Su Yan had just received news from Shinozaki Ikumi:
'Rurouni Kenshin' had officially been greenlit by the station, and the investment funds would be released within two days.
The budget—1.2 million yuan—was a bit shockingly low, even for him. But since the entire production was only four episodes long…
Well, just be extra frugal.
No hiring famous actors, no established directors, and definitely no big-name composers for the background score or insert songs.
Cut down on costumes, sets, and makeup.
Even with all that, it should still be just enough to get it made.
The more Su Yan thought about it, the more annoyed he became.
Meanwhile, in the screenwriting department, a crowd had once again gathered around Kiyota Sanji.
"Congratulations, Kiyota! A ten-million-yuan investment for a web drama—that's a first for any of us here. Looks like the higher-ups were really impressed with 'Pure Breeze'!"
"At this rate, you might be the next genius screenwriter from Xia—maybe even surpass Wen Yutong from Hudu TV or Zuo Yuhan from Zhongxia TV!"
"Why even compare? Kiyota's aiming way higher than just being a 'young talent.' He might soon stand shoulder to shoulder with the legendary gold-medal screenwriters in the history of Xia's television industry."
The room was filled with flattery. Kiyota Sanji was grinning ear to ear.
The script for 'Pure Breeze' was supposedly co-created by Kanzaki Yusuke and Kiyota Sanji.
But all the praise went to Kiyota, while Kanzaki stood off to the side, quietly smiling like a background character.
After all, he knew very well—
The reason 'Pure Breeze' got greenlit?
The ten-million budget?
All thanks to Kiyota's connections.
So, of course, he wasn't about to steal the spotlight.
At that moment, Kiyota turned to Su Yan and chuckled.
"Su Yan, your drama's confirmed for July release on Sakura Net, right?"
Everyone in the room looked toward Su Yan.
"That's right," Su Yan nodded.
"Well, then we're both in it together. We're both newbies in the screenwriting department, and these are both our debut projects. And they'll be airing at the same time. Let's give it our best—friendly competition," Kiyota said with an easy smile.
"I'd better hurry up and finish the next few episodes. Wouldn't want my show to lose to your... uh, what was it called again? 'Wanderer Something?'"
"Rurouni Kenshin," Su Yan replied flatly.
"Right, 'Rurouni Kenshin'!"
"You should polish those later episodes carefully, Kiyota. Otherwise..." Su Yan glanced at him.
"You really will lose."
The room went silent for a few seconds—
Then, suddenly burst into laughter.
Su Yan's straight-faced, deadpan delivery was too good.
People thought he was just cracking a dry joke to lighten the mood. A clownish sort of self-deprecating humor. Another form of flattery, really.
Kiyota laughed the loudest.
To him, it only confirmed that Su Yan wasn't acting—he really was clueless.
TV dramas were a capital-driven industry. A show's quality was dictated by its investment.
Besides, Kiyota had his uncle backing 'Pure Breeze'—it would get top-tier promotion when it launched on SakuraNet.
As for 'Rurouni Kenshin'?
It was just a minor station-backed project with a million-yuan budget. It might get some casual promotion out of obligation, but that was it.
No contest.
"Totally. Let's both do our best," Kiyota said with a grin.
The next day, May 31st.
Shinozaki Ikumi, dressed in a sleek black dress and sheer black stockings, met Su Yan in person to hand him a contract.
Normally, as employees of Sakura TV, both of them were on base salaries when not attached to a project.
But once a project was greenlit, everything changed.
First, Su Yan was paid a script usage fee of 5,000 yuan per episode for 'Rurouni Kenshin'. The number could increase or decrease depending on the total budget.
For top-tier screenwriters in Xia, it wasn't uncommon to sell a script for hundreds of thousands—or even millions—before any royalties were factored in.
Second, if the drama turned a profit after airing, Su Yan would receive a project bonus as the screenwriter.
And third...
Su Yan would receive 5% of 'Rurouni Kenshin's net profits as part of his copyright share.
Of course, that 5% would only apply after the station recouped its initial 1.2 million investment.
For example, on Xia's streaming platforms, the standard pay-per-episode rate was 1 yuan. Profits were split 50/50 between the platform and the production team.
Even though SakuraNet was technically part of Sakura TV, it operated as a separate subsidiary with its own revenue and goals. Everyone handled their own profits.
So, generally, as long as a web drama averaged around 1 million views per episode, it would break even.
In 'Rurouni Kenshin's case, with only four episodes and a small budget, its break-even point was even lower.
If it managed 1 million paid views per episode, that'd be 4 million yuan in total revenue. Half of that—2 million—would go to the production team.
Subtracting the 1.2 million investment left 800,000 yuan in profit.
Su Yan's 5% of that? 40,000 yuan.
Of course, the same kind of copyright split applied to the director and producer as well.
Even the main cast would get a tiny share of royalties, though their cut was much smaller.
In the Xia TV industry, writers, producers, and directors were considered the top-tier roles in a production. Actors weren't nearly as dominant as they were in Su Yan's past life.
During the television era, stations held the real power. No actor could demand sky-high fees or control the terms.
After Su Yan signed the contract, Shinozaki Ikumi let out a long sigh of relief.
"Su Yan-sensei, from now on, we're officially in the same boat," she said with a smile.
"We've been in the same boat since the day you came to me," Su Yan replied.
"But now that the funds are in, the next step is how to actually use them, how to build the production team. To be honest..."
"That's not something you need to worry about, Su Yan-sensei," Shinozaki interrupted, brushing her hair back behind her ear.
"That's the producer's job—our value lies in connections and relationships."
"I've already contacted a retired director—an old friend of my mother's from her days in Hudu. Her name is Shi Peihua. She used to work at Sakura TV too, but she's been retired for five or six years. You don't need to worry about her directing skills."
"Right now, the biggest challenge... is casting," she said, looking at Su Yan.
"First off, the male lead, Himura Kenshin. He's cool and handsome. We need someone who can portray a 15-year-old swordsman. He has to look young, be skilled at action scenes, and be good-looking. That combination is really hard to find. And even if we could find someone like that, we probably can't afford him."
"Then there's the female lead—Yukishiro Tomoe. Finding an 'ice-cold beauty' isn't that hard—Hudu Film Academy is full of them. But getting someone who can truly portray the character's ethereal, tragic beauty on screen? That's another story."
"Also, Kenshin has multiple fight scenes in the script. Thankfully, most of his enemies wear masks, so there's no pressure on their appearance. We can just hire stunt actors for those roles."
In the 'Trust & Betrayal' Arc, the only two real characters were Yukishiro Tomoe and Himura Kenshin.
If even one of the actors was miscast, the whole production would fall apart.
The more Shinozaki thought about it, the more problems she saw.
"Um..." Su Yan suddenly interrupted.
"I don't really have any ideas for the female lead."
"But for the male lead—I already know whom I want."
Shinozaki's eyes lit up. "You do? Do you have a photo? Can you send it to me?"
Su Yan didn't try to hide it—he simply pointed to himself.
"It's me."
After all, they couldn't afford a top-tier action star. And if they were going to use some no-name amateur, why not just have Su Yan himself—who had actually been imbued with the real-life Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu sword techniques by the system—play the role?
Other actors would be acting like they knew the moves.
Su Yan? He'd be performing them. Real swordsmanship—no acting required.
"…?" Shinozaki was stunned.
Sure, Su Yan was tall, good-looking—he really was quite handsome.
But Kenshin wasn't from some idol drama. He had to fight.
And you?
"I didn't take the high school entrance exam," Su Yan explained. "I enrolled in a film and television directing school instead. I'm only twenty now, and we had performance classes too. My acting scores weren't bad. I'm not saying I'm amazing, but with a little makeup, I think I can handle playing a 15-year-old cool swordsman like Kenshin."
"Plus, I've studied some martial arts and swordsmanship before. Actually, when I was writing the script for Kenshin, I based the movements and fight choreography on myself. Everything Kenshin does—I can do."
Shinozaki looked at him strangely.
She wanted to say something… but held back.
Wouldn't saying it out loud hurt his pride?
You really think the version of yourself you imagined can live up to the Kenshin in your script?
Su Yan could tell she wasn't convinced. After a moment, he said:
"Miss Shinozaki, could you step back for a second?"
"…Why?"
"I'll give you a quick demo. Then you'll understand what the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu from the script looks like in real life."