Chapter 450: Video Evolution Theory
Animation tied up too much of Yutu's capital; years of continuous investment contradicted the nature of capitalists, but Fang Hong never abandoned it.
As long as the animated film could be released and make money, Yutu would be revitalized and freed from constraints.
If the animated film flopped, three or four years of effort and hundreds of millions in funding would be completely wasted.
The only benefit was acquiring some technical expertise and training the team in visual effects.
This was also why Fang Hong felt uneasy and feared failure.
No one could guarantee that switching production studios would preserve the original flavor of the animation, or that distribution channels would remain the same.
Sometimes a single misstep—different distribution channels—would lead to entirely different outcomes.
But animation had to develop; it was one link in his large content ecosystem, and without it, the system was incomplete.
This year's film and television content, including internet platform copyright competition, was extremely fierce; Fang Hong had to accelerate his pace.
Now, BAT and other capital firms had all entered the competition for internet video content.
It could be said that not only was hot money flooding into film and television, but the copyright market was also undergoing a capital frenzy.
To develop a video platform, copyright was indispensable—without copyright, what would you even play?
The landmark event behind the copyright war was the investigation and takedown of KuaiBo, which had 400 to 500 million users—equivalent to the combined total of several top video platforms.
It was also equivalent to WeChat's current scale, which was terrifying; yet this video platform was investigated, leaving behind massive traffic.
Who could take over this traffic? Only through competition—because KuaiBo's investigation meant copyright standardization and market regulation.
The content war was essentially a copyright war: whoever held more copyright had the right to survive in the market.
If you ran a video platform but had no content copyright, others wouldn't let you broadcast—then what the hell were you doing, like KuaiBo?
As for how KuaiBo got investigated? I don't know!
But their video strategy differed from Chang'e Technology's: they burned cash relentlessly to buy copyright, especially high-quality content.
No matter how the competition unfolded, it was always a cash-burning contest over content—everyone wanted to create blockbusters, secure exclusive rights, and needed constant money to attract users.
Since no one could predict which content would become a blockbuster, capital simply bought blockbusters—like major popular Variety resources and film and television dramas.
LeTV secured the exclusive internet copyright for the Variety blockbuster I Am a Singer Season 2 and confirmed it would air exclusively.
This didn't need explanation—it attracted a huge number of film and television stars and directors to support it, while burning cash like crazy, eventually leading to financial collapse.
The joke "Returning to China next week" became wildly popular.
Tencent snatched the exclusive rights to The Voice of China Season 3 from Sohu; their model of burning cash and grabbing market share was simple, unadorned, and utterly unreasonable.
There was no way around it—having money meant being this capricious!
This company couldn't produce good content itself, but it was still skilled at getting others to do it for them.
iQiyi was preparing for its U. S. IPO and spared no expense to secure Love Apartment 4; even Mango TV's Variety resources—Happy Camp, Tian Tian Xiang Shang, Bainbian Daka Xiu, We Are Dating—were sold to iQiyi in a bundled package for 200 million yuan.
In this life, with Fang Hong's presence, iQiyi had not clashed with Mango TV; their relationship remained good.
But Fang Hong remembered that by year-end, Mango TV would stop selling any copyright to other video platforms and instead broadcast everything on its own platform.
Just like Yutu and Chang'e Technology's model, this was why Mango TV could profit and continue to survive with users.
Sohu was the poorest and adopted a self-produced strategy, yet still spent heavily, acquiring the video website 56. com for $12.9 million.
You'd think that was it—no, the video field never lacked players; Xiaomi also joined this capital competition in video.
Xiaomi poached Sina's chief editor Chen Tong and announced a $1 billion investment in content.
Besides Xiaomi, Guangxian and 360 also announced the establishment of internet video companies.
Whether they made phones or security products, all had joined this copyright capital competition.
Everyone said this industry didn't make money and burned cash, yet capital flocked to it—because behind it lay the occupation of an ecological niche.
Compared to other video platforms backed by powerful capital, Chang'e Video's advantage was its reliance on the parent company and Yutu, plus Fang Hong's foresight.
Fang Hong knew for certain that Sohu and LeTV were destined to be eliminated; Xiaomi and 360 were just tagging along, lacking even the qualifications to sit at the table.
This industry wasn't about having money—you needed resources. Alibaba had no resources, so it acquired Youku and sent a CEO to Youku's board—that was its strength.
The copyright war was essentially a capital race: having money didn't guarantee content, but whoever could snatch the fruits would survive—this applied to online literature too.
"Survive!"
This was the phrase Fang Hong constantly reiterated to his executives!
But it also made him realize the urgency of the copyright competition.
Even with his advanced planning, once others launched their cash-burning mode, they could rapidly catch up and crush him.
Once anything becomes capitalized, no matter how brilliant your past achievements, one strategic mistake can eliminate you—because your rivals won't wait for you; Tudou was destroyed this way.
Recently, Chang'e Video Platform's Soul Ferry achieved tremendous success and response, coinciding with the dawn of the web drama era.
The drama gained high popularity among young audiences and achieved great success in copyright sales.
It was sold to multiple countries in Asia and Europe, with copyright fees reaching 200 million yuan; the external market had a fixed audience for suspense and horror.
This showed many people the potential and creative space of web dramas—turns out web drama review was so lenient, you could even have "ghosts"!
Consequently, major platforms and film and television producers rushed to follow suit; projects like Shi Ling Lu, Ancient Mirror, Chao Nei 81, Ao Hun Zhi Huo Si Ren—all featuring "ghosts"—were launched.
Even so, Chang'e Video was the first to eat the crab.
The success of Soul Ferry not only launched the explosion of web dramas but also spawned a series of derivative products and offline activities—such as soundtrack sales and themed cafés—built into a brand. This was why the drama could keep being produced, even extended into a film—due to its brand effect.
As for why production was later halted—no need to explain; at this point, you harvest while you can.
Chang'e Video, using Big Data, was also coordinating with Yutu to co-produce similar-themed dramas, including idol dramas of the "domineering CEO" type.
That is, genres like The Heirs and Star You—satisfying the Qiong Yao-style audience.
Qiong Yao no longer produces dramas, but her audience still exists—those fantasy-loving little fairies—and the style was easy to imitate.
It was a matter of grasping the pulse of this demographic.
The explosive growth of the web drama market and the capital competition made Zhang Nan feel the crisis—he realized Yutu wasn't omnipotent in film and television content.
Yutu could create blockbusters, but it couldn't satisfy the platform's need for diverse, rich content—just as Bilibili needed diverse videos too.
We need idol dramas, urban dramas, historical dramas, and fantasy dramas to satisfy all kinds of users.
Recently, Chang'e Technology held a meeting, the topic of which was the increasingly fierce copyright competition in the internet copyright market.
To break through these restrictions and acquire more copyrights, we must abandon reliance on the single supplier, the Jade Rabbit, and need content creators from multiple sources.
In fact, Zhang Nan has been making efforts in this area, but with minimal results.
"We can issue a call to all film and television production companies and content creators—we'll host the first Web Drama Industry Summit in Beijing," Fang Hong said.
"The first Web Drama Industry Summit? Will they even come?" Zhang Nan asked, surprised. The name sounds impressive enough.
But many probably won't come—it's not authoritative, and it has no real significance.
"Whether they come or not, we're embracing those workshop-style creators, supporting them to produce content—this can satisfy Chang'e, and their leftover scraps can also satisfy Bilibili."
Fang Hong added: "It's better than you running around one studio at a time—you don't even know about many unexposed, unknown workshops."
Zhang Nan thought about it—it made sense. She only visited studios she'd heard of, but many of them were already cooperating with other video platforms.
For example, Wanhe Tianyi is already partnered with Youku—they won't come over.
"Then we need money," Zhang Nan said.
"Money isn't the issue—I've already named it. This summit will be called Video Evolution Theory. Pick a date, put up banners and slogans, no restrictions on who can attend."
Fang Hong added: "In the propaganda, emphasize our big platforms, broad coverage, and Big Data advantages—helping more creators. That'll raise our prestige."
Zhang Nan smiled. This would be easy to sell—still, the Principal had ideas.
"But this time we can't just have fluff. We must redefine a standard for web dramas—clearly outline profit-sharing and cooperation terms, make them public and transparent, and we can tilt more benefits toward content creators. That's fine," Fang Hong said.
"Alright, we'll study it," Zhang Nan said—it sounded fine.
This approach was simpler than her old business trips and could bring in more creators.
She asked: "Will you and Zhi Xi come to this summit?"
Both of them had prestige in film and television—if they came, they'd attract many people. As internet people, their influence in film and television was still small.
"Of course we'll come. I can even help you bring in some heavyweight figures," Fang Hong said.
"Then that's good, no problem," Zhang Nan agreed.
As long as heavyweight participants join, this event will have real impact.
The news that Chang'e Technology was hosting a Web Drama Industry Summit appeared that same day on banners across Bilibili and Chang'e Video, and also on Jinri Toutiao.
Naturally, rivals like iQIYI, Sohu, and LeEco found out.
"All show, no substance—no idea what the Principal is up to," someone said.
So what if they knew? Content is king!
They're throwing money around too—for content. In the end, we're all heading to the same destination, just taking different paths.
Fang Hong's approach is to embrace more workshop-style creators—web dramas aren't some lofty, elite thing.
Just follow the trend, shoot some weird, strange content—like The Heirs from Another Star.
If that doesn't work, show some skin, wear less clothing. In his past life, Fang Hong did exactly that—hired a snake-faced actress for millions, filmed borderline nudity and bare breasts. How did Xu Dongdong become famous?
Anyway, the authorities aren't strictly regulating web dramas now.
Fang Hong remembered a legendary figure: the King of Web Movies—Peng Yusi. He mastered trend-chasing and borderline content.
He knew the web movie traffic code inside out.
If we could bring him on board, he'd at least fill part of the ecological niche.
Otherwise, bring in short dramas—like Commander's Pet Concubine Destroys the Wife, President Lu Refuses to Divorce, After the Broken Engagement, the Female War God Cried in Regret, At Fifty, I'm Pregnant with the Twenty-Year-Old Tycoon's Child.
Just hearing those titles makes you want to keep watching.
(End of Chapter)
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