama.
After all, if the drama flopped, she'd be the one to resign and take responsibility. No big deal for them.
And as for them? At their level, what's a one- or two-million yuan drama project? Even a total loss wouldn't hurt their positions.
"This is ridiculous!" Akasaka Yoshitoki said angrily.
"Producer Shinozaki Ikumi? Her track record speaks for itself. And this Su Yan—he's just a freshly promoted rookie. Pairing the two of them together is way too risky."
"I propose we terminate this proposal immediately. No approval."
"You can't say that," one of the aunties countered. "Wen Yutong, the genius screenwriter from Hudu TV, was also a rookie when she debuted—didn't her work end up ranking second nationwide in ratings last year?"
Shinozaki's support team started pushing back.
While their ranks weren't as high as Akasaka's, they were still members of the Production Department's Approval Committee—and combined, they held decent influence.
The meeting turned into a tug-of-war of arguments.
Finally, the Production Department Head, Yoshizaki Shigeyoshi, stepped in to stop things.
He slashed the proposed 2.2 million budget for 'Rurouni Kenshin' down to 1.2 million on the spot.
The "aunties" exchanged glances—they realized something was off.
Why would the department head himself bother interfering with the budget of such a low-cost web drama?
Akasaka Yoshitoki's lips curled into a small smile.
He hadn't been trying to sabotage Su Yan or Shinozaki Ikumi directly—killing a project that had already reached the meeting table would offend too many people. And he had to think about how others might retaliate when it came time to review his team's proposals.
His move was strategic—advancing by retreating. He didn't want to kill 'Rurouni Kenshin', just slash its budget.
Next on the meeting agenda was the discussion for the drama 'Pure Breeze'.
Back in her office...
"What?! 'Rurouni Kenshin''s budget got cut to just 1.2 million?! And 'Pure Breeze', which is only 10 episodes long, just got approved with an 11 million yuan investment?!"
Shinozaki's blood pressure shot through the roof as soon as she heard the news.
"Little Ikumi, we really tried," came the voice of one of her mother's friends on the other end of the phone. "But the department head and deputy head came to a unified decision. They said they're optimistic about the future of web dramas and want to create a high-quality industry benchmark. That's why the other five web drama projects this quarter all had their budgets trimmed."
After a long silence, Ikumi ended the call.
She sat there thinking for a long time, then let out a deep breath.
The situation was crystal clear now.
Akasaka Yoshitoki was blatantly boosting his nephew, Kiyota Sanji's series 'Pure Breeze'.
The total quarterly budget was fixed. So, how do you increase the investment for one specific project?
Easy—just cut the budgets of the others.
Slash enough from everyone else, and you can cobble together 10+ million yuan for your nephew's project.
Frustrated. Furious.
The other four web dramas approved this quarter were all mid-budget productions—around 4–5 million total. To avoid making too many enemies, Akasaka had only trimmed about 400–500k from each. Not a huge deal.
But 'Rurouni Kenshin'? They had only requested 2.2 million.
And he chopped it straight down to 1.2 million.
Percentage-wise, the others lost about 10% of their funding.
Rurouni Kenshin lost nearly 50%.
That kind of obvious double standard—
He was sending a clear message: "I'm not afraid of offending you, Shinozaki Ikumi."
He clearly looked down on 'Rurouni Kenshin'. He looked down on Su Yan. He looked down on her.
"You just wait, Akasaka Yoshitoki." She gritted her teeth. "A 1.2 million budget? Fine. But if, by some chance, 'Rurouni Kenshin' airs and ends up with higher average sales and ratings than 'Pure Breeze' and its 11-million budget…"
"I'll see where you hide your face then."
Of course...
She knew deep down that this was unlikely to happen.
But people—well, people like to dream.