Translator: Ink Hub

Editor: Yoog

In truth, ever since Lin Ji became popular, his past works had been dug up by drama fans. The most ancient of these was Snow in Early May.

Snow in Early May had become an inescapable meme for Lin Ji. After drama fans finished watching Records of the Bai’s Return and Code 11, they would naturally search for his other works online. When they did, Snow in Early May would inevitably appear before them.

A few years ago, Snow in Early May had gone viral for a short time because it was so terrible. By now, its popularity had faded, so while fans had heard it was “toxic,” they didn’t know exactly how toxic it was.

One fan who returned after putting it into practice: “…”

“If Lin Ji really did write a few episodes of this drama, he must have been having an out-of-body experience at the time.”

“How should I put it? Even a 0.2% rating is too high for this. Even dogs wouldn’t eat this garbage, okay?”

“It’s… total dog shit.”

However, precisely because Snow in Early May was so bizarrely bad, it had recently become a hot topic again. Lin Ji would occasionally scroll past videos of the drama being “flogged after death.”

If possible, Qinglan TV desperately wanted to toss this drama into the back of their minds and pretend it never existed. Unfortunately, their wish was destined to remain unfulfilled.

Among the several screenwriters of Snow in Early May, Xiao Cheng’s reputation was completely ruined, and the credibility of the others had never recovered. To fans who didn’t understand the inner workings of the screenwriting industry, Lin Ji was the only one with significant fame.

Consequently, when fans accidentally clicked on a video introduction for Snow in Early May, they would usually hear sentences like: “The only failure of the famous screenwriter Lin Ji…”

“As everyone knows, Lin Ji is currently the hottest screenwriter… but this drama caused a falling out between him and his senior brother. What exactly happened?”

“The debut work that famous screenwriter Lin Ji is dying to tear to shreds…”

“The work that Lin Ji will regret for a lifetime…”

Lin Ji: “…”

I’ll strangle them all!

By this point, Lin Ji could somewhat understand Qinglan TV’s feelings.

He didn’t really care which satellite station he worked with. At worst, people would just say he had a collector’s hobby and wanted to gather all the major stations to summon a divine dragon. He wasn’t opposed to working with Qinglan TV, provided their director could speak like a normal human being.

* * *

Lin Ji gave it some thought. Aside from the two short dramas, God of War Returns Home and The Heiress, his other works were written because a station or a production crew had a specific need. He wasn’t a picky screenwriter, so he didn’t insist on certain genres or refuse to touch others. Lin Ji was willing to try many things.

He observed his surroundings. Lately, no station had invited him to write a specific genre. Dajiang TV had contacted him, but their message was simply: “Screenwriter Lin can write whatever he wants.”

Objectively speaking, the prices offered by the three A-list satellite stations were about the same. There were also B-tier satellite stations with deep pockets waiting to cooperate with him. Even if Lin Ji declined for now, they expressed a willingness to wait.

As Records of the Bai’s Return approached its grand finale, its viewership trends actually began to mirror those of Code 11. First, it broke 4%, then 4.2%, then 4.3%…

On the day of the finale, as the seventy years of storms surrounding the Bai family finally cleared, some people welcomed the light, while others remained trapped in the shadows of the past. The adapted drama used 60 episodes to clearly depict the destiny of every character.

In the end, Records of the Bai’s Return concluded with a 4.5% rating on Xingzhou TV, while Daqin TV and Sunrise TV both broke the 3.5% mark.

It was only the beginning of the year. Throughout the year, other dramas would surely break the 4.5% rating, but on the night of the finale, fans spontaneously wrote biographies for the characters, analyzed the Bai family’s turbulent history, and sent blessings to their favorite actors. This was not a treatment every drama received.

“Records of the Bai’s Return has finally received a classic adaptation,” one drama critic wrote. “The grand sight of tens of thousands of people watching the same show reminded me of the craze for adapting famous works in the last century. Back then, despite low budgets and harsh environments, directors, screenwriters, actors, and crew members still used their passion to create unforgettable classics.

“Records of the Bai’s Return is a combination of passion, technology, and a high-quality script. I once thought that in this era, reprocessing famous works would only stain them. However, this drama broke my preconceived notions. With an investment of only sixty million, it gave the audience a viewing experience worth six hundred million…”

Another critic was analyzing how Lin Ji, as the screenwriter, had handled the work.

At the end of the review, the critic stated bluntly, “Whether you like it or not, Lin Ji is bound to leave his name in the history of screenwriting.”

Lin Ji agreed with this sentiment.

Lately, Lin Ji had been constantly hearing rainbow farts. From the television stations and talent agencies to critics and the audience, even if someone wanted to say something bitter, the audience would jump in to refute them.

“The total viewership hit 12%. You’re only worthy of looking at Little Lin’s backside.”

“…Speaking of which, Code 11 hit a legendary television viewership milestone, and the three stations for Records of the Bai’s Return combined to break 12%. How can Lin Ji possibly surpass himself next time?”

“Records of the Bai’s Return was so, so, so good!! I can’t wait to see Screenwriter Lin’s new drama!”

“I truly believe now that a good script can overcome anything. Lin Ji is truly amazing. The last ten episodes of Code 11 could be considered divine, and even though I’ve read the original novel for Records of the Bai’s Return, Lin Ji still managed to write it in a way that kept me hooked.”

Drama fans tallied the gains from Records of the Bai’s Return. The three stations all won in ratings. Xingzhou TV defeated Dajiang TV and Qinglan TV for the first time, achieving a double victory in both ratings and reputation. Sunrise TV gained recognition once again after Code 11. The station was now well-known by the audience and no longer mocked as a “pig-farming station.” Daqin TV also reached its highest viewership peak in three years.

The actors fared even better. Chen Cheng had become a genuine A-list star among young actresses. She could wear high-end luxury couture at will, and her seating at various events had moved from the second row to the first. Most other actors also saw a rise in their status and popularity. Records of the Bai’s Return had utilized several newcomers who were now the “new generation” being heavily promoted by major agencies.

Furthermore, Records of the Bai’s Return was not an ordinary serious drama. Because of the original novel, everything related to the adaptation—the director, screenwriters, actors, and the broadcasting stations—was now tightly bound to the original work’s legacy.

In other words, even when Chen Cheng grew old or retired from the entertainment industry, and even if the younger generation didn’t necessarily remember her name, she would still be introduced one day as the one who “played Bai Mei in a certain version of Records of the Bai’s Return.”

“So—everyone, come and act in Screenwriter Lin’s dramas!”

Overnight, Lin Ji’s comment section was flooded by fans of various actors.

Fans posted photos of their idols one after another, hoping Lin Ji would consider them when writing his next script.

Lin Ji: “…”

In fact, talent agencies had already sent him plenty of resumes.

Lin Ji wasn’t very picky about actors; as long as their image fit the role and their acting skills were above average, it was fine. He didn’t believe an actor’s rise to fame was solely his credit.

Although Chen Cheng’s fans believed her acting had improved because of Lin Ji’s guidance, Lin Ji felt she already had the skill. She just hadn’t “awakened” yet during the filming of Code 11.

After the finale of Records of the Bai’s Return, Lin Ji planned to take a good rest.

Screenwriters in this era did indeed have more authority than in his previous life, but authority also meant responsibility. Lin Ji needed a period of time to fully rest and absorb new inspiration.

A screenwriter still needed to watch, read, and write more. To some extent, the reason Code 11 and Records of the Bai’s Return left such a deep impression on the audience was that they weren’t works Lin Ji had pulled out of thin air—they were built on the foundations of real prototypes and original literature.

The depth of the characters and the source material provided the creative charm.

That was why Lin Ji especially couldn’t understand screenwriters who had the thought “the story I made up is better than the original; the original author should thank me.”

Just like when he wrote Records of the Bai’s Return, Lin Ji believed the audience always tuned in for the original work. No matter how much the project had been looked down upon, mocked, or neglected before, there was always one premise: the audience wanted to see an adaptation worthy of the original.

Lin Ji was using his script to convey the charm of the original work to the audience rather than writing nonsense and then telling the viewers, “No one in this world understands Records of the Bai’s Return better than I do.”

* * *

In the first few days of his break, Lin Ji had to announce that he was being harassed by Qinglan TV.

His memory of Snow in Early May was quite blurry. He vaguely remembered that the director of Qinglan TV was quite serious and stern, rarely speaking much. In the past few years, it seemed the station hadn’t changed directors.

Lin Ji specifically checked Qinglan TV’s official website and consulted acquaintances around him.

Regarding this, Xingzhou TV’s director Chu Tianzhou said, “Hua Tai… That guy is very good at being persistent and clingy.”

Lin Ji: “?”

He soon experienced it firsthand.

Three times a day—morning, noon, and night—he would receive a phone call full of warm greetings. 

“Screenwriter Lin, the temperature has dropped recently, right? Remember to pick up the down jacket I bought for you.”

“Screenwriter Lin, the coffee our station just distributed is quite good. I’ll send a few cans your way.”

“Screenwriter Lin…”

“Screenwriter Lin…”

Lin Ji couldn’t help but send a text message back: [No Qinglan TV, thank you.]

The other party replied: [Now Qinglan TV, I understand.]

Lin Ji: “?”

He couldn’t help but consult Chu Tianzhou again.

Chu Tianzhou had originally come from Qinglan TV and was quite familiar with Director Hua Tai. However, colleagues in the same industry were often rivals. When Chu Tianzhou was at Qinglan TV, he and Hua Tai were competitors. When Lin Ji asked him, it was hard for him not to be sarcastic.

“…It’s probably because he watches too many idol dramas. Don’t look at how fat Hua Tai is; he actually loves watching those melodramatic, angsty idol dramas. You know, the ‘painful love’ type. Do you understand?”

Lin Ji didn’t have any immediate plans to collaborate with Xingzhou TV, but Chu Tianzhou didn’t mind making things difficult for Hua Tai. Unexpectedly, as soon as he hung up the phone, a new message appeared in his inbox.

[Were you just badmouthing me in front of Screenwriter Lin?]

Chu Tianzhou: [How could I?]

[Aren’t you guys pushing a period drama next year? I have a decent script here. If you don’t want it, I’ll give it to the station next door…]

[I want it.]

[Then go praise us in front of Screenwriter Lin. Three times a day, and each time must be longer than three minutes.]

Chu Tianzhou: “…”

He finally couldn’t resist asking Hua Tai one more question: [Have you recently switched careers to selling toilets?]

NOTES

“Summons a divine dragon”: A reference to Dragon Ball, meaning to collect all items to make a wish come true. 

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