Tickets collected. Line queued. Entered the theater.
As An Min waited to be seated, he overheard chatter from others in line — people who were seeing the movie for a second or third time.
And from what he could tell, there were a lot of them.
His curiosity deepened.
It wasn't that An Min looked down on TV screenwriters or actors, but the truth was — anyone crossing from television to film needed an adjustment period. And until now, he had never seen a single film debut by a TV actor or writer score a 9.4, let alone receive unanimous praise in the ruthless movie critic group he belonged to.
Holding snacks, drinks, and popcorn, An Min stepped into the screening room.
The theater ran a few ads beforehand — mostly trailers for films scheduled to release next month. They were clearly targeted at this attentive, theater-going demographic.
One of the trailers caught his eye.
Curtains fluttered in a breeze. A boy in a black school uniform stood bathed in warm rays of sunlight, radiating a quiet glow.
Not far away, a beautiful girl watched him from the shadows, silently.
An Min recognized them immediately — it was Xia Yining and Jing Yu, the same two leads featured on the poster for 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' outside the theater.
"To Fujii Itsuki, with respect."
As the narration played and the scenes shifted, the trailer wrapped after just thirty seconds.
Onscreen, the title appeared:
'Love Letter'
Wait… they have another movie coming out next month?
Man, these two are working harder than a sow in labor.
But that teaser — it was totally his kind of thing.
More trailers followed — all for upcoming Qixi Festival releases scheduled on the 10th.
Finally, the lights dimmed. In the massive screening hall, hundreds of phones were tucked away, and chatter ceased entirely.
"The world is sick… be it the times, or people's hearts."
The man delivering that line — cool, composed — was unmistakably Hiko Seijuro, Kenshin's master.
As the melancholic music began to swell, An Min was instantly pulled in.
War. Massacres. Famine. Bandits.
The story began in the waning days of the Great Shang Empire, before the founding of Great Zhou — an era when corpses lined the roads, people ate the flesh of the dead, and uprisings broke out everywhere.
The protagonist, a young boy named Kenshin, was fleeing with a group of courtesans, desperately trying to escape marauding bandits.
Though they'd only met that day, the women — facing certain death — all chose, in their final moments, to protect the child and ensure his survival.
And just when things looked hopeless, it was Hiko Seijuro who arrived and saved him.
It was predictable — of course, the protagonist wouldn't die as a child. But still…
"The atmosphere… is amazing. This is a rookie's film?"
In just a few minutes, the film conveyed the despair of the collapsing dynasty, the viciousness of the bandits, and the powerlessness of a swordsman with unmatched skills who couldn't save the world.
And then there was Seijuro himself.
Utterly badass.
The fight scene was spectacular — Seijuro slicing through dozens of armed men like a tiger tearing through sheep. An Min couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such well-choreographed long-shot combat.
It was cinematic poetry.
If the movie had stopped there, An Min would've said it was just a technically well-made film.
But then came the next scene.
The day after the massacre, Kenshin — still just a boy — quietly dug graves for everyone who had died, including the very bandits who had tried to kill him.
And in that moment, An Min felt something shift inside him — just like Seijuro did onscreen.
In times of chaos, being swept along by the current isn't a sin.
But to endure all that — death, trauma, war — and still preserve a child's innate kindness?
That was rare.
And with just ten seconds of dialogue, Kenshin's character was fully established.
What a gentle soul.
"My parents died of illness. But whether they were bandits or human traffickers… once dead, they're all the same. I wanted to find some decent stones to mark their graves… but I couldn't even find a single flower."
Kenshin, silent and solemn, said these words with no trace of hatred in his voice.
"I'm Hiko Seijuro. I know a thing or two about swordsmanship."
And just like that, Kenshin met his master.
Years passed.
Cut to a new scene.
A dark alley in Imperial Capital. Corrupt officials huddled together, whispering about new ways to embezzle money…
And then he appeared — the once-innocent boy, now a cold-eyed teenager.
From that moment on, An Min was hooked.
The fight scenes were fast, sharp, and clean — no filler, no villains dragging out monologues before dying. Kenshin has just killed.
One slash, one kill. Gone before they knew what hit them.
A ghost in the night — not for money, not even for survival.
During one mission, Kenshin let his guard down and was slashed across the cheek by a corrupt official's bodyguard — a man named Kiyosato Akira.
As Kiyosato Akira bled out, his face twisted in pain and regret, he cried:
"I don't want to die… not yet… not yet…"
In his final thoughts, a vision of a beautiful girl flashed before his eyes.
"Yuki…"
That single line introduced a name that would soon become pivotal.
Later, ideological rifts between Kenshin and Seijuro began to emerge. One sought to change the world with his sword. The other only wanted to stay away from it.
Eventually, they parted ways.
Kenshin joined one of the many rebel armies and, hidden among the people, began assassinating corrupt officials.
Within a few short years, he had become the most feared assassin in the country.
Of course, if we're being realistic, the idea that one man could assassinate high-ranking officials and escape unscathed every time was a bit of a stretch.
But this was a wuxia film — it operated on different rules.
If you demand hyper-realism, then no fantasy film makes sense.
An Min wasn't some keyboard warrior looking to nitpick. If the story earned it, he was willing to suspend disbelief.
The story weaved back and forth between present-day assassinations and flashbacks to sword training under Seijuro.
"They say wounds born of hatred never heal — not until the grudge is resolved."
The scar Akira left on Kenshin's cheek? Still there. Unhealed.
In the theater, the weight of the story was palpable. Everyone could feel the gravity of history and bloodshed pressing in.
Even though Kenshin was a killer, no one hated him.
On a rainy night in a back alley, Kenshin was ambushed by enemy assassins.
In the flickering light, blades clashed, and tension gripped the screen. The two assassins facing Kenshin radiated killing intent so sharp that it felt like it could cut through the theater screen.
Then… a soft piano theme began to play — "In Memories" from the original 'Trust & Betrayal' anime.
Audience emotion rose alongside the music.
As rain fell and steel flashed, a girl in white walked slowly into frame, holding an umbrella.
With one final, unbroken strike, Kenshin split his enemy cleanly in two. Blood sprayed from his blade — landing squarely on the girl's white dress.
She stood still.
Expression calm. Beautiful. Untouched — and now splattered in red.
In that instant…
An Min swallowed hard.
This girl — the female lead — had only appeared once in the past 30 minutes.
But one single shot…
And he was absolutely captivated.