Chapter 129: Five Notebooks

It is no wonder that in her past life, Lan Lun was able to cultivate so many superstars; her eye for talent was truly sharp, saving artists from taking many unnecessary detours.

Out of the five scripts, only two invited Chu Luoxi to play the female lead. The other three were for second or third female leads, which, in terms of career advancement, was still far better than Chu Luoxi’s previous life of playing cameos and supporting roles. The drama *Rivers and Mountains* had truly done wonders for her popularity and market value.

It is worth noting that second or third female lead roles are not always antagonists; in fact, many are more sympathetic than the heroine. Lan Lun, knowing this, had steered clear of villainous roles, so none of the selected scripts fell into that category.

After some thought, Chu Luoxi picked up the three non-leading scripts. It seemed Lan Lun intended for her to potentially juggle two productions at once, but that would preclude any lead roles, as the directors would surely throw a fit.

The first was an urban drama where Chu Luoxi would play the protagonist’s younger sister, a girl suffering from a congenital illness. This sister had dreams and was a vibrant soul; despite her failing health, she was tenacious, choosing to struggle against her illness to pursue her goals rather than languishing comfortably at home. While it might seem foolish to some, it was also enviable. In this day and age, there are many with dreams, but few with the firm resolve to pursue them. Seeing someone so fragile yet so resilient easily resonates with an audience. In fact, this character was more endearing than the heroine, and though her screen time was limited, she was bound to leave a lasting impression.

With a soft chuckle, Chu Luoxi put the script aside. Her desire for it wasn’t particularly strong; these days, the morbidity rate for television characters was alarmingly high. Especially with incurable congenital diseases, the repetition was becoming tiresome for audiences.

The second was a mythological drama. These days, historical martial arts dramas were so overdone that no amount of reimagining could make them feel fresh. Consequently, mythological fantasy dramas had surged in popularity, but the one in Chu Luoxi’s hands was a traditional tale of love between a human and a supernatural being. She wasn't particularly interested. Although she wasn't cast as the lead, she would play a human woman who falls in love with the male lead—a scholar.

A scholar, again? Chu Luoxi sighed, frowning. Having grown accustomed to the "strong lead" tropes in web novels, she couldn't help but feel cynical. What was so appealing about a weak, helpless scholar? That kind of drag-the-hero-down character made her want to slap him into oblivion. However, this genre was currently fashionable; as long as the cinematography was beautiful, the ratings wouldn't be bad, which was why Lan Lun had selected it. Moreover, the human woman who loved the male lead sacrificed herself for him in the end, which was at least a somewhat compelling plot point.

She set it aside discreetly, silently weeping internally. Why was it that after a human woman sacrificed herself for the male lead, he could go on to live happily ever after with the heroine without a shred of guilt? Was such a male lead really considered kind and righteous? She had to ask for forgiveness for not understanding the values of this world. What was the point of these dramas? Was it really just about the so-called romance between the leads?

Lan Lun’s perspective was different; she prioritized the market, while Chu Luoxi prioritized her own interests. That explained why Lan Lun had chosen this script, even though Chu Luoxi found it appalling.

The third script was a traditional martial arts drama. It lacked standout features, though the male lead was promising: Huang Zixue, the actor who had played the Emperor in *Rivers and Mountains*. He was currently at the height of his popularity and could carry the show on his own. Plus, the director wasn’t a complete unknown, so it seemed like a solid choice. However, Chu Luoxi was once again not the lead, and even more frustratingly, she would play a secondary character who loves the male lead and then... dies.

She felt like these scripts were utterly melodramatic. Had the collective creativity of these screenwriters stagnated before the advent of the great online literature era? Could it get any more cliché?

Aside from the urban drama, Chu Luoxi felt no interest in the first three, even knowing they would likely garner good ratings and likable roles.

She turned to the two scripts offering her the female lead. She prayed they wouldn't be as formulaic as the others; if they were, she would definitely need to have a serious talk with Lan Lun about her preferences in scripts. She could live without the melodrama, the high ratings, and the fleeting trends, but please, spare her the agony of such tropes. She was getting too old for this. In her past life, she had no choice, but now she wanted to stay as far away from such exhausting roles as possible.

She sighed to herself. She knew the state of the entertainment industry. In her previous life, it wasn't until the rise of the great online literature masters that things finally began to change. Now, those writers were only just becoming the darlings of the web, not yet legendary figures. The road ahead was still long.

Feeling somewhat depressed, she continued reading. For the first time, she felt that being reborn too early wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Oh?" A moment later, she looked up, slightly surprised. She had misidentified the pile—there were two urban dramas and three period pieces, but the one in her hand was actually a "red" drama, a military-themed script.

The censorship process in China was gradually normalizing, no longer as grueling as it had been in years past, but military dramas were always the easiest to get approved. In the past, the strict censorship of film and television had nearly destroyed the entertainment industry. After an internal revolution—a reform unknown to many—the industry had slowly begun to recover. But the market and the workforce had become rigid: those with innovation lacked connections, and those with connections relied on nepotism, making the recovery painfully slow.

Yet, there was no denying that military dramas held an absolute, unshakeable status in China. Especially with the loosening of censorship, many previously forbidden topics were emerging, particularly the popular special forces series. Once focused solely on sycophantic, idealized heroism, they now incorporated realism and the stories of ordinary individuals. They even showcased legitimate special forces training, which opened the eyes of ordinary viewers and delighted military enthusiasts.

Military dramas remained the fastest-growing genre in China. Countless copycats existed, but there were also many classics that shone brightly. The script in Chu Luoxi’s hands was one of these breakthroughs. It focused exclusively on female special forces, allowing these "iron roses" to bloom in all their glory.

*Blood Phoenix* was the pioneer of the female special forces genre. From this drama onwards, a wave of military shows featuring women would follow, and even in traditional male-centric military dramas, well-defined and memorable female soldiers would become a staple.