You were asked to write a political intrigue drama, but you wrote "Da Ming 1566".

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, shutting out the noise and chatter of the other contestants in the hallway outside. Instantly, only the slight hum of the computer and his own steady breathing could be heard in the room.

He walked to the gaming chair, sat down, placed the porcelain cup on the non-slip coaster next to the keyboard, leaned back, the chair back supporting most of his weight, and his gaze fell on the lit screen in front of him.

The screen was still showing the script outline of the first seventeen acts of "Ming Dynasty". The sidebar was covered with dense annotations, the red and black characters showing the details he had polished word by word.

Unconsciously, Chen Yu's fingertips traced the cool rim of the cup as his thoughts gradually settled. He began to meticulously analyze and review the plot threads hidden between the lines of the drama, which were like swords flashing and shadows gleaming.

The first seventeen acts of "Ming Dynasty" lay bare the most intense power struggles at the highest levels of the Ming Dynasty during the Jiajing era, presenting them to everyone in a completely transparent manner.

From the tense imperial financial conference at the beginning of the year, the national policy of "converting rice paddies to mulberry fields" was like a meticulously woven giant net, cast out from the Jade Palace in the Forbidden City, encompassing the entire Ming Dynasty's court and the common people.

The Yan faction wanted to use this national policy to make up for the huge deficit in the national treasury, and also to take this opportunity to fill their own pockets with real money and secure the Yan family's twenty-year-long favor with Emperor Jiajing. The Qingliu faction, led by Xu Jie, Gao Gong, and Zhang Juzheng, kept a close eye on every flaw in this national policy. They wanted to take advantage of the public resentment and chaos caused by the conversion of rice paddies to mulberry fields to overthrow the Yan faction that controlled the government and take back the power that should have been theirs. Emperor Jiajing, sitting at the top of the power pyramid, was only dressed in a plain Taoist robe, sitting on a futon in the Yuxi Palace, coldly watching the battle between the two sides.

He needed the Yan faction to make money for him, to fund his temple construction and his pursuit of immortality, while also keeping an eye on the Yan faction to prevent them from completely ruining the Zhu family's empire. He also needed to clean up all the mess and earn a reputation for "governing by doing nothing."

In these seventeen acts, every dialogue is full of hidden meanings, and every confrontation contains a deadly move.

The heated debates at the imperial conference, Yan Shifan's arrogance, Xu Jie's forbearance and stagnation, Gao Gong's integrity and hatred of evil, Zhang Juzheng's deep scheming, and Lü Fang's cautious and skillful maneuvering between the Directorate of Ceremonial and the imperial court—all these events vividly depict the survival rules in the top power arena of the feudal dynasty.

There isn't a single superfluous line or a single useless shot; memorable scenes come one after another, and almost every episode keeps viewers on the edge of their seats, prompting them to applaud in amazement.

This is true court intrigue, a bloodless gamble wagered by those at the very top of power, using the entire nation's people as bargaining chips.

But in Chen Yu's view, the real essence of this drama, the content that truly exposes the nature of the officialdom in the feudal dynasty, is the power struggles in the local officialdom of Zhejiang, which are slowly revealed starting from the eighteenth act.

If the power struggles in the first seventeen acts were like thunderous clashes in the heavens, then this battle in the Zhejiang officialdom was like a hand-to-hand combat in the mire, surpassing even the first seventeen acts in terms of its brilliance and depth of human nature.

Even the most powerful figures in the imperial court, if they lost the political game, would at worst retire and return to their hometowns with a dignified end. But in the local officialdom of Zhejiang, from the Provincial Treasurer and Provincial Surveillance Commissioner to the Prefect and County Magistrate, and even a lowly county assistant or jailer, every step they took was a matter of life and death. Winning meant climbing a rank, accumulating more wealth, and enjoying a longer official position; losing meant confiscation of property and execution, utter ruin. Because of this, these local officials, even if their political acumen was far inferior to that of the highest-ranking figures in the Forbidden City, were all cunning and calculating, each with their own set of survival rules. Every glance, every word, concealed their intricate thoughts, and not a single mistake could be tolerated.

Take Tian Youlu, the lowly eighth-rank county magistrate of Chun'an County, for example. His official rank was so low that he couldn't even make a splash in the entire Ming Dynasty officialdom. However, his survival wisdom, if truly understood, was enough to make people exclaim how ingenious it was.

Zheng Bichang and He Maocai, holding imperial authority, pressured him to urge the people to convert rice paddies to mulberry fields. If he failed to complete the task, he would be the first to lose his official position and his head. The people below would starve to death without rice paddies, and they were determined not to allow the mulberry fields to be trampled. In the middle was Hai Rui, who was impervious to reason and only recognized the "Great Ming Code".

He was like a rat caught in a bellows, suffering from both sides, yet he managed to win favor with both sides and pass the buck with his shrewdness. He dared not openly disobey his superiors' orders, nor did he dare to truly offend Hai Rui to the death. He could even secretly squeeze out some benefits to support his family in the cracks.

He wasn't a good person, nor was he a completely bad one. He was just the kind of low-level official most commonly seen in the Ming Dynasty's bureaucracy, greedy for small gains and afraid of taking responsibility, but not evil to the core. He just wanted to make a living peacefully in this rotten bureaucracy.

Such minor characters abound in the Zhejiang officialdom storyline. Their scheming, their struggles, and their helplessness lay bare the rotten state of the Ming Dynasty officialdom from the very roots, making it more relatable and chilling than the power struggles in the imperial court.

It is from this eighteenth act onwards that the number of famous scenes and lines in the entire play not only does not decrease, but rather bursts forth like an geyser, wave after wave, even more densely and powerfully than in the first seventeen acts. And in this chaotic situation in Zhejiang's officialdom, the most dazzling ray of light is undoubtedly Hai Rui.

It was from here that this "Great Ming Divine Sword" finally revealed its invincible sharpness.

Many people say that Hai Rui was a hothead, an incorruptible official who only knew how to fight to the death, but in Chen Yu's eyes, this is the biggest misunderstanding of Hai Rui. Hai Rui's integrity was never reckless courage or aimless, headlong rushing.

He was extremely ruthless in his methods, yet extremely meticulous. Every word and every action was strictly in accordance with the "Great Ming Code." Every word and every step was based on law, and no matter if you were a high-ranking official or a powerful eunuch in the palace, you could not find the slightest fault in him.

You can only watch helplessly as he, wielding the law as his yardstick, meticulously measures all your despicable acts, driving you into a corner with no way out. He's like an ice cube in boiling oil; no matter how corrupt and rife with iniquity the entire officialdom is, he consistently upholds his principles and safeguards the livelihoods of the people.

Holding onto the "Great Ming Code," which had long been forgotten by the entire court, he managed to carve out a crack in this rotten situation, allowing light to pierce through.

What impressed Chen Yu the most, and what he found exhilarating and chilling every time he rewatched it, was the scene where Zheng Bichang and He Maocai, the top two officials in Zhejiang's bureaucracy, after their repeated desperate struggles, ultimately exhausted all their scheming and became prisoners, being interrogated in court by Hai Rui, Wang Yongji, and others.

This scene is practically the pinnacle of the entire series, with each line of dialogue like a heavy hammer blow, relentlessly pounding the fig leaf of the Ming Dynasty's officialdom, leaving viewers breathless.

He Maocai, who was brought to court, was a rough man who came from a military background and acted recklessly. He climbed to the position of Zhejiang Provincial Surveillance Commissioner through ruthlessness and scheming. When he was at his wit's end, he looked at Hai Rui, who was sitting upright in the court, and finally uttered a heartfelt word after decades of immersion in officialdom: "I will give you a piece of advice: in officialdom, you must blend in with the world."

This wasn't advice; it was a curse of despair. He used his lifetime of experience in officialdom to tell Hai Rui that the entire Ming Dynasty bureaucracy was a giant cesspool. You either jump in and rot with us, or you'll be crushed by the entire bureaucracy. There was no third way.

Zheng Bichang, whose skills far surpassed He Maocai's, was an old fox who had spent his entire life navigating the officialdom and had seen through the rise and fall of the Yan Party and the rules of the court. During the interrogation, he contributed countless memorable quotes and scenes that have been passed down to this day.

He looked at the officials in the hall, glanced down at his prison uniform, smiled bitterly, and uttered the words that pierced the fate of the entire bureaucratic system: "Serving in the same court is like being on the same boat. When the storm comes, some will fall into the water first and some will fall into the water later. No one can escape it."

One sentence revealed the fate of everyone. He knew he was a pawn of the Yan faction, but if the Yan faction fell, could the Qingliu faction remain unscathed? This dilapidated ship of the Ming Dynasty was riddled with holes; when the storm came, no one could stand on dry shore.

But what struck most was his statement that tore apart the dignity of all civil and military officials: "The robes of civil officials are woven with birds, and the robes of military officials are embroidered with beasts. Wearing these robes, which one of us isn't a beast in human clothing?" This short sentence was like a thunderclap, tearing to shreds the cloak of propriety, integrity, loyalty to the emperor, and patriotism that the entire court had worn for a lifetime.

Yes, for official positions and money, they could order the destruction of dikes and flooding of fields, leaving hundreds of thousands homeless and starving; they could fabricate charges of colluding with Japanese pirates and send innocent people to the execution ground; they could force merchants to commit suicide by confiscating their property, squandering all the people's wealth. Doing such inhuman things, wearing robes embroidered with beasts, who among them isn't a beast in human clothing?

Even though Zheng Bichang and He Maocai spoke so frankly, exposing the true nature of officialdom, Hai Rui, sitting in the hall, remained unmoved. The most iconic and exhilarating scene in this story, the one that truly captivated Chen Yu, was Hai Rui's calm yet weighty pronouncement, "It's recorded."

No matter how Zheng Bichang tried to muddy the waters by blaming the palace and the Jiajing Emperor; no matter how He Maocai acted unreasonably, calling out the names of Grand Secretary Yan and Junior Grand Secretary, trying to drag everyone down with him, Hai Rui showed no hesitation, no cowardice, and didn't even interrupt them. He simply turned to the scribe behind him and, in a calm and even tone, uttered those four words: "Recorded."

These four words are more ruthless than any harsh words, more powerful than any threat. They mean that no matter who you say is involved, no matter how taboo it is, no matter if it will be exposed, I, Hai Rui, dare to write it down, dare to take responsibility, and dare to write these shameful and sordid things down word for word on a confession and send it to the capital, to the emperor.

I'm not afraid of your accusations; I'm afraid you won't speak up. I'm going to expose all these dirty deeds to the light of day, so that the whole world can see just how rotten the officialdom of the Ming Dynasty really is. These repeated "recorded" statements vividly demonstrate Hai Rui's ability, courage, and fearlessness in confronting the entire corrupt officialdom. Every time Chen Yu rewatches them, he can't help but feel his heart surge with emotion.

Thinking of this, Chen Yu picked up the strong tea in front of him and took a big gulp. The scalding tea slid down his throat, leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste that made him even more awake. He looked at the screen, his anticipation growing stronger, and couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself, muttering, "So many memorable scenes, looks like I'll have to work overtime again tonight."

He tapped his fingertips lightly on the table, quickly making a decision. A resolute glint flashed in his eyes, followed by an undisguised sarcasm: "Since that's the case, let's just write it all the way through until we've finished interrogating Zheng Bichang and He Maocai and sent their confessions to the capital."

Upon hearing this, he instantly recalled the comments he had seen in the competition's comment section and on various social media platforms throughout the day. Many people confidently posted that the pacing of "Da Ming Dynasty" had collapsed and the plot had fallen apart starting from the Zhejiang episodes, making it far less exciting than the earlier court intrigues. Some even said that Chen Yu simply couldn't carry the rest of the series and that it would only get worse.

Chen Yu's lips curled into a cold sneer as he said in a low voice, "I actually quite like what those people said today, all of them so confidently, saying that the plot of 'The Ming Dynasty' has fallen apart."

He leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers, his tone full of mockery, "I really hope they stick to their opinions and keep dancing. After all, it's not common to see such a dedicated clown performance."

He knew very well that those who said the plot had fallen apart either didn't understand the core of the show at all, or they only wanted to watch the kind of epic battles that felt like a wish-fulfillment novel, and were unwilling to take the time to appreciate the humanity and struggles within this quagmire.

When they see today's update and witness this epic showdown in the interrogation hall, they will be thoroughly humiliated by these iconic scenes.

Without further thought, Chen Yu sat up straight, lightly tapped the mouse to open the live stream interface, and simultaneously opened the blank script editing document. As soon as the live stream started, the long-waiting viewers flooded in, the number of online viewers soared, and the screen was instantly filled with comments.

As Chen Yu watched the scrolling comments on the screen, images of the intense interrogation in the interrogation hall flashed through his mind, and a confident smile crept onto his lips.

His fingertips landed on the keyboard, the crisp sound of typing echoing in the quiet room. He chuckled and muttered to himself, "I was just telling you guys about those iconic scenes, and here comes the first one I'm going to write today, this legendary scene!"