Master-level Japanese?
What the heck is this?
This was the first time Luke had received a language-related skill from the system.
The next moment, the memories flooding into his mind weren't the usual grueling experiences of practicing martial arts.
Instead, he was sitting at a desk, flipping through stacks of Japanese books.
These books covered every aspect of Japanese culture—traditions, customs, history, geography, food habits, you name it.
Anime, the concept of mono no aware (the bittersweet beauty of fleeting things), reading the room… all of it was crammed into his brain.
It took a while, but after digesting it all, Luke let out a sigh and opened his eyes.
"Man, this is… kinda wild…"
The system's master-level skills were always ridiculously powerful.
If it was just about speaking, listening, reading, and writing Japanese fluently, it wouldn't deserve the "master" title.
To truly master a language, you've got to understand the people and culture behind it.
So, the system dumped all of that knowledge into his head in one go.
Now, he was a legit Japanese master. If he wrote a book in Japanese, he might just outshine Yasunari Kawabata, leave Natsume Soseki in the dust, knock Ryunosuke Akutagawa out of the park, and, well, squash Osamu Dazai flat.
But he had zero interest in boosting Japanese literature. For him, the biggest perk of this master-level Japanese was probably watching anime without waiting for subtitles.
Nah, scratch that!
Let's try that again: it meant he could fully understand the plot when watching those kinds of films!
Okay, not really!
What it actually meant was that cracking the Japanese market just got a whole lot easier.
China's film industry wouldn't take off for another decade or so, and for a long time, Japan was the world's second-largest market for cultural products.
With his mastery of Japanese language and culture, he'd have an easier time winning over Japanese audiences, maybe even making their film market his own playground.
If he could dominate both Hollywood and Japan, the movies he starred in would have a box office edge no one else could touch.
Maybe that's why the system gave him master-level Japanese?
Though, knowing the system, it was probably more likely nudging him to go to Japan and meet stars like Yui Aragaki, Masami Nagasawa, Satomi Ishihara, Erika Sawajiri, Yuu Aoi, or Ryoko Hirosue.
Anyway, Luke figured it was time to plan a trip to Japan to boost his fame.
The best timing would be after wrapping Pirates of the Caribbean but before its release.
With Japan's market behind him, his chances of outdoing The Lord of the Rings would get a nice boost.
For now, though, the priority was nailing the shoot for Hero.
…
Over the next month, Luke traveled with the Hero crew to scenic spots like Guilin and Jiuzhaigou, knocking out his scenes like a pro.
Thanks to his reminders, Director Zhang made sure to protect the environment, restoring locations to their original state after filming.
No repeat of the The Promise fiasco, where they trashed a scenic area.
Everything went smoothly until they hit Luke's final scene—the movie's climactic battle.
This was a scene not in the original Hero, but with Luke's input, Director Zhang agreed to tweak the script.
Nameless didn't back off from assassinating the Qin King; he was set on finishing his path.
The Qin King, meanwhile, wasn't about to give up his dream of uniting the land—that was his path.
Even knowing Nameless's assassination plan, the Qin King still agreed to meet him, because Can Jian had his back.
So, when Nameless drew his sword, Can Jian stepped up.
The ultimate showdown that would decide the fate of the world kicked off.
In the cold, imposing black hall, Can Jian in his white warrior robes faced off against Nameless in sleek black.
Can Jian's longsword moved like a silver dragon, its deadly edge flashing toward Nameless.
Nameless coolly raised his sword to parry.
Clang!
The force knocked him back several steps.
Can Jian pressed forward, unleashing a flurry of sharp, precise strikes.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Their swords clashed in a whirlwind of moves, so fast it was hard to keep up.
Then, suddenly, Nameless faltered, throwing off the rhythm of their epic duel.
"Cut!"
Seeing this, Director Zhang had to stop the shoot.
"My bad. I messed up again. Really sorry," Li Renjie apologized immediately.
"We've flubbed this five times in a row now," Director Zhang said, turning to Luke. "What if we dial back the difficulty of this fight? Is it too tough?"
Luke stood firm. "This is the movie's big moment. The fight's gotta be epic. Don't worry, Director, we'll get it done."
"Alright, let's do a few more takes then."
Director Zhang wanted it to be perfect, but even he, no action expert, could see Luke's choreography was insanely tough.
The moves were hard to memorize, hard to execute, and demanded perfect coordination.
Li Renjie and Luke didn't just have to nail their own moves—they had to know each other's, too.
In the heat of the rapid-fire exchange, one tiny slip-up could ruin the whole scene.
Surprisingly, Li Renjie, the so-called "Kung Fu Emperor," had flubbed five takes in a row.
Luke, on the other hand, hadn't messed up once. Every failed take was on someone else.
"Sorry for dragging you through all these retakes," Li Renjie said, walking over to Luke.
He never imagined he'd be the one holding things up—a first in his career.
"No worries, you're getting the hang of it," Luke reassured him.
Right then, a golden notification popped up in front of Luke:
[This action scene is B-level difficulty. Success rate: 30%.]
Not every action scene was dangerous, but some were so tough they still earned system rewards.
This climactic duel was tricky because it wasn't just about Luke performing well—Li Renjie had to keep up, too.
That's why the system rated it B-level difficulty.
If it was just Luke, it might not have hit B-level, but with the need for perfect teamwork, it crossed that threshold.
It was like gaming the system to tackle a B-level challenge.
At first, the system gave this scene a measly 5% success rate.
But after five failed takes, as Li Renjie got more comfortable, it climbed to 30%.
That seemed to be the cap, though—Li Renjie had hit his limit, since he didn't have Luke's master-level swordsmanship.
Even with the repeated failures, Luke didn't hold it against him.
Li Renjie was probably the best martial arts actor for choreographed fights out there. If he was struggling, anyone else would've had an even tougher time.
"Here's where you slipped up last time…"
"Watch these spots…"
"Next time, try it like this…"
Luke started coaching Li Renjie on the finer points of the moves.
He was also getting pumped, wondering how many attribute points a B-level action scene would reward.
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