Chapter 15: The Crown Princess’s Promotion Chronicles

When the phoenix tree leaves began to yellow, Jiang Ye suddenly realized he had already been enrolled for a month.

While the freshmen in the Performance Department were still warming up their voices with morning exercises, the students in the Directing Department had long grown accustomed to carrying equipment across campus.

The 2014 undergraduate directing class consisted of twenty students, fifteen of whom were male.

Their homeroom teacher was the renowned screenwriter and director Jiang Wei.

Though his achievements in film were modest, in the realm of television dramas, he was considered one of the leading figures of the third generation of TV directors.

Jiang Wei excelled as a screenwriter, with notable works such as the TV dramas "Lurk" and "Borrowed Gun," known for their mastery of suspenseful storytelling and deep human characterization. He was currently preparing his new series, "The Hunting Ground."

Every class, this middle-aged man with black-rimmed glasses would habitually push them up with his index finger as he spoke with the straightforwardness typical of Shandong natives: “A director must first be a good tailor. The script is the fabric—no matter how fine, if the cut’s bad, it’s useless.”

As a benchmark figure in Chinese espionage dramas, Jiang Wei’s works always skillfully balanced the fine line between censorship restrictions and artistic expression.

The faculty in the department were all formidable.

The department head was Wang Su.

When teaching “Directing Fundamentals,” he loved to chew on a pipe, even though smoking was strictly prohibited in the classroom.

He had directed “Don’t Come Back After Divorce,” a 1990s drama that innovatively explored extramarital affairs. When discussing camera techniques, he would often cite how they dodged censorship back then as examples.

The most respected—and feared—among the students was Tian Zhuangzhuang.

This “recluse” of the fifth generation directors graduated alongside Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou from the 1978 class of Beijing Film Academy. His film “The Blue Kite” remained banned to this day.

His father was the first director of the Yanjing Film Studio, a well-known “Red Second Generation” in the industry.

He was notorious for his affairs; he had a three-year teacher-student romance with Xu Fan and later, both on and off the set of “The Blue Kite,” had a relationship with Lü Liping that led to her marriage’s collapse. As recently as 2017, Lü Liping’s ex-husband was still accusing him of coercing actresses.

Jiang Ye, however, understood him quite well. What was wrong with a director falling in love through the film? Wasn’t that perfectly normal? He thought it was all much ado about nothing.

Tian Zhuangzhuang was also a graduate advisor in the directing department and taught some elective undergraduate courses.

Once, he came to class wearing a sweater and reminisced about the days he and Wang Su and Ye Daying discussed scripts at the Jimen Hotel. Suddenly, he knocked on the blackboard and said, “The stuff you’re making now wouldn’t even win a Dragon Award in the 1980s.”

Every Thursday afternoon, the screening room was packed to the brim.

The school often invited famous alumni to give lectures.

Guan Hu once carried a bottle of Erguotou to a lecture, and in his enthusiasm, jumped on stage to demonstrate the long takes in “Killing.”

Lu Chuan was even more extraordinary. After screening unreleased footage of “City of Life and Death,” he argued fiercely with students about the historical accuracy of the film.

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A month into school, Jiang Ye felt the time was right.

The first web drama he wanted to shoot was “The Rise of the Crown Princess.”

This series had been a tremendous success back in the day.

It premiered exclusively on LeTV in December 2015.

Within 48 hours, it amassed over 10 million views, hit 100 million in nine days, and by the finale had accumulated more than 2.4 billion views, with the total eventually surpassing 2.7 billion.

Its Weibo topic garnered over 25.3 billion reads and 2.3 million discussions, once climbing to second place on the trending list.

Although the production quality was rough, it combined eye-catching elements like time travel, gender swapping, palace intrigue, and male-male couples, leaving viewers stunned.

All the scenes were filmed at the Xiangshan Film Base, keeping costs low.

Currently, the rights to the series belonged to LeTV.

But Jiang Ye thought he might not need them.

A reborn creator who doesn’t innovate is unqualified…

Of course, he wouldn’t copy outright; he planned to tweak the title and storyline.

He was confident he could improve it.

Not only did he recall every highlight, but he also remembered its flaws—cheap costumes and props, a plot that started strong but ended weak, and some overly vulgar scenes.

As a former “pioneer of short dramas,” he had his share of notable works:

“Overbearing CEO Falls for Me: The Substitute Bride”

“The Return of the Dragon King: Daughter Lives in a Doghouse”

“Divine Doctor Son-in-Law: Nine Senior Sisters Spoil Me”

Though these dramas were heavily criticized as melodramatic, audiences couldn’t stop watching—especially college students.

Now, revising this series would be a perfect match for his expertise!

“Male to female, palace intrigue, BL ambiguity…” Jiang Ye quickly jotted down keywords on paper.

He made necessary upgrades to the script.

The emotional line was strengthened to highlight the ambiguous interactions between the Crown Prince and the “Crown Princess,” adding iconic scenes like bathing together and drunkenly sharing a bed.

The political intrigue line incorporated authentic court struggles, allowing the “Crown Princess” to apply modern business thinking to solve ancient dilemmas.

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In comedy, he designed more gender-bending humor, such as the “Crown Princess” teaching palace maids girl group dances.

Lastly, the actors: Beijing Film Academy had no shortage of handsome men and beautiful women.

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Jiang Ye first sought out Professor Hou Kemin, who taught “Genre Films.”

“Professor Hou, I want to make a costume light comedy,” he said, handing over the proposal. “Using modern thinking to deconstruct palace power struggles perfectly fits your innovation theory on genre films from last week.”

When Hou Kemin reached the “male-to-female” premise, his glasses nearly slipped off. “Nonsense! Can this kind of subject pass censorship?”

Jiang Ye was prepared. “Look at ‘My Own Swordsman’—a costume shell with modern core. Also, the Excellence Plan requires department recommendation; I want to try securing an innovation practice spot for the directing department…”

In the end, Hou Kemin signed the recommendation but warned, “Don’t use the department’s official seal!”

With Hou’s signature in hand, Jiang Ye camped out at the teahouse Tian Zhuangzhuang frequented.

Finally, on a rainy day, he caught sight of the old director buying Pu’er tea.

Raindrops fell from the eaves as Jiang Ye saw the figure in a navy jacket slowly approaching the teahouse, holding an old-fashioned black umbrella.

“Teacher Tian!” Jiang Ye hurried forward, the umbrella tilted just right to shield Tian Zhuangzhuang from the splashing rain.

Tian looked up at the somewhat familiar student, his gaze lingering for a moment on Jiang Ye’s rain-soaked shoulder. “Directing Department?”

“2014 undergraduate class, Jiang Ye.”

He bowed slightly, the umbrella still firmly covering Tian’s head. “I just finished watching your ‘The Blue Kite’ and have a question I’d like to ask.”

Tian raised his eyebrows, signaling for him to continue.

“You used the kite as a metaphor for individual fate in the tide of history. I was wondering…” Jiang Ye deliberately paused, “If that metaphor were placed in a time-travel drama, where a modern person returns to the past, could it explore similar themes?”

Tian’s eyes narrowed. “Come inside.”

In the innermost room of the teahouse, steam hung thickly in the air.

Jiang Ye expertly heated the cup and rinsed the tea with fluid, graceful movements.

“Kung fu tea?” Tian Zhuangzhuang sounded surprised.

“My uncle taught me,” Jiang Ye smiled. “He shoots documentaries in Yunnan and always says you’re the director who understands Pu’er tea best.”

Tian’s fingers paused lightly on the rim of the cup. “Your uncle is... Lin Jianjun?”