When a drama’s plot is nonsense, who gets the blame?
Actors don’t take the fall. Directors get some flak, but screenwriters get roasted the most!
“What kind of garbage is this?”
“Can you even write a story?”
“Did you use your brain writing this script, or was it all from your backside?”
If a screenwriter had any sense, they wouldn’t churn out illogical, shoddy plots.
That’s the pressure screenwriters face.
But screenwriters are genuinely wronged.
The script starts out logical, but some clueless people meddle, demanding changes left and right—like Cao Shao and Guan Zong, shamelessly asking to add more scenes between the male lead and the supporting actress!
Xu Mei’s supporting role already had substantial screen time. Adding more would surpass the female lead’s.
Plus, Cao Shao initially wanted Xu Mei’s character to shine. Zhang Guangzhen had cleverly crafted her role without cutting the female lead’s parts. If they followed Cao Shao and Guan Zong’s ideas, even the male lead would get slammed by viewers for being blind.
Imagining sacks of hate mail, Zhang Guangzhen firmly rejected the absurd request:
“I’m not dodging this, but shouldn’t we get Boss Jin and Yu Tianlin’s approval first?”
Cao and Guan were no saints, always picking on the weak. If they had the guts, they’d pitch this to Jin and Yu Tianlin, who’d shut them down instantly.
Sure, Jin, a coal magnate, didn’t know filming, but as the main investor, could he really be fooled like this?
Even if Jin didn’t get it, Yu Tianlin did!
Zhang Guangzhen refused to take the blame. Writing a bad script might earn quick cash but ruin his reputation. He wasn’t retiring after this job and wouldn’t budge for long-term considerations.
Cao Shao hinted at more money.
Zhang Guangzhen held firm: “Changes need Jin and Yu Tianlin’s agreement.”
More money was nice, but if it didn’t happen, he’d stick with the agreed 1 million!
Cao Shao and Guan Zong hadn’t expected Zhang’s integrity, finding it tricky.
Jin hadn’t arrived, but Yu Tianlin was already in Hunan.
After reading Zhang’s second draft, which boosted the male lead’s scenes and refined his character, Yu Tianlin was pleased.
As for who had more scenes between Xu Mei and Jin’s mistress, Yu Tianlin didn’t care.
Xu Mei had some fame from *Jade Forest*, but only among newbies. To Yu Tianlin, both she and Jin’s mistress were “newcomers.” At his level, agreeing to this project was already a favour. His co-stars were usually big names.
Since his role and character were solid, why revise further?
Over-tweaking could break the logic, making it a losing deal.
Yu Tianlin set down the script and shook Zhang’s hand:
“*The Princess’s New Clothes* broke a 4.0 rating. Your talent is undeniable, Teacher Zhang. I’ve long wanted to work with you, and now we have the chance. I hope your new work sets another ratings record!”
Cao Shao and Guan Zong’s expressions soured.
Yu Tianlin’s involvement boosted ratings potential but came with his dominance.
Yu approved the current version and opposed adding scenes for Xu Mei!
Zhang Guangzhen didn’t beam at Yu’s praise.
He didn’t think he was worse than Wen Ying.
Wen Ying had youthful creativity but lacked technical polish.
*The Princess’s New Clothes* was indeed transformed by Wen Ying from its original version.
Zhang wrote diligently, earning his 1 million, but surpassing *The Princess’s New Clothes*’ ratings? Honestly, he wasn’t confident.
A good script is just the foundation.
The production team, actors, and broadcast slot all had to align, plus match audience tastes.
Audience preferences are mysterious, so minor hits rely on hype, but big hits rely on fate!
Facing Yu’s flattery, Zhang stayed humble and cautious:
“A script is just a script. It needs the team’s collective effort!”
Though Yu Tianlin was a backstabbing ingrate, setting aside personal feelings, Zhang was satisfied with him starring in his script.
Yu was a ratings guarantee in Taiwan and the mainland.
But with Cao Shao and Guan Zong involved, the project had too many variables.
Beating *The Princess’s New Clothes*’ ratings was a pipe dream for Zhang; he just hoped it wouldn’t flop!
For some reason, mingling with Cao Shao and Yu Tianlin, Zhang felt like he’d joined the villain’s camp.
Their expectations for the new drama were clearly to compete with Tianjiao’s.
—Could they beat Yuan Fenghui?
—Was it too late to distance himself from them?
Clear-headed folks like Zhang were rare. After rejections from Zhang and Yu Tianlin, Cao Shao and Guan Zong didn’t give up, still plotting to dupe the rich but naive Jin.
Jin, not yet at Hunan TV, sneezed twice en route.
Unaware of Zhang’s frustrations, Wen Ying was preparing for the *The Princess’s New Clothes* ratings celebration.
“There’ll be lots of reporters tonight. I’ve prepared outfits for you all.”
Stars had their style, but screenwriters couldn’t dress carelessly, especially someone like Wen Ying, a bestselling author and screenwriter with an online following.
Yuan prepared a stylish dress for Wen Ying and had an assistant pin her down for makeup.
Seeing the assistant’s glittery eyeshadow, Wen Ying panicked: “I’ll do it myself.”
She applied light makeup.
Tonight, Li Mengjiao and Yun Chen would be the focus. Wen Ying didn’t want to steal the spotlight. Li Mengjiao needed to shine!
Xie Qian skipped Yuan’s outfit, sticking to a simple white shirt and jeans. His presence was already striking; flashier clothes might make reporters mistake him for Yuan’s new talent.
Xie Qian had no interest in the industry and wouldn’t steal Yun Chen’s spotlight.
They were in sync on this. Only Wang Shuang was cocky, wearing a black suit and preening in front of a mirror, thinking if Xie Qian was the most handsome, he was a close second.
“Not dating is such a loss for so many girls…”
Before he finished, a scoff came from the door.
Li Mengjiao, styled and ready, arm-in-arm with Wen Ying, mocked Wang Shuang’s vanity.
Wang Shuang’s ears reddened as he stammered to defend himself.
Xie Qian looked up, his gaze landing not on Li Mengjiao but Wen Ying.
The hamster’s outfit… radiated youthful charm, cute yet more than just cute.
