Even though they were under the same network, Su Yan—busy on set every day filming, writing the script, choreographing the fight scenes for Lu Yuan and Lu Shi in 'An Ancient Love Song', and composing music for insert tracks like 'Spectator on the Wall' and 'Waiting in Vain'—still heard bits and pieces about 'Night Sakura' from colleagues in the screenwriting department.
At the very least, he knew the expectations for 'Night Sakura' were high:
Over 3.2% in viewership and a Top 10 ranking for the fall season.
"This can't be helped, Su Yan." Shinozaki Ikumi sighed, her expression helpless.
"I don't want to lose to 'Night Sakura' either, but the difference in airtime is too huge.
Saturday 10 PM is one of the highest-rated time slots for TV. The average drama aired at that time has a 2.86% viewership rating."
"In the past three years, dramas in that slot have ranged from 1.95% to 4.12% in average ratings."
She didn't sugarcoat it.
"As for Sakura TV's Sunday midnight slot?
The average viewership over the past three years is 1.02%.
The highest ever was 1.96%, and the lowest? 0.73%.
You can see how wide the gap is."
And to avoid demoralizing Su Yan, she didn't mention something else:
According to what she'd heard, the 'Night Sakura' crew was practically stacked with talent—actors, directors, and production staff handpicked and supported by Akasaka Yoshitoki's faction.
Some had joined to repay favors.
Some were promised career advancement.
Many agreed to participate at very low fees.
With Akasaka pulling strings behind the scenes, 'Night Sakura' received a huge share of the network's promotional resources.
On paper, it was a low-budget C-tier drama with a 15 million yuan investment.
But its crew and resources were closer to a 30-million-yuan B-tier drama.
That's why they dared to set such high goals.
"But haven't Zhongxia TV and Hudu TV both aired Sunday midnight dramas that broke 3% in recent years?" Su Yan asked, digging through the original host's memories.
"If they could do it, why can't we?"
"That's a fluke!" Shinozaki Ikumi exhaled deeply.
"There are always a few surprises—low-budget, zero-promotion dramas that explode in popularity.
But that's the exception, not the norm.
Don't let anyone tell you this time slot was chosen to 'revitalize underperforming hours'—
That's just a pretty excuse from that idiot trying to cover up his vendetta."
Everyone present knew exactly who she meant by that idiot.
"The higher-ups won't expect us to compete head-to-head with prime-time dramas," she continued.
"If 'An Ancient Love Song' outperforms previous shows in this time slot, they'll consider it a success."
Su Yan thought for a moment.
"But if other networks can break expectations and hit 3%, why not us?
Why should we be any less capable?"
"If those historic averages applied to 'Rurouni Kenshin', it would've flopped."
Shinozaki Ikumi and Shi Peihua froze.
They had nothing to say in response.
"If 'Night Sakura' is aiming for Top 10 in the fall season…" Su Yan said seriously,
"Then our goal is simple: beat them by at least one rank."
"They slashed our budget for 'Rurouni Kenshin'.
They dumped 'An Ancient Love Song' into a dead slot.
And we're just supposed to sit back and take it?"
"If Akasaka Yoshitoki plans to prop up his nephew—
Then our only goal is to slap him in the face so hard the higher-ups realize his nephew is a pile of mud that can't be shaped."
Shinozaki Ikumi stood still, thinking for a long time.
Truth be told, Su Yan's words stirred her up too.
Her anger toward Akasaka, which she had buried deep down, flared again.
"But if we make this our target, word will spread quickly.
Soon, everyone in the production and writing departments will hear.
If we don't meet the goal, we'll become the network's laughingstock."
"Goals aren't made to impress others," Su Yan said firmly.
"They're for ourselves."
"I don't care if irrelevant people laugh at me.
I only care whether the people I hate are still laughing in the end."
The other two in the room went silent for a good half-minute.
"…I get it."
Shinozaki Ikumi took a deep breath, then turned around and erased the whiteboard, where she had previously written:
1.4% viewership, Top 30 for the season.
Screw it.
No matter the outcome, failing to even dream big would be the real defeat.
Of course, when it came time to officially announce the goal to the team, they couldn't say it was all about beating 'Night Sakura'.
The grudge and the real objective would stay between the core members.
So when the production target for 'An Ancient Love Song' was released publicly—
It matched 'Night Sakura' exactly:
"Top 10 for the season."
When Gu Qingyuan heard this from Su Yan, she couldn't stay calm.
Others in the crew laughed when they heard the goal.
Not mockingly—but the kind of laugh you make when a neighborhood kid says they're aiming for the top university in the capital.
They thought Su Yan, Shinozaki Ikumi, and Shi Peihua were just hyping things up for morale.
But Gu Qingyuan was different.
The moment Su Yan told her, she found herself imagining that victory.
"…I'm being influenced by him too," she sighed.
She'd never been the type to follow celebrities.
But now, she was starting to understand why people do.
During the filming of 'Rurouni Kenshin',
She saw Su Yan's swordsmanship, acting skills, and screenwriting ability up close.
She had thought that was already beyond belief.
But during 'An Ancient Love Song', she saw even more:
Su Yan personally taught her how to play the konghou, the ancient instrument her character uses.
And just three days ago, he revealed his talent in music composition.
That day, Su Yan handed Shinozaki Ikumi several music scores.
When she learned they were composed and arranged by Su Yan himself, and he had even registered the copyrights—
Gu Qingyuan and Shinozaki Ikumi were completely stunned.
So all those times he insisted on personally choosing the insert songs…
It wasn't because he'd found a brilliant composer—
Had he written them himself while acting and writing scripts at the same time?
Then came the classic moment of doubt.
And the classic moment of being proven wrong.
Su Yan picked up a flute in front of Shinozaki Ikumi, Shi Peihua, and Gu Qingyuan—
and played 'Spectator on the Wall'.
The room fell completely silent.
It wasn't just that the melody was beautiful.
Su Yan's playing was overflowing with emotion—not just technical skill.
Honestly, he probably could've landed a job with any top orchestra if he tried.
Could someone like that make reckless promises or set empty goals?
Logically, she knew that aiming for the Top 10 with their current resources was pure fantasy.
But emotionally, Gu Qingyuan couldn't help but wonder—
"For Su Yan… is this challenge really that hard?"