Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

I went into seclusion for a month.

Lin Yuan locked himself in his study, with his laptop, draft paper, and cup after cup of tea.

The study door is closed most of the time from morning to night, with only a little light occasionally shining through the crack, indicating that the person is still there and awake.

Gu Zhiwan counted, and there were three days when he spent no more than two hours out in total. He ate, drank water, and occasionally stood in front of the French windows for a while in a daze before turning around and going back in, closing the door behind him.

One evening, she pushed open the door and saw him staring blankly at a page of manuscript. The tea on the table had long since gone cold, with a thin ring of water floating on the surface, indicating that it had been sitting untouched for a long time.

Lin Yuan leaned back in his chair, holding a pen in his hand. The pen tip touched the manuscript paper, but he wasn't writing. His eyes were fixed on the page, his expression a mix of focus and emptiness.

Gu Zhiwan didn't make a sound to disturb him. She silently took the cup of cold tea away, brewed a hot cup, and gently placed it back beside him. Then she tiptoed out and closed the door behind her.

Lin Yuan lowered his head, glanced at the cup of tea, and then lowered his head again.

The day the script was finished was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon.

Lin Yuan came out of the study, his hair a little messy and with a light stubble on his chin. He put a stack of printed documents on the coffee table, sat down next to Gu Zhiwan, and drank half a glass of warm water that she had left on the table.

Gu Zhiwan lowered her head and turned to the first page.

The Legend of Sword and Fairy 3.

She didn't speak, but looked down intently, becoming quieter and quieter as she read.

Turning to Jing Tian's first appearance, that carefree young man in Yong'an Pawnshop, who dreamed of getting rich and becoming a great hero, seemed unreliable and even a bit irresponsible. But in the end, this same person shouldered what no one else could.

Turning to Xuejian, the stubborn, willful, and never-say-die eldest daughter of the Tang family, she and Jingtian argued and disliked each other all the way. Some of their bickering lines almost made her laugh out loud.

But when she saw that Xuejian was willing to give everything for Jingtian at the end, her fingertip paused for a moment, and she did not turn the page immediately.

Seeing Xu Changqing and Zixuan,

One is a cultivator who bears the weight of all living beings and is destined to become the leader of the Shu Mountain Sect; the other is a woman who has waited for him for three lifetimes and loved him for three lifetimes, yet she has never been able to stay with him.

They met time and time again, only to miss each other again because of responsibility, identity, and fate.

He gently closed the pages, his eyes filled with complex emotions, as if he hadn't yet emerged from the story.

After a moment of silence, Gu Zhiwan spoke, her voice a little softer than usual: "Lin Yuan, how many people are you going to make cry?"

Lin Yuan's lips twitched slightly. He neither denied nor explained, but simply took the stack of manuscripts back from her and put them back on the coffee table.

One week later, at Tianxing Entertainment, in the conference room.

Fei Zhao finished reading the script, put it back on the table, and the meeting room was quiet for nearly ten seconds.

It's not silence; everyone is processing it.

The project managers nearby exchanged glances, but none of them spoke first, waiting for Fei Zhao to speak.

Fei Zhao looked up at Lin Yuan and said, "The investment won't be small."

"Know."

"The market is currently chasing sweet-and-bitter romances, good-looking leads, fast-paced plots, and artificial sweetness. Your script is going against all of that."

Lin Yuan nodded, offering no explanation, and said calmly, "I know."

"Then why did you film it?"

Lin Yuan raised his head.

"What touched me most about this story is that it doesn't tell the audience that life will always be perfect."

"It's just telling you."

Some people appear in your life to accompany you for a while.

"Some regrets can become an irreplaceable part of your life."

He paused, then said, "I want the audience to know that fantasy is not just about love, but also about growth, responsibility, and sacrifice."

The meeting room fell silent for a few seconds.

Fei Zhao picked up the script, glanced at the cover again, and said one word:

"shoot."

Just this one word.

The PR manager, sitting in the corner, flipped through the market analysis report in his hand. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something. Fei Zhao turned his head and glanced in that direction. The person swallowed back the words he was about to say.

The day the main cast list was announced, the industry was in an uproar.

It's not that the cast isn't good enough, it's that it's too good. Lin Yuan is both the director and screenwriter. A veteran producer oversees the entire process, from investment and budget to actor coordination and marketing. The art direction, costumes, props, and special effects departments are all staffed with highly accomplished individuals; there's no one just there to fill a spot.

The media reacted quickly, and the entry was published that afternoon.

#Lin Yuan, Chief Director and Chief Writer of Chinese Paladin 3#

The comments section was divided into two distinct voices—one side said, "A 19-year-old director who wrote and directed his own fantasy drama, that's really crazy," while the other side said, "He directed both Initial D and The Shawshank Redemption, why don't you believe it?"

The two sides argued back and forth, making quite a racket, but Lin Yuan didn't respond. He never really cared about the media's attention; those voices were just drifting around, a long distance from what he was doing right now.

At the first internal all-staff meeting, Lin Yuan stood up in the conference room and said three sentences, which made the entire team fall silent:

"Everything should serve the story first."

"Don't film magical effects just to show off your skills."

"Don't change the characters just for the sake of increasing traffic."

Without any nonsense or empty promises, these three sentences set the tone for the entire project.

The producer sat below, flipping through the budget sheet in his hand, already mentally calculating the numbers—this project wouldn't be cheap, but he glanced at the person sitting above and suppressed his hesitation. Working with this person on a project, the probability of losing money was low.

What truly made everyone realize that this director was different was the collaboration with the art department.

Lin Yuan laid out his demands directly, leaving no room for negotiation:

There must be distinctions between the three realms: the human world must have a lively atmosphere, Mount Shu must be serene and aloof, and the demon realm must have a sense of oppression. It's not acceptable for every place to be filled with flowing white robes and an ethereal aura; that would be lazy.

The art director frowned immediately and pushed the cost estimate forward: "Do you know that this means rebuilding three complete visual systems, and that the cost will increase significantly?"

Lin Yuan looked at him, his tone unchanged, "But if you can't do it, then there's no need to film."

The art director remained silent for a few seconds, then lowered his head, took back the accounting sheet, and said nothing more.

The team then spent three weeks redesigning the entire art plan: the human marketplace, the summit of Mount Shu, and the abyss of the demon realm—three sets of logic, three sets of color schemes, and three sets of textures. When the plan was presented, someone stared at those concept art images for a long time and then said:

"This isn't a TV drama shoot."

"It's about creating a world."

Lin Yuan stood in front of the row of concept drawings, scanned them from left to right, and nodded without saying a word.