Chapter 42

Wen Xia raised an eyebrow: “Speak up. What’s this about?”

“Which music platform did you license your songs to, and what’s the usual rate?”

“Someone’s asking for a license?”

Luo Quan shook her head: “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Well, if it’s about price, Tencent Music is the way to go; for user base, NetCloud has more, but I don’t know the exact figures—our company handles all operations, we just sing, dance, and tour. Most of the money never even touches our hands.”

Luo Quan thought for a moment and said: “I sold these three songs in Japan for over a million each; back home, it’d take at least four or five million to secure them.”

Wen Xia smiled: “Actually, in China, your only real profit comes from exclusive licensing—paid songs have no market.”

“The company didn’t understand the domestic market at first. Our earliest songs weren’t given exclusive rights; instead, they were uploaded as virtual albums to the three major platforms. Want to guess what happened?”

“Flopped immediately?”

Wen Xia nodded: “Pretty much. Back then, we weren’t that popular in China—even our hottest Korean album sold only two thousand copies in a month after release, barely covering half the marketing cost. The company nearly gave up on the Chinese market entirely.”

“Later, we hired a Chinese industry insider who got Tencent Music to buy exclusive rights for the China region, then operated it with free previews for regular users and full access for VIPs. Soon after, our songs hit the trending charts—apparently, those few days saw the highest VIP user growth Tencent Music had all year.”

Luo Quan suddenly understood: “So you’re saying I’m not popular enough yet—I shouldn’t expect album sales in China, and should just focus on licensing fees?”

“You’re not a fresh-faced idol. Chinese young men don’t spend money on anything except gaming. Many hesitate over a few yuan for a VIP subscription. Your albums costing hundreds of yuan? Unless you’ve got deep-pocketed hardcore fans, hardly anyone will buy them.”

“Besides, why pay for something you can get for free?”

Luo Quan sighed softly: “This environment is really harsh.”

“It’s been better these past few years—at least people have developed some copyright awareness. They still feel shame or resistance toward piracy and plagiarism. Ten years ago, your songs would’ve been pirated across the internet before any official platform even picked them up.”

Luo Quan smiled: “Nowadays, traffic rules China. How much can you make selling albums? Online traffic and hype are the real money-makers for stars.”

“Once you’re famous, you get endless offers for movies, TV dramas, variety shows—appearance fees easily run into tens of millions, with almost zero skill required. Even just posting a photo gets you praise from braindead fans about your ‘acting.’ The living conditions are just too good.”

Wen Xia stared at Luo Quan in surprise: “You’ve got a surprisingly clear grasp of this. I had to research for ages to understand all this. Aren’t you unfamiliar with China’s entertainment industry?”

“I guess I’m just more perceptive,” Luo Quan laughed it off.

She had no sharp observational skills—she’d lived through an era of mass hype, where the entertainment industry was ruled by traffic, and daily events shattered normal people’s sense of reality.

In her past life, a wealthy businessman once said something profound: “Sit on the trend, and even a pig can fly!”

In that kind of online environment, the trends that could make pigs fly were everywhere.

But right now, Luo Quan hadn’t yet sat on any trend—or if she had, it wasn’t big enough to lift her off the ground.

For one, she had zero base in China: before trending, her domestic fame and fan count were both zero. Even after multiple trending appearances, her Weibo followers had only just reached 500,000—less than half of her YouTube or Twitter numbers.

The good news? Her songs had gone viral on TikTok. Too bad the songs were popular, not her—few knew her name, while cover versions reaped the bulk of the attention.

Jealous? Not really. Her current focus was Japan. She knew the principle: don’t bite off more than you can chew. Mixing priorities was a rookie’s fatal mistake.

But then again—who didn’t like fame and money?

Luo Quan never hid her desire for wealth. She’d been poor too long; she never wanted to go back to eating instant noodles every day.

“Forget it. I’m just an outsider—I’ll stick to my job. I’ll leave the China platform issues to Sanmu,” Luo Quan said, picking up her phone to send Sanmu a message.

As if sensing her thought, Sanmu called her first.

“Luo Quan, are you free today?” came Sanmu’s cheerful voice over the line.

“Yes, I was just about to reach out to you—didn’t expect you to call first.”

“A U.S. website reached out to us. They want to interview you and take a few photo shoots.”

Sanmu sounded excited. Luo Quan asked curiously: “What site? Is it Time?!”

But then she reconsidered—Time was a magazine, and with her current achievements, she certainly didn’t qualify for its cover. Maybe when her new album dropped, she could make it onto the Asian edition?

Sanmu explained: “Not Time. It’s Tdler!”

“Oh~~~” Luo Quan smiled faintly, then gave Wen Xia a meaningful glance.

Most people wouldn’t recognize the name, but this site released an annual list: The World’s 100 Most Beautiful Faces, split into male and female rankings, based on beauty, character, and influence, decided by fan and judge votes.

Because the current editor-in-chief was a native American—not a controversial Korean-American—it treated foreign stars fairly, with no heavy bias toward American celebrities. Over the years, many non-Western stars had made the list, giving it extremely high credibility—often called the Nobel Prize of beauty pageants.

Maybe that was overstating it, but it did reflect its influence.

Last year, Wen Xia’s entire group made the list. As captain, Wen Xia ranked 21st—the best result for any Asian that year. The top Asian spot went to Hoshino Sakura, at 12th.

Hoshino Sakura’s American identity gave her a huge advantage, but her fame across East Asia was undeniably top-tier, and her looks? No need to say—she was the ideal type for countless Japanese men, loved by all ages!

Luo Quan hadn’t expected the list to reach out to her so soon after debut. If she made it, her fame would leap to a whole new level.

For some reason, Luo Quan had a hunch—the trend that could make her fly had finally appeared.

But then again, she wasn’t a pig.