'Love Letter'.
'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal'.
None of the three bothered questioning why Rurouni Kenshin had a "Trust & Betrayal" title—just like how Jing Yu once named something 'White Album 2' without ever writing a 1.
Everyone already knew how random Jing Yu could be when it came to naming characters and titles. They were used to it.
'Love Letter' was, in Jing Yu's previous life, a classic Japanese romance film.
A masterpiece by Shunji Iwai.
While its original box office wasn't that impressive, it was obvious that a show's quality couldn't always be measured by viewership or sales.
Great works stand the test of time. Even 20 or 30 years later, 'Love Letter' remained etched in people's memories. When the movie was re-released in mainland China during Jing Yu's past life—in the digital age, when high-quality versions were already free online—it still grossed over 40 million yuan in just two days.
That's the power of a timeless story.
You could offer it for free, and some people would still feel compelled to pay—out of love, respect, or nostalgia. Try that with a popcorn flick? Ha. The studio would lose its shirt.
As for 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal'—
Rurouni Kenshin itself was a legendary manga. And Trust & Betrayal, a prequel arc, was at least two tiers higher in emotional depth and narrative quality than the original storyline. It elevated the entire series.
Of course, Jing Yu's reason for choosing these two scripts wasn't just their reputation—it was also his personal passion for them.
After handing the scripts to the others, he quietly stepped aside, leaving the room silent.
'Love Letter' didn't require much localization—just changing a few place names. Easy.
'Rurouni Kenshin' needed a bit more work, but it wasn't difficult. In any dynasty or cultural context, you could find equivalents for swordsmen, rebels, or assassins during eras of political upheaval.
Jing Yu had already tweaked the setting, changing it to the final days of the Great Shang Empire, over a hundred years ago, right before the founding of the Great Zhou Federation.
He even renamed Kenshin's role from the legendary "Battosai" to a top-tier assassin who specialized in executing corrupt officials.
It all tracked.
So now, having received the scripts, the three sat quietly—completely absorbed in the stories.
With nothing else to do, Jing Yu fired up his console to play some games, while Yu Youqing, Xia Yining, and Cheng Lie kept reading, expressions growing serious.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Half an hour.
"Why… why didn't you let them end up together in the end?" Xia Yining sniffled, eyes a bit red.
"Right? That final goodbye—that final letter—it's devastating," Yu Youqing agreed.
"Yu-jie, don't you think it was too tragic? Couldn't it have ended on a hopeful note instead?" Xia Yining's mood had clearly taken a hit.
"Of course. You're not the only one feeling it."
Yu Youqing wasn't doing much better. The script had brought back the version of Jing Yu who loved stabbing his audience in the heart with heartbreak and tragedy.
"Why, Jing Yu? Why are all your scripts like this? Why do they always end in heartbreak?"
"Yukishiro didn't need to die like that!"
"And that drawing—that 'love letter'—why did it take so long for the other Fujii to receive it? The guy had been dead for years!"
"Wait… 'Fujii'? Who's that?" Xia Yining blinked.
"And who's Yukishiro? Weren't we talking about Love Letter?" Yu Youqing frowned.
The two women stared at each other—then both glanced toward the other script they hadn't read yet.
"Impressive, Jing Yu," Cheng Lie finally exhaled deeply.
He'd been feeling anxious ever since leaving Yunteng TV. But now, having read both scripts, a weight had lifted off his chest.
Would these two films become massive hits?
He didn't know. Just the four of them weren't enough to guarantee success.
But as a seasoned producer, he knew a good script when he saw one.
Just based on these alone, he no longer regretted the gamble. Even if things failed, he could live with that. It would simply mean the timing wasn't right.
"So, Jing Yu—how are you planning to arrange the two films?"
Once both actresses finished reading, Cheng Lie posed the question.
"For 'Love Letter'," Jing Yu began, "the dual roles of 'Fujii Shuu' and Watanabe Hiroko—who look identical—will be played by Yu Youqing. The younger version of Shuu in middle school will be played by you, Xia Yining."
"I'll be playing the male Fujii, of course."
After all, the male lead needed to look good—and Jing Yu was more than qualified.
"And as for 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal'—I'll be playing Kenshin, and Yukishiro will be played by Xia Yining."
In the original manga, Kenshin was short—only 158 cm, even shorter than Yukishiro, who was 161 cm.
But that detail didn't matter. This wasn't a strict adaptation, and Great Zhou had no original manga audience to nitpick continuity.
Height wasn't a deal-breaker.
Both films were relatively small in scale.
'Love Letter' had just four main characters—male and female Fujii (middle school and adult versions), and Hiroko—plus one side character, Akiha.
Since the adult female leads looked identical, four actors could easily carry 90% of the screen time.
'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' needed a bit more in terms of extras to convey the era, but in terms of central roles, it was basically just Kenshin and Yukishiro.
"No, no, no," Cheng Lie cut in, waving his hands. "Love Letter is fine, but there's no way you can play Kenshin in Trust & Betrayal."
"From what I've read, it's a historical wuxia film with deep emotional weight—but the action sequences are crucial. For Kenshin to be believable, those fight scenes need to be top-tier."
"This kind of choreography isn't like your previous dramas. Beautiful swordplay can't just be faked with cool poses—it requires real training. Without a martial arts background, you won't be able to perform the moves convincingly. This role needs a proper martial arts actor."
Yu Youqing and Xia Yining both turned to Jing Yu.
Especially Xia Yining—she had no issue being cast as the female lead.
But hearing Cheng Lie suggest Jing Yu shouldn't even appear in Trust & Betrayal? That didn't sit right.
She was definitely feeling a grudge.
Jing Yu sighed quietly and looked at the three of them.
"Cheng Lie… we've worked together for over a year now, right?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Cheng Lie blinked.
"Do you think I'd say I want to play Kenshin… without being prepared?"
A flicker of doubt passed through Cheng Lie's eyes.
True—Jing Yu had proven himself over and over. Hikaru no Go? He could play Go. Initial D? His driving skills were insane.
Now this?
"I know you're gifted, Jing Yu. I know your art always reflects your life. Everything you've made so far ties into something you actually understand. But this—this is a wuxia story."
"You're not seriously going to tell me that the sword style in 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' —Hiten Mitsurugi-ryu—is real, are you?" he laughed.
Jing Yu set his controller aside and smiled faintly.