Prologue (Optional)

In a towering building in the capital of the Huaxia nation, Yanjing City, Wu Xiang sat properly in a luxurious office. Across from him was his old friend and patron, Boss Gao, who was currently perusing his manuscript. However, Boss Gao didn’t seem particularly invested; soon enough, he looked up to speak.

“Xiangzi, can’t you spice this script up a bit?”

Wu Xiang understood what Boss Gao wanted, but he genuinely couldn’t write that stuff. “Gao, don’t you think scenes like tearing enemies apart with bare hands are a bit too much? That sort of thing is just absurd.”

“Who cares if it’s absurd? As long as people watch it and enjoy it, isn’t that enough?”

“That kind of plot has been ridiculed countless times already. I really can’t bring myself to write it.”

“You… As long as there’s money to be made, why worry about whether the plot makes sense? Or do you sympathize with those little devils? Are you one of those Japan-lovers?”

“Gao, you know what kind of person I am. Those little devils, they’re nothing to me. Take that last film crew for example—they should’ve just focused on filming, but no, they insisted on adding some filter in front of the camera. I was furious! I absolutely had to make my stance clear on that.”

Boss Gao really just wanted Wu Xiang to add a little flair to please the general audience, so he continued, “Take your last script—once the director made some changes, the ratings and attention all shot up, regardless of the criticism. Why can’t you just go with the flow for once?”

Wu Xiang was exasperated. “That director changed my work; I didn’t even scold him, which shows my self-restraint. You want me to just comply? Gao, the guy couldn’t even design a shot. If I hadn’t helped out, the cameraman would have quit on the spot.”

“Fine, you’re the capable one, alright? But when you got involved, the director was furious, and we nearly lost our promised sponsorship. Can you just make things easier for me? Let’s talk about your current script—it lacks originality.”

Wu Xiang felt wronged. “What? Lacks originality? This time, I wrote about a monk fighting the Japanese, complete with martial arts—Golden Vajra Palm, Frenzied Staff Technique, Bodhidharma Swordsmanship—all just as you asked, seeking novelty and change. What more do you want, nuns?”

“You really don't get it, do you? Not only have monks been done, even nuns have been filmed!” Boss Gao’s words hit Wu Xiang like a bolt from the blue.

“What?” Wu Xiang was frustrated, cursing inwardly, “Who the hell is so shameless?”

“I told you before, look for something new. Forget religious figures—they’ve all been done. Try considering some special professions.” Boss Gao threw him a hint.

“That makes sense.” Wu Xiang pondered. If even nuns have been done, then… “How about a story featuring a fallen woman in the Republic era?”

But Boss Gao immediately shot him down. “No, definitely not. Even top directors have already done that. Did you forget?”

“That’s right!” Wu Xiang berated himself for not remembering.

“Doctors?”

“No, they can only be supporting roles. That profession just doesn’t have the thrill of charging into battle.”

“Pickpocket?”

“No, no leadership skills and hard to relate to.”

Wu Xiang rattled off several professions, but Boss Gao rejected them all. In the end, Wu Xiang thought of something that seemed untouched by others, and it even had a martial arts flair. “Beggars! How about writing about the Beggar Sect? That’s a good one.”

“Hmm, not bad,” Boss Gao agreed, but then immediately followed up with something that nearly made Wu Xiang spit blood. “But why does the Beggar Sect remind me of the Eighth Route Army? Didn’t someone say that before?”

Wu Xiang broke into a cold sweat. This wouldn’t work either? This was getting tricky… Wait! He got it!

“How about aliens?” Now, that was an idea!

But Boss Gao instantly objected, growing annoyed. “What, am I supposed to make him named ‘Du’ as well?!”

Wu Xiang started sweating profusely. These days, even coming up with a god-awful drama wasn’t so easy…

After all this back and forth, the two couldn’t reach an agreement. Wu Xiang had no choice but to go home and think it over—after all, the investors called the shots.

But he never expected that, as he reached an intersection, with a screech, he collapsed into a pool of blood…