Previously, Chu An had used the drama You Are My Glory as an example—not on a whim, but with clear intent.
In another timeline, as an industry veteran, if there were one drama he most wished to see one of his artists star in—or better yet, manage himself—it wouldn't be a billion-dollar mega production or some masterpiece by a famous director. It would be You Are My Glory.
Because from an investment perspective, this drama was incredibly viable and manageable.
After crossing over to this new timeline, Chu An had considered returning to the entertainment industry. Truthfully, before the whole Lu Mingze situation unfolded, he hadn't been in a hurry.
He wanted to reclaim the family affection and university life he'd missed in his previous life, and only then would he make a splash in this timeline's showbiz scene.
But he hadn't expected fate to throw Lu Mingze's predicament right in front of him.
And what timing it was—just right to stir Chu An's itch to jump in and give it a go, while also giving him a shot at redeeming his regrets from the past.
Even more so, it was a perfect opportunity to crack open the doors to this timeline's entertainment world. He couldn't, in good conscience, turn away.
At the time, he hadn't even figured out exactly how to intervene in Lu Mingze's mess, yet the idea of this script had already popped into his head—
You Are My Glory!
This would be the perfect stage for Chu An to showcase his talents in this world.
One week later, State Administration of Radio, Film and Television (SARFT) meeting room.
Lu Mingze, Sister Lan, and Tong Meng—temporarily moonlighting as a project assistant—sat stiff and straight, like college freshmen facing their first job interview. Hands on knees, not even daring to breathe loudly.
Facing the SARFT officials and a group of silver-haired veteran scientists, the three were visibly nervous.
And for good reason—getting this script discussion meeting arranged had been no easy feat.
In Chu An's words, "This is a do-or-die moment!"
Nervous? Who wouldn't be! They'd managed to bring a script project meeting all the way to SARFT—a feat even Lu Mingze had never pulled off before.
Not to mention, his entire future now hinged on it.
Well... to be fair, Chu An had hyped it up a bit.
Compared to the trio's nervous demeanor, Chu An, dressed smartly in a suit and looking much more mature, sat calmly alongside a dignified older woman with silver hair and a composed expression—clearly, things weren't quite as dramatic as he'd made them sound.
The older woman was Zhang Yulan, a national treasure of an actress from the 1970s and 80s in this timeline.
Also, Tong Meng's mother.
Which made it all the more ironic—given Lu Mingze's infamous temper and dismal EQ, expecting him to pull any connections was laughable.
In the end, it was Tong Meng who convinced this esteemed artist to help, and that's how today's meeting came about.
Zhang Yulan knew full well—those three couldn't hold a candle to young Chu.
If two national-level organizations' leaders were showing up just to hear a script pitch, wasn't it obvious who was really driving this?
She glanced at Chu An and thought, The project approval should go through without a hitch. But she also knew that getting approval wasn't the real challenge. A drama showcasing the aerospace industry and national spirit could've been greenlit regardless.
The real question was: how many resources could they leverage through this meeting?
That thought brought a touch of solemnity to her face. Now it was all on young Comrade Chu.
She couldn't help but wonder: Could this 17-year-old scriptwriting prodigy really handle such a major moment?
To her surprise, Chu An stood up at just the right time, walking calmly to the projector at the front of the room—completely composed.
Clearly, her worries were unnecessary. In his past life, Chu An had hosted more project meetings like this than he could count.
He took a deep breath and addressed the room with steady confidence:
"Respected SARFT leaders, and honorable heroes behind the scenes—good day. I am the screenwriter of You Are My Glory, and today, I'll be presenting this project for your consideration."
He opened with a thunderous bit of flattery.
Calling the SARFT leaders "elders" earned him smiles from the crowd—they looked at the impossibly young man on stage and, upon learning he was only 17, couldn't help but chuckle.
Of course he could call them elders.
Some even felt a surge of pride: The cultural industry has a bright future with talent like this.
The scientists, dubbed "unsung heroes," blushed and quickly interjected:
"We do have names, you know! And we're no heroes."
One chuckled, "This isn't the old days—we don't have to keep our identities secret anymore."
"Otherwise, why would we be putting the aerospace industry on TV in the first place?"
Zhang Yulan seized the moment to play along, "Come now, gentlemen, not just TV anymore!"
"In this internet era, if the drama goes online, it'll reach an even wider audience!"
"Exactly!" the scientists nodded enthusiastically, marveling at how times had changed—and how old they had become.
Chu An continued smoothly, "Before I present the script in detail, let me explain a few things first…"
"You Are My Glory is scheduled to begin pre-production over the next year. Filming will commence in 2002, and we plan to air the series by summer 2003."
This simple production timeline made several of the veteran aerospace experts straighten unconsciously in their seats.
Chu An noticed but pretended not to, continuing:
"We've set a base investment of 30 million yuan, with no upper limit. Our goal is to create the most iconic modern Chinese drama to date."
That got SARFT's leaders whispering to the aerospace folks, "Definitely a major production."
Although this world was different from Chu An's original timeline, the general historical and cultural trajectory remained similar.
As of 2001, the most expensive Chinese TV series was Heroes of the Three Kingdoms (1994), an 80-episode epic with a 170 million yuan budget—though that was an outlier.
This year's Kangxi Dynasty, a historical drama directed by Lu Mingze, had a total budget of 35 million yuan (including marketing).
For a modern drama to have a 30 million base investment? Definitely big league.
The experts beamed. This level of funding showed that both SARFT and the production team took aerospace storytelling seriously.
Zhang Yulan was quietly relieved. She had underestimated young Chu.
The kid hadn't just flattered everyone—he'd sold the idea as a major production and charmed the room.
Now it would be easier to ask for what they really needed.
Of course, what really mattered wasn't the flattery or the budget. It was that seemingly offhand production timeline he'd shared—
That was the strategic move.
Chu An then gave a concise summary of the plot:
You Are My Glory, based on a novel by Gu Man—who didn't exist in this timeline, so Chu An felt zero guilt lifting the story.
Its brilliance lay in using a trendy, youth-friendly format to tell a story about national service, idealism, and sacrifice.
In 2001, this made it a "mainstream" drama disguised in popular trappings like romance, gaming, and celebrity culture.
It followed superstar Qiao Jingjing as she reconnected with her high school classmate, aerospace engineer Yu Tu, through a mobile game. A light-hearted, humorous pursuit followed, ending with her becoming a "space wife" and them living happily ever after.
What got everyone in the room to actually show up wasn't just the premise—it was the script itself.
At the time, most "mainstream" dramas were still heavy, didactic, and somber.
They bored young audiences and triggered pushback. Many critics said these shows were out of touch.
You Are My Glory, in contrast, presented a new possibility: combining education with entertainment in a fresh, contemporary way.
Everyone had already read the script, so Chu An's presentation was easy to follow.
When he finished, one of the scientists spoke up:
"Young man, we've read the story. No rush for feedback."
"And honestly," he chuckled, "We believe in letting professionals do what they're good at. You're the experts in creative work—not us."
"We just have one question. Why exactly did you invite us here?"
"Is it…" He hesitated. "Is it for funding?"
At the word funding, Lu Mingze's eyes practically lit up.
He'd been so broke lately that anything involving money made his heart race. If the aerospace bureau could chip in—what a dream!
But Chu An shot down that hope instantly.
"We don't need funding. And even if we did, we would never ask aerospace professionals for money."
"Ah!" the scientist looked visibly relieved.
Leadership had made it clear beforehand: anything was fine—as long as it didn't involve writing checks.
Chu An continued, "We actually have two requests. First, since the drama involves a sensitive sector, we weren't sure if we'd even be allowed to shoot it."
"And second—this story is your story. We need your approval to tell it."
"Secondly, and I admit this might be a bit much—this drama involves a lot of technical details and space science…"
He said sincerely, "We were wondering if some of you could spare a bit of time to serve as consultants during production, to ensure accuracy and offer technical advice."
He looked genuinely apologetic. "Given your stature, you are truly national treasures. Your time is precious, and we don't want to overstep. Is this too much to ask?"
The old scientists burst out laughing.
"Not at all—not at all! After all, your aerospace engineer in the script still had time to play games!"
Another added, "Actually, this drama should be made! People need to see that we're human too. We have emotions and personalities—we're real people!"
At that, Chu An gave a silent internal shout—Success!!
Zhang Yulan, watching from the sidelines, finally relaxed. She gave Tong Meng a reassuring look.
He had exceeded her expectations.
Tong Meng, utterly clueless, leaned over and whispered, "Mom… what are they even talking about?"
Zhang Yulan gave her a look but didn't answer—instead, she asked, "Where did you find this kid?"
Tong Meng: "What do you mean? He's my little brother! We get along great."
Zhang Yulan: "He's incredible."
Tong Meng looked confused. "Isn't this just a script pitch? What's the big deal?"
Zhang Yulan sighed, "If you had half his brain, I'd light incense in gratitude."
"Chu An didn't just charm them—he got the aerospace bureau to approve the shoot and to support it technically. That solves two massive problems."
At first, Zhang Yulan had worried he wouldn't ask for what was needed. But he'd raised every point gently, through casual conversation—and got them all enthusiastically agreed to.
Tong Meng blinked. "What problems?"
Zhang Yulan replied, "First: regulatory approval."
Government censorship is always a hurdle. But now, with the aerospace bureau's open support in front of SARFT, how could censorship still be an issue?
"And second—Lu Mingze's feud with Tiandu."
They'd burned bridges. But now, with this being a SARFT-approved, nationally endorsed project, Tiandu wouldn't dare block it.
Tong Meng was speechless.
She didn't fully get it—but clearly, her mom thought it was a masterstroke.
Zhang Yulan ignored her. Sometimes she wondered if her daughter was really hers.
With those two issues resolved, the meeting was already a resounding success.
But then, Chu An casually dropped another bomb:
"Oh, there's one more thing I'd like to discuss."
"Since filming is a commercial endeavor, once production is complete, the series will be sold to whichever network offers the highest bid."
He looked sheepish. "It's possible it may premiere on a local TV station. Would… would you be okay with that?"
This stunned the scientists. Their brows furrowed.
That was a real problem.
Imagine a big, patriotic drama about aerospace heroes... and it debuts on some random regional station?
It'd be like releasing a National Day tribute film and skipping CCTV.
Not only awkward for the producers—it would be embarrassing for them, too.
They all turned to the SARFT officials.
One of them immediately responded, "That's easy."
He made a promise on the spot: "I'll personally talk to CCTV. Even if it doesn't make it to Channel One's primetime slot, we'll guarantee it airs on Channel Eight at minimum!"
He smiled. "The public needs to see our aerospace workers' stories!"