"He's probably tone-deaf."
Song Xin thought back on Jing Yu's past — he'd never understood musical instruments, and his singing... was downright painful.
Not that he was a completely hopeless case, but he definitely fell below average.
"Heh." Jiang Shiqing let out a low chuckle at her words.
Art comes from life, and Jing Yu had no clue about music, yet he still chose to work on a project centered on it. Wasn't he just asking for trouble?
Even if you're a master of emotional dramas, suddenly switching to a suspense genre would usually end in disaster.
The unexpected success of 'My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday's viewership had made him a laughingstock within the network — especially after the average rating of the rerun surpassed 1.6.
It was significantly higher than the average rating of White Lovers.
Truth be told, Jiang Shiqing didn't have any deep-seated grudge against Jing Yu. He had once worked under Jing Yu's father, Jing Liang, and had made a mistake while collaborating with Jing Liang. After being criticized publicly a few times by the elder Jing, he had held a grudge ever since. By association, he also started looking down on Jing Yu.
When he later rose through the ranks at the station, this disdain only grew. But all the petty things he did — getting Jing Yu's contract downgraded, arranging for Song Xin to be with him — had more or less vented the resentment he'd built up over the years.
However, the success of 'My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday' had changed everything.
"That Jiang Shiqing, always so smug... but this time? It's ridiculous. He got outdone by a last-minute rescue drama — and the worst part? It was meant to save his own show."
"So all those times he said Jing Liang's son had no talent, was he just spewing nonsense? Maybe he was just jealous of Jing Yu's ability — that's why he worked so hard to push him out of the station after Jing Liang passed away."
"I always wondered why Jiang Shiqing went after Jing Yu so ruthlessly after Jing Liang's death. Turns out, he just can't stand anyone being better than him."
Jiang Shiqing had heard plenty of rumors like that around the station in recent days, which only fueled his anger toward Jing Yu.
Better than me?
Where exactly do you people see that?
A two-episode mini-series, and suddenly he's a genius?
Soon, his new show would start filming. As soon as White Lovers wrapped up, they'd jump right into the next production.
Then they'd see who truly came out on top.
The Next Morning
At dawn, Liu Neng pulled up in front of Jing Yu's rental apartment.
"Here, brought you breakfast."
He handed over a meat pie and a cup of soy milk, then took the folder Jing Yu had prepared the night before.
It was a casting breakdown for a seasonal drama, with a moderate number of roles. Excluding minor characters and background extras who existed mostly to hype scenes by yelling "666," the early episodes primarily centered on four main characters:
Male lead: You Gongsheng
Female lead: Miyazono Kaori
Female second lead: Ze Chun
Male second lead: Du Liang
Then there were rivals to the male lead's piano skills — Xiang Zuo Wushi and Jing Chuan Huijian.
These roles required particular attention. After all, if the supporting cast didn't shine, even the most brilliant lead would fall flat by comparison. The audience experience depended on contrast.
Of course, all the character names from the original work had been changed. For example:
Arima Kousei became You Gongsheng.
Miyazono Kaori kept her name — it was unusual, but the surname "Miyazono" wasn't entirely unheard of in Da Zhou.
Tsubaki Sawabe was now Ze Chun.
Ryota Watari became Du Liang.
The changes were subtle but deliberate — avoiding names that would sound too foreign or awkward to Da Zhou audiences.
"These characters don't appear in the first two episodes, though," Liu Neng commented as he flipped through the folder.
"No, but they'll definitely show up in later episodes," Jing Yu replied with a smile. "And since we've got so many people coming to audition today, it's the perfect chance to cast them all in one go."
"You're sure full of confidence. Just a few days and you've already worked out that much of the script?" Liu Neng was impressed.
"Reminds me of those other screenwriters in Lan Province. The shoot would start the next day, and they still hadn't finished the script. The producer and director would literally camp at their place overnight, forcing them to write through the night. Some even wrote the next scene while the current one was still filming!"
Jing Yu's expression turned odd.
Honestly, he didn't blame those writers. The film and TV industry in Da Zhou constantly demanded on-the-fly rewrites. If the audience didn't like a plotline one week, the writer would be ordered to scrap everything and redo it — a brutal challenge for most in the industry.
"By the way, you haven't built your assistant writer team yet. Think about any trustworthy screenwriters in the industry — I'll reach out to them."
"No need." Jing Yu shook his head. "I can handle the whole script myself. Just make sure the money we save on assistants goes to me as the full writing fee."
In his mind, everything was already complete — the plot, the dialogue, the direction. He didn't need any help. In fact, having too many people around might raise suspicions.
From an outsider's perspective:
Why does Jing Yu never revise his scripts? Why is every line perfect on the first try? It's like he's copying something instead of creating it.
The fewer people who notice these oddities, the better.
"That's not a good idea," Liu Neng said, clearly concerned. "I know you have confidence, but a long-format series isn't the same as a short one. Screenwriting is usually a team effort — the head writer handles the big picture, and the assistants take care of details. Dialogue, structure, camera directions — if you do it all yourself, you'll burn out."
He had seen too many writers collapse under stress. Even Jing Yu's father, Jing Liang, had been one of them. He was under 50 when he died of sudden cardiac arrest.
"Let's talk about it later," Jing Yu muttered, clearly avoiding the topic.
"Let's focus on casting first."
He looked up at the headquarters of Jinhui TV Station.
They had only two days left to hold the open auditions.
The audition venue was in a conference room inside Jinhui's HQ. Liu Neng had sent out notices to local universities in Lancheng, targeting students from performing arts and music departments, as well as talent from entertainment agencies.
They received over 200 applications — maybe even more. The number was just an early estimate.
The schools were enthusiastic. Lancheng had several universities with acting departments, and this was a golden opportunity for students to build their résumés before even graduating.
Some former students had launched their careers this way — catching the eye of producers while still in school.
Time was tight. Many schools had only managed to notify students the night before, and some of them hadn't even slept. By 4 AM, they were already up, putting on makeup and preparing for the audition.
When Jing Yu arrived, the hallway outside the audition room was packed wall to wall.
It reminded him of job fairs from his past life.
"So many people?" Jing Yu was surprised.
A glance around showed an ocean of attractive young men and women — some clearly high schoolers dragged in by ambitious parents. Others were dressed professionally — likely agency talents.
"Everyone dreams of stardom these days," Liu Neng said casually. "This is nothing. Wait till Jiang Shiqing's new show starts casting — the crowd will be at least three times bigger."
"To be honest, I'm a little anxious," he added as they walked toward the back entrance of the audition room.
White Lovers and 'My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday' might have seemed like a rescue drama and a main production on the surface. But now that 'My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday' had turned the tables, White Lovers had become the joke of the winter season in Lan Province — and tensions between the two sides were inevitable.
January's ratings war wasn't just about Jinhui vs. the other three major provincial stations. It was also them vs. Jiang Shiqing's new drama.
If 'Your Lie in April' flopped, Liu Neng would be right back where he started — a production assistant, putting out fires.
He was nearly 40, had worked at the station for 20 years, and had waited half his life for a chance like this.
To him, 'Your Lie in April' mattered even more than it did to Jing Yu.
He wasn't willing to fade into obscurity.
"This show," Liu Neng said after a pause, "no matter what, we can't fall too far behind Jiang Shiqing's new drama. Otherwise, Xu You and his people will mobilize everything they've got — and we won't get another chance."
Jing Yu's expression stiffened.
He could feel Liu Neng's sincerity — this wasn't just about work anymore.
It was a partnership. They were tied together now. Jiang Shiqing and Xu You had officially become the enemy camp.
After a moment of silence, Jing Yu responded:
"Don't worry. 'Your Lie in April' won't lose. We'll win — and we'll win by a landslide."
With that, he pushed open the doors to the audition room.
Inside, everything had been set up. The piano, violin, and other instruments he'd requested were already arranged in the center.
His and Liu Neng's seats as judges were at the very front.
At the main entrance, staff from Jinhui TV were already logging auditionees' names — they were well-experienced with this kind of event.
Jing Yu checked the time.
Ten minutes left.
The auditions for 'Your Lie in April' were about to begin.