Chapter 152: The Terrifying Distribution Power and the First Batch of Signed Artists

In August, "Detective Di Renjie" finally premiered on CCTV-8.

Although it aired in a secondary prime-time slot, it still achieved an impressive viewership rating, averaging about 3%, with a peak nearing 5%, consistently ranking among the top three in its time slot.

Don't forget, this is CCTV-8.

Viewership rating is calculated as the proportion of target viewers watching a specific TV program during a given time period relative to the total target audience.

For example, if 100 million TVs are installed across the country, and 3 million are tuned to the same channel watching the same drama at the same time, the viewership rating is 3%.

Therefore, the same viewership rating carries different influence depending on each broadcaster's penetration rate.

For instance, if a broadcaster has 300 million TVs installed, a 3% viewership rating means nearly 10 million TVs are actively watching.

In this regard, CCTV clearly holds a decisive advantage over local satellite channels.

At present, satellite dishes and cable TV have not yet become widespread, and due to technical and signal limitations, the number of satellite channels accessible on each TV varies.

Some households can receive forty or fifty channels, nearly all available satellite channels, while others can only get a dozen or so, mostly local channels.

As one of the most popular CCTV channels, CCTV-8's penetration rate is undoubtedly among the highest.

Thus, although "Detective Di Renjie"'s viewership numbers may not seem dazzling, that doesn't mean it isn't popular.

Others might not feel it deeply, but the main creative team of "Detective Di Renjie" certainly did.

Liang Guanhua, a pillar of the Beijing People's Art Theatre, has been called Zhang Damin more often than his real name over the past two years.

Within just a few days, when he went out again, besides "Zhang Damin," he now also had the nickname "Di Renjie," and some even questioned how he had gotten so young.

Zhang Zijian, who played Li Yuanfang, had been in the industry for a long time and had starred in several well-received lead roles, such as Yan Shuangying in "Hero," but none made him as famous as Li Yuanfang.

Director Qian Yanqiu's reputation had also grown significantly.

Previously, when people called him "Director Qian," it was out of politeness; now, it was genuine respect—he himself said he had become a real figure.

Yan Li, unlike these front-facing figures, remained quietly earning money.

The investment for "Detective Di Renjie" was just over 10 million yuan; CCTV's acquisition price was low, recovering only about half the cost.

This was understandable—CCTV's self-produced dramas were inherently meant to save money; pouring huge sums into its own Main Producer projects would be either foolish or money laundering.

Although CCTV took the lion's share, the drama's success still left room for profit.

Especially on local terrestrial channels, CCTV's brand name was extremely effective—many stations were willing to pay reasonable prices.

Yian's marketing department had already secured several contracts beforehand, but after the drama exploded in popularity, Yan Li personally took charge and directed operations.

Many in the marketing department knew their boss Yan Li was not only skilled at negotiations but even more exceptional at selecting precise cooperation partners.

Other distributors, upon acquiring a project, first approached old contacts, then methodically contacted each TV station one by one, engaging in communication and negotiation to filter out those uninterested or insincere.

It was time-consuming and exhausting, and often resulted in wasted effort.

Once, the marketing director Xiao Guan led a team aiming to secure a one-million-yuan contract.

They spent over half a month narrowing down to two strong prospects, then spent several more weeks negotiating, spending money, time, and even their health (drinking), yet still failed to close the deal.

At the time, morale in the entire marketing department plummeted—until Yan Li found out and gave the department a lesson.

Three days!

Strictly speaking, it was a bit over two days—Yan Li found new potential partners.

During this period, he participated in two negotiations, totaling less than a week, and secured a one-million-yuan contract, with a final price nearly 40% higher than the one Xiao Guan's team had failed to land after weeks of effort.

In the entire Yian company, no other department knew as well as the marketing department how much they revered their boss Yan Li.

Yan Li publicly appointed two deputy directors within the marketing department; when the department head Xiao Guan went to see Yan Li and confirmed he still held absolute authority, he continued leading his team without hesitation.

Previously, it was said that if Xiao Guan left, half the marketing department would collapse—this was true, but only if Yan Li wasn't counted.

If Yan Li stepped in, even if the marketing department had only two low-level staff left, it could still fear no other distribution company.

Yan Li now primarily handled only satellite channel business.

Even for some non-priority projects, Yan Li only oversaw initial target screening and final negotiation or pricing; all intermediate liaison work was delegated to subordinates.

If successful, the final negotiation, contract signing, and revenue still counted as the subordinates' achievement, and they shared in the profits.

If unsuccessful, and no obvious mistakes were made by the subordinates, Yan Li said nothing—he simply found new targets and started again.

Thus, within Yian's marketing department, some projects involving Yan Li were remarkably smooth.

Xiao Guan was the head of the marketing department, but Yan Li was the big brother in the hearts of many.

This time, Yan Li personally directed the terrestrial channel distribution of "Detective Di Renjie."

It demonstrated his serious commitment to the project and allowed many marketing department employees, especially newcomers, to witness the terrifying power of Yan Li's distribution ability.

As of August, before "Detective Di Renjie" premiered.

Yian's marketing department had secured six terrestrial or county-level stations, one one-million-yuan contract, totaling approximately 2.5 million yuan in sales; according to the agreed 10% distribution share with the "Detective Di Renjie" production team, Yian received 250,000 yuan.

After the premiere of "Detective Di Renjie," Yan Li personally directed operations.

Within just over a month, eleven local and county-level stations had been secured or reached preliminary agreements, with six more steadily progressing with high likelihood of cooperation.

Among these seventeen stations, six were one-million-yuan contracts, with total receipts exceeding 12 million yuan; after distribution share, Yian received 1.2 million yuan.

Additionally, negotiations were underway for second-run broadcast rights with two satellite channels, though coordination with CCTV was still required; once finalized, this would bring another few hundred thousand yuan.

Although the marketing department had laid some groundwork beforehand, the drama's explosive popularity had boosted its distribution, and Yan Li, as boss, had greater authority and boldness, and so on.

But even accounting for all these factors, Yan Li's achievements in just over a month left Yian's marketing department stunned.

The "Detective Di Renjie" production team, upon hearing the news, felt like they were living in a dream.

According to a system notification Yan Li received, Qian Yanqiu, upon learning that Yian had sold the drama to over twenty stations (from his perspective), earning over ten million yuan and turning a profit, couldn't help but slap himself.

"When did TV dramas become this easy to sell?!"

Then he did something—he called the CCTV producer and said, "If anyone tries to keep Yan Li out of 'Detective Di Renjie 2,' I'll fight them."

Yes, after the success of the first season of "Detective Di Renjie," planning for the second season had already begun.

But compared to the first season, the second season faced some conflicts of interest.

First, CCTV, due to its major reform separating production from broadcasting, had tightened internal funding, and some projects were canceled.

According to its ratings, "Detective Di Renjie" shouldn't have been abandoned, but for some reason, the producer ultimately secured the rights and planned to start over, gathering people to shoot it.

However, it's unclear whether the copyright is held by CCTV or the producer; neither side has reached a clear agreement.

But CCTV has agreed to let the producer make a sequel, without investing or participating, only agreeing to broadcast it on CCTV.

Meanwhile, Yi'an also owns 40% of the copyright to "Detective Di Renjie."

Although they signed a concerted action clause with CCTV, CCTV's copyright status is now ambiguous, whereas Yi'an's is far clearer.

How can concerted action exist without concerted parties?

Thus, a rather bizarre situation has emerged, significantly affecting preparations for "Detective Di Renjie 2."

Originally, Qian Yanqiu favored the CCTV producer side—they were old friends and longtime collaborators—but after witnessing Yan Li's distribution capabilities, he now leans more toward Yan Li.

Now, "Detective Di Renjie" is no longer a CCTV-produced original drama; it operates on its own profits and losses.

Relying solely on CCTV, the project won't earn much; profitability depends on later distribution.

Yan Li only holds the copyright; Qian Yanqiu and his team hold the copyright plus the production crew, and they can still find ways around it—even if it means losing some money.

But with Yan Li's terrifying distribution and profit-making power, they'd rather not bypass him at all—after all, who turns down money?

If the CCTV producer side weren't also a tough opponent and if their personal relationship weren't good, Qian Yanqiu would have already kicked them out and partnered directly with Yan Li: one handles production, the other invests and distributes, splitting profits—perfect.

Not just "Detective Di Renjie 2," they're even considering bringing Yan Li on board for their new project, "The Great Song Mystery: The Legend of the Cat-Switched Crown Prince."

Coincidentally, their new drama has a female lead role that suits Dong Xuan perfectly.

Qian Yanqiu is close with Zhao Zhigang, Dong Xuan's classmate, so he naturally knows the relationship between Dong Xuan and Yan Li; by doing her this favor, their relationship will only grow better.

"So you see, if you do distribution well, you can still thrive."

Yan Li shut down his intelligence system and looked at Dong Xuan, who was checking herself in the mirror.

"I've recently negotiated a project—I want to offer you the female lead. Do you have time to shoot?"

In September, Beijing Film Academy opened for the semester, and Dong Xuan and Guan Yue became honorable people's teachers.

Of course, both are still teaching assistants, and still in their probationary period, without formal positions.

But as long as they successfully stay on campus without any issues, following the routine for a few years, adding credentials and polish, it's just a matter of time.

"Female lead?"

Dong Xuan hesitated: "I'll check with my superiors and see if they'll approve leave."

After all, she just started; asking for several months off to film a female lead role sounds bad, even if it's true.

But then again, this is common at Beijing Film Academy—teachers and students often go out to shoot films.

Compared to the more "stuffy" Central Academy of Drama, Beijing Film Academy strongly encourages "practical experience."

Moreover, as a junior teaching assistant, Dong Xuan's school duties are limited; if she becomes more famous through acting and turns into a celebrity teacher, it benefits the school even more.

Dong Xuan thought she could try to fight for it; if not, she could let Yan Li offer the role to someone else in exchange for favors or goodwill.

While she was still debating, Yan Li tapped his watch: "Hurry up and eat, you're going to work soon."

"Oh."

Dong Xuan snapped back, biting into the egg Yan Li had peeled, mumbling:

"Do you think this outfit works?"

Since she was still young and had just transitioned from student to teacher, Dong Xuan now dressed more maturely to avoid being overwhelmed by her students.

Yan Li glanced at her: "Not as good as the suit I bought you."

"Pfft."

Dong Xuan, annoyed, threw the half-eaten egg at him—her parents had just returned to their hometown, and Yan Li had moved back into the Beijing Film Academy housing complex.

The first thing he did was pull out a women's suit, made her wear it, put on gold-rimmed glasses, and gave him a lesson, then acted out a whole scene of respecting teachers.

Other playful antics were fine, but since she was a real teacher, she felt deep shame about this.

She had only given in once, out of pity for Yan Li's "homelessness," unable to resist his persistent nagging, half-pushing, half-giving-in.

But since then, Dong Xuan had firmly resisted—even hiding the suit away and forbidding Yan Li to mention it.

Yan Li took the egg, didn't mind, casually popped it in his mouth, then gave a serious evaluation:

"It's okay, but a bit plain."

"Plain is better."

Dong Xuan sat down to eat: "That bag you brought me from Europe—I wore it to school last time and got recognized. I had to pretend it was a fake to get out of it."

"It's just a bag, isn't it?"

Yan Li didn't care; in other schools it might be odd, but at this art school, plenty of teachers and students were wealthy—carrying a designer bag or wearing expensive jewelry wasn't unusual.

Besides, Dong Xuan herself is a moderately famous actress—she shouldn't be forbidden from spending her own money.

"I just started; my position isn't confirmed yet. Better stay low-key."

As the most famous among this batch of new teachers, many people watched her, so she didn't want to draw attention—once she was firmly established at the school, things would improve.

"Then I was going to get you a car—would that be too much too?"

Yan Li bit into a steamed bun; Dong Xuan replied as if obvious: "Our home is less than five minutes' walk from school, and when we go out to shoot, we don't need a car—I have neither the time nor the place to drive one."

Besides, Yan Li already owns two cars, and the company has a company car.

When Dong Xuan occasionally needs a car, she just calls—someone drives her, even picks her up; she sees no need to buy one.

"Whatever you want."

Yan Li ate calmly; whenever money was involved, he found it pointless to consult Dong Xuan.

Later, he'd just toss the car keys at home; if she didn't drive, they'd rust—and she'd still have to drive around the block to get to work.

Yan Li understood Dong Xuan; Dong Xuan understood Yan Li—she warned him not to buy anything reckless.

Previously, Yan Li brought her many things from Europe, most of which she didn't recognize; she spent hours searching online with Guan Yue, comparing items on her computer and fashion magazines, and her heart trembled at the total.

It cost more than a house in Jingcheng!

Yan Li's lavish spending truly startled her; even if he made money, he shouldn't waste it like this.

Compared to these flashy things, she still preferred the way Yan Li used to give her gold—stable and reliable, something that could save her life if disaster ever struck.

Seeing Dong Xuan about to launch another "wise household management" lecture, Yan Li quickly changed the subject.

"Teacher Dong, it's time. If we don't leave now, we'll be late."

"Oh no."

Dong Xuan checked the time, shoved an egg into her pant pocket, slipped on her shoes, and hurried out.

Sipping her soy milk slowly, Yan Li thought it wasn't bad for Dong Xuan to be a teacher—she showed up on time every day, keeping her busy enough.

Otherwise, out of consideration for their relationship, if she took few roles and stayed home idle, she'd spend every day overthinking him—and that would be worse.

…

After finishing breakfast, Yan Li watched TV for a while, then went downstairs at just after nine and drove his Mercedes G500 to the company.

Yi'an Film & Television

The previous 300-square-meter office had already become inadequate for Yi'an's rapid growth.

So the company rented another office upstairs; its staff officially surpassed the hundred-person mark, and further organizational divisions were made.

Originally, there was only a Marketing Department and a Film & Television Department, with everything else under Vice President Yue Princess Zhao Yang.

Now, the Human Resources and Finance departments have been split off independently, and two new departments have been added: the Screenwriting Department and the Artist Management Department.

Although there are more departments now, Marketing and Film & Television remain Yi'an Film & Television's two largest.

When Yan Li arrived at the company, he first walked around upstairs and downstairs, observing and admiring the company he had built from scratch, reinforcing his presence as boss.

Then he returned to his office to handle work, or hold meetings, go out, or follow his schedule.

After brewing a cup of tea, Yan Li browsed emails and the morning's documents when a knock came at his office door.

"Enter."

A thirty-something woman with glasses stepped in—it was Jia Qian, Director of Yi'an Film & Television's Artist Management Department.

Though her name had a slight drawback, her resume and abilities were solid.

A 1990s college graduate, she had spent years working in publicity and marketing for entertainment companies in Xiangjiang and Taiwan.

Yan Li hired her to lead Yi'an's artist management precisely because of her connections and networks in Hong Kong and Taiwan, and her skill in packaging and promoting artists.

Times had changed; the film and television industry had become the entertainment industry.

The old-school mainland agent style wasn't entirely outdated, but it did have clear drawbacks.

Not to mention Yan Li placed greater emphasis on an artist's commercial monetization and star-promotion capabilities.

This wasn't something Wang Jinghua or Chang Jihong's approach—prioritizing film roles over packaging—could achieve.

So Yi'an's artist management emulated the more advanced, entertainment-focused Hong Kong and Taiwan model: built on film and television, with heavy emphasis on packaging, promotion, and marketing, prioritizing star status over acting ability, aiming for higher commercial returns.

"Boss Yan, here are the artist contracts for Wang Ou and Zhou Yiwei."

Jia Qian's first task upon joining the company was to finalize the initial artist signings and set up the related teams.

Of course, these individuals' current fame was modest, so the team setup wasn't complicated.

Each had one assistant, then assigned under an agent or executive agent.

Currently, Yi'an Film & Television had only two official agents: Jia Qian personally managed Wang Ou, while the other three were handled by another agent.

If more agents joined or new artists signed, assignments would be adjusted later.

Yan Li didn't have an agent; his contract offers and invitations were all handled by his secretary, Hu Ya; he decided for himself which roles to take and which interviews to accept, with no involvement from the Artist Management Department.

It was said that because of this, Hu Ya and the other secretaries and assistants had clashed with Jia Qian, who wanted to take over Yan Li's personal management affairs.

In the end, Jia Qian, having just joined the company, chose to back down, not wanting to alienate Yan Li's inner circle.

This was how things went in any large company; Yan Li didn't bother meddling in these petty moves.

He flipped through the contracts; Jia Qian had already explained the key terms to him, the differences were mostly in the details.

Lin Jiachuan and Zhang Songwen signed six-year contracts with a favorable 50-50 split, but no guaranteed resources.

In plain terms, they were treated as ordinary character actors.

Basically, they'd be jack-of-all-trades supporting roles—probably not earning much, but given a decent split due to Yan Li's connection.

Zhou Yiwei and Wang Ou signed eight-year contracts with a 30-70 split—the company takes 70%—but the company will provide certain resource support.

So even though they only get 30%, if they truly become popular, they'll earn far more than Zhang and Lin.

Of course, these were just the official contracts; in reality, Yan Li would certainly give them special treatment, and as the company's first artists, they also received some bonus benefits.

Future signings would mostly be standard procedure—even if offered identical terms, their treatment would likely fall short of Wang Ou's group.

"Alright, let's finalize it. Contact two media outlets to release press releases."

They weren't famous artists, so no need for grand fanfare—press releases were enough.

"Also, I'll instruct the Film & Television Department to sync resources with you. If the Marketing Department has suitable projects, negotiate them—take them if they're good."

Yi'an Film & Television currently had no shortage of ordinary film and television resources.

Especially after establishing its distribution reputation, it had built relationships with many production teams; placing a few actors wasn't difficult.

Take Wang Ou, the current main push—she wasn't short of roles, and the resources were all high-quality.

She's been cast in Tang Ren's "New Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio" and Zhou Yi's sequel to "Water Moon Cave Heaven," titled "Legend of the Spirit Mirror."

If a suitable role appears in "Detective Di Renjie 2," she can be placed there too—same for Zhou Yiwei.

"By the way."

Yan Li stopped Jia Qian: "Contact your Hong Kong and Taiwan connections—see if there are any commercial endorsements or films you can secure. If not, we'll just pay for them ourselves."

"You mean…?"

"I've spotted a big fish. Need to cast some bait to catch her."

"Understood. I'll make the arrangements."

(End of this chapter)