Of course, once filming actually began, challenges quickly followed.
Take 'Love Letter', for example — it featured a lot of snowy scenes. But now it was already February in Modo City, and spring was approaching. Where could they find that much snow?
The only option was to rely on post-production effects and fake snow. For critical scenes where authenticity was crucial, they would likely have to travel to snowy regions in Great Zhou to reshoot.
Between 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' and 'Love Letter', both were excellent works. But if Jing Yu had to evaluate them himself...
'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' was the kind of story where you immediately grasp its core themes after one viewing. Its visual appeal was also far stronger.
'Love Letter', on the other hand, had a quiet sadness on first watch — but the more you saw it, the more intriguing it became.
So when it came to choosing which film would mark Jing Yu's big-screen debut...
Both he and Cheng Lie agreed: 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' would be first.
According to the production schedule, though the crews had just been assembled and filming hadn't even started, the tentative release dates were already set:
'Rurouni Kenshin' was planned for July 7 (summer blockbuster season).
'Love Letter' was scheduled for August 10 (Qixi Festival, China's Valentine's Day).
"Isn't that cutting it close? Two films in six months?"
Despite having a plan, Jing Yu was uneasy.
"Tell me, did you think it was too rushed when you filmed three dramas last summer in just one quarter?"
— Cheng Lie shot back.
"Same logic. Taking more time doesn't guarantee quality, and working faster doesn't mean shoddy work either."
"We have two major advantages: your script and your popularity. Starting in February and releasing in July, by then, you'll have been absent from the public eye for half a year. If we wait longer, your star power fades."
"Even the most talented people get forgotten without visibility. Delays work against us — plus, we don't have the budget to keep hundreds of staff on the payroll for months."
He pointed to the crew setting up equipment outside.
"These two crews together are over 200 people. Feeding them, housing them, paying extras — the daily costs are astronomical. We have under $ 100 million to work with. Dragging it out means we might not even have money left for promotions. Ideally, we wrap filming by April or May, and leave a month or two for post-production."
Until he became the boss, Jing Yu had never realized how expensive everything was. Cheng Lie broke it all down for him — and the pressure hit hard again.
Yes, going solo meant bigger rewards: full ownership of copyrights, profits, everything.
But that also meant full exposure to risk.
If both films bombed, all his efforts since rebirth would be for nothing — back to square one.
As he stepped out of the office and watched the crew at work, Jing Yu felt... exhilarated.
Because finally, no more meddling from clueless higher-ups.
By late February, both productions officially launched simultaneously.
Since Yu Youqing was the female lead in 'Love Letter', and the early scenes didn't involve the male lead yet, Jing Yu didn't need to spend much time on that set at first.
But 'Rurouni Kenshin' was a different story.
He had reimagined the setting: more than a hundred years before the founding of the Great Zhou Federation, in the final days of the Great Shang Empire.
Like any dynasty in decline, the court was corrupt, the officials rotten, and uprisings erupted everywhere.
This setup was a perfect fit. Frankly, Jing Yu never thought his past life's island nation had a rich enough history worth adapting. Aside from the Meiji Restoration, much of its feudal conflict looked more like village skirmishes compared to the mainland's sweeping warfare.
Those "loyal revolutionaries" and "restoration samurai" fighting for their nation? Whether in his past life's China, or today's Great Zhou, history was filled with them. Every dynastic shift had its idealists. If anything, the mainland's version was even more impassioned.
Naturally, Jing Yu made sure the revised backdrop aligned with Great Zhou's values. The protagonist Kenshin served a rebel faction that later established the Federation.
It was like how historical dramas never made the protagonist someone like Chen Youliang — always Zhu Yuanzhang's side instead.
So in this version, Kenshin was a covert sword-wielding assassin, tasked with eliminating corrupt officials during the empire's collapse.
Jing Yu even tied in real historical events — like the infamous assassination of Dong Jiao, the last Chancellor of Great Shang, which every middle schooler in Great Zhou knew from their history books.
Attributing these legendary kills to Kenshin enhanced the realism and impact of the character.
As for Yukishiro Tomoe, her background hardly needed adjusting. Still the daughter of a minor official, she sought revenge on Kenshin for killing her fiancé, sent undercover by the court, disguised as a dancer.
The only thing that changed was the weaponry and costumes.
Katanas didn't exist in this world, but that didn't matter. The sword techniques Jing Yu had acquired worked just fine with Great Zhou-style blades.
In fact, Kenshin's weapon in the film resembled the classic Tang dao.
Despite being a film rookie, Jing Yu was a major figure in the TV world, so several media outlets were closely following the two projects.
He didn't block the press — in fact, he welcomed the free publicity.
Sometimes he even chatted with reporters and shared costume designs.
By the end of February, photos of Jing Yu's period costume — a sleek black outfit, long flowing hair, cold gaze, and quiet nobility — had gone viral in fan circles.
Though already 26, he looked convincingly like a teenager.
In this business, looks were everything. If audiences liked your face, they'd accept any role you played.
Xia Yining's Yukishiro costume stunned fans just as much.
Pale skin, aloof expression, a graceful posture, holding an oil-paper umbrella in a flowing white dress.
Her fans were thrilled just seeing those stills.
In real life, she was bubbly and talkative — but to strangers, she came off as an ice queen. And that frosty aura made her perfect for the cool, detached Yukishiro.
"I can't take it anymore — I need this movie NOW."
"His last period looked as if Sai had already blown me away. But THIS? Perfection."
"Historical dramas are the ultimate test of good looks. City-slicker pretty boys and girls often flop in costume dramas. But Jing Yu and Xia Yining? Flawless. This CP is killing me."
"Just the costumes have me hyped. First time that's ever happened. Still scheduled for July 7?"
"I just hope the action scenes look as cool as the costume. With that blade and backdrop? There have to be fight scenes, right?"
Oh, there would be fights.
Just days earlier, the 'Kenshin' crew had already shot the sequence where Kenshin meets Seijuro Hiko, his mentor, and learns swordsmanship — then descends the mountain to change a broken world.
Now, the story had shifted from young Kenshin to teenage Kenshin — played by Jing Yu himself.
And the first scene?
That infamous battle — the one that gets flashbacked in every version of 'Rurouni Kenshin' — where Kenshin annihilates his fiancée's ex, Kiyosato Akira.
"Teacher Jing, please be careful. Even though the sword's a prop, it's still dangerous. If anything feels wrong, stop immediately."
— said Yan Jiang, the fight choreographer and actor playing Seijuro Hiko.
To make the fights look real, they had to go all in. But the risk of injury was very real.
Plenty of martial arts actors in Jing Yu's past life had gotten hurt on set — like the infamous alley brawl scene in 'SPL', where Wu Jin took multiple real hits from a wooden stick. Bones broke for the sake of realism.
Even when you know the risks, you can't eliminate them.
Yan Jiang was worried: if Jing Yu got hurt, the whole shoot would halt.
"Teacher Jing, if I move too fast or hit too hard, please say something. I'll stop right away."
— added the actor playing Kiyosato Akira.
He was a well-known supporting actor in Modo's wuxia scene. No real combat skills, but his stage fighting was flashy.
Still, he was ripped. A solid punch from him could knock someone out.
"Mm, I'll be careful," Jing Yu nodded.
He mentally reviewed the choreography arranged by Yan Jiang. With his acquired sword skills, it felt easy — but he wouldn't get cocky.
Everyone on set held their breath.
Action.
In the scene, corrupt officials exit a pleasure house, laughing. As they enter a narrow alley...
Kenshin appears — black robes, cold eyes, blade in hand.
Just like when he downloaded Go skills, Jing Yu had received a swordsmanship memory pack.
Muscle memory — but also battle instincts.
He didn't know who those memories belonged to. Maybe sword masters from parallel worlds.
These weren't just training sessions. There were actual life-and-death fights in those memories.
When he tapped into them, he didn't have to act — the killing intent flowed naturally from his expression, posture, and aura.
The four actors playing the officials instinctively felt a chill.
Even though they knew it was acting, Jing Yu's cold eyes made them flinch. Was he really here to kill them?
"Who are you?"
"You think one sword can change the world?"
"Speak your name!"
They shouted their lines and charged — exactly as choreographed.
But Jing Yu, caught in the memory stream of swordmasters' past, didn't follow the prearranged steps.
His body reacted instinctively.
He realized it just in time — pulled his power back mid-motion.
Even so, in one swift flash, his blade passed through them.
Just a blur of motion — gleaming steel in the dimly lit set light.
Everyone gasped.
Though blunt, the prop blade had brushed past real kill zones:
Throat. Heart. Gut. Spine.
The actors froze. They hadn't seen it coming.
Their nerves were shot.
One actor mumbled, stunned:
"What the hell was that..."
He was supposed to counterattack, but completely forgot his cue — he'd been too stunned by Jing Yu's fluid grace.
Was this really the same guy who played Okabe Rintaro in 'Steins;Gate' and the timid Fujiwara no Sai in 'Hikaru no Go'?
Yan Jiang's eyes widened.
"Beautiful technique..."
Jing Yu's unscripted move was cleaner — and more elegant — than what had been planned.
"Cut! Why are you all frozen like statues? Practicing poses?"
— The director barked.
His voice snapped everyone out of their trance.