Chapter 623: The Most Intense Impact

People still thought Liu Tianxian was at home resting during her pregnancy, or had some personal matter keeping her out of the public eye, clinging to pleasant illusions—only to find out she was just playing around.

Fang Hong's offhand remark tore off Liu Tianxian's veil of pretense.

#LiuTianxianIsPlaying! #

This trending topic shot up the hot search rankings at lightning speed.

It was merely Fang Hong's casual remark, yet it drew all of Liu Tianxian's traffic to itself—she inherently carried massive traffic.

Even if she vanished from the stage, her legend still circulated; netizens flooded the comments with heated reactions.

"Aaaah! Xixi, why aren't you working?!"

"Hurry up and shoot a drama, stop loafing around."

"You don't fight or compete, yet you still shine brilliantly, firmly holding the top spot!"

"So zen—I love you!"

"Even though you're married, you're still the best Xixi in our hearts."

The online buzz was so intense that even without seeing her in person, she still had legions of fans and media chasing after her—there was no sign of obsolescence.

Liu Tianxian naturally saw Fang Hong's interview and posted a Weibo reply: "I'll kill you {tapping head}! I'm not playing—I'm working!"

The Weibo post included several photos of her wearing a straw hat, leaning on a hoe, turning soil and planting herbs in the courtyard, sunlight bright, radiating a natural, fresh vibe.

And she herself looked playfully adorable!

"So cute and authentic—I'm in love!"

"Principal, get ready to kneel on the washboard, hahaha!"

"Wow! Xixi is so beautiful!"

"So unforced—free, and enviable."

"So sweet—this couple can stay together!"

Their distant interaction drew a huge crowd of onlookers, who admired their affectionate display immensely.

This might be their first time showing affection online, though in a uniquely unusual way—perhaps this is just their thing.

But Fang Hong did not respond to Liu Tianxian.

He was still in a private room, discussing the principle of reciprocal overseas film and television review with a group of officials and celebrities.

Called a discussion, but in truth he was just listening to their opinions—the officials merely listened, offering no stance whatsoever.

You could suggest all you wanted, but the final decision on how to proceed rested entirely with them.

It was like submitting a proposal—you only had advisory power.

But Fang Hong knew clearly that the higher-ups were definitely going to issue the "Limit Foreign Content Order."

Otherwise, the press conference would have outright denied it, not said it was "open for discussion."

In his past life, the "Limit Foreign Content Order" had been issued—not just issued, but enforced even more harshly than Fang Hong had suggested: pre-review before broadcast was basic; quantity control was mandatory.

That is, overseas dramas could not exceed 30% of a platform's total domestic drama output—long-form video streaming platforms had to ensure 70% domestic dramas and only 30% overseas dramas.

Meaning, for every three overseas dramas you uploaded, you had to add seven domestic ones to compensate—strictly capping the number of overseas dramas on any platform.

If this happened, iQiyi, Tencent Video, and Youku wouldn't just lose many overseas dramas—they'd have to scramble to find massive quantities of domestic dramas to fill the gap.

Where would they find so many? They'd be forced to frantically produce web dramas to comply with the rules—in his past life, that's exactly what happened. Did you think the boom in web dramas came from capital's sudden conscience?

That was the higher-ups' measure to protect the domestic industry.

Otherwise, capital would rather pour money into ready-made Western dramas than risk producing their own.

Not only that, but overseas dramas had to undergo full-series review before release—no more "broadcast while reviewing"; the American weekly release model was banned!

Additionally, subtitles for overseas dramas had to be completed by official institutions—fan translations were prohibited.

Netizens loved slipping ads into their translations—what kind of ads? Those who know, know. It's understandable; after all that effort, they deserved some pay.

If this happened, smaller video platforms with weak finances would surely collapse.

Overseas dramas couldn't be uploaded, and even if they were, audiences wouldn't watch them—because they were heavily cut. Viewers would rather turn to pirated versions. With mainstream platforms restricted, piracy spread everywhere.

Network censorship wasn't as severe back then—you could still find resources on cloud drives.

How could domestic dramas compete for copyright?

Once this regulation was issued, domestic drama copyright fees would surge again—they'd have no choice but to produce their own.

But self-production costs money. One or two dramas wouldn't cut it; without producing over ten per month, they couldn't retain users—and they lacked the industrial scale.

Once this regulation was enacted, it would be stricter than domestic drama review itself—its purpose was simple: prevent overseas dramas from dominating the market.

Domestic dramas were already at a disadvantage; if overseas dramas captured a large market share, it wouldn't just hurt TV dramas—it would damage investment returns and industry profits.

If investment returns dropped, capital would flow less into this industry, harming the entire sector's development.

As for ideology or cultural invasion—no need to mention it.

Rumors spread that the higher-ups planned to "Limit Foreign Content," and that it was the Principal's suggestion—the entire online film and streaming industry felt like it had been struck a muffled blow.

The first to jump out were self-media outlets, launching counter-criticism. Huxiu criticized: "The Limit Foreign Content Order is a capital game disguised as cultural security—this policy helps the Principal eliminate competitors!"

The article also criticized Chang'e Video's self-produced web dramas, calling their Best Special Effects crude and their plots wildly altered, unable to replace high-quality overseas dramas.

It didn't just accuse the Principal of using policy to crush rivals—it also condemned his own dramas as chaotic messes, utterly unwatchable.

Another outlet, TMTPost, published an article: "The Principal is harming viewers."

This article claimed the Principal's suggestion showed he didn't care about viewers at all.

On Weibo and Zhihu, another article appeared with the title: "Cultural Confidence Should Not Be Achieved Through Censorship!"

Countless netizens began complaining and calling the Principal an idiot!

Even Southern Weekly published a report titled: "Undermining the Openness and Diversity of the Cultural Market!"

Though it didn't directly insult Fang Hong, it was still oppositional.

Other outlets—including Economic Observer and First Financial Daily—also published their views on this "Limit Foreign Content" policy.

Without exception, this will deal the most devastating blow to the industry!

Anyway, before it even landed, a huge crowd on the internet was already singing the opposite tune and cursing Fang Hong up one side and down the other — perfectly normal, since he was the one who proposed it.

Some print media also said this wouldn't work — the review process was opaque and lacked operability.

It would accelerate industry monopolization and the like.

But none of those industry bigwigs came out to speak; they all kept silent.

Because this was the higher-ups using the Principal's mouth to float this policy, using him as the pretext to push the regulation forward — otherwise Director Tong wouldn't have said they needed to discuss it.

Every time the industry gets regulated, someone has to step forward to propose it and push it, so the higher-ups have an excuse — for example, after E-Factory Video recently spent tens of billions acquiring exclusive music rights from Universal, Warner, Sony, and others.

They immediately began pushing for legitimate music content, and pushed hard at that — otherwise the music market wouldn't have ended up full of complaints later, and the higher-ups wouldn't have slapped them with an anti-monopoly ruling.

If you recklessly jump out and sing the opposite tune, you don't know what the "iron fist" tastes like — those small voices don't matter.

They can say whatever they want; it won't make any difference.

But if anyone with a name comes out to speak, it's "not showing support, speaking up for overseas interests" — the only thing they can do is find people to curse the Principal; nothing else they can do.

Those people weren't wrong — soon Xinhua News Agency came out and published an article with the headline: "Regulating Online Audio-Visual Content Management, Protecting the Physical and Mental Health of Youth!"

Soon after, People's Daily Online also published a piece: "An Important Measure to Purify the Online Environment!"

That article stressed that the regulation was a protection of domestic content.

What do those people know? They just oppose for the sake of opposing — if there are too many European and American dramas, what about domestic dramas? Don't domestic dramas need to develop?

Hollywood's film and television production industry is already mature; if we don't protect the development of domestic content, what about all those practitioners and all that capital — are we supposed to send them to Hollywood?

So self-media can say what they want — they're only speaking for their own viewing pleasure — and print media can say what they want, but industry bigwigs won't talk nonsense.

The two major mainstream media publicly standing up for Fang Hong also gave this "Limit Foreign Content Order" a sense of certainty — meaning the higher-ups really meant to do this, it wasn't just talk.

"The Principal is ruthless!"

Youku's Gu Yongqiang gave Fan Luyuan a call and said again: "We need to adjust our strategy. If the policy lands, we'll suffer heavy losses — if we keep importing overseas dramas, we'll probably get stuck holding the bag."

"What are you thinking?" Fan Luyuan asked.

He hadn't expected the Principal's counterattack to come so fast — they had imported the most European and American dramas recently, and if the "Limit Foreign Content Order" landed,

they'd lose at least several billion. European and American dramas aren't cheap, and it would also block their path.

"Go back to the old road — self-produced dramas supplemented by UGC." Gu Yongqiang said.

"No. We stick to the established path, gradually shifting to long-form video plus e-commerce linkage. If we can't import overseas dramas, then we'll stockpile domestic film and television copyrights." Fan Luyuan vetoed his proposal.

This left Gu Yongqiang helpless as he said: "That takes a lot of money."

"We don't care about the money, and neither does Alibaba." Fan Luyuan spoke with great swagger — even if they lost several billion this time, they wouldn't change course.

Even if the Principal had set them up, they'd see it through to the end.

Gu Yongqiang was also very uncomfortable — ever since being acquired by Alibaba, he'd been restricted at every turn, unable to have any ideas of his own, everything had to follow their thinking.

Having money isn't a reason to act like that!

This is easy to understand — Alibaba's DNA is e-commerce. UGC, user-generated content, is content watched by people with no money — the kind of user base Bilibili has, all kids and broke losers.

So Alibaba looks down on UGC and takes the long-form video route, converting viewers into online shopping users.

That's determined by their DNA; it doesn't bend to anyone's will.

And in the beginning, Youku was taking exactly Bilibili's path — if they hadn't adjusted their strategy, there wouldn't have been any room for Bilibili at all.

How successful was "Unexpectedly" back then! It's just that the DNA has changed now.

Gu Yong will step down as Youku's Chairman next year.

With this club from Fang Hong, E-Factory Video's Sun Zhonghuai also adjusted his development path, tightened imports of overseas dramas, and planned to go with full IP industry chain development, deeply tied to WeChat.

This strategy received Tony Ma's approval.

Sun Zhonghuai also came out to tell reporters: "The policy has drawn clear boundaries for the industry; E-Factory Video will develop premium content that aligns with mainstream values."

E-Factory Video was very tactful, firmly supporting this "Limit Foreign" — even though this incident also had a big impact on their platform.

But as long as the higher-ups say it, they support it.

iQiyi's Gong Yu also reacted swiftly, adjusting strategy — cutting ad length from 90 seconds to 45 seconds and rolling out a "skip the intro" feature to improve user experience.

He also released a series of self-produced drama and variety show plans to quickly seize market share.

Because Gong Yu knew that once the policy landed, the entire video platform scene would face its last great reshuffle.

When the time came, only a limited few would survive.

Doing it this way dropped iQiyi's revenue share from 80% to 50%, and losses expanded further.

But it didn't matter — iQiyi had Baidu behind it!

You could say Gong Yu had the sharpest strategic vision — otherwise in his previous life, iQiyi wouldn't have stayed in the leading position for years afterward.

That had a lot to do with this man's foresight.

It's just that Baidu's strength wasn't that great — not as flush as Alibaba, lacking both E-Factory Video's traffic and IP.

Nothing to be done — born with limitations!

Gong Yu also came out to tell reporters: "We've heard the Limit Foreign wind. If the policy adjusts, the industry will shift from 'traffic competition' to 'content quality competition.' iQiyi will build a new moat through self-produced dramas and the membership model."

That awareness was a bit lower — he only talked about industry opportunity.

And those small fry had a much harder time — among them, the representative case was Sohu, whose market cap plunged from 2.6 billion USD to 1.8 billion USD, a big dive.

Nothing to be done — Sohu could only strategically contract. Once the policy landed, it was essentially game over.

Sohu had once bought too many American dramas; if the higher-ups' 3-to-7 ratio was applied, Sohu would have to take down a lot of American dramas, inevitably leading to a major content reduction.

And there was no domestic drama to fill the gap, because they couldn't afford it and couldn't compete.

Youku was already preparing to throw money around on a large scale — how could a platform like Sohu possibly compete? Let alone those without capital — they could only collapse.

LeEco also wasn't having a good time, teetering on the edge of collapse — it just hadn't erupted yet.

You could say that with this move, Fang Hong not only drove up film and television copyright prices, but also made the three giants feel the tremors.

It also sent shockwaves through the entire industry, and incidentally propelled another wave of prosperity for domestic dramas, because they had to fill content slots and could only invest and produce.

(End of chapter)