Chapter 106 | My Acting System Only Gives Me Villain Roles

The plane landed smoothly at Donghai International Airport.

Returning from the sweltering Shancheng to the slightly salty sea breeze of Donghai, Jiang Yue pulled down the brim of his baseball cap as he walked through the airport terminal.

There were no fans blocking the exit, thanks to Jiang Kaiwen’s advance security measures and the fact that Yuchuan Media Studio had not yet made his itinerary public.

Chen Fei was waiting in the underground parking lot with the studio’s black seven-seater business van. Once the two were inside, he drove smoothly out of the airport.

The car drove all the way into the underground garage of the creative park in Changning District.

This was where the loft Yuchuan Media Studio had rented when it was first established was located. It had been under renovation for some time, and now the interior work was finally finishing up. The air still carried a faint scent of eco-friendly paint and the slight hum of the fresh air system.

Chen Fei parked the car and rushed ahead to the elevator. With a joyful expression, he swiped the access card and welcomed them into the studio.

“Sister Qing is waiting for you in the conference room.”

The interior featured a minimalist industrial design. The gray self-leveling concrete floor was as polished as a mirror, and exposed black pipes crisscrossed the ceiling, outlining sharp, rugged lines.

The temporary office area had been moved to the side by the windows. A few essential desks and chairs were already set up, though the soft furnishings and partitions weren’t all in place yet. The entire space still felt spacious, with a slight echo as they walked in, like a freshly spread sheet of white paper.

“Not bad. Better than I imagined.”

Jiang Yue looked around, his gaze landing on the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the bustling skyline of Donghai City was visible in its entirety.

“Don’t get too busy admiring the view just yet.”

Su Qing walked out of the conference room, set down her handbag, and picked up a large stack of thick folders from a cart pushed by Chen Fei. She placed them heavily on the large wooden conference table in the center.

A dull thud echoed clearly in the empty office.

“Boss, your new homework has arrived.”

Jiang Kaiwen looked at the “mountain of scripts” that almost covered half of Su Qing’s face and let out an exaggerated gasp. “Sister Qing, did you move an entire screenwriter’s library here?”

“This is only the first batch.”

Su Qing rubbed her wrists and handed Jiang Yue a freshly made iced Americano. “I’ve filtered and categorized them according to your previous requirements. The stack on the left is historical wuxia; the one on the right is modern suspense. The ones on top with red labels are key projects at A-Tier or above.”

Jiang Yue thanked her, pulled out a chair, and sat down, flipping through the top few folders.

As expected, after the finale of 《The Grand Game》 went viral, historical scripts had come flying in like snowflakes.

He scanned them briefly: 《Northland Chronicles》, 《Return to Court》, 《Power Over the World》... the tropes were practically written on the covers.

He opened an S-Tier production script. The character description read: A seemingly weak but actually scheming hostage prince from an enemy nation who endured humiliation for years, only to return and stir up the world.

“Another Chu Yan.”

Jiang Yue closed the script and shook his head.

The reason the character Chu Yan was a hit was that he had an extreme contrast and a complete growth arc within the complex ensemble cast of 《The Grand Game》.

Simply copying the character archetype would just be rehashing old content for the audience, and it didn’t offer much of a challenge for him.

He then flipped through the suspense category on the right. Most of these scripts were from people who had heard he was filming Cheng Songran’s 《Prisoner's Game in the Mirror》 in Shancheng and wanted to strike while the iron was hot.

But as he opened one and saw the character introduction, it said: A painter with a split personality and psychological trauma from witnessing a tragedy.

“Isn’t this just Chen Jingan with a different job?”

Jiang Kaiwen leaned over to take a look and curled his lip. “This category just wants to ride your popularity, but they don’t dare let you lead. They’re giving you reskinned scraps. There’s no sincerity at all.”

Jiang Yue didn’t mind playing supporting roles, but he had just said his final goodbye to the character Chen Jingan. He didn’t want to immediately dive into another similar, heavy, and oppressive world.

After picking through them for a long time, Jiang Yue’s gaze finally stopped on a blue-covered script placed separately among the pile of colorful and beautifully designed covers.

The cover was extremely simple. Against a deep blue background, two powerful characters were printed in silver foil.

《The Pivot Bone》.

“This one looks interesting.”

Jiang Yue picked up the script, his fingertips feeling the unique texture of the cover.

This was a political wuxia drama aiming for an A-Tier production. Moreover, it was a pure male-lead-centric drama, which was rare in the market, adapted from a famous male-oriented web novel.

Jiang Yue looked at the category description, his fingers lightly tapping the table.

The current television market in the Xia Nation, especially for historical dramas, mostly catered to female audiences, and adaptations tended to favor large female-oriented IPs. Productions like 《The Grand Game》, which used a male perspective and still received high praise, were the exception to the rule.

A pure male-lead political wuxia drama not only required hardcore martial arts action but also demanded high standards for plot logic and pacing.

If filmed well, it would be a classic; if not, it would flop without making a splash. In short, it was high-risk.

“Who is the director for this?”

Jiang Yue looked up and asked, “They have quite the nerve to film a pure male-lead drama in this climate.”

Su Qing was prepared. She pulled over a chair, sat down, and opened a file on her tablet.

“I’ve read this script. it’s definitely different from the current mainstream. The director’s name is He Chuan.”

Su Qing’s tone held a hint of complexity. “People in the industry call him the ‘Ultimate Assistant Director.’”

“Ultimate Assistant Director?”

Jiang Kaiwen chimed in curiously. “In what way is he ultimate?”

“In the literal sense.”

Su Qing turned the tablet toward them. On the screen was He Chuan’s resume—a long string of glittering, hit titles. However, in the position column next to them, every single one said “Assistant Director” or “Executive Director.”

Jiang Kaiwen’s eye twitched as he looked at it.

This resume made him look like a gold-medal employee but a perpetual scapegoat in terms of rank.

“He’s been in the industry for over a decade. He’s done short dramas, commercials, comedies, and even movies. He’s very versatile. But for all the hit projects he’s been part of, his position was always assistant director.”

Su Qing continued, “The industry’s evaluation of him is very consistent: he’s sharp, full of ideas, loves to innovate, and is very good at driving people crazy.”

She paused. “His ideas on set are enough to drive a traditional director insane, but many of those ideas actually work out quite well when added to the scenes.”

Su Qing gave an example. “The movie that won the Golden Orchid Award for Best Cinematography the year before last, 《Long Night, Dark Zither》, had a three-minute long-take chase scene. It went from a rooftop to a back alley and ended with the protagonist riding a motorcycle into a wet market. That shot was designed by He Chuan. It’s said he almost had a falling out with the head director over it, but that scene ended up becoming the most iconic part of the film.”

Jiang Kaiwen was stunned. “Then why doesn’t he become a director himself? Isn’t it frustrating to keep doing the hard work for someone else’s glory?”

“Because he can’t get investment for his own projects.”

Su Qing spread her hands helplessly. “Investors like his innovation only when there’s someone there to rein him in. If he’s allowed to fly solo, the financiers are afraid he’ll produce some avant-garde art film that no one understands. The risk is too high.”

She tapped an email on the tablet. “That’s also why, even though 《The Pivot Bone》 is a major IP aiming for an A-Tier production, the email says ‘investment still in negotiations.’”

Jiang Yue understood.

This was a brilliant but frustrated assistant director trying to prove himself with a major IP.

But because of his past reputation for being “unreliable,” even the funding wasn’t fully in place yet.

“However,” Su Qing slid the screen to show the email content and pointed at a paragraph, “Director He specifically mentioned in the email that he really liked your portrayal of Chu Yan in 《The Grand Game》 and feels you are perfect for the male lead. He said if you’re interested, he’d like to have a brief chat online.”

Upon hearing this, Jiang Kaiwen immediately shook his head like a rattle. “Third Brother, this sounds way too unreliable. He’s selling a pipe dream! He hasn’t even gathered the money yet; it’s far from being a reality. We have plenty of S-Tier idol drama scripts with full funding in our hands right now. Why take this risk?”

Jiang Yue didn’t answer immediately.

His fingers traced the words 《The Pivot Bone》. In his mind, the feeling of dancing with a sword against the wind during the filming of 《The Grand Game》 resurfaced.

As for the crew being poor and unable to find investment?

Jiang Yue’s mind flashed to Cheng Songran’s face—feigning maturity while being extremely tsundere—and the way he had even tried to borrow Jiang Kaiwen’s small fan to save money.

He suddenly felt like he had a special constitution for attracting poor but ambitious film crews.

“Let’s talk first.”

Jiang Yue pushed the script to the center of the table, making his decision.

“Huh?”

Jiang Kaiwen was stunned. “You actually want to talk? What if it’s a total trap?”

Su Qing, on the other hand, was decisive. She immediately checked a box on her notepad. “Fine, I’ll reply to him right away and arrange a time for an online meeting. But Boss, we have to stick to our bottom line. If it’s unreliable, we refuse decisively. Let’s not waste time.”