7. New Event

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Cai Yanni had arrived so early because she had traveled all night on a slow train. Originally, she planned that if this didn’t work out, she would catch the next interview and see if she could find a suitable job. Unexpectedly, Yu Zhi accepted her immediately. Cai Yanni hesitated for a moment but, adopting a do-or-die attitude, honestly told Yu Zhi about how she had offended a prominent screenwriter.

Yu Zhi said, "I know."

Cai Yanni was puzzled, "???"

Of course Yu Zhi knew. The screenwriter app’s compatibility interface mentioned Cai Yanni’s current status. Earlier, the screenwriter she had worked with treated her as a ghostwriter, using his fame to appropriate the works of his subordinate writers as his own. The first script Cai Yanni and several colleagues wrote was broadcast before they realized their names were missing. By then, the second script had already been revised and successfully approved for production.

Due to her poor family background and financial difficulties, Cai Yanni was anxious when she got this job. At that time, upon reviewing the contract, she found that the clauses regarding ownership of works had been cleverly set as traps. It seemed like a practiced tactic, with even the terms perfectly airtight. The money for the second script hadn’t been paid yet, but evidently, it no longer concerned Cai Yanni.

If she had only taken over midway to revise a small part and then left with payment, leaving the rest for others to modify, it would be normal for the copyright to be unrelated. But Cai Yanni had been involved throughout; in fact, the senior screenwriter hadn’t contributed, and two-thirds of the content in both scripts was hers. In such a case, not even receiving credit and being delayed payment was utterly outrageous.

Pei Zhao said, "This kind of thing happens a lot in the industry." Senior screenwriters bully junior ones; sometimes the latter not only go uncredited but don’t get paid at all, and even end up owing debts. The film and television industry is a warped place, full of big fish eating small fish, and small fish eating shrimp. Cai Yanni didn’t even count as shrimp. When shrimp become small fish, they imitate the big fish and then bully those weaker than themselves, claiming, “Everyone goes through this.”

Yu Zhi sighed silently. Yes, she knew. She had also seen cases where major script errors in TV dramas were likely because junior writers were bullied and had to leave holes in the script. The Chinese language is profound; a slight misuse of phrasing can change meanings drastically. Mistakes like confusing “should bear the brunt” with other phrases are common; some homophones make the dialog crude. Such tactics cause huge trouble for the crew and actors.

Pei Zhao recalled, "When I was in school, I lost a small competition to someone who hired a ghostwriter." Director A invited Director B to direct on their behalf; as long as B agreed, it became A’s glory. Pei Zhao watched helplessly as her first-place prize was snatched away by a work that was stylistically unlike hers, clearly the handiwork of a famous director. Later, she found out they were relatives. She had almost forgotten the frustration from back then, but hearing Cai Yanni’s story brought it all rushing back.

Yu Zhi asked, "And then?"

Pei Zhao looked at her and smiled lightly, "I became a director with my own works, winning the Pu Xin and Ling Xiao awards; he, as a fledgling director with big investments, made two terrible dramas rated below 3 on Douban. Now, mentioning his name is just a cautionary tale."

She sneered, "What’s to warn? His only notable work was a microfilm made when he was twenty, and it wasn’t even written by him. He’s long past his prime."

Yu Zhi casually remarked, "Men remain boys until they die. Even at eighty, they’re still big boys."

Pei Zhao laughed heartily. Cai Yanni also laughed, her gloom lifting.

Lang Qingwen propped her chin on her hand, glancing here and there.

Yu Zhi said, "Signing contracts is tricky, but if you become a top screenwriter, then we can proudly march up to that person and flaunt our success!"

The contract likely meant Cai Yanni had already given up all copyrights; even suing would be futile.

Pei Zhao applauded, "Great!"

Cai Yanni asked hesitantly, "Will that day really come?"

Yu Zhi affirmed, "Of course! When I couldn’t go on before, I asked myself the same thing—will there really be a day of freedom and no worries? Such times are hard now, but once you get through them, it feels like just a moment."

They verbally agreed to join, with contract details to be finalized later.

Yu Zhi asked, "Do you want to bring a lawyer?"

Cai Yanni replied, "I’ll look myself..." She couldn’t afford a lawyer.

Yu Zhi paused, then said, "I can lend you the money first. You consult a lawyer, then we sign. Once you get paid, you can pay me back."

It was a rough solution, but Cai Yanni was deeply grateful.

Others said they would arrive today. Yu Zhi gave them the address and said transportation would be reimbursed—remember to take a taxi.

At 1:30 p.m., a man named Ding Huan arrived first. By 5 p.m., four people had shown up; two messaged that they wouldn’t come.

Yu Zhi felt a little regretful but said, "Five screenwriters, I think that’s fine."

They had all undergone a simple skills test. How to keep them? Very simple.

Under Yu Zhi’s triple approach—“dual core of screenwriter and director,” “I’m the original novelist,” and “I’m funding it”—none of the oppressed screenwriters failed to be impressed.

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Those three words, “original author,” while not always ideal in the screenwriting world, at least guaranteed the plot wouldn’t be absurd. Plus, the screenwriter herself was the producer. My goodness, who would dare bully the person paying the bills?

Finally, the screenwriters stood up for themselves.

Three directors, five screenwriters, plus the original author—thus the core team for the drama “Usurpation” was formed.

When finalizing contract terms, Yu Zhi assured them, “Reasonable and effective suggestions will be adopted. No department has the right to arbitrarily change the script. The adaptation will be faithful to the novel. There’s no funding-for-casting.”

Pei Zhao closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of those words.

Cai Yanni exclaimed, “Wow—”

Lang Qingwen said, “Heaven!”

The contract was provided by the screenwriter app. Details recorded on Yu Zhi’s laptop generated a legally binding document.

Pei Zhao and the others mistakenly thought Yu Zhi had just been negotiating with the legal team online and that the document was modified on the spot. Yu Zhi let them keep that misconception.

Using the hotel’s printer, steaming hot contracts came out one by one.

Cai Yanni whispered, “So fast!”

Everyone else nodded, impressed by Yu Zhi’s efficiency.

Two copies were made; once everyone signed, Yu Zhi realized something.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, looking at them, “I sold the rights to this novel for a web drama.”

They all looked at her, puzzled why she mentioned it suddenly.

Yu Zhi continued, “I want to shoot this drama myself because they invited me to be the screenwriter, but when I arrived, they changed the female lead from a powerful empress to a delicate girl relying on the male lead to get through difficulties.”

Cai Yanni was speechless. Thanks, that made her furious.

Yu Zhi said, “So, our copyright is the second set, prepared as a TV drama standard. And I’m going up against that web drama.”

Pei Zhao said, “You know TV dramas have stricter review processes, with conditions on scale and procedures, right? It’s impossible to film and release both simultaneously.”

It wasn’t clear what kind of production Yu Zhi was referring to. If it were a horizontal-screen short drama, filming could be done within half a month, and all post-production and preparations finished within three months. If it were a regular long drama, filming might finish in two to three months, with two more months for post-production and release prep.

But TV dramas were different.

Besides the many review stages, filming alone took three to four months. Yu Zhi’s historical political drama involving war scenes and a large-scale S+ budget would require about 155 days. Afterward, six months of post-production, reviews, and platform promotion work would follow.

The timing simply didn’t add up unless the web drama was delayed.

Yu Zhi said, “They just got script approval; I don’t think we’re late.”

Pei Zhao agreed. First, scripts must pass meetings and get platform and investor approval before moving on to subsequent stages... the preparation period was long.

Although Yu Zhi’s side didn’t have a script yet, they already had funding. In that case, process became less important.

Pei Zhao admitted, “I’ve never done a split copyright production like this.”

She was familiar with TV dramas plus movies or web movies, but splitting a TV drama into two parts was rare.

Yu Zhi said, “Ridiculous, right? It’s my fault for selling the rights too hastily.”

Cai Yanni understood, “Having a novel turned into a TV drama is such a temptation. Even knowing it might turn out terrible, you can’t help but think, ‘What if?’”

Lang Qingwen remarked, “But the timing still might not match. TV dramas require multiple reviews, which is cumbersome.”

Yu Zhi responded, “Just do it first, we’ll deal with the rest later.”

That was true; you never knew what troubles might hit a crew during filming.

Ding Huan laughed, “Suddenly feeling the urgency!”

Pei Zhao asked, “You didn’t mention this a few days ago, saying you’d wait until after contract signing. Was that on purpose?”

Yu Zhi pretended not to hear.

Pei Zhao teased, “Hey! Don’t turn away! I know you heard!”

Yu Zhi pulled out her phone. “My friend’s here; I’ll go pick them up. You guys find your rooms, and later we’ll have a meal together! Think about what you want to eat!”

She turned and hurried off, clutching a pile of documents.

* * *

Bo Qiao and Xu Huang arrived! The school was close to Feng City, but they needed to pack, say goodbye to Ping Cong, have a big meal, and with Yu Zhi’s interview today, they decided to come in the evening.

No need for Yu Zhi to pick them up at the station; they came directly by subway.

Xu Huang said, “Not far, about 1.2 kilometers walking according to navigation.”

Bo Qiao said, “Pretty close, no need for a taxi, save some money.”

They agreed immediately and dragged their suitcases from the subway station to the hotel.

Only upon arriving did they realize this wasn’t the crew that had bought the rights.

Yu Zhi came out to greet them and briefly explained the current situation.

The two were indignant, swearing as they walked.

Xu Huang said, “That crew is a bunch of idiots!”

Bo Qiao said, “My dear must have suffered terribly!”

Yu Zhi said, “Luckily, I told them off on the spot.”

Xu Huang asked, “So this crew now belongs to you?”

Yu Zhi faked an identity: “Someone invested in me. She loves my novel, got angry when she found out what happened, and told me to take over.”

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Bo Qiao exclaimed, “Wow! Rich lady sister!”

Xu Huang said, “Fortune and honor!”

Yu Zhi clasped their hands, “Don’t forget each other, don’t forget each other!”

When Xu Huang and Bo Qiao arrived at the five-star hotel, they were stunned: “Country bumpkins in the big city!”

Yu Zhi didn’t know how to comment on their embarrassing antics. She covered her face and took a side path. “I don’t know you.”

Xu Huang ran up and linked arms with her, loudly, “Zhi Zhi, does rich lady sister need a pet? One who’s been to college and can feed herself!”

Bo Qiao raised her hand, “I want to sign up too!”

Yu Zhi said, “...No need, go inside!”

A bellboy soon came to take their luggage. Xu Huang and Bo Qiao were overwhelmed by the service.

“Is this the service at a five-star hotel?” Xu Huang whispered to Bo Qiao, “The young man is so handsome!”

Bo Qiao said, “Yeah, yeah! The young lady is so pretty too!”

Yu Zhi pulled them along, “Upstairs, put down your stuff.”

Xu Huang and Bo Qiao moved right into Yu Zhi’s suite.

Each had their own room, so it didn’t bother them much.

Xu Huang collapsed onto the bed, “Such an expensive smell, such expensive decor, such an expensive life!”

Bo Qiao said, “The food here seems really good—I saw someone share about it. Do we have vouchers? If we pay ourselves, isn’t it crazy expensive?”

Yu Zhi said, “Shh—wash up, change clothes, I’ll take you to eat.”

Both cheered, “Yay! Second big meal!”

After they busied themselves, Yu Zhi finally had time to open the screenwriter app that had been flickering earlier.

It showed the new stage’s task confirmation.

[Task One] Your First Script

“Ding dong! Warm congratulations on forming your core team! Let ‘Usurpation’ be wild and unrestrained! You’ve taken a crucial step in assembling the crew! What a day to celebrate!”

[Task Reward] New event unlocked, limited-time card pool opened.

Yu Zhi’s eyes were drawn away: Huh? What goodies now?

This screenwriter app was smart but lacked a system for dialogue. Sometimes Yu Zhi found this great; other times inconvenient. Fortunately, she wasn’t monitored and was free to do as she pleased. The inconvenience mostly came from not understanding how to use the app, which randomly triggered side quests and rewards.

On balance, benefits outweighed drawbacks.

She actually preferred this kind of smart app without 24-hour surveillance or a system.

[New event loading—]

[Limited-time card pool loading—]

[Three]

[Two]

[One]

[Sign-in event limited-time start!]

“Ding ding! Still worried about not having suitable filming locations? Lacking props or scenic sets? No reliable supply channels? Ding Dong is here!

Ten-day sign-in event is coming~~~

Complete tasks each day as instructed to receive material support!

Complete all sign-ins to unlock a 90% off store! You may choose one item!”

[Limited-time card pool opened!]

“Here you can get imaginative trinkets. They aren’t expensive, maybe just discarded items, but fun is enough, right?

Items in the pool are locked to crew needs, nearly eighty million pieces.

Draw chances refresh daily; signing in grants up to two draws per day! No paid options yet.

Five consecutive draws guarantee a gold card! No pity system.

Runs for ten days.”

Yu Zhi muttered, “Sudden event? Wait, why can’t you pay to draw? Is this reasonable?!”

The two event descriptions came with images.

Sign-in rewards included but were not limited to [One Scene], [One Box of Props], [One Box of Jewelry]. The card pool included but was not limited to [Acting Boost Cards], [Weather Forecast Cards].

In short, it was enticing.

Moreover, the final reward for ten days’ sign-in—the so-called “90% off store”—though not detailed, Yu Zhi knew how valuable it was!

She had to get it!

The once simple UI became rich; the homepage no longer had only [Task One] but a slew of options.

[Task One]

[Sign-in Event]

[Limited-time Card Pool]

[New Side Quest]

The side quest for recruiting staff for Zhengzheng Films was clearly the second triggered but was placed last in order.

Four tasks stacked together, looking intense.

Yu Zhi didn’t feel overwhelmed.

Her eyes were full of excitement for the new challenges; her fingers clenched into fists, her shoulders trembling with excitement.

Not out of fear, but thrill.