Taking Liu Yifei back to Northeast China for the Chinese New Year has sent the entire internet into

the other side.

The preparatory team for CCTV's documentary "The Forbidden City".

Smoking is strictly prohibited in the meeting room, but the tea has already been refilled three times.

The long table was covered with episode scripts, editing schedules, and more than a dozen rejected candidate lyrics.

The room was filled with historical consultants, literary consultants, and music coordinators.

The youngest person present was already in their early fifties, and if all the academic works in this room were stacked together, they could probably fill half a library.

But at this moment, everyone's face showed difficulty.

On the large screen directly in front of the conference room, the ending credits of the final episode of the documentary were frozen in time.

The setting sun pressed down on the central axis, with palace gates appearing one after another.

As dusk settled, it cast shadows over the entire massive palace complex.

The footage has been edited and temporary background music has been added, but the theme song section remains empty, hindering the project's finalization.

Literary consultant Tang Huaiyuan took off his reading glasses and rubbed his sore nose vigorously.

"The seventh version still doesn't work."

He put the manuscript back on the table and tapped the edge of the paper lightly with his knuckles.

"The lyrics are very well written, but they're just too well written."

"Palace gates, red walls, wind and snow, old dreams... these words can be used in Pingyao, in Jinling, and in Chang'an."

Tang Huaiyuan raised his head and looked at everyone's faces.

"But we're writing about the Forbidden City."

"There is only one Forbidden City in the entire world!"

The gray-haired history consultant next to him shook his head and casually flipped over another manuscript.

His glasses had already slipped down to the tip of his nose, but he didn't bother to push them up.

"The ninth edition has even bigger problems."

"Only write about the prosperous times, not the decline."

"They only talk about the glory, not the cost."

"It describes the Forbidden City over the past six hundred years, leaving only the Hall of Supreme Harmony with its glittering gold."

He put down the manuscript paper in his hand as he said this.

"The Forbidden City is not a pretty postcard for tourists."

"It has witnessed coronation ceremonies and the fall of dynasties."

"If a song only dares to depict the glamorous side of a city, it cannot capture the weight of this city."

Several sighs echoed in the conference room.

Music coordinator Lao Zhou twirled the carbon pen in his hand impatiently; the cap of the pen had long been bitten with teeth marks.

He flipped open the progress chart and pointed to the dates that were circled several times in red.

"The PR department must finalize the materials list by next Wednesday."

"If the theme song isn't finalized soon, all subsequent recording, submission for review, and broadcast arrangements will have to be postponed."

"Every time we push it out, the budget and schedule have to be adjusted accordingly."

Old Zhou spat out the pen cap from his mouth and looked around with a bitter expression.

"The backup plan also needs to allow time for modification and review."

"Everyone, it's Monday already."

After those words were spoken, the atmosphere in the room grew even heavier.

The documentary editing is in its final stages, and the release date cannot be postponed indefinitely.

But this is a song that no one dares to compromise on.

It not only needs to conclude and set the tone for the entire documentary, but also needs to encompass the 600-year history of the palace and the weight of the rise and fall of dynasties.

Even seasoned experts familiar with history shouldn't find it frivolous, and today's twenty-year-olds should also be willing to listen and sing along.

Each of these three requirements is difficult to grasp on its own.

Putting them all together creates an unsolvable problem.

Someone put down their teacup.

The bottom of the cup tapped on the table, the sound was not loud, but it made many people look up at the same time.

It was Old Zhou who spoke first.

He hesitated for a moment, then finally said what he had been holding back for days.

"Director Shen, I still have reservations about the final candidate."

Old Zhou looked at Shen Weimin, who was sitting in the main seat, and his words were relatively restrained.

"I acknowledge that Fang Yu is talented."

"I've listened to 'Mohe Dance Hall' several times. The emotions are very accurate, and the narrative is also good."

"But singing about hometown sentiments and setting the tone for the Forbidden City are not the same thing."

"Mohe is his root; he has memories of it and personal experiences of it."

"But what about the Forbidden City? It's the imperial home of six hundred years."

Old Zhou paused for a moment.

"Isn't it too risky to let a pop singer in his twenties shoulder such a heavy cultural project?"

No one responded in the meeting room.

Someone lowered their head and picked up the discarded drafts at hand again.

Some people even pulled out the previously rejected fifth draft, read it through from beginning to end, and have already started selecting drafts for backup plans.

The meaning is already quite clear.

If all else fails, we'll have to find someone to take the best of the worst.

They weren't targeting Fang Yu, nor were they old-fashioned people looking down on pop music.

It's simply that the burden is too heavy. If the theme song falls short, all the hard work put into the documentary will be diminished, and no one here dares to take the blame.

Shen Weimin remained seated firmly in the main seat, without immediately refuting.

He unscrewed the thermos, blew away the tea leaves floating on the surface, and took a sip of warm tea.

He only spoke after the lid was screwed back on.

"I am aware of your concerns."

Shen Weimin surveyed the entire room.

"Therefore, all I gave Fang Yu was a candidate status."

"Whether it works or not doesn't depend on fame or popularity, personal connections, or who recommended it."

"We'll only look at the things."

"Submit your work, place it on this table, and let everyone review it together."

"That's him, that's him."

"If it can't be passed, then we should withdraw."

His voice wasn't loud, but his attitude was clear.

"The rules will not change for anyone."

Tang Huaiyuan put his reading glasses back on his nose and tapped his fingers twice on the table.

"He's been at the Forbidden City for three days now, hasn't he?"

"How many lines have you written so far?"

Shen Weimin glanced at the black-screened phone beside him.

"It hasn't been submitted yet."

The meeting room fell completely silent.

Old Zhou gave a wry smile and put the pen back into the notebook.

"Director Shen, there's something I shouldn't have said."

"I've read all of Xiao Zhang's field trip records that he's shared with the project team these past few days."

He spread his hands, his face full of helplessness.

"On the first day, Fang Yu sketched his girlfriend, and on the second day, he told her jokes all the way."

"I've taken quite a few notes on my field trips, but to this day, I haven't seen a single page of the final draft."

The expressions on the faces of the veteran experts immediately became quite interesting.

Someone opened their mouth, but couldn't say anything for a long time.

Some people simply took off their glasses and slowly wiped the lenses.

Is this a field trip?

This is clearly a young couple who couldn't get official tickets, so they took a different route to date on public funds!

Tang Huaiyuan closed the stack of candidate manuscripts beside him, which were covered in red marks.

"Director Shen, young people have their own creative habits, and I won't interfere."

"But time is running out."

He pointed to the conspicuous date circle next to Lao Zhou's hand.

"If we still can't produce anything today, I suggest we activate the backup plan immediately."

"The backup draft still needs to be revised, recorded, and reviewed; we can't let the entire project continue to accompany him in his search for inspiration."

No one at the conference table objected.

Shen Weimin frowned slightly, his fingertips stroking the inside of the thermos, without immediately responding.

That day at Chen Daoming's house, he personally witnessed the few lines of poetry that Fang Yu had casually written down.

It was because of those few lines that he overruled all objections and gave this young man a ticket to the event.

But those few fragmented lines were too short to support a complete theme song, so he kept them to himself and didn't show them to the expert group.

He originally planned to wait for Fang Yu to submit a complete report of his field research before dropping his trump card.

But with the deadline looming, these old guys' patience is wearing thin.

Shen Weimin's finger stopped on the cup lid.

He was considering whether to bring out the remaining half of the poem to stabilize the situation in the meeting room.

Ding--

Just then, the cell phone on the conference table suddenly lit up.

The crisp WeChat notification sound rang out clearly in the quiet meeting room.

All eyes turned to the screen.

From: Assistant Zhang

The preview message that popped up on the screen contained only seven words.

[Director Shen, Fang Yu has finished writing.]