Chapter 590: Love in Progress
Chapter 590: Love in Progress
"Huh...hehehe..." Oscar chuckled awkwardly, casting a quick glance toward the director in hopes Feiran would bail him out.
But Feiran remained impassive.
Sigh...Oscar sighed inwardly. As a professional host, he had no choice but to keep the show running smoothly until the director called cut.
Thankfully, this wasn't too difficult. Oscar had formal training—improvisation and topic-shifting were basic skills in the hosting game. Even without scripts or teleprompters, he could ramble for ten minutes straight without repeating himself.
"Bu Jue, if you keep being this sarcastic, our post-production team might just uglify your face in the footage", Oscar quipped with an easy smile.
Feiran promptly stepped in, raising an arm to cue the audience into a coordinated laugh.
With that, Feng Bu Jue's segment wrapped up to a wave of laughter. The stagecraft worked well—Night Flame's earlier performance now felt oddly flat by comparison.
"Bandit General, care to say a few words?" Oscar moved swiftly to the fifth contestant area before Feng Bu Jue could respond.
"Hello everyone, I'm Bandit General." The Bandit General waved at the cameras, his smile turning razor-sharp as he shot a sidelong glare leftward. "Hope you'll keep supporting me as always. I'll earn your applause through pure Capability."
Feng Bu Jue leaned on his palm, watching him with a smirk. Hmm...someone's got hidden barbs in his words. He glanced sideways—sure enough, Night Flame was already glaring back, lips curling in silent contempt.
Heh...are these two about to throw down? Feng Bu Jue shook his head, thinking, I really shouldn't have come. The vibe here feels off.
He wasn't wrong. This resurrection round had shifted dramatically from his previous episode. As Feiran had muttered before, "I'm a Writer" had strayed far from its original vision.
Back in pre-production, the TV executives had practically dismissed it as a risky experiment, allocating minimal budget and slotting it into a graveyard time slot—Monday nights at 10 PM. The first two episodes featured only two big-name authors, both as favors, while the other five contestants were obscure or washed-up scribblers. It seemed destined for cancellation after a trial run.
But Feiran's production team had defied expectations, crafting an unexpectedly polished product that became a breakout hit. The network executives flipped overnight, boosting budgets and moving the show to Saturday prime time.
Sponsors swarmed in, bidding wars erupted for streaming rights, and top-tier authors suddenly found calendars opening up. Even reluctant writers soon faced pressure from their publishing companies, all eager to secure a spot on the show.
Feng Bu Jue had joined during this meteoric rise, handpicked by senior editors who reached him through Sī Ruì Group's cultural promotion department. At the time, he'd been strapped for cash, so the appearance fee sealed the deal.
But as "I'm a Writer" gained popularity, interference grew. Network brass, sponsors, and moneyed interests began making increasingly arbitrary demands. Some requests had commercial logic—protecting investments—while others reeked of "I pay the bills, I get to play god" entitlement.
The show's tone had shifted accordingly. The original atmosphere of mutual respect and creative camaraderie dissolved, replaced by cutthroat competition. Authors like Night Flame and Bandit General flooded in. Under normal circumstances, the production team would've blacklisted them outright. But when sponsors demanded names, they simply Googled "popular authors" and shoved whoever came up, clueless about what actually fit the show's ethos.
Feiran wrestled with these pressures weekly, constantly bending rules and reshaping segments to appease stakeholders.
The consequences? Authors no longer came to "learn" or "share"—they came to conquer. On-set rivalries, online flame wars, and even covert diss tracks in submitted works became the norm.
The old adage proved true—"Writers don't respect other writers", as they say. Exactly what the sponsors wanted. Conflict sold. Ratings thrived on manufactured drama and fake redemption arcs.
To serve this, they stripped away the last shreds of artistic integrity, leaving nothing but commercial puppets.
If Feng Bu Jue had kept closer watch on the show's evolution, he might never have come. At least now he realized—the moment anyone stepped onto this stage, they'd already sold out.
To quote Li Yunlong from Bright Sword, Feng Bu Jue and his rivals like Night Flame and Bandit General simply didn't piss into the same pot.
"Wow, Bandit General brings the Momentum!" Oscar kept the momentum rolling, approaching the fourth contestant seat. "Rose, want to share something with us?"
Calling a twenty-something goth girl "Chainsaw Rose" felt inappropriate, but thankfully she had an English name.
"Eh, I'm just me..." Rose, dressed in head-to-toe black with bangs shadowing her brows and heavy smokey eye makeup, looked half-undead already. Her pale face and lethargic tone dripped with nihilism. "Not much to say about these living corpse audiences..."
Oh right, this goth girl's just stuck in middle school syndrome, Feng Bu Jue mused, watching her. How do people even get famous talking like this? What's wrong with today's viewers?
"Staring at me? What's your problem?" Rose snapped suddenly, catching Feng Bu Jue's glance.
"You're right to ignore a living corpse's empty stare", Feng Bu Jue replied smoothly, delivering a retort even a middle schooler couldn't argue.
"Hmph!" Rose scoffed, then stunned everyone by pulling out a cigarette and lighter from her pants pocket.
"Are you two trying to rebel against heaven itself?!" Oscar's temple throbbed as he mentally screamed. You wanna mess with me? Fine! One lunatic per show is enough! How do I recover from Two?! Why won't the director call cut?! This is spinning out of control!
Click—Shhss—flared the lighter.
Rose lit her cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke through black-painted lips. The white plume curled dramatically against her ghostly makeup.
“Oh.” She said as if just remembering something, turning to Oscar. “Mind if I smoke here?”
“You’re already smoking—who needs permission!” Oscar inwardly roared. Outwardly, he forced a calm smile. “Hehe… Please, go ahead.”
This wasn’t Oscar’s first time dealing with Chainsaw Rose. Based on his experience, the best approach was to “cold-shoulder” her. If you argued—say something like, “Smoking’s bad for your health!”—she’d probably reply with some gothic nonsense like “My heart has long since died; this body is merely a decaying husk,” leaving you speechless.
“Bring it on!” Feiran’s voice crackled through the earpiece again, his voice brimming with excitement on the staff channel. “I have a feeling this episode will become legendary…”
“You’re broadcasting live, for crying out loud…” Oscar wiped the cold sweat forming on his brow. Director Fei, you’re in your forties—don’t you feel even a shred of embarrassment spouting lines with such middle-school syndrome? he thought bitterly.
“Understood!” “Right!” “Got it!” “Let’s do this!”
To his shock, the entire production crew responded enthusiastically, their faces glowing with determination as they revved up their fighting spirit.
What kind of people are they running this production team?! Oscar fumed. I’m quitting next season unless they double my salary… Hmm… Or maybe fivefold… Or even a twenty percent raise could work…
“Then… moving forward…” Oscar’s expression remained perfectly still as he quickly strode to contestant area No. 3. “Uncle Earth, it’s your turn.”
Reform Spring Breezes Earth adjusted his black-framed glasses. “I hope… I won’t disappoint my supporters today.”
“A brief but sincere statement,” Oscar replied, stepping to the next spot. “Yamucha, anything you’d like to say to our viewers?”
“Well, I’m just honored to be here,” Yamucha responded, his tone humble. “I came to learn from the seniors, but of course, I’d love to perform well.”
“Looking forward to it,” Oscar said, finally reaching contestant spot No. 1. “And now, let’s welcome a familiar face… Qishui.” He paused for effect. “Among tonight’s seven contestants, Qishui has remained in the main competition unit the longest. His capability is unquestionable. Now, Qishui, what would you like to say to our audience?”
“I just came when they called,” Qishui shrugged casually. “I’m here to perform my best.”
“I believe you will,” Oscar nodded.
With the warm-up segment concluded, Oscar finally exhaled in relief.
Turning to the center stage, he faced the cameras. “Hearing our contestants’ words, dear viewers, who do you think will win tonight? Send your answers to…” followed by the standard formulaic monologue about text message contests and advertisements.
During the live broadcast, this segment would cut to a one- or two-minute commercial break.
Oscar finished his lines, paused briefly, then shifted stance and expression. “Welcome back to I’m a Writer—Revival Night.”
The music swelled with artificial lights flashing dramatically.
“Without further ado, let’s begin our first round…” Oscar raised his arm, pointing at the subtitle on the giant screen, “…Write with Style.”
Isn’t this the same as last time’s challenge… Feng Bu Jue mused. Could the rules have changed?
“Exactly as I mentioned before,” Oscar confirmed Feng Bu Jue’s suspicions. “Tonight’s format will be different. Please… check the big screen.”
As he spoke, the full rules appeared on the live broadcast’s giant screen. The contestants didn’t need to crane their necks—their control panels displayed the same information, visible with a simple glance downward.
“OK…” After the rules remained visible for a moment, Oscar continued. “First, let’s reveal our first keyword. Ready… go!” At his signal, the screen’s center began scrolling rapidly through options.
Last time, Feng Bu Jue recalled, the screen had dozens of keywords—“Event, Character, Animal, Scenery,” and more. But this time… the number of mechanical keywords seemed drastically reduced. Ordinary viewers and even contestants might miss it. Yet Feng Bu Jue’s dynamic vision caught the subtle difference.
“Stop!” Oscar shouted after several seconds. The screen froze on the keyword “Emotion.”
A ripple of excitement surged through the Spectator Stands—clearly a crowd-pleasing choice.
“And now…” Oscar addressed the cameras. “Based on our new rules, all contestants will receive another keyword. This time, everyone’s secondary keyword will be the same…” He theatrically shifted his expression. “That’s right—tonight’s Write with Style challenge puts all seven writers on equal footing. The time limit… remains seven minutes. And now…” He turned. “Round one officially begins!”
As Oscar spoke, the second keyword appeared on the contestants’ control panels: “Time.”
“Viewers, as we’ve stressed repeatedly, all creative segments on this show are recorded live—no edits, no tricks,” Oscar recited the standard script. “Every writer here composes their work without internet access or any auxiliary tools.”
As he spoke, Feiran’s voice crackled through his earpiece—the director had new instructions.
Oscar continued his monologue while mentally noting the command. Seamlessly, he added, “Based on Revival Night’s special rules, the presentation order for this Write with Style segment will be determined by each contestant’s completion time.” He turned back. “Ladies and gentlemen, once you confirm your submission, simply click the ‘Submit’ button on your screen. The system will record your completion time.”
Bleep!
Before the sentence ended, Feng Bu Jue’s control panel had already beeped.
Feng Bu Jue leaned back, hands behind his head, leisurely glancing left and right. His neighbors—Night Flame and Bandit General—both shot him startled looks, their nerves visibly fraying.
“Uh…” Oscar froze for two seconds before managing a line. “Oh my, contestant Bu Jue has already finished! A mere fifty-two seconds—is this even possible?”
Reluctantly yet professionally, Oscar began walking toward Feng Bu Jue’s station.
The close-up cameraman, Xiao Wu, approached as directed. Following Oscar’s lead, he reached the contestant’s area.
After capturing close-ups of the first six writers in action, the camera finally focused on Feng Bu Jue’s face.
Oscar reached contestant area No. 6. “Bu Jue, you finished incredibly quickly.”
“Yep…” Feng Bu Jue replied listlessly.
“You didn’t hand in a blank page, did you?” Oscar joked half-seriously.
“Want to see it?” Feng Bu Jue shot back.
Oscar chuckled toward the camera. “Viewers, this is the privilege of being a host—I’ll preview it first…”
Two seconds later, his smile froze. The text on screen read: “From strangers to lovers, from indifference to care, from rejection to reliance, from coldness to affection, from trust to suspicion, from tenderness to pain, from vibrant joy to pale sorrow, from devoted companionship to bitter parting—from every moment of emotion, from every facet of feeling, from every fragment of remembrance, from every shadow of regret.”
(End of Chapter)
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