On the evening of September 2, a Friday, Princess’s New Clothes premiered.
Director Fan of Hunan Satellite TV’s programming center had championed the acquisition of the drama’s exclusive broadcasting rights from start to finish. Both he and the station’s top executives had high hopes for the show.
Of course, where there are people, there are rivalries. Hunan Satellite TV wasn’t a harmonious utopia, and some questioned Director Fan’s decision.
700 million yuan for the rights was too steep!
How much ad revenue would it take to recoup that?
Director Fan ignored the naysayers. Hunan Satellite TV was experienced in recovering costs.
The first step was expanding the episode count.
Princess’s New Clothes was originally scripted for 13 episodes. After Wen Ying’s revisions, it was expanded to 24 episodes. Having spent 700 million yuan on exclusive rights, the station had the authority to re-edit.
Originally, without opening and closing credits, a no-ad pure-content episode ran for 45 minutes.
Director Fan had the team add opening and closing credits, plus a one-minute preview for the next episode, stretching each episode to over 50 minutes. With multiple ad breaks inserted, episodes couldn’t be too long to avoid viewer fatigue. The station, “thinking of the audience,” re-edited accordingly.
A 24-episode drama, without altering the plot, was stretched to 32 episodes in the station’s hands.
Those extra 8 episodes alone could bring in over 8 million yuan in ad revenue!
Expanding episodes was a routine tactic for Hunan Satellite TV to break even, but they’d also been laying the groundwork for promotion. Slogans like “Li Mengjiao’s screen debut” were loudly proclaimed, clearly capitalizing on her popularity.
Li Mengjiao’s fans were highly active online. From the moment the news broke, many eagerly anticipated the drama.
Fans viewed their idols through rose-tinted glasses. Even if Li Mengjiao’s acting was subpar, they’d defend her—it was her first drama, so rookie jitters were normal!
To ensure Li Mengjiao’s future acting gigs, fans went all out, practically wanting to roll up their sleeves and boost the show’s ratings for the station.
Individual efforts couldn’t magically inflate viewership, but to support Li Mengjiao, fans advertised Princess’s New Clothes across the web. On Tianya Forum’s entertainment section, posts about the drama never sank.
Both Youth Idol and Princess’s New Clothes were tied to Wen Ying, though people didn’t know it yet.
A major portal site noticed the frenzy of Li Mengjiao’s fans. On the day of the premiere, they sent an invitation to Tianjiao Film and Television.
“Our site is launching Blog 2.0 public beta on the 8th and invites Li Mengjiao to start a personal blog to interact closely with her fans.”
Blogs weren’t new.
They emerged in 1998 and reached China around 2000 but remained lukewarm.
Last year, blogs started making waves domestically.
This year, several major portals saw potential and jumped into the blog market.
How far blogs could go was unclear, but they’d become the fourth major online communication method after email, BBS, and ICQ.
Personal blogs were like online diaries, the “Reader’s Digest” of the internet era.
The portal’s invitation to Li Mengjiao was driven by her online popularity, aiming to leverage her for traffic.
Yuan Fenghui was savvy.
If the portal’s blog platform was established, Li Mengjiao would need to join to claim a spot on a high-traffic platform. But with the beta 2.0 just launching, the portal needed her more—a situation akin to an endorsement deal. How much “endorsement fee” were they willing to pay?
Yuan Fenghui’s expected fee was within the portal’s budget—internet companies were never short on cash, burning investors’ money. But her quote exceeded their expectations, nearing first-tier celebrity rates, as they planned to invite stars and luminaries from various fields.
Was Li Mengjiao at that level?
The portal’s team was puzzled.
Yuan Fenghui wasn’t rushed, advising them to wait: “Her drama airs tonight. Check the ratings first.”
Ratings were a fair metric, and they agreed readily.
Yuan Fenghui offered a buy-one-get-one deal, bundling the drama’s male lead, Yun Chen, into the blog deal.
Yun Chen’s fee was much lower, but he wasn’t on their initial invite list!
Yuan Fenghui thought they lacked vision.
Handsome guys always drew attention. Less attractive people needed talent, but good-looking ones could post mundane life details and still have female fans swooning. To Yuan Fenghui, “bloggers” were no different from star-making—she saw universal principles, which the portal seemed to miss!
After Princess’s New Clothes aired, Yun Chen was bound to rise. Inviting him then would cost more.
For now, Yuan Fenghui didn’t remind them, planning to renegotiate after the premiere.
Before hanging up, she added, “You’re inviting people from all fields. What about writers?”
Writers were the best at creating content.
Yuan Fenghui wanted to secure this opportunity for Wen Ying.
She mentioned Wen Ying’s situation. Youth Idol had online fame, and having “Reverse Fish” start a blog was feasible, but Yuan Fenghui’s quote was also “inflated.”
The portal had already invited two top young adult writers. One more “Reverse Fish” wasn’t critical, nor was losing her a big deal.
Yuan Fenghui confirmed their negotiator lacked foresight!
They didn’t even know how to ride trends. Even if “Reverse Fish” had only temporary buzz, it was worth grabbing. Youth Idol’s Tianya buzz alone could draw users to their blog platform if Wen Ying joined!
Yuan Fenghui held firm on quotes for Li Mengjiao, Yun Chen, and Wen Ying. The portal lost interest and ended the call.
Since no deal was reached, Yuan Fenghui didn’t rush to inform the trio, waiting for Princess’s New Clothes to air.
That night, glued to their TVs were not just Wen Ying’s friends but also Xu Mei, Pan Li, and others.
Xu Mei wanted to see why Princess’s New Clothes was worth 700 million and how well Li Mengjiao performed. Pan Li was looking for flaws—if the drama promoted materialism or had underage kissing scenes, she’d report it!
