Chapter 114: Seeking Guidance on the Script!

Early the next morning, Jiang Lun hurried to Wang Kai’s house.

As soon as the door opened, Jin Chanjun saw it was him and exclaimed with delight, “Little Jiang? What brings you here? Come in, come in!”

“Professor Jin!” Jiang Lun set the fruit he was carrying on the table as he stepped inside. “I came to see you and also to discuss something with Professor Wang!”

“You!” Jin Chanjun saw through Jiang Lun’s intentions at once. “You came to see him but also to visit me, right?”

“Hehe…” Jiang Lun scratched his head awkwardly.

At that moment, Wang Kai’s voice came from the inner room, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Little Jiang!” Jin Chanjun replied, then gestured to Jiang Lun, “Go on in.”

“Alright then!” Jiang Lun nodded.

Entering Wang Kai’s study, he found him holding a brush, practicing calligraphy at the desk.

The brush strokes danced like dragons and snakes, each character impressively bold and vivid. Jiang Lun couldn’t help but applaud, “Beautiful writing!”

“Hehe…” Wang Kai smiled.

After finishing the last sentence, Wang Kai put down the brush and pulled Jiang Lun over. “Come, come, take a look. What do you think?”

“Excellent!” Jiang Lun said. “The strokes are vigorous and elegant, like a flying dragon and soaring phoenix. You must have practiced since childhood.”

“Haha, not at all!” Wang Kai waved his hand proudly. “I only started calligraphy when I was forty. It’s been fifteen years now, but I’m just an amateur.”

“Amateur? You’re too modest.”

Jiang Lun was about to flatter him, but Wang Kai cut him off with a wave. “Enough with the flattery. You came so early today to see me—what’s the matter?”

“Hehe!”

Jiang Lun said, “I want to learn how to write scripts.”

“Oh? You want to start now?” Wang Kai was surprised but pleased. “Sit down, let’s talk!”

The two sat at the desk. Wang Kai picked up a folding fan and fanned himself as he spoke. “Scriptwriting isn’t something you master overnight. There’s no shortcut, especially in creation. Adapting a literary story into a literary script, then further into a scene-by-scene script and finally the shooting script, is a very tedious process.”

He pulled several sheets of paper from the drawer and began to write and sketch.

“What’s a literary script?”

Wang Kai wrote as he explained, “Unlike literary works, scripts cannot use verbs of thought. What are verbs of thought? Words like ‘think,’ ‘know,’ ‘understand,’ ‘realize,’ ‘believe,’ ‘want,’ ‘remember,’ ‘imagine,’ ‘desire,’ and especially ‘love’ and ‘hate’ when used as verbs of thought. These must never be used! Instead, they must be transformed into sensory details. There are five ways to depict sensory details: action, smell, taste, sound, and touch. There’s no shortcut in scriptwriting—you have to describe through these five senses to create a cinematic feel.”

“Oh,” Jiang Lun nodded. “So a literary story can be summed up in one sentence, but in a script, that’s not enough. You need vivid, three-dimensional descriptions using cinematic language.”

“Exactly!” Wang Kai smiled. “You’re quite quick to grasp this. Here, I’ll give you a prompt. You try it.”

With that, Wang Kai wrote a sentence on a sheet: “Xiao Ming hates the teacher; every class, he tells him to get out!”

Then he handed it to Jiang Lun. “Just this sentence. Keep it simple to start.”

Jiang Lun took the paper, picked up a pen, thought for a moment, then wrote: “After the class bell rang, the teacher entered the classroom. Xiao Ming stared at him and, before the teacher could say anything, quietly muttered, ‘Idiot.’”

“Hahaha…”

Wang Kai couldn’t help laughing at Jiang Lun’s rewrite. “So much resentment toward the teacher, huh?”

“Uh… didn’t you say to rewrite it?” Jiang Lun scratched his head.

“Very good! You conveyed the feeling of dislike and explained the cause clearly!”

Wang Kai assigned a few more exercises, and by midday, Jiang Lun had gained much, though mastering it would take time.

After lunch, Jiang Lun took out the script he had prepared and gave it to Wang Kai for review.

The drama he chose to shoot was called *My Own Swordsman*.

He selected this play for several reasons.

First, low budget. This typical situational comedy has minimal costs for sets, costumes, and props.

Second, it has a good reputation. According to the Douban ratings in the other world, *My Own Swordsman* is a rare high-score show, a classic low-budget domestic series rated 9.1.

Lastly, the environmental conditions. In the other world, the drama’s success was closely tied to the internet’s early development and netizens’ eagerness to explore this new medium.

In this world, although the internet has developed for several years, it remains chaotic. Moreover, the government’s strict crackdown on internet culture infringements has caused the internet to stagnate. Many people don’t know what to watch online beyond chatting on social platforms or playing games, leaving the entertainment industry spiritually and culturally impoverished.

To give a simple example, in the other world, QQ Music profits through music libraries, green memberships, digital album sales, and embedded advertising. Here, the model of Yi Ting is still under industry skepticism, and users are in the early trial phase.

This immaturity has led to a downturn in the internet sector.

However, this world is stricter and more decisive than the other when it comes to anti-piracy and fighting infringement.

Because of this tough crackdown and resulting downturn, a work like this is even more needed—to inspire all netizens and IT practitioners.

Jiang Lun brought only the scripts for the first three episodes. He couldn’t provide all the scripts at once, as he needed to organize them alongside the original video.

“Did you write this script?” Wang Kai asked as he flipped through the pages.

…

The first episode, first scene, titled *Heroine Guo Furious at Tongfu Inn, Manager Tong Cleverly Guides the Lost Man*.

Above the inn’s main door hung a wooden plaque inscribed with four large characters: Tongfu Inn. On either side of the entrance stood wooden pillars, each adorned with a couplet. The upper line read: “Business flourishes throughout the four seas.” The lower line: “Wealth spreads to the three rivers.” Red lanterns hung on each pillar.

The night was silent, suddenly broken by the sound of a wooden clapper, followed by loud barking.

“Beware of thieves and fires!” came the clear clang of a gong.

Inside the inn, urgent voices rose.

The door burst open with a bang. Captain Xing rushed out, brandishing a knife, with Tong Xiangyu chasing behind.

Tong Xiangyu pleaded, “Old Xing!”

Captain Xing resolutely replied, “I must go.”

Tong Xiangyu continued to plead, “Old Xing…”

As Captain Xing walked toward the door, he said, “I have official duties, my heart is with the people, my official duties…”

…

At first glance, Wang Kai frowned, but as he read further, his brow relaxed.

After finishing the three scripts, he asked, “Is this a situational comedy?”

“Yes,” Jiang Lun nodded.

“I thought so—it looks simple, almost like a stage play!”

Wang Kai said, “I’ll be honest, the plot and dialogue are interesting. If you shoot it, a small-scale production is fine, but I doubt many will be interested at first.”

“Why?” Jiang Lun was surprised.

“There’s no big spectacle, no gimmick. And what kind of cast can you get? Big-name actors probably won’t do a situational comedy like this.”

Wang Kai continued, “If it were a stage play, maybe many would invest, but for this kind of plot, it mostly attracts ordinary audiences.”

“I plan to make it a web series!” Jiang Lun answered honestly. “My friend and I formed a studio. A video website asked him to produce a web series, so I provided this script.”

“I’m just giving you my opinion; you can try it!” Wang Kai smiled. “Don’t be nervous. You’re already one of the most popular new singers. With you in it, the show will attract attention.”

“Me?” Jiang Lun immediately waved his hand. “I don’t intend to act. I’m just the screenwriter and will help with editing later.”

“Only the screenwriter?” Wang Kai was surprised. “Being a screenwriter isn’t just about having a script. Even stage plays or dramas usually have at least six people in the writing team.”

“We’ll see about that later. I’m providing the literary script. Other matters I’ll discuss with my partner.”

“Who’s your partner? Someone in the industry?”

“Yes,” Jiang Lun nodded. “Zhao Rong. You must have heard of him.”

“Heh heh heh, more than heard of him!” Wang Kai laughed heartily. “He graduated from the directing department of the Central Academy of Drama, but I heard he hasn’t done too well in recent years, only taking on low-budget dramas. Ah, this industry—if you can’t be at the top, you’re just a stepping stone for others.”

“Exactly!” Jiang Lun smiled bitterly. Having entered the industry, he counted himself lucky but had seen many who weren’t so fortunate. Life is like a song, full of hardships; many fade away quietly after a few years.

By the time Jiang Lun left Wang Kai’s house, it was six in the evening.

Back home, he continued working on the script, meticulously checking every line of dialogue and each scene’s expressions on video, striving for the utmost precision.

That night, a sudden phone call interrupted his concentration.

It was Zhao Rong, excitedly telling him that the studio’s location had been selected—a 180-square-meter office in a building on East Fourth Ring Road, at five yuan per square meter per day. That adds up to 324,000 yuan a year, with a two-month deposit and six months’ rent in advance. But through some connections, Zhao Rong managed to negotiate a price of 300,000 yuan per year, payable in full upfront.

Jiang Lun thought for a moment, then said, “Leave it all to you. If you think it’s suitable, just rent it.”

“All right! I’ll sign the lease tomorrow, then get the business license and buy office equipment. After three to five days of preparation, we can open!”

Zhao Rong sounded like a child with excitement, his enthusiasm palpable even over the phone.

After hanging up, Jiang Lun glanced at the script he had put together.

He calculated the episodes and dove back into work with renewed focus.

(To be continued.)