Chapter 2: Path of the Star God, Begin!

After eating a bowl of 1.2-yuan noodles on the roadside and heading home to sit at his desk, Fang Xinghe rubbed his hands together and opened his dear daddy's interface.

Rebirth Gift Pack, open!

A 5-yuan special effect flashed by, and the gift that popped up was a choice of two.

【You may choose to raise one attribute to 99 points, or raise two attributes to 90 points】

Good good good, nice!

The stat-boosting rules given by the system are as follows—

【Below 50 points, uniformly 100 Starlight Value raises 1 point of attribute or ability】

【50-59 points, 10,000 Starlight Value raises 1 point】

【60-69 points, 100,000 raises 1 point】

【70-79 points, 1,000,000 raises 1 point】

【80-89 points, 10,000,000 raises 1 point】

【90-99 points, 1 point of Stellar Glory Value raises 1 point of attribute】

Stellar Glory Value is a higher-order energy refined from extreme positive emotions under special circumstances, and thus possesses the great power to break through the ceiling of talent and advance into the sacred domain.

A 90-point talent freak, 95-point god-tier—the further you go, the harder it gets; every single point is a transcendence of the limits of the human species.

"If I raise two attributes to 90 points, I can save 111 million Starlight Value."

"If I choose a single attribute, I can save 9 points of Stellar Glory Value."

"Stellar Glory Value is clearly harder to obtain, but the problem is, my overall demand for Stellar Glory Value is also much lower…"

"I'm short on key information right now, so I'll set this aside for now."

Fang Xinghe couldn't judge whether the large-base Starlight Value was harder to obtain, or whether a mere few hundred points of Stellar Glory Value was even trickier to get.

He swept a glance over his full attributes, didn't rush to make a decision, and lowered his head to start writing and sketching.

Considering things as thoroughly as possible before acting, not indulging emotions when making decisions, trusting logic and data—this is Dafang's habit.

Xiaofang is different—purely reckless.

So the reborn Fang Xinghe became relatively well-rounded in personality, with both meticulousness and boldness.

skr~

……

The current ecology of the domestic entertainment industry is utterly different from the later era he was familiar with.

Deconstructing 30 years of Chinese entertainment history vertically, it's broadly a spiraling ascent: constant development, expansion, evolution, then a downturn, then lifting its head again.

To speak fairly without any filter, the later-era domestic entertainment industry led the '98 scene by more than one order of magnitude in technology, special effects, costume/prop/makeup, content breadth, audience aesthetic level, average quality of all practitioners, and so on.

Of course, the entertainment industry of that time also had obvious predicaments.

The surface-level problem was capital trying to seize control of traffic-manufacturing rights, then traffic forcing creation back—but the quality of the new traffic itself kept declining.

The real dead end, though, was the demand side spinning out of control.

The full-spectrum development of entertainment led to the continuous fragmentation of public demand, and overly segmented demand in turn caused the entire world to lose the soil needed to birth mass idols.

In the future, there would be walls between every small circle.

A single youth idol film today could send Li Erpeng skyrocketing to nationwide fame overnight.

Twenty years later, youth idol dramas would have only a handful of viewers.

Even a hit like "The Knockout" only had a few tens of millions who actually followed the whole series—nowhere near the same order of coverage as "The Wild Princess's Daddy Hunt."

Precisely because every track has different demands, "breaking out of the circle" became increasingly difficult.

All the new top-tiers back then were essentially products of small-circle revelry; as a result, when the old-school stars gradually fell into decline, there was no one behind them to take the baton.

So the old guard kept clinging on, unwilling to leave, while the new generation remained trapped in small circles—the scene fierce yet not fierce, with fan circles and the general public drifting further and further apart.

The rampant rise of paid posters was precisely because the circles were too closed, needing an external force to break the information cocoons.

But now it's different—now is too good an era.

Terrible, which is exactly why it's good.

The beauty of yin-yang balance lies in nothing more than this.

Fang Xinghe smiled with an ambiguous meaning and continued his professional market analysis.

At present, this can be called domestic entertainment version 1.0, whose distinguishing feature is a wasteland of a main market, incomplete rules, and a topsy-turvy order.

The version T0 profession at this time is obviously the singer.

Have any one hit song, do a circuit around the country, and one performance earns anywhere from 5,000 to tens of thousands—guaranteed at least over a million a year.

It's '98!

If an unknown nobody can earn that much, the top-tier kings and queens are obviously even more impressive.

According to the news, Wang Fei's endorsement fees are already in the tens-of-millions range now, while actors who don't release songs have to eat dirt—can't even get gigs doing backwater shows.

Capital-letters misery.

Fang Xinghe had quite a few pirated cassette tapes on his desk; after a quick glance, he found that the kids of this era really ate well musically.

Wang Fei in her prime, Ye Hei Na La just crowned queen, Zhang Yu and Richie Ren in the middle of explosive output…

Fang Xinghe had absolutely no memory of this era, yet looking at the song lists included with the cassettes, every song seemed familiar.

But he still passed on the singer profession.

These immortals have already developed the Chinese music scene splendidly—no need for me to save it.

Besides, trying to gain fans through singing is a particularly idealized, low-return option.

Strip away the money-making veneer of a singer—what's inside?

Listening to music is a short-duration, low-empathy, low-projection form of entertainment.

A song lasts only a few minutes; no matter how moved you are in the moment, once it's over, it's over—most people forget it completely within half a day.

Fans' love for a song is hard to project onto the singer, so the singer needs to use a longer period of time and more high-quality works, repeatedly deepening goodwill to lock in fans.

This point is completely different from actors — a single classic role can truly be cherished for a lifetime.

Like so-and-so, right?

So there's really no need to copy a pile of songs just to make money and steal someone's livelihood; it's better to stay focused in how you conduct yourself and your work.

When the stardom value is so abundant it can't be used up later, then maxing out the vocal technique and occasionally singing a couple of songs to leave the entire entertainment circle dumbfounded — that's a whole different matter.

The second profession Fang Xinghe passed on was acting.

Being an actor is great, but unfortunately the age isn't right.

At the venerable age of 13, taking on any role is meaningless; acting too much would instead erode the sense of mystery and plasticity.

The upside of being a child star is general public goodwill; the downside is not attracting dedicated fans, because the disconnect between childhood roles and adult roles is equivalent to swapping both the person and the fanbase.

Liu Yifei is no exception — although she debuted young, the roles she played were all adult roles.

The TF three little ones aren't an exception either; they belong to another big category — the "nurture-style" idol.

Nurture-style idols first appeared in Little Japan, and it's almost the easiest path to blow up into die-hard fans.

As for the later three little ones, the two without much in the way of works really did rely on die-hard "mother-fans" to carry them through several years.

Because nurture is the most intense mode of emotional projection — bar none.

If the current Fang Xinghe were thrown into the TF group of 2013, given three years' time, he could blow up into an unprecedented super-top-tier star in history.

Too bad there are no "ifs" — the current domestic entertainment scene truly doesn't have those conditions.

Without a developed internet, the problem of fan participation can't be solved.

So the TF group isn't impossible to replicate — it just has to be replicated within that correct time window.

Every era has its own iconic characteristics; the power of the times is always worthy of awe.

"Become a good actor? Inevitable. But not right now…"

Muttering to himself, Fang Xinghe picked up his pen and wrote two big characters.

He didn't want to be a singer, couldn't be an actor, and there was no wind for being an idol, so he was very clear on what he should do now — study.

Study all the knowledge that would be useful in the future.

In his previous life, Fang Xinghe never understood those people who, despite having plenty of room to maneuver, insisted on rushing for quick success — weren't planning, enduring, preparing, and waiting for the truly good opportunity the necessary qualities for doing big things?

Some people's restlessness was truly inexplicable.

In any case, Fang Xinghe could hold his patience and keep his ambitions hidden.

Starting from now, prepare for adulthood!

Build up thickly, burst forth with a single cry, bring this era a little high-dimensional shock…

Fang Xinghe tore the paper covered in writing off, tossed it into the ashtray and lit it, unhurried in his movements.

Just as it was burning, the front door was suddenly smashed open.

"Holy crap, bro, what are you doing? Smoking and setting something on fire?"

The front door swung open and three people came tumbling in — Xiao Fang's best buddies, Liu Fu, Dang Tao, and Yu Xiaoduo.

"Boss" — yet another title drenched in a sense of era.

Da Fang wasn't quite used to it, but Xiao Fang took it for granted.

They had a key to the courtyard and came over to hang out every so often, so Fang Xinghe wasn't surprised; he just asked lazily, "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"Drink, of course!"

Liu Fu, bold and brash, held up a beer bottle and some grilled skewers: "It's the weekend! I just managed to squeeze 200 yuan out of my old man — we have to celebrate!"

Dang Tao, like a big macaque, darted into Fang Xinghe's room: "Bro, are you wri— holy crap!"

Fang Xinghe didn't pay him any attention at all, but the moment Dang Tao saw the notebook and pen on the desk, he suddenly started making a fuss: "Bro, what are you writing? Don't tell me you're writing a composition?"

Yu Xiaoduo also crowded over, his clear eyes brimming with a clear stupidity: "Bro, you're finally going to make a move on Fang Fang Yuting?"

"What is all this even about?"

Fang Xinghe's head was full of question marks.

Dang Tao, looking like nothing could get past him, delivered his verdict with absolute confidence: "You must have seen that Fang Fang Yuting is entering that New Concept competition, and you're secretly trying to horn in — otherwise why would you destroy the evidence the moment we showed up?"

"Huh?" Something flashed through Fang Xinghe's mind. "Hold on — what competition?"

"The inaugural New Concept Composition Competition! The one Teacher Fang mentioned!"

Yu Xiaoduo poked Dang Tao: "Pants-poker, when Teacher Fang made the announcement, Big Bro had just gotten into trouble and wasn't at school…"

"Oh! Right…" Dang Tao scratched his scalp. "Then what are you writing? A love letter? That can't be you, right?"

Liu Fu, having set things up outside, called out loudly: "Stop dawdling, get over here and let's get started! Duoyu, put on the newly rented disc!"

He didn't urge Fang Xinghe, but Fang Xinghe rushed over, grabbed a bottle, and chugged a huge swig.

The New Concept Composition Competition!

So the inaugural one was this year?

Bro finally knows how to kick off the road to Star God!