Chapter 151: Yi

Seeing Yan Li and Liu Yanming's conversation was quite pleasant.

Zhou Yi's matter is settled; "Bright Sword" hasn't been discussed yet, but the bait has been cast and the line has been laid—later, find a suitable opportunity for mutual benefit.

Seeing Yan Li's new project gives Hairen a slice of the pie, and he can likewise claim a slice of "Bright Sword" in due course.

"Sigh."

The groundwork is fine, but Seeing Yan Li worries about what project to launch.

He had previously considered "The Legend of the White Snake," but CCTV has already scheduled it to follow "Baolian Deng"—apparently casting has already begun.

"Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" has already been greenlit by Tang Ren for "New Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio."

One screenwriter's idea is to adapt "In Search of the Supernatural" as an anthology series.

For example, the sword-fighting couple tale "Gan Jiang and Mo Ye," the girl slaying the serpent "Li Ji Slays the Serpent," or the love story "The Youngest Daughter of the Wu King"—all can be adapted, infused with various elements to become stories acceptable to modern audiences.

This project is among the few Seeing Yan Li favors, but he's dissatisfied with the rewritten script and concerned about the high risk.

Historical dramatizations are plentiful, with many stories and figures to draw from.

The only two Seeing Yan Li slightly approves of are "Zhu Yuanzhang" and "The Legend of Xue Rengui."

But both dramas are weak, packed with plot holes; to film them well would require heavy investment, leaving Seeing Yan Li deeply conflicted.

Yet no matter how much he worries, he must think—Seeing Yan Li can't rely solely on the system to survive; Yi'an must grow, and it needs long-term, stable, standout flagship projects.

There's still some time left; Seeing Yan Li plans to wait a bit longer. If nothing better emerges, he'll pick one or two from these projects.

He can lower his expectations and bring in more financiers and investors to share the risk.

Not every drama can be a hit—small profits and moderate success are acceptable too; treat them as opportunities to nurture talent and train the team.

"We still lack good stories."

Seeing Yan Li increasingly recognized the importance of a good screenwriter.

Hairen doesn't worry about what project to pursue—Hai Yan writes anything, and they film it; each one becomes a hit.

Big Bearded Zhang has Jin Yong's fourteen novels—【Flying Snow, Connecting Heaven, Shooting White Deer, Laughing at the Gods, Leaning on the Green Parrots】—and even picking and choosing, he has enough material for years.

And Zhou Yi—after "Water Moon Cave Heaven" became a hit, his screenwriting team's sequels are pouring out nonstop.

Seeing Yan Li decided: upon returning, he'd begin planning to build Yi'an's screenwriting team.

He'd throw down serious money—he refused to believe he couldn't attract a few talented people.

…

Seeing Yan Li moved quickly, soon issuing public job postings to recruit screenwriters with generous terms.

To attract talent, Yi'an proclaimed: "Base monthly salary over ten thousand, million-yuan rewards for great scripts."

In 2004, such terms made even many established screenwriters hesitate.

Of course, slogans are slogans—everyone knows the reality.

Still, some mid- and lower-tier screenwriters took a chance, thinking even a third of that would be substantial.

Especially for bottom-tier screenwriters, whose income was low and unstable, barely scraping by—having a steady salary with office hours was a huge temptation.

Yi'an Film & Television soon received a flood of resumes, including plot outlines and full scripts—after all, screenwriters prove their ability best by their scripts.

While the company was still screening resumes, Seeing Yan Li had already used the system to identify several promising candidates with strong credentials.

Soon, Yi'an Film & Television held its first interview.

Five people sat in Yi'an's conference room; the atmosphere was quiet.

All were content creators—brilliant when holding pens or typing, yet in reality most were introverted; even the few extroverts, affected by the environment and competitive pressure, remained silent.

Soon, a round-faced girl pushed open the door and explained the interview rules.

There weren't really any rules—just taking turns with the interviews: one person interviews while others wait; the company provides tea and leisure magazines.

"Ladies and gentlemen, anyone willing to go first? If not, we'll proceed by sign-in order."

The five exchanged glances, saying nothing—just as the round-faced girl reached for the sign-in sheet, a young man with glasses raised his hand.

"I'll go first."

The round-faced girl checked the sign-in sheet: "Teacher Yu Zheng, right? Please follow me. Others, wait a moment."

Yu Zheng exhaled, then pursed his lips, following the girl into the office. He knocked and entered, finding only one interviewer—Seeing Yan Li, CEO of Yi'an Film & Television.

"Director Yan, hello. I'm Yu Zheng."

"Sit down, have some water first."

Yu Zheng bowed; Seeing Yan Li was courteous, gesturing for him to sit on the sofa, then personally poured him a glass of water.

Then he picked up the interview files beside him, pulled out Yu Zheng's resume and the system-recorded personal screenwriting traits.

【Emphasizes commercial elements, possesses certain innovation, skilled at reading audience psychology】

The screenwriters Seeing Yan Li selected each had strengths, but only two possessed 【commercial elements】—Yu Zheng's evaluation was overall higher.

Yet Yu Zheng's resume was underwhelming; his only substantial credit was "The Legend of Jing Ke," which hadn't even aired yet.

He'd also reviewed the script samples he submitted—honestly, he couldn't see the advantages the system mentioned.

Oh, there was innovation, alright—the history was butchered beyond recognition; Seeing Yan Li's blood pressure rose just reading it.

If this counted as "innovation," he had nothing to say.

Seeing Yan Li didn't think the system would deceive him—it must be the script's problem—so he called Yu Zheng in for an interview to talk face to face.

"Here's the thing: you've probably heard of 'Huan Tian Xi Di Seven Fairies.' Here are the personality traits of several characters—can you come up with a few stories or plotlines based on them?"

Yu Zheng hadn't expected to be asked to write a script on the spot—he was stunned, but quickly felt a surge of joy.

This was his strength!

He'd long been known for his rapid writing speed; after spending time in Hong Kong and Taiwan, his scriptwriting pace improved further. For some screenwriters, this test was a nuisance—or even pointless—but it hit him perfectly.

After a quick glance at the character traits, he pondered for less than two minutes, then spoke fluently.

How the fifth fairy secretly loves the seventh fairy's husband, how the eldest and second fairy's husbands are hopelessly in love with each other, how the sixth, fourth, and third fairies form a tangled triangle of affection.

Hmph~

Seeing Yan Li watched Yu Zheng grow more and more excited as he spoke; he found some of the plot points absurd and melodramatic, yet he vaguely understood why the system said Yu Zheng valued commercial elements and understood audience psychology.

Although he didn't want to admit it, this kind of melodramatic love triangle did have a big market—some viewers cursed while watching, yet grew more and more hooked the more they cursed.

Seeing Yan Li flipped through Yu Zheng's submitted manuscript again; it was fairly conventional, probably because he feared his personal style would be rejected.

But now, because Seeing Yan Li had set the seven fairy maidens as a topic for extreme creation—demanding originality and standout results—Yu Zheng had abandoned those screenwriting tricks and let his true nature burst forth.

Magic pen!

Seeing Yan Li gave his preliminary assessment: this style, if played well, could become a huge hit; if played poorly, then just prepare to be cursed.

Being cursed vs. making money

Seeing Yan Li raised his hand to stop Yu Zheng's "creation," thought for a moment, then pulled out a manuscript.

"Here are a few stories from the Shenshenji. Pick one and write a 10 to 15-episode script, following exactly the approach you just used."

"Finish it, no matter how good or bad, I'll pay you 50,000 as your service fee."

"But if you write something good, come work at the company, and we'll discuss compensation—starting salary at least 10,000 per month. Also, if the company uses your script, you get a royalty; if it becomes a huge hit, there's a bonus."

"I'm not lying to you. When you leave, you can ask any employee about their income—especially from marketing. You make money for me, and I'll make money for you."

Yu Zheng's eyes lit up—he loved bosses who talked about money outright.

Previously, his master, Hong Kong director Li Huimin, spoke beautifully.

But in reality, he treated Yu Zheng like free labor—living in a basement, writing countless scripts without earning a single cent; his master's wife tricked him into expecting a big red envelope for the New Year, then gave him only 5,000 yuan.

The only thing worth celebrating was that he'd at least been included in the Jing Ke Legend project, giving him a credit—otherwise, he'd have nothing to mention in today's interview.

Yu Zheng left happily. Seeing Yan Li drew a question mark after his name, fell silent for a moment, then moved on to interview the next screenwriter.

That morning, Seeing Yan Li interviewed five screenwriters; only two reached an agreement.

One was Yu Zheng, the other was Xu Bing.

His resume was the best of all the screenwriters—he had participated in multiple film and television scripts, including Cangtian Youyan and Little Soldier Zhangga.

Notably, he had originally been a screenwriter for a company under Hai Run, lured by Yi An's generous offer and planning to switch jobs.

Compared to Yu Zheng, Xu Bing was better at Republican-era and realistic themes—a typical literary drama screenwriter of this stage.

Seeing Yan Li trusted him more, but didn't harbor the same mix of suspicion and faint hope he felt toward Yu Zheng.

In the afternoon, he interviewed four more screenwriters; this time it was worse—only one was kept.

Zuo Le. Strictly speaking, this guy wasn't a screenwriter—he was a web writer.

What won him over was an unfinished script—or rather, a web novel.

I Am Fan Li

The story follows a protagonist who transmigrates to the Spring and Autumn period, becomes Fan Li, courts Xi Shi, helps Yue destroy Wu, then becomes a legendary merchant sage and retires with his beauty.

Though called a transmigration story, it's more like slapping Fan Li's biography onto a transmigrant, then adding modern and transmigration elements—like commerce and dating, helping Goujian scheme against Fuchai of Wu.

It also includes some currently popular bitter romance and cuckold tropes—for example, Xi Shi uses her beauty as a stratagem for Yue, leaving the male lead in agony and helplessness.

When it came to this, Seeing Yan Li got angry—he'd read several web novels with similar plotlines.

As if a male lead wasn't deep or shocking unless he was cuckolded or the female lead died—a bunch of dead literary nerds.

Still, the transmigration + sleeping on brushwood and tasting gall story did intrigue Seeing Yan Li; he decided to take the script and the writer in for polishing.

At the same time, Zuo Le's appearance reminded Seeing Yan Li that he'd been so focused on recruiting talent from the screenwriting industry that he'd ignored internet talent and good stories.

Seeing Yan Li even considered whether he should fund or invest in a small website, specifically to collect such stories—sift through the sand, and gold would eventually emerge…

————

ps: Tomorrow's update will be 10,000 words. Also seeking suitable film/TV project recommendations: historical costume + high commercial elements + character-driven; pre-2004 web novels or original creative concepts welcome.

(End of chapter)