"...Huh?"
Shinozaki Ikumi took a cautious step back, her expression growing more and more bewildered.
'Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu'?
Wasn't that just a sword style in the script? They'd use wirework and stunt effects during filming anyway—what was there to show in real life?
But in the next second, her pupils dilated in shock.
Su Yan bent his knees slightly, then suddenly kicked off the wall with a sideways step. His long, lean frame moved as if weightless, his lower legs bursting with the explosive power of a cat. In the blink of an eye, his speed became downright inhuman.
He sprang into the air, darted along the wall like it was solid ground, and with another powerful kick off the ceiling, he accelerated mid-air, locking eyes with her. His right hand reached to his side in a blur—like drawing a sword—though his hand was empty.
He landed softly on the floor with both feet, body low and centered, arm outstretched toward Shinozaki Ikumi in a thrusting gesture. Her bangs fluttered back under the gust of wind caused by his movement, and she nearly forgot to breathe.
Su Yan knew very well—this was genuine killing swordsmanship. Even if he had no intention to harm anyone, even without holding a real blade, even without emotional hostility—
A regular person like Shinozaki Ikumi couldn't help but freeze under the sheer force of presence he just unleashed.
"Hm. I didn't have a sword in hand. If I did, the movements would've had even more impact," Su Yan said, feeling the faint ache in his arms and legs.
Even though the system had improved his body…
He still wasn't at the level of Kenshin from the original manga. This was his first time performing swordsmanship techniques infused with the system's knowledge. Some minor muscle groups were clearly protesting from the sudden burst of strain.
But with regular practice, he figured his body would adapt.
"You… What was that?" Ikumi Shinozaki asked in disbelief.
"Swordsmanship," Su Yan replied. "As I said, I studied martial arts and sword techniques in the past. Not that flashy acrobatic stuff. The fight scenes in the 'Rurouni Kenshin' script? I won't say they're the same, but the core movements are absolutely possible to replicate. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had the confidence to volunteer to play Kenshin."
In fact, even in his past life, the 'Rurouni Kenshin' live-action films were considered top-tier manga adaptations. But even those relied on wirework, and while visually light, the motion often felt off—slightly unnatural.
Su Yan's movements were lighter, faster—and above all, real.
No tricks. Just raw skill. If Newton were watching from his grave, his coffin wouldn't even creak.
"Wait, wait, wait… Give me a second." Shinozaki Ikumi's mind was spinning. She took a few deep breaths and looked back at Su Yan.
"You're telling me—Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu is real? The stuff in the script—people can actually do that?!"
"Er…" Even Su Yan realized this all sounded a bit exaggerated. He tried to tone it down.
"I mean, just the movements are real. Obviously, I've never used the techniques to actually fight anyone."
Like that made a difference.
If he'd had a real sword just now—with how close he landed in front of her—she'd already be dead.
Shinozaki couldn't help screaming internally.
The shock wasn't just from how acrobatic the moves looked. Some parkour professionals might be able to mimic the motions.
No—the issue was the sheer speed and pressure those movements created. It wasn't just fancy posing.
She had felt it—that primal fear, the chill of a real-life threat.
But what if…
What if Su Yan could replicate this during filming? What if this kind of motion made it onto screen?
'Rurouni Kenshin's script kept emphasizing how insanely powerful Kenshin and the 'Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu' were.
But narration would never hit as hard as the audience seeing it for themselves.
Even if the story didn't win everyone over—
Just those action scenes alone—couldn't they absolutely win over web drama fans?
She could already sense it.
A whiff of something... like potential success.
Her heart pounded wildly.
She looked at Su Yan like a beggar stumbling across a mountain of gold. Her eyes sparkled.
"I understand now," she said. "I agree to cast you as Kenshin."
Her pale face flushed slightly with excitement.
"In the next two weeks, we'll need to select the actress for Yukishiro Tomoe, cast the supporting roles, secure the filming locations and equipment—and then…"
"'Rurouni Kenshin' begins production."
Even though it was only a low-budget web drama with just over 1 million yuan in funding…
In the Xia Country plane, there were still plenty of young people dreaming of becoming stars.
Aside from the three major TV networks headquartered in Hudu, there were several powerful regional stations. Though not as influential as the Big Three, they still had massive sway in the film and TV industry.
Then there were provincial stations, which together produced hundreds of dramas annually. And the number of web dramas? Also massive.
But even so, every year, tens of thousands of students graduate with film-related degrees.
Compared to the number of available roles, competition was fierce.
At the start of June, production kicked off for all the summer season dramas.
And the casting announcement for 'Rurouni Kenshin's female lead caught the attention of countless aspiring actresses and film students.
Big productions would always go with established stars.
But a low-budget web drama like this?
It was the only chance for an unknown to get a lead role.
Plus, the requirements for Tomoe were simple:
Beautiful. Cold, elegant temperament. Strong acting ability.
Among acting students, who would not think they were beautiful? Or believe their acting wasn't good enough? As for "temperament"—that was up for interpretation.
Within just two days of posting the casting call, Shinozaki Ikumi had received over 200 applications.
Some were signed artists with entertainment companies.
Some were still students at film schools.
Others were freelance actors—perhaps former extras, or self-taught.
Now, Shinozaki began the first round of screening—just like reviewing resumes for a job.
Anyone who didn't meet the visual standard was cut. Too overweight or too thin—cut. Age range not right—cut.
Meanwhile, now that 'Rurouni Kenshin' had been greenlit, Su Yan no longer needed to be at the screenwriting department every day. He now had a spacious room set up as a temporary office—courtesy of Ikumi—where he could focus on the action choreography.
There was even a weapons rack transported from the TV station's prop warehouse, filled with various cold weapons and replicas.
While Shinozaki was busy coordinating crew hiring, locations, and logistics, Su Yan focused on how to choreograph the fight scenes in 'Rurouni Kenshin'.
Instead of hiring some underqualified martial arts director to make up nonsense, he figured he was better off designing everything himself.
With the system's infusion of 'Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu' expertise, his understanding of combat choreography far surpassed any average fight choreographer.
"Hey, Su Yan—come take a look at this."
Shinozaki knocked three times, then entered the room.
Su Yan paused his movements and turned to her.
She dropped a thick folder of documents on the desk in front of him.
"What's this?" he asked.
"These are the application materials—photos and resumes—from everyone who wants to audition for the role of Yukishiro Tomoe. Take a look," she said.
"Unfortunately, I reached out to a few known actresses who match Tomoe's image, but none of them replied. So we're officially going with a newcomer for the role."
"It's a web drama—can't be helped," Su Yan replied calmly. "I was already mentally prepared. With a budget like ours, we can barely afford a fifth-tier actor."
"Maybe… but 'Pure Breeze' apparently managed to cast two third-tier actors: Yan Yaning and Shen Junxuan," Ikumi sighed. "Their budget's over ten million, and Akasaka Yoshitoki's industry connections are no joke. Those two might not be top-tier celebrities, but for a web drama? That's more than enough to turn heads."
She paused, then smiled faintly.
"But that's their business. Doesn't concern us."
"Here are photos and profiles of over a hundred candidates. Your job this afternoon is to help me narrow this list down to no more than thirty. The day after tomorrow, you, me, and Director Shi Peihua will hold a brief live audition with them."
"Shouldn't Director Shi be part of the selection from the beginning?" Su Yan asked.
"Wouldn't it be disrespectful to decide the shortlist without her?"
She was the director, after all—even for the initial filtering, she should have a say.
"She's older—retired for years—and doesn't have the energy we do. No need to tire her out with early screenings. But she will be present for the final audition to pick Tomoe's actress," Ikumi said.
Inside the room, Su Yan and Shinozaki soon immersed themselves in the mountain of applications.
To be honest...
The girls brave enough to submit audition materials all had decent looks—at least attractive enough to turn heads on the street.
But in the entertainment industry, many of them were just average.
"What do you think of this one—Chu Wenya?"
"Face is too round. No."
"What about Iwase Chika?"
"Hm... high cheekbones, thin lips. She's pretty, but she looks like she'd play a scheming social climber—not a quiet, tragic beauty like Tomoe."
"Hey, now—that's a bit harsh. Plenty of stunning actresses have high cheekbones."
"Sure, but Yukishiro Tomoe isn't one of them."
"Ooh, this one—Su Meimei?"
"Not bad. Let's keep her in the shortlist."
They spent the entire afternoon narrowing down the candidates, then Shinozaki started making calls—one by one—to companies and applicants, inviting them to the in-person audition.
She also sent them each a copy of the sample audition script.
By the time everything was wrapped up, it was already 10 p.m.
Of course, judging by photos alone had obvious flaws.
Acting ability could only be truly assessed in person.
"Let's hope we find the right actress at the audition the day after tomorrow."
That was the last thought on Su Yan's mind before he fell asleep that night.