Chapter 15

The crew was pushing the new script forward while simultaneously doing prep work with the existing one.

That meant finding a Martial Arts coordinator, the director locking in a shooting schedule based on the script, booking locations by date, and so on.

Otherwise, waiting until the script was fully polished before tackling each task one by one would be a massive waste of time.

Things like the Martial Arts training sessions that Xuan Leron and the other cast members attended had to be sorted out early.

For the major action sequences, they brought in the Martial Arts coordinator ahead of time.

They went through several versions of the choreography, picking the best from the best, before teaching the moves to the cast.

While the script was still being finalized, all this prep work was moving forward in sync.

As time went on, the cast's Martial Arts training entered its second half.

The male and female leads had several big collaborative action sequences together — a few extra details had been added to make the ship feel sweeter, so they kept drilling.

Xuan Leron and Ouyang Changyi had both read the initial draft of the script.

It was already solid back then.

What they didn't know yet was that the romance arc was about to go through a major overhaul — one that would send both of them through the roof.

·

Yue Kemeng had been cranking out sixty to seventy thousand words a day with relentless enthusiasm, consistently producing close to a hundred thousand characters — and then one day, out of nowhere, she received a new contract.

A contract to join the crew as a screenwriter.

Yue Kemeng: '?'

She recognized every individual word. Together, they read like something out of a fever dream.

A fanfic writer — joining the crew?!

Weirder than any dream she'd ever had.

Yue Kemeng was flustered, her throat a little tight: 'So, uh... you want me to be a screenwriter... what does that mean exactly?'

She waved it off: 'If you're just using bits of what I wrote, I don't need a credit. I'm fine with that.'

Use whatever you want — you're already paying me anyway!

Cui Jin, who was handling the liaison: '...'

A genuinely naive person who'd technically entered the workforce but might as well not have. This was exactly the moment to talk money.

The commission fee was one thing. If her work was actually going into the script, that was a whole separate payment.

Cui Jin smiled: 'The boss Sang Yu recognizes your story structure skills, KM, and feels your grasp of the source material is top-tier. He's personally inviting you to join the screenwriting team.'

'Your role would mainly be assisting the original novel's author, Chihong Chen Teacher, in doing detailed script revisions together, and participating in ongoing plot discussions and adjustments.'

Yue Kemeng shuddered: 'The boss Sang Yu wants me on the crew...'

She knew who the boss Sang Yu was.

Cui Jin had told her earlier — the boss Sang Yu had read her work first, thought it was good, and had his assistant reach out to her.

One word from the big boss had pulled her out of a rough spot. Yue Kemeng had been grateful ever since.

But whenever his name came up, the nerves and the fear were completely real — same feeling as meeting your company's senior leadership.

She was, technically, an employee. Just one who didn't have to clock in at eight every morning.

But joining the screenwriting team...

Wasn't that overestimating her?

Not that Yue Kemeng was putting herself down — it was just that she genuinely was an outsider, and she was terrified of embarrassing herself and getting sent back.

The situation felt exactly like landing a job at a top company with a resume that had nothing on it. Sure, the lucky break felt great, but it also made everything scarier.

She was a coward.

Cui Jin smiled warmly: 'Screenwriters are paid differently from commissioned writers. Separate salary.'

Yue Kemeng clenched her fist: '...'

Cui Jin kept going: 'The boss Sang Yu has taken your specific situation into account and is offering you the option to work from home.'

Yue Kemeng's neck started to stiffen: '...'

Cui Jin sighed: 'If you'd like to draw an advance on your screenwriter salary, that's also an option.'

Yue Kemeng thought: ...shameless. She'd been lured by money again.

Her conscience wouldn't let her say no.

Yue Kemeng lost it in her room — laughing until she started crying.

Her room had one of those old wardrobes, her grandma's dowry piece, the kind with a mirror on the wooden cabinet door.

Yue Kemeng caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror — even her crying looked pretty decent this time...

Her reaction: 'AAAAAAH——!'

So embarrassing!

Then she broke into a goofy laugh again.

Because things were genuinely turning around. Thank you, big boss. Thank you, luck. Thank you, that one fanfic!

Too bad she had no way to repay him — all she could do was write fanfic. If she wrote fanfic about the big boss... that would be biting the hand that fed her. Not happening.

Focus on what's right in front of you!

Once she joined the screenwriting group chat, that cowardly feeling she'd pushed down came creeping back.

Legs trembling, lips trembling, she logged into her first online screenwriting team meeting.

...

Against all expectations, there was none of the 'outsider awkwardness' or 'total misfit energy' she'd been dreading.

Everyone was working.

Actually working.

Aside from the introductions at the start, there was no small talk, no leadership speeches, no condescending remarks — they got straight to the point.

Roles were clearly defined. Since the script was mostly polished already, all that was left was fine-tuning the romance arc.

Adding the finishing touches, making targeted edits — that was way simpler than building from scratch.

So Yue Kemeng's screenwriter role only kicked in when the romance arc needed fine-tuning.

Because she wasn't a professional, she'd been given a support person to work alongside.

Once discussions wrapped up and decisions were made, changes went directly into the existing script. They were polishing the romance arc on top of what was already there, making it feel more natural.

All the functional, halfway-decent romantic writing in the original text — pull it out and it probably didn't fill five pages. That's how dry it was.

So they added small interaction beats to the everyday scenes too, laying groundwork organically, so the feelings didn't come out of nowhere and feel forced.

In one focused sprint, Yue Kemeng worked alongside the rest of the screenwriting team to rework the male and female leads' dynamic from the ground up.

The progress was visibly moving.

At first, Yue Kemeng felt a little embarrassed — because the job involved taking material she'd written, plus ideas bought from other fanfic writers, and weaving them into the existing script.

Especially at the key plot turning points, where they had to carefully work out how to sell the ship — what kind of physical gestures, what kind of moments.

Eventually Yue Kemeng desensitized herself, threw herself in completely, and started learning.

Having financial stability, plus the sense of learning and growing, lifted Yue Kemeng's mood. Her complexion even got healthier.

This kind of work environment...

Yue Kemeng ran out of words.

It was too good.

She'd never known 'genuine enthusiasm for work' was even a thing.

Day and night she was improving the script. Even in her dreams.

She also understood now why everyone in the screenwriting team wasn't like the people at her old jobs — where you had to poke them to get anything done.

The feeling of actually getting real things done. It was satisfying.

During this stretch, Yue Kemeng's Douyin algorithm — that information bubble, that big data machine — kept pushing her the same content.

Yue Kemeng learned things about the boss Sang Yu.

Online, there was a persistent narrative: the boss Sang Yu was great at playing the internet, The Demolition Office was just a vanity project, but he clearly had ulterior motives.

And it would definitely blow up in his face.

He was just chasing internet clout, listening to whatever netizens said, hiring whoever netizens suggested — with zero consideration for the fact that netizens weren't industry professionals.

A total amateur operation.

Aside from winning a few rounds of praise online, it was all completely pointless.

Yue Kemeng didn't buy any of that anymore.

A crew like this? There was no way it would be bad!

·

Chihong Chen brought the fully revised final script to meet with the lead cast.

'The boss Sang Yu specifically reminded me to make sure all the original standout moments were kept — this is the final version revised to spec. Want to take a look?'

Then — what did they think?

Both of them were genuinely touched.

Especially Ouyang Changyi.

In her previous drama work, it was standard practice to only receive the complete script after joining the crew. She'd gotten used to it.

She'd known beforehand that the screenwriters were doing detailed revisions tailored to both their personalities, refining the romance arc in the original — she still couldn't quite believe it.

And then...

The new script came out this fast.

She took it and started reading. Ouyang Changyi's breathing immediately went heavy.

Xuan Leron wasn't far behind. Both eyes wide as saucers.

Setting everything else aside, purely from a self-interested angle — the character work in this new script hadn't changed much... but it was all gold!

The new scenes that had been added were so sharp!

Having been in the industry, they both knew the ABO worldbuilding concept, of course — plenty of their peers had been on related trending topics, and they'd looked into it.

So they understood what audiences liked.

The one concern Xuan Leron had before was that the new script might 'feminize' Chen Le.

That was a term he'd picked up from fan communities. It referred to treating the character as the passive, receiving role in a male-male ship — basically reading him as the bottom.

Honestly, Xuan Leron didn't mind that framing, but Chen Le was written as a straight guy.

If it went too far, it would backfire.

Not greasy, not condescending — a well-calibrated straight-guy energy was actually a flavor fans liked.

And then Chihong Chen Teacher delivered a massive surprise!

Xuan Leron had read the original novel, so the contrast was even sharper — the boss Sang Yu had reworked the romance arc without changing the original framework, and the result was...

Brilliant!

Even though it was female-A male-O, the straight-guy straight-girl dynamic was completely preserved.

The romance arc wasn't dry and stiff like the original — both characters' personalities came through and deepened in every interaction.

'Chen Le' admired strength, would naturally pay attention to 'Sang Luoling,' and the feelings developed in a way that made total sense.

And the person playing her — Ouyang Changyi — was genuinely impressive.

Ouyang Changyi stood 170 cm and weighed 52 kg. That weight was technically above the industry standard, but she looked lean and powerful.

Xuan Leron had asked about Ouyang Changyi's body fat percentage. It was extremely low.

For reference, women naturally have a much harder time getting their body fat down than men — to get there, it was pure genetics plus self-discipline to the point of self-abuse (.

Their partner training was brutal. After returning to the hotel, Ouyang Changyi would do Pilates to help her muscles recover and stretch.

Apparently she loved working out — she used to run marathons.

Absolute unit.

At this point Ouyang Changyi finally couldn't hold it in anymore. She ditched the 'say less, do more' image her company had built for her and went off: 'Do you know what roles I've played the most?!'

Type one: the male lead's girlfriend — her job was to look pretty, wait around, and get rescued.

Type two: the male lead's ex — her job was to cause drama, stir things up, and die.

And on the rare occasion she got a strong character, three episodes in she'd start falling in love, five episodes in her combat ability would flatline, eight episodes in she'd vanish entirely...

Ouyang Changyi had been so inspired she'd almost broken into a rap!

In this day and age, the roles female actresses could take, the scripts with any real range — there were just too few, especially for young actresses like her.

Ouyang Changyi was an artist under Huajing. She'd had some script selection power at the start, but the more crews she joined, the more she saw through the surface.

Roles with good character writing were hard to find.

Audiences usually assumed competition was fierce among actresses — but male actors were just as cutthroat when it came to grabbing the spotlight. That's what she meant.

Roles that weren't decorative props, weren't plot devices, weren't the object of the male lead's divine rescue mission or his trophy at the end.

She'd just swept through a whole field of them.

The revised Sang Luoling made her even more excited.

Because the script hadn't just done a simple gender-swap — there were real standout moments that genuinely belonged to Sang Luoling.

This might sound hard to follow, but simply put: most productions in the industry had an incredibly flat understanding of what a 'strong female character' meant.

Most people probably wouldn't get it either.

So the result was that a female character actually getting to show strength that felt true to who she was — that was always a luxury.

That's why Ouyang Changyi was this excited... once she performed it, those standout moments were guaranteed.

Not the male lead's supporting act. Not just a ship accessory that only mattered to fans.

How could that not be exciting?!

Ouyang Changyi made up her mind almost instantly — 'I want to do this well' wasn't enough. She wanted to do it best.

Both of their energy was sky-high.

'So you're both good with it?'

Chihong Chen confirmed.

'Obviously!'

'Chihong Chen Teacher, I want to talk to you about...'

The more they talked, the more they clicked.

Chihong Chen saw the energy in the room, thought for a moment, and brought up another piece of real business.

This had been sitting in his chest for a while now — this time... he had to get it out!

'...Even though the boss Sang Yu only wants to make something worth watching and doesn't care about ratings, I feel like we can't just sit back and let it happen for us.'

Chihong Chen opened up a serious topic he'd been sitting on for a while.

'As a screenwriter, I might not be in the best position to say this — it might be overstepping — but the more the boss Sang Yu invests, the more certain I am: the boss Sang Yu genuinely wants to make something great!'

Chihong Chen wasn't saying this just because he was The Demolition Office's author and stood to benefit from the show's success. This was what he actually believed.

'In recent years, Domestic Entertainment has been a classic case of bad money driving out good — but you can't deny it, the bad money has been making real money.'

'Given that the boss Sang Yu chose this subject matter, chose actors with real substance — it's probably because... he wants to bring the good stuff back to market!'

Chihong Chen's voice was charged with feeling.

He had a sense that his guess, and the quiet ambition the boss Sang Yu had never stated out loud, were pointing at exactly the same thing.