"Wait, it's third place again?"
"What's with this Su Yan guy? Every season, he causes a stir?"
"'To the Moon's ratings went up again?"
"From episode 5's 3.1% to now 3.9%?"
"If it keeps climbing like this, could 'To the Moon' actually threaten 'The Crimson Magician' before the finale?"
—
The moment the episode 8 ratings for were released, fans—though still emotionally wrecked by the show's soul-crushing plot—couldn't help but feel excited by its performance.
No one wants to feel like they're part of some niche.
They might be heartbroken, but in their hearts, they knew this show was a true masterpiece. And realizing so many others were watching and feeling the same made them genuinely happy.
But no one was more shaken by the news than Su Yan's industry peers.
A hit once or twice could be brushed off as luck with a little skill.
But three seasons in a row, Su Yan had consistently delivered results beyond market expectations.
That was something else entirely.
If you're given a 60-point investment and score a 60-point outcome, that's normal.
But if you're given 60 points and return 90 every time—that's no coincidence. That's not just a lucky subject choice. That's real capability.
—
From Sunday night into Monday, Su Yan's phone rang constantly—far more than usual.
In Xia, aside from the Big Three (Sakura, Hudu, Zhongxia), there were five more major TV networks and dozens of medium and small ones.
These five networks had less traffic than the Big Three—only about 50–70% as much—, but they were still big players.
Naturally, they were all watching Su Yan.
It wasn't a secret in the industry that he hadn't renewed his contract with Sakura TV yet.
A young, "grazing-on-grass, producing-milk" genius screenwriter?
Every network understood what that meant. They were all eager to poach him.
But Su Yan politely declined.
He'd already decided—once his contract ended, he would go independent and start his own production company.
He wasn't interested in jumping ship.
Still, he saved every contact.
He might not be employed by these networks in the future, but he could definitely collaborate with them.
When his own company started producing dramas, he'd need places to air them, after all.
—
Tuesday – Wrap Day
'To the Moon' had officially completed filming.
With cheers from over a hundred crew members, the wrap party was a must.
Qiu Junlin, Takezawa Kayano, Cao Shou, Gu Yingjie, Su Yan, Gu Qingyuan—
All the lead and major supporting cast of 'To the Moon' showed up. The cameramen even shot a sweet, elderly couple-style highlight reel featuring Qiu Junlin and Takezawa Kayano for use as part of the final behind-the-scenes special.
"Truly impressive, Su Yan-sensei."
Qiu Junlin held up a glass of red wine, offering Su Yan the first toast.
Su Yan returned the gesture quickly.
"When I took on the 'To the Moon' script," Qiu Junlin said with a smile, "I figured a guy like me, out of the game for over a decade with fading influence, would be lucky if the show even made it into the top ten.
Who'd have guessed—it's in third place now."
He was clearly overjoyed.
Back in his youth, he had often starred in top-three rating hits.
Now, in a temporary return to acting, to hit those numbers again meant a lot—especially at his age, with money no longer a concern.
All that remained was the quiet pride of past glory.
"Don't get too excited just yet,"
Shinozaki Ikumi said playfully, raising her glass in a sleek black dress, eyes narrowed into a dazzling smile.
Qiu Junlin turned, surprised. "Oh?"
"'To the Moon' might not stay in third," she said. "There's a real chance that with episode 9 airing this week, it could overtake 'The Gate' and become Sakura TV's highest-rated drama this season."
"Ah, that's what you meant."
Takezawa Kayano laughed.
While the couple had only agreed to appear in To the Moon as a favor to Ikumi's mother, they ended up thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Being back in the spotlight, hearing from fans and the media—it was like traveling 20 years back in time.
The group chatted and laughed freely.
Gu Qingyuan, though, only helped refill their drinks.
She wasn't a talker, and socializing wasn't her strength—but being part of a team celebrating a show's success made her genuinely happy.
There were no nepotistic hires in Su Yan's crew.
Everything was ability-based. No slimy backdoor dealings.
It was exactly the kind of drama team she'd always dreamed of.
As for Su Yan, while enjoying the party, he was also thinking about other matters.
March was right around the corner.
What he cared about most now… was profits.
Even the most brilliant script needed money to succeed.
No funds meant no good production—no matter how good the story.
He recalled that terrible live-action adaptation of Clannad from his past life.
Such a legendary source, but bad casting and low-quality production turned it into an eye-sore of a mess.
At the end of the day, it all came down to money.
With money came proper marketing, big-name actors, and prime-time slots.
Su Yan's TV contract was expiring next month. If he wanted to go solo, the amount of funding he had would directly affect how he worked going forward.
Right now, 'To the Moon' has broken 7 million average paid views per episode, and might still grow after episode 10 aired.
According to his contract, Su Yan would receive a portion of the revenue after subtracting production costs—including ad profits and licensing sales.
"If everything goes smoothly after 'To the Moon' wraps, plus the earnings from 'Rurouni Kenshin' and 'An Ancient Love Song'... I might break the 10 million mark in total assets."
Su Yan took a deep breath.
Less than a year. Nearly 10 million yuan.
And he was still living in a rented apartment, driving a cheap commuter car.
Every yuan he'd saved through frugal living was going into his next drama.
He chuckled to himself.
Who knew when he'd finally make real money—enough that he could spend freely without thinking?
Just then, his phone rang.
It was his mentor, Sawai Teruhiro.
"Master Sawai, have you eaten? We're at the—" Su Yan picked up quickly.
But Sawai Teruhiro cut him off immediately.
"Su Yan, I'll make this quick. Akasaka Yoshitoki asked me to pass along a message again.
He's made a reservation for dinner tomorrow at 8 p.m. at a certain restaurant.
He says it's for an important discussion."
Su Yan's expression froze.
He didn't need to guess what this was about.
Akasaka must've caught wind of the recent attempts by other networks to poach him and was starting to get nervous.
If 'To the Moon' had flopped, Akasaka would've been more than happy to suppress Su Yan.
He knew how the industry worked—people were brutally realistic.
The moment a rising young writer's new project flopped, the poaching offers would disappear overnight.
After all, there's always another "genius" showing up every few years.
But 'To the Moon' had climbed to third in the seasonal rankings with episode 8.
So Akasaka had changed his mind.
How could he suppress Su Yan now?
That would cause an uproar within Sakura TV.
And media outlets.
And Su Yan's fans.
They'd shred Akasaka apart online.
He couldn't risk it.
In fact, he'd now have no choice but to support Su Yan more heavily—or face internal backlash.
So Akasaka had pivoted again.
This was the second time he tried to pull Su Yan away from Koganda Aya's team.
For the head of the Production Department to invite a young screenwriter twice… yeah, it was embarrassing.
But compared to tangible benefits, face didn't mean much.
"Nope," Su Yan replied.
"My stance is the same as last time. I'm not interested in joining his camp."
Sawai Teruhiro didn't push the issue.
"Understood."
Su Yan had the skill to be bold.
Sawai didn't. He'd delivered the message—whether Su Yan accepted or not was on him.
"Still, Su Yan, you should sort out your contract situation soon.
Keep dragging it out, and the higher-ups might start forming opinions," Sawai warned gently.
"Thanks for the reminder, Master," Su Yan said with a smile.
They exchanged a few more words and hung up.
—
A few days later—Saturday again.
In just one week, media outlets and 'To the Moon' fans had gone all out to boost the show's visibility.
Its third-place finish last week had given it enormous exposure.
As a result, 'To the Moon''s average paid views were now nearing 8 million.
In terms of online streaming alone, it had already surpassed 'The Gate', making it second only to 'The Crimson Magician' this season.
That night, right after episode 9 of 'The Crimson Magician' aired—
Sakura TV's forums were flooded with viewers.
The show's discussion board lit up with posts like:
["Su Yan, you know what to do. This show can't end in heartbreak!"]
["If you give us three gut-punch finales in a row, you've lost me."]
["Please, PLEASE let Neil find a way to restore River's deleted memories!"]
["I wouldn't mind if a god or some spiritual being showed up and reunited their souls after death."]
["Honestly, I'd accept this turning into a fantasy romance—just make it work!"]
["Ghost romance? No way! That's a straight-up emotional kill shot."]
["I'm begging you. No more pain. I just want a happy ending."]
["Here's my theory: in episodes 9 and 10, Neil and Eva dig up River's body, connect it to the machine, and extract her memory data—so she and Johnny can reunite in the dream and finally speak their hearts."]
["Bro WHAT?! That's straight horror movie territory. She's been dead for years! What memory data?! You think this is a fantasy novel with bloodline resurrection?!"]
Shutting the browser, Xinyu took a deep breath.
At that moment, Sakura TV was playing a CPU commercial featuring Su Yan and Gu Qingyuan.
And as the ad ended—
'To the Moon', episode 9 officially began.
After the opening theme ended—
The story picked up in Johnny's altered memory world.
Episode 9 had a slower, more subdued pace.
After middle school, Johnny studied desperately. He got into a university specializing in aerospace engineering, outperformed his peers, and successfully joined the National Space Agency.
Ever since the planted seed of "go to the moon" was inserted into his childhood by Eva—
It had driven him, unwavering, all the way to this point.
In this new life…
It was as if River's presence—fabricated or not—had zero impact.