Wen Ying and Yuan Fenghui were orchestrating their counterattack against Yu Tianlin when Xie Qian, accompanied by Peng Guoce, arrived in Shanghai.
This was their second trip to Shanghai recently.
On their previous visit, Xie Qian had brought Peng Guoce to meet a producer from Dragon TV. The producer didn’t take the two young men seriously, especially since Gong Sheng deliberately concealed their identities. Producer Xu assumed they were just young people tagging along with Gong Sheng for networking and exposure.
Peng Guoce found it novel, but Xie Qian was like a sponge, soaking up knowledge about the emerging industry.
The film and television industry was vastly different from logistics.
Logistics relied on hardware; film and television relied on software. The former provided “services,” the latter produced “content.” That’s why Yuan Fenghui valued Wen Ying so highly—a good screenwriter could single-handedly prop up a production company. Dramas, movies, variety shows, even news programs—all were driven by content.
On their second trip to Shanghai, as soon as the plane landed, Peng Guoce craned his neck expectantly.
Unfortunately, Xie Tang wasn’t there to pick them up this time. Only Gong Sheng’s weathered face greeted them at the airport, instantly disappointing Peng Guoce.
Gong Sheng, oblivious to the young shareholder’s feelings, was focused entirely on business. “Boss, while you were back in Chengdu, I spoke with Producer Xu several times. He’s genuinely interested in Jiashin’s script library, but he insists that any collaboration must be led by Dragon TV. They have their own writing team. What do you think—”
Xie Qian frowned. “I was there when you discussed this with Producer Xu. No need to repeat it. Have you considered what position Jiashin would be in if we followed his terms?”
Collaborating with Dragon TV, with them taking the lead.
They’d decide how the show is filmed, how the script is revised.
The benefits were obvious: with a prior agreement, Jiashin wouldn’t worry about unsold productions. It might not be a huge profit, but cash flow was guaranteed.
Jiashin’s risks would be greatly reduced.
Gong Sheng had worked hard to secure this opportunity, which Xie Qian acknowledged.
But playing it safe meant Jiashin, under Xie Qian’s leadership, would be no different from when it was under Xie Jinghu—just plodding along with minimal profits.
What was the point of Xie Qian taking over such a company?
Xie Qian saw Jiashin’s potential and wanted to turn this sluggish ship around, setting it on a high-speed course.
Noticing Peng Guoce still craning his neck like a spring-loaded toy, Xie Qian shot him a sharp glance. Peng Guoce instantly straightened up like a schoolboy facing a strict teacher, scrambling to ask a question to prove he was listening. “Xie Qian, isn’t making money good enough?”
Peng Guoce thought Gong Sheng was right.
If his family’s company had someone like Gong Sheng, his dad would pay top dollar to keep him. A manager who saves the boss headaches is gold!
Peng Guoce’s 5 million yuan bailout had earned him Xie Qian’s patience, and Xie used the moment to school Gong Sheng. “Making money is good, but losing control puts Jiashin at the mercy of others’ scraps. Is Jiashin a ‘factory’ for Dragon TV?”
Xie Qian’s words made Gong Sheng pause.
Young Master Xie clearly wasn’t short on cash—he had a huge plot of land due for demolition!
A cash-rich Xie Qian wasn’t running a film company to be Dragon TV’s lackey.
If a TV station dictated what and how a company produced, that company became a mere appendage. Over time, it would lose its creative autonomy, lacking the clout to break free.
Contrast that with Tianjiao, which built its own team from the start, nurtured its own artists, recruited Zhang Guangzhen, pulled in Wen Ying, and sponsored a national writing contest to enrich its content library. That was Tianjiao’s strength, allowing it to operate independently of any TV station.
Negotiations with Hunan Satellite TV fall through? No problem, pitch to another station.
Good content never lacks buyers.
“So, Boss, you mean we go it alone?” Gong Sheng asked.
Xie Qian shook his head. “We can collaborate, but we don’t take their guaranteed copyright fee—that’s our concession. However, Jiashin must lead. Let Producer Xu specify what kind of show Dragon TV wants. We’ll find a matching script from our library. He can suggest changes, and we’ll revise as we see fit. Once we agree on a script, we shoot with our own crew and actors. If Jiashin doesn’t start new projects soon, our talent will jump ship.”
Film companies maintain a core team and regular collaborators—directors, actors.
Consistent high-quality output attracts top industry talent when new projects are announced.
But if a company goes too long without quality work, new projects only draw mediocre players.
Gong Sheng muttered, “Then we need to nurture our own writers. The ones we have are coasting, writing scripts with such outdated tropes even an outsider like me can’t stand them.”
“Bring in outside help for now,” Xie Qian said, recommending Zhang Guangzhen to Gong Sheng.
Zhang Guangzhen was soft-spoken but professional, not driven solely by money, and cared deeply about his work.
When Wen Ying revised his script, improving it, he accepted it quietly.
But when Yu Tianlin’s team forced him to butcher a good story, and now used his name to hype *Love’s Cruise*, Zhang Guangzhen, pushed to the limit, publicly tore into them. That was the pride of a true writer.
Do well what you love. Gong Sheng, a former broker with a nose for information, now running Jiashin, kept tabs on industry news.
The hottest story was Yu Tianlin and Hu Man’s scandal, followed by the upcoming premieres of *Love’s Cruise* and *Galaxy and You*.
With Jiashin eyeing a Dragon TV partnership and *Galaxy and You* premiering on Dragon TV tonight, it felt like fate. Gong Sheng chuckled at Zhang Guangzhen’s feud with *Love’s Cruise*. “To push a writer that far, how outrageous must they be?”
Realizing Xie Qian’s recommendation, Gong Sheng noted Zhang Guangzhen’s outburst had boosted his fame, despite the backlash from Yu Tianlin’s fans. To hire him, they’d need to act fast.
After Gong Sheng left, Peng Guoce whispered to Xie Qian, “If we’re hiring outsiders, why not Wen Ying? Is this Zhang guy better than her?”
Work opportunities should go to their own, a simple value Peng Guoce held.
Xie Qian didn’t answer.
Revising scripts was tedious and low-paying, far less important than Wen Ying’s own writing and studies. With summer here, it was prime time for her to focus on her new book, *Xun Yong*. If writing got tiring, she could do some practice tests to recharge.
Let Zhang Guangzhen handle the grunt work.
Xie Qian checked his watch.
Four hours until *Galaxy and You*’s premiere.
Shanghai bookstores still didn’t carry the *Galaxy and You* novel.
Wen Ying had said, after discussions, the novel would launch only after Dragon TV aired the finale, to avoid spoilers and build anticipation.
Once Dragon TV’s run ended, the novel could hit shelves, and the three other stations airing the show would boost sales further.
While the novel was delayed, music stores already displayed posters for the soundtrack album, available for purchase.
Xie Qian and Peng Guoce bought two copies, casually asking the clerk, “How’s this album selling?”
The clerk, blushing, nodded. “Pretty well. Mostly Yun Chen and Li Mengjiao’s fans buying.”
Yun Chen’s fans were big spenders, screaming about his looks, and Li Mengjiao’s fans had been eagerly awaiting her new music.
All Yun Chen and Li Mengjiao fans?
True, each had a solo track on the album, but the rest were written and sung by Zhang Yangning, whose talent wasn’t yet recognized.
At 7 p.m., Xie Qian was meeting Producer Xu with Gong Sheng when Wen Ying texted: “Funny thing—Teacher Zhang tore into *Love’s Cruise* on his blog today and in an evening paper interview. Two rants in one day, endless hate, but he got an offer from a Shanghai film company to revise scripts for decent pay. He’s thrilled and plans to keep slamming *Love’s Cruise* tomorrow!”
Quite amusing.
The invitation came from Gong Sheng.
Xie Qian looked up at Producer Xu. “I have a question, maybe a bit bold.”
Gong Sheng was assertive tonight, but Producer Xu, good-natured, knew negotiations took time and didn’t take offense at a young man’s forwardness. “What’s your question?”
With a smile, Producer Xu waited. Xie Qian, ever direct, asked, “Tonight, *Galaxy and You* premieres on your station, and *Love’s Cruise* on Hunan Satellite TV. Which do you think will have higher premiere ratings?”
Producer Xu’s smile stiffened. Young people were this blunt now?
He glanced at Gong Sheng, who seemed oblivious. With an awkward chuckle, Xu said, “I can’t say for sure, but I’d bet on *Galaxy and You*. It’s a quality drama we fought to air. If Jiashin can produce shows of that caliber, we’ll take as many as you make. But as an impartial third party, what’s your take? Which show will win premiere ratings?”
A test of both IQ and EQ.
A high-IQ person would analyze data rationally to predict the winner.
A high-EQ person would set aside logic to flatter Producer Xu and Dragon TV, ensuring a harmonious vibe.
Peng Guoce would’ve taken the EQ route, betting on *Galaxy and You*. Xie Qian, unlike the academic slacker, chose differently: “I think *Love’s Cruise* will win premiere ratings.”
