61: Chapter 61: Serving the People.

In the basement of an old office building in Mapo District, Seoul, at two in the morning, a unique "scent of life" permeated the air—the lingering salty aroma of instant noodle seasoning packets, the faint smell of mildew from damp old wallpaper, and the tireless hum of a second-hand computer fan.

Jiang Zhiyu sat on an office chair he had scavenged from a second-hand market, his back ramrod straight. Three things sat side-by-side on the desk: a drama proposal that had been revised twenty times, a laptop with a flickering screen, and half a bucket of ice-cold spicy chicken noodles.

The screen displayed the script outline for "destined kim hyo-soon." The cursor rested on a scene description:

[Scene 3: Semi-basement Home, Night]

Kim Hyo-soon (14 years old) squats in front of the gas stove, carefully dividing the last pack of instant noodles into three portions. She adds more dehydrated vegetables to her grandmother's portion, while her own is mostly soup with few noodles. Hearing her father's coughing from outside the door, she quickly wipes something from the corner of her eye and switches to a cheerful tone: "Grandma, we're having the deluxe version of instant noodles today!"

Jiang Zhiyu's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment. He deleted "something from the corner of her eye" and changed it to "quickly wiped her face with her sleeve."

Realism. It had to be realistic enough.

"Oppa..."

A mumble came from the simple mattress nearby. Lee Tima—or rather, the nine-year-old girl who was about to become "Kim Hyo-soon"—was curled into a ball, wrapped in an obviously oversized old sweater. She had been memorizing lines for the second episode before bed; now her brow was slightly furrowed, as if she were facing the drama's hardships even in her dreams.

Jiang Zhiyu's gaze lingered on her face for a few seconds. Under the light, that innocent little face strangely overlapped with the image of the fourteen-year-old girl in the script—not in appearance, but something deeper. It was that stubbornness to keep one's back straight even in desperate straits, the courage to use small wits against a massive world.

He remembered how, three days ago, she had woven old towels into "fashionable coasters," excitedly saying they could be sold to help subsidize the production crew.

"If a person has no dreams, what's the difference between them and a salted fish?" This was the slogan they had pasted on the mildew-stained wall, written in her childish handwriting.

Jiang Zhiyu lowered his head and continued typing, the screen light illuminating his young profile. Beneath his seventeen-year-old appearance hid a soul from another world that had witnessed the rise and fall of entertainment empires. Now, that soul was using the most grounded methods to try and reignite the flame called "dreams" in this thirty-square-meter basement.

[Episode 5: New Added Scene]

School Cafeteria, Lunchtime.

While students show off the lunchboxes they brought from home, Kim Hyo-soon silently opens her own lunchbox—it's instant noodles again, but she has meticulously arranged them into a flower shape, with half a boiled egg placed in the center.

The girl sitting next to her leans in: "Wow, what kind of new dish is this?"

Hyo-soon blinks: "This is called 'Sunflower Fried Noodles.' Eating it makes you feel better."

In reality, it was yesterday's leftover noodles with a spoonful of precious sesame oil added.

As he typed this, the corners of Jiang Zhiyu's mouth curled up slightly. This wasn't pure imagination. Late the night before last, Lee Tima had actually done this—using the last pack of noodles to create a hilariously pathetic arrangement, then saying with a serious face: "Oppa, look, it feels more like a feast when you eat it like this."

Flowers blooming in poverty. This was the core of "Kim Hyo-soon."

But having a core wasn't enough. In the meeting rooms of TVN, those middle-aged men in well-tailored suits wouldn't easily open their wallets for just "a touching story." They needed data, selling points, and guarantees.

Thus, the special episode was born—"Dazed Angel Lim Ying-er."

Jiang Zhiyu clicked on another document, which had a completely different style:

[Scene 1: Kim Hyo-soon's Rooftop, Night]

A flash of white light, and the angel Lim Ying-er (played by Im Yoona) descends face-first.

She struggles to get up, brushes the dust off her wings, and announces in a divine tone: "Puny human! I am here to grant your wish!"

Hyo-soon, who is hanging laundry, looks at the wings stuck on the clothesline and remains silent for three seconds: "...Get down first."

Comedy. Pure, absurd comedy that could make people laugh until they cried on a Friday night.

The main drama would handle the tears and depth, while the special episode would attract eyeballs and ratings. This was Jiang Zhiyu's carefully designed dual-track strategy—using heavy reality to attract experienced viewers and light fantasy to capture the remote controls of the youth.

"Twelve hours left."

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at the time in the bottom right corner of his computer. Tomorrow at 10:00 AM, the TVN production department meeting. He needed to convince industry insiders who had seen countless failed proposals that this project, born in a basement, was worth the investment.

He opened the third document—"TVN Proposal Strategy Analysis."

Bargaining Chip 1: Lee Tima's acting. He needed to prepare edited clips. Fortunately, there was footage of her improvising in the "weekend special"; although they were all comedic bits, they showed her camera presence and infectious energy.

Bargaining Chip 2: Im Yoona's special episode cameo. This was a risky card. She hadn't officially agreed yet, but in last night's call, her Manager had relented: "If the script is truly interesting..." He needed to send over the full scripts for the first three special episodes as soon as possible.

Bargaining Chip 3: JYP's cameo promise. Park Jin-young's phrase "let me know if you need help" had been carefully processed by him into "President Park expressed great interest in the role of a community neighbor." Vague, but enough to create room for imagination in the meeting.

Bargaining Chip 4: Himself. "SM's youngest gold-medal producer," "The 'weekend special' phenomenal planner." These titles were worthless in the field of TV dramas, but at least they proved he had the ability to turn ideas into reality.

The biggest problem: Money.

Jiang Zhiyu clicked on his online banking page. The number displayed in the balance made him silent for a moment. His share of the SM variety show profits hadn't arrived yet, and he had spent quite a bit on autumn and winter clothes for Lee Tima last month. The remainder was only enough to pay three months' rent for this basement and—if the TVN proposal failed—about a two-month reserve of instant noodles.

He had invested even his last bit of bonus. It went toward printing exquisite proposal books, producing presentation videos, and even renting a decent suit.

Lee Tima didn't know any of this. She thought "Oppa is very rich" because he could always conjure up instant noodles and various daily necessities. She didn't know those noodles were hoarded by the box when the supermarket had sales, she didn't know that second-hand computer was traded for an old phone, and she certainly didn't know that if they failed this time, they might actually end up sleeping on the streets.

"I cannot fail."

Jiang Zhiyu closed all windows and opened his email. Several unread messages sat in his inbox—one of which was from Group Leader Kim of TVN's Content Development Team, with the subject line "Regarding Tomorrow's Meeting Agenda."

He clicked it and scanned quickly.

Agenda Item 3: "Commercial Risk Assessment of New Screenwriter's Work—Taking 'destined kim hyo-soon' as an example."

Risk assessment. They would use data models to analyze: market saturation for family dramas, the drawing power of new actors, audience acceptance of the special episode format... and then provide a cold probability percentage.

Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath and began replying to the email. He needed to attach a supplementary document—not data, but a story.

"Group Leader Kim, attached are the scanned pages of the protagonist Kim Hyo-soon's 'Money-Saving Creative Manual' manuscript. This includes: how to make waterproof insoles from old newspapers, how to repurpose an adult T-shirt into three children's outfits, and how to create seven different flavors of soup base using instant noodle seasoning packets."

"These are not the screenwriter's imagination; they are methods that my sister, Lee Tima, has actually invented and practiced over the past three months to save on living expenses."

"The core commercial value of this drama perhaps lies exactly here—it doesn't show a beautified version of poverty, but rather the incredible creativity and vitality that grows out of it. In this age of consumerism, this spirit of 'creating more with less' is perhaps exactly what the audience longs to see."

He hit the send button.

The sound of a garbage truck came from outside. At three in the morning, the city was beginning to wake up. The basement's only window was high up, allowing only a view of pedestrians' calves hurrying past.

Jiang Zhiyu stood up and walked to the simple mattress. Lee Tima's brow had smoothed out, and her breathing was steady. She was still clutching a page of the script, which was covered in markings made with colored pens—where to cry, where to laugh, and where her "eyes should light up but she must hold back tears."

Inside this nine-year-old body was a twenty-four-year-old soul, currently fully committed to playing a fourteen-year-old girl.

He gently pulled the script away and tucked the blanket around her.

Returning to the computer, Jiang Zhiyu opened a new blank document. The title was: "Alternative Plan if TVN Rejects."

But he only wrote one line before stopping.

[Option 1: Take the script to CJ ENM and bet that their content innovation department has a better eye.]

Then he deleted the line.

He didn't need an alternative plan. He couldn't have one. Only someone with their back to the wall would put all their chips on the table, and he wanted TVN to see that this proposal from the basement was betting everything.

He reopened the script for the first episode of "destined kim hyo-soon" and flipped to the final scene:

[Scene 60: Semi-basement, Early Morning]

For the first time, sunlight passes through that high window, shining on Hyo-soon's face.

She is cooking today's instant noodles—still the cheapest kind, but she has added a small pinch of wild chives picked from the park to the soup.

Grandmother asks: "What does it taste like today?"

Hyo-soon smiles and says: "It's the 'taste of hope'."

The sound of birds chirping comes from outside.

[End of Episode]

Jiang Zhiyu looked at this scene for a long time.

Then he saved the document and closed the computer.

The basement fell into darkness, with only the emergency exit sign emitting a faint green light. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

What filled his mind wasn't a rehearsal of tomorrow's meeting or the sharp questions he might face, but another image—many years ago, in the TG Entertainment building on the Tianxuan Continent, he and Lee Tima (who was still called Tiamat then) had also huddled in a tiny production room like this, working through the night for a seemingly impossible project.

Back then they said: "If this succeeds, we'll build our own entertainment empire."

Now, the empire had collapsed, and they were displaced in this world, squeezed into a basement even smaller than back then.

But some things hadn't changed.

The taste of instant noodles hadn't changed. The hum of the computer fan hadn't changed. And—

"Oppa..."

Lee Tima mumbled again in her sleep, clearer this time:

"Noodle pancakes... need sesame oil to be fragrant..."

Jiang Zhiyu laughed silently in the dark.

Right, this hadn't changed either—no matter how deep the night, there was always someone worrying about how to make tomorrow's breakfast a little more delicious.

He fumbled for his phone and set an alarm for six in the morning.

There were still four hours to sleep. Then he would have to put on that rented suit, take his meticulously prepared materials, and face the people who would decide the life or death of this dream.

As he lay down on the other simple mattress, Jiang Zhiyu took one last look at his phone screen.

The screensaver was a doodle drawn by Lee Tima: a small figure standing in a basement, reaching up toward a high window where sunlight was streaming in. Next to it, written in wobbly characters, was:

"One day, we will walk out of the basement."

He turned off the screen and, in the air where the smell of mildew and instant noodles intertwined, sank into a brief sleep.

Outside, the Seoul night was deep.

But the light in this basement, though faint, stayed stubbornly lit.

Like that pinch of wild chives in the script, slowly unfurling in the boiling soup.

Three days later, at 9:40 AM, on the 17th floor of the TVN headquarters in Sangam-dong, Seoul.

Jiang Zhiyu stood before the restroom mirror, adjusting his tie one last time. The rented dark grey suit was slightly too large for his frame, and the cuffs needed careful folding to avoid looking sloppy. He splashed his face with cold water; the seventeen-year-old face in the mirror looked even younger than his actual age—this was a disadvantage, but also a weapon.

No one would be on guard against a proposer who looked like a high schooler, which could lower the other party's defenses.

At 9:50 AM, he pushed open the door to meeting room 1703.

The room was smaller than he had imagined. There was an oval conference table with three chairs already occupied, and one clearly left for him. The blinds were half-open, and the October sunlight was sliced into strips, falling across the polished tabletop.

"Jiang Zhiyu-xi, please have a seat." The man in the middle was about fifty years old, with greying temples and rimless glasses—Director Park of the Production Department. His voice was gentle, but his eyes were like those evaluating a commodity.

To the left was a woman in her thirties, with short, professional hair and a glowing tablet in front of her—Group Leader Kim of Content Development. Her nails were neatly trimmed, and her right index finger was unconsciously tapping the edge of the tablet.

To the right was a slightly chubby man in his forties, with a stack of printed financial statements spread out before him—Director Ryu of the Investment Group. His tie was a brilliant bright blue, clashing with the overall grey tone of the meeting room.

"Thank you all for giving me this opportunity." Jiang Zhiyu bowed, his voice steady. He placed his black briefcase on the table but did not open it immediately.

Director Park spoke first: "We've all taken turns reading the proposal. To be honest, Jiang Zhiyu-xi, your achievements in music and variety shows are clear for all to see. I just saw the data report for the first episode of 'SM weekend special' at an industry sharing session last week." He paused. "But dramas are a different matter. Especially this kind of realistic family drama—it requires insight into human nature and an understanding of life. You're only..."

He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't answer immediately. He reached out to open his briefcase and took out three folders, pushing one toward each of the three people. The title on each folder's cover was handwritten, the ink not even completely dry.

"Director Park," his voice sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet meeting room, "where were you working during the 1F crisis?"

The abrupt question caused the air to freeze for a moment.

Director Park frowned: "Does this have anything to do with the proposal?"

"It does." Jiang Zhiyu looked him straight in the eye. "Because the story of this drama begins from that time."

He pressed the remote in his hand, and the screen on the side of the meeting room lit up. It wasn't a meticulously produced presentation, but a set of black-and-white photos—old photos actually taken on film, with darkroom processing marks at the edges.

The first: A semi-basement window with condensation on the glass, where laundry hanging inside could be faintly seen.

The second: A little girl's hand, using a needle and thread to mend a hole at the knee of a school uniform. The stitches were fine, but the fabric color clearly didn't match.

The third: A small pot on a gas stove containing watery instant noodles, but with a few extremely thin slices of carrot floating on the surface, arranged in the shape of petals.

"This set of photos is titled 'Dinner in the Semi-Basement'." Jiang Zhiyu's voice was very soft, as if telling someone else's story. "December 1998, the social section of the Dong-A Ilbo, bottom-left quarter page. The photographer was named Lee Dong-geun; he's retired now."

He clicked the remote, and a scan of the newspaper appeared on the screen. There was indeed such a report, and the photos matched.

Group Leader Kim leaned forward: "This is...?"

"My home," Jiang Zhiyu said calmly. "Or rather, it was my mother's home before she remarried. I wasn't born yet, but I discovered these later while sorting through her belongings."

A lie. A perfect, unverifiable lie. The photos were ones he had Lee Tima reenact and then processed with filters; the newspaper scan was forged by a friend who was an expert in design. But the details were real enough—the texture of the newspaper, the printing dots, even the headlines of the small surrounding news items were real events from that year.

Director Park took off his glasses to wipe them. "So you're saying this drama is based on your family's experience?"

"It's based on the experience of many families from that era," Jiang Zhiyu corrected. "I'm not writing about an exception; I'm writing about a generation."

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

He switched screens, and a chart appeared: "This is the rent fluctuation curve for semi-basement housing in Seoul from 1998 to 2001, along with the growth data for instant noodle sales in the same period. The two are positively correlated—when rent goes down, instant noodle sales go up. Because more people moved into cheaper housing, which also means their food budgets were compressed."

Director Liu's eyes lit up: "Source of the data?"

"Public archives from the National Bureau of Statistics, plus my cross-analysis of the financial reports of the three major instant noodle manufacturers from that time." Jiang Zhiyu spoke fluently and naturally. These were things he had spent the past week pulling all-nighters to organize, but it sounded as if he had known them by heart for a long time.

Group Leader Kim flipped through the folder in her hands: "The concept of the weekend special is very interesting. But the risk is also high—the main drama is a heavy, realistic subject, so suddenly inserting a fantasy comedy, won't the audience feel it's disjointed?"

"They won't." Jiang Zhiyu clicked on another video file, "This is a test I did while working at SM."

A clip of the weekend special appeared on the screen: In the "Sauce Packet Duel" segment, Im Yoona was earnestly confessing her love one second, and dancing in an abstract mask the next. The comments rolled by like a waterfall, all saying "Hahaha" and "Yoona is so cute."

"The audience's emotions need an outlet." Jiang Zhiyu explained, "When watching the main drama, they will feel oppressed, resonate, and even cry. Then the weekend special gives them a reason to laugh—laughing at that clumsy angel, laughing at those absurd magical elements, and finally laughing while accepting a fact: even in the toughest life, there can be 'untimely' happiness."

He paused: "And the lead of the weekend special is Im Yoona."

Director Park put his glasses back on: "Did she agree?"

"The script has already been sent to her. Her Manager said, if the schedule is suitable..." Jiang Zhiyu intentionally spoke vaguely. In reality, Im Yoona's reply last night was: "The script is so funny! But I need to finish reading the main drama script before I can decide."

Director Liu flipped to the budget sheet: "The production cost is well-controlled. Newcomer leads, on-location shooting, costumes and props can all be sourced from the second-hand market..." He looked up, "But what about the music? You said the OST would be produced by an SM-level team, who exactly is it?"

Jiang Zhiyu smiled: "Me."

"You?"

"I was a producer at SM, not a PD." He said, "The composition and arrangement for Prince Rupert's Drop and Phantom Dream were both mine. If this drama needs music, I can guarantee that every piece will reach that standard."

He pressed the play button. A simple piano melody rang out in the meeting room, followed by a clear female voice—it was a demo clip recorded by Lee Tima, singing a nursery rhyme that Kim Hyo-soon hums to comfort her grandmother in the drama:

"When the rain stops, the sky will clear,

When winter leaves, the flowers will bloom.

Even if there's only instant noodle soup today,

Maybe there will be a fried egg tomorrow..."

The melody was simple, the lyrics childlike, but it had a rustic quality that struck straight to the heart.

After the music stopped, the meeting room was silent for a few seconds.

Group Leader Kim was the first to speak: "I have a question." She flipped the proposal to a certain page, "Episode 5, the plot where Kim Hyo-soon starts a trend with patches on her school uniform. This... wouldn't it be too idealized? In reality, poor children are often mocked for this, not imitated."

Jiang Zhiyu nodded: "You are right. So in the script, classmates did indeed mock her at first. But Kim Hyo-soon's reaction wasn't to hide and cry, but to explain earnestly: 'This isn't broken, it's a rebirth. Every patch is a repair, just like the scab on a wound, it makes you stronger.'"

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the very bottom of his briefcase and spread it out. On it was a design sketch of a school uniform drawn with colored pencils, showing various shapes, positions, and combination plans for the patches.

"This was drawn by my younger sister." He said, "She designed it herself after she found out we were going to shoot this drama. She said, 'If patches are destined to exist, then at least make them look good.'"

That was the work Lee Tima had stayed up until 3 AM to finish. She said while yawning: "Oppa, when I was an extra on the Tianxuan Continent, my costumes were just layers of patches. But the director said, patches can also become part of the character—the position, the stitching, the fabric of the patches, they can all tell a story."

At this moment, this naive drawing became the most powerful prop.

Director Liu tapped a string of numbers into his calculator and looked up: "Assuming 16 episodes for the main drama and 12 for the special, packaged and sold to advertisers... if we could have a JYP-level artist make a cameo, the advertising premium could reach over 30%." He looked at Jiang Zhiyu, "You mentioned in your proposal that JYP has an interest in collaborating?"

Jiang Zhiyu's heart skipped a beat. This was the most critical and also the most fragile link.

"President Park Jin-young expressed interest in a private setting." He chose his words carefully, "He said he was very interested in characters with a 'neighborhood' vibe, if the schedule could be coordinated."

Half true, half false. Park Jin-young did indeed say "Just let me know if you need help," but that was just polite talk at a drinking table. However, what Jiang Zhiyu was betting on was—TVN wouldn't actually go and ask Park Jin-young, and even if Park Jin-young found out, he wouldn't publicly deny it.

Director Park closed the folder and leaned back in his chair: "I need to consider this. This kind of realistic subject matter requires considerable courage from the TV station to invest in. And the lead is a complete newcomer..."

"But a newcomer means freshness." Group Leader Kim interjected, "Audiences are already aesthetically fatigued by old faces. Lee Tima's performance in the weekend special was very spirited; if she can play Kim Hyo-soon well, it will be a great talking point."

"Talking points can't put food on the table." Director Liu said, "What we need are ratings and advertising revenue."

The meeting fell into a brief stalemate.

Jiang Zhiyu knew it was time to use a heavy remedy.

He took an envelope from his suit's inner pocket and pushed it to the center of the table: "This is the complete script for the first three episodes, as well as the script for the first two episodes of the special. If TVN is willing to invest, I can guarantee two things: First, the ratings for the main drama will not be lower than the average for that time slot; Second, the special will generate at least three trending topics."

He paused, then added the final sentence: "If I fail to do so, I will not take a single cent of my personal production fee."

This sentence made the three of them look at him. A bet without compensation. It was either extreme confidence or extreme madness.

Director Park stared at him for a long time, so long that Jiang Zhiyu could almost hear the echo of his own heartbeat. Then, the director slowly opened his mouth: "Young man, those photos you mentioned earlier... I checked them privately later. The reporter who took them, Lee Dong-geun, has indeed retired. I had someone ask him, and he said that family's surname is Lee, not Jiang."

The air suddenly froze. Group Leader Kim and Director Liu both stopped what they were doing.

Jiang Zhiyu felt cold sweat seeping out on his back, but the expression on his face didn't move a muscle. He met Director Park's gaze: "My mother's maiden name before she remarried was Lee. Do you need me to provide a copy of the family register?"

Psychological warfare. He was betting that the other party wouldn't actually demand to see the family register—that involved personal privacy and required a valid reason. More importantly, he was betting that Director Park wouldn't go that far for a single proposal.

A long three seconds. Then, Director Park suddenly smiled. Not a mocking smile, but one that carried a sense of appreciation.

"You are even more capable than I imagined." He said, "But a TV drama is not gambling. We need more practical guarantees—if you can secure a 30% advertising pre-purchase intention for the first round, I will sign."

30%. This meant that before the project was officially announced, he had to persuade advertisers to pay for a drama starring a newcomer and produced in a basement.

Jiang Zhiyu stood up and bowed: "I will do it."

"I'll give you two weeks." Director Park also stood up, "If you can't do it, this project ends here."

When leaving the meeting room, Group Leader Kim followed him out. In the hallway, she lowered her voice and said: "30% is very difficult. If you need help, I can introduce you to a few advertising agencies I'm familiar with."

"Thank you, but I want to try it myself first." Jiang Zhiyu said.

"Why?"

"Because if I can't even persuade advertisers, it means the project itself isn't attractive enough." He said quite frankly, "Then I shouldn't waste the TV station's resources."

Group Leader Kim looked at him and nodded: "The script is very well written. Especially the special, I like it very much. The character Lim Ying-er... if Im Yoona can really play her, it would be very interesting."

Before the elevator doors opened, Jiang Zhiyu asked one last question: "Group Leader Kim, do you think this drama can succeed?"

Group Leader Kim thought about it: "I don't know if it will succeed. But I know that if I don't invest in it, and later see someone else shoot it and it becomes a big hit, I will regret it."

As the elevator descended, Jiang Zhiyu leaned against the cold wall of the cabin and let out a long breath. The lining of his suit was already soaked with sweat.

The first step had passed. But the real battle was just beginning.

30% advertising pre-purchase intention. He needed to find at least three companies willing to sign on the contract.

His phone vibrated. Lee Tima sent a message: [How was it how was it how was it???]

Jiang Zhiyu replied: [Passed the first level. But need 30% advertising pre-purchase.]

Three seconds later, the call came through directly.

"30%?! Where are we going to find advertisers? Sell instant noodles?" Lee Tima's voice was anxious and panicked.

Jiang Zhiyu walked out of the elevator and passed through the revolving doors of the TVN lobby. The October sun was blinding, and he squinted: "Remember the sponsor of that 'spicy chicken noodles' in the weekend special? Their marketing department team leader is a senior member of the 'Yoona Fan Club'."

The other end of the phone was silent for two seconds: "So?"

"So you call Im Yoona now and ask her if she is willing to eat a box of their spicy chicken noodles in the special, and then say the line: 'This is a taste that even an angel cannot resist.'"

"...Oppa," Lee Tima's voice was full of disbelief, "You're even going to use an angel?"

"Aren't angels just meant for granting wishes?" Jiang Zhiyu hailed a taxi and gave the address of the basement, "Besides, what if this angel happens to love eating spicy chicken noodles themselves?"

A sigh came from the other end of the phone: "Got it. I'll try. But if Yoona Unnie gets angry, you are fully responsible."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Zhiyu opened his phone's contact list and scrolled to a name—"CJ Food Marketing Department Section Chief Zheng".

He had met him by chance at an industry cocktail party last year. The other party had been drunk at the time and patted his shoulder, saying: "Producer Jiang, our company's spicy chicken noodles need youthful marketing. That weekend special of yours is very interesting, we should collaborate if there's a chance!"

Polite talk at a drinking table is usually forgotten the next day.

But Jiang Zhiyu had kept it in mind. After returning, he checked the sales data of CJ's spicy chicken noodles—it had been declining for three consecutive years, and the main consumer group was older. The company must be anxious to find a breakthrough.

A bold plan took shape in his mind.

He dialed the number.

"Section Chief Zheng, this is Jiang Zhiyu from SM. We talked at the cocktail party last time... Yes, regarding the youthful marketing for spicy chicken noodles, I have a specific idea. I'm not sure if you have time tomorrow afternoon..."

The taxi drove over the Han River Bridge. The surface of the river was sparkling.

Jiang Zhiyu watched the scenery flying by outside the window and remembered a scene from the script: [Episode 12, Riverside] Kim Hyo-soon sees the Han River for the first time. She says: "So Seoul has such wide water. I thought Seoul only had narrow alleys and high walls." The neighbor uncle who accompanied her says: "The river has always been there. It's just that you hadn't walked to a place where you could see it before."

Dreams in the basement also need to walk to a place where they can be seen.

And what he is doing now is walking step by step towards that direction.

Even if the suit is rented, even if the data was organized through all-nighters, even if some stories were carefully woven—as long as one eventually stands in a place where they can be seen, these processes will all become part of the legend.

His phone vibrated again. Lee Tima sent a new message: [Yoona Unnie says yes! But she has two conditions: 1. The spicy chicken noodles must actually be delicious; 2. There must be a rabbit doll next to her during filming.]

Jiang Zhiyu smiled. He replied: [Tell her, there will be a rabbit doll, and it will be even more scene-stealing than the angel.]

Because that rabbit is currently in the basement, eating instant noodles while reciting lines, preparing to become the brightest ray of light in this story.

At 4:07 AM, the official TG Entertainment email inbox received its first formal work email. Sender: TVN Drama Production Department. Subject: Regarding the Cooperation Memorandum for the project "destined kim hyo-soon" (Draft). Attachment: Draft Contract.pdf

Jiang Zhiyu sat on the creaky second-hand office chair, staring at the line of text on the screen for a full three minutes. Then he moved the mouse and clicked on the attachment.

A forty-seven-page PDF file. The legal clauses were dense, but a few numbers jumped out: Initial production budget: 800 million KRW. Payment milestones: 30% after signing, 30% after filming is halfway done, 40% after broadcast. Ratings bet clause: If the average rating is below 5%, the subsequent profit-sharing ratio will be reduced by 20%.

800 million. Enough to shoot the first three episodes, enough to pay Lee Tima's salary as the lead, enough to give this basement... a light that doesn't flicker, buy two real beds, and even install a second-hand dehumidifier in the corner.

"Did it work?" A weak voice came from behind him. Lee Tima rubbed her eyes and sat up from the simple mattress, the oversized old sweater on her body sliding down to her shoulder. She stepped barefoot on the cold concrete floor and stumbled over, like a kitten that had just woken up.

Jiang Zhiyu turned to the side to make room for the screen. Lee Tima stood on tiptoe, resting her chin on his shoulder, squinting at the dense text.

"Eight... how many zeros after the eight?" Her voice, just woken up, was slurred.

"Eight." Jiang Zhiyu said, "800 million."

Lee Tima was silent. Then she suddenly reached out and pinched her cheek hard.

"Does it hurt?" Jiang Zhiyu asked.

"It hurts." She giggled, "So it's not a dream."

But the smile quickly faded. She pointed to the clause at the bottom of the screen: "Ratings bet... what does this mean?"

"It means that if the average rating is less than 5%, the money we get will be less." Jiang Zhiyu closed the PDF and opened another window—a statistical table of ratings for Korean family dramas in recent years, "In the past three years, the average rating for TVN weekend dramas has been between 4.2% and 6.8%. 5% is a reasonable line."

"Reasonable, but not easy." Lee Tima climbed onto the chair next to him and sat with her knees hugged, "Oppa, can we really do it?"

There was a rare unease in her voice. This wasn't the craftiness when playing pranks in the weekend special, nor the confidence when reciting lines, but something deeper—a fear of the unknown, a premonition of failure.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't answer immediately. He got up and walked to the mini-fridge stuffed with instant noodles and fast food, pulled it open, and took out two cans of the cheapest energy drinks. Water droplets condensed on the surface of the cans, and the cold made his palm tremble.

"Here." He tossed a can to Lee Tima and opened the other one himself.

The carbonated bubbles made a clear hissing sound in the silent basement.

"Even if we can't, we have to." He said, "Because we have no way back."