Chapter 267: Studio Mode: Visiting Tangren and Little Liu the Immortal

Late March, "The Qing Imperial Harem" premiered on four satellite channels including Magic City TV.

Although online and media buzz was modest, the ratings were solid, especially on Anhui Satellite TV, where the single-episode peak rating soared above 7%, nearing 13% market share.

Other satellite channels also performed well, securing top ratings in multiple regions for historical dramas—and even overall TV dramas—in the first half of 2007.

The media dubbed this drama the mainland version of "Love in the Forbidden City" and the mainland version of "Dae Jang Geum."

However, the show's screenwriter and producer, Yu Zheng, did not accept this characterization.

He firmly insisted that "The Qing Imperial Harem" was just "The Qing Imperial Harem," and actively argued with viewers and netizens on Tieba, Tianya, and other platforms who accused it of plagiarism.

While Yu Zheng blustered online, he privately felt a flicker of relief that he'd listened to Yan Li's advice to revise the script and tone down the borrowed elements—otherwise, the "plagiarism" label would have been hard to shake off.

Of course, he himself might not have cared much about it; as long as he made money and gained fame, many things didn't matter to him.

Still, Yi An cared about this reputation, so they helped smooth things over and urged him to keep a low profile.

Though Yu Zheng was a bit reckless, "The Qing Imperial Harem" had truly delivered.

Even if many refused to admit it, Qing-era dramas currently had a strong market and a large audience.

This kid Yu Zheng had some real talent.

Even if the script had flaws, the stitching was better than many screenwriters', hitting enough viewer sweet spots to make "The Qing Imperial Harem" a modest hit.

Not only were the ratings good, but sales were decent too—though not astonishing, they surpassed Yan Li and Yi An's initial expectations.

This made Yu Zheng, the newly minted hot-screenwriter-and-producer, a prized asset at Yi An.

Originally, the company had been debating the next project by Fan Xiaopang, but with Yu Zheng's sudden rise, "Yanzhi Xue" was essentially locked in.

Even beyond "Yanzhi Xue," the company promised Yu Zheng he could lead another project as both screenwriter and producer.

Yan Li personally promised him that if "Yanzhi Xue" or the other project succeeded, the company would consider letting him establish his own studio.

Currently, Yi An only had two people with studios: Ning Hao, and Ju Jueliang, who officially joined Yi An after the Spring Festival.

The former was Yi An's flagship film director; the latter was Yi An's flagship TV director, having directed or co-directed all of Yi An's most profitable Gu Long series.

Beyond them, Yi An had other directors and producers capable of handling projects, but none had the track record, ability, or credentials for Yan Li to fully back as independent leaders.

Yu Zheng didn't quite qualify either, but Yan Li "saw potential" in him, so he was willing to give him a chance.

Yi An's studio system was still in its exploratory phase, with no fixed cooperation model.

For instance, Ju Jueliang's studio was merely a nominal affiliation—Yi An held no equity, and all staff were Ju Jueliang's own people.

In plain terms, it was just the old employment model with an extra layer.

Formally, Ju Jueliang was a contracted director of Yi An, giving Yi An absolute priority in collaboration and discounted rates.

In return, Ju Jueliang received stable project assignments and resource support from Yi An, securing a reliable financier and backer.

This was a common industry practice; many studios at Huayi operated the same way.

The advantage was low investment on one side and greater freedom on the other, allowing both to gain what they needed at minimal cost.

The downside was shallow binding, unstable cooperation duration, and neither side necessarily viewing the other as truly "one of their own."

In contrast, Ning Hao's working model was far more loyal.

His studio was wholly funded by Yi An; he held no equity, and it functioned more like an internal team centered on him, with substantial autonomy.

Of course, though he owned no shares, Ning Hao and his team received project dividends and performance bonuses.

Moreover, their projects received massive support, with all risks borne by the company.

In short, Ning Hao's studio was the company's biological son; Ju Jueliang's studio didn't even qualify as an adopted son.

More likely, it was the adopted grandson's sworn brother…

Besides these two models, the company also offered joint ventures, where the company and the responsible party split equity proportionally.

The responsible party develops the project; Yi An provides funding, resources, and channel support. After other splits, the studio and Yi An divide further profits according to equity.

This model represented Yi An ceding profits to lock in long-term strategic partnerships with top-tier talent.

This was likely the future mainstream of Yi An's studio system, ranking just below the biological son as the adopted son.

Yu Zheng was reportedly preparing to adopt this model, and Ning Hao's studio might also adjust accordingly in the future.

As always, Yan Li wasn't the type to hoard everything.

If he made money and got rich, he didn't hesitate to share benefits with his people—they'd all enjoy good times together.

Fueled by Yan Li's promises, Yu Zheng was brimming with energy, reportedly already drafting a new project's outline and script framework.

Thanks to "The Qing Imperial Harem's" success, he planned to focus on the Qing dynasty—but having written "Yanzhi Xue," he'd mixed in Republican-era elements.

The final setting was the late Qing and early Republican period, with the title itself steeped in late Qing flavor: "The Last Princess."

Upon hearing the title, Yan Li immediately suspected Yu Zheng had borrowed from "The Last Imperial Grandson."

No surprise—he was a repeat offender.

He'd revised "The Qing Imperial Harem," had others vet "Yanzhi Xue," and still extracted plenty of controversial scenes, now undergoing further optimization.

Yan Li now had conditioned reflexes: whenever he heard Yu Zheng's script, his first thought was, "Who did he copy this time?" and his second was, "Time to revise."

This time, Yu Zheng was somewhat unfairly accused—he had borrowed some settings from "The Last Imperial Grandson," but the plot wasn't copied, since the script was still just an outline.

The trope of Qing aristocratic youths falling into obscurity and enduring hardship had already been written in Republican-era novels and screenplays.

Simply by this premise alone, it couldn't reasonably be called plagiarism.

Only then did Yan Li relax, advising Yu Zheng to borrow less—even if he had to borrow, make it smarter.

As always, Yi An aimed to be the industry leader, and as a content and cultural enterprise, plagiarism was among its greatest taboos.

Yan Boss could afford to be shameless, but Yi An had to keep its face!

Besides Yu Zheng, many of "The Qing Imperial Harem's" main creatives also gained visibility.

The biggest beneficiary was, of course, the lead actress Wang Ou—her role was central, impossible to sidestep.

Over the past two years, Wang Ou had starred in a string of hits and popular dramas: "Survival: The Migrant Workers," "New Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio," "The Investiture of the Gods," "The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng," "Detective Di Renjie 2," and "The Qing Imperial Harem."

Her roles varied in screen time and impact—some stood out, others were flat—but collectively, even just by appearing, she'd made her face familiar and built her name.

Moreover, Wang Ou was backed by Yi An, a company with a mature artist packaging team.

Yi An had elevated Fan Xiaopang to the upper tier of the "Four Dan and Two Bing" within just one or two years—its power was evident.

Even though Wang Ou received far fewer resources and support than Fan Xiaopang, compared to other rising actresses, her backing was still substantial.

With solid film and TV results as a base, plus expanded exposure and promotion, Wang Ou's profile rose slightly with nearly every drama's release.

A lead-actress drama like "The Qing Imperial Harem" could propel her career to a major new level.

Yi An's talent agency aimed to secure Wang Ou's position as a top rising star this year, even pushing her into the upper tier of second-tier actresses.

This goal wasn't low—there weren't many first-tier actresses; merely being second-tier meant being notable in the industry.

Upper second-tier meant she was a potential contender for first-tier status—a level where, in many companies, she'd be considered the lead actress.

Both Wang Ou and Yi An still felt confident.

Especially the latter—Huayi could sustain two of the "Four Dan and Two Bing" and several top rising stars.

Yi An's resources weren't lacking; even after "leaking" many talents, promoting second-tier Wang Ou was more than feasible. If they couldn't even push her into upper second-tier, Yi An's talent department might as well shut down.

Besides Wang Ou, other lead actors also gained varying benefits.

Some gains might not have been obvious, but in acting, success often came from accumulating small advantages, step by step.

Doing one more drama, playing one more role, could mean slightly more fame, greater recognition—audiences and fans aside, if industry insiders noticed, it might open a new opportunity.

For instance, Yan Li knew Qin Lan had received two Qing-era drama offers after her strong performance in "The Qing Imperial Harem."

Hu Siyan had even caught Yu Zheng's eye and was shortlisted as a potential lead for "The Last Princess."

But Yan Li strongly suspected this selection had ulterior motives.

After all, Yu Zheng was close to Qin Lan and had interacted with the "Teddy Sisters" group—could there be some personal favors involved? Everyone understood.

Qin Lan wasn't the head of that sisterhood for nothing—she had to fight for her sisters' benefits and perks, or how would they stay tightly bound to her?

As for casting Hu Siyan in "The Last Princess," Yan Li didn't mind.

Fan Xiaopang wouldn't act in it, Wang Ou didn't need more resources, and if Yi An's own artists weren't available, it made sense to "lend out" to someone like Hu Siyan—who was at least sensible.

But while Yan Li didn't care, others might still fight over it.

Qin Lan wanted to promote her people, Dong Xuan had her own candidates, Fan Xiaopang might not let her succeed, and countless others likely had their own agendas.

The competition between Yang Rong and Hu Siyan for "The Difficult Love of a Diamond Old Man" was proof enough.

If nothing unexpected happened, similar situations would become common—unless pre-assigned, everyone would compete on merit.

Whoever won, for Yan Li, it was all meat in the same pot—and he gained the hidden advantage of acting as referee and profit coordinator.

Direct assignment was nowhere near as satisfying as letting them fight for it!

…

Late March, after wrapping "The Investiture of the Gods 2," before returning to Beijing, Yan Li visited the neighboring Xiangshan Film Base—

The "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" set.

Accompanied by Cai Yinong, Yan Li watched the filming, feeling a touch of nostalgia.

"Cai Zong has real guts."

Jin Yong adaptations, though prestigious, were notoriously hard to shoot, especially with Zhang Dahuzi's version as a benchmark. But this "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" had chosen well—because Zhang Dahuzi's Jin Yong series was especially controversial, and five years had passed since its release.

The time gap was long enough, and the predecessor's reputation was poor, so audiences and the market had some expectations for this new version.

Yan Li considered whether he should ride the trend and produce a Jin Yong adaptation himself.

Zhang Dahuzi's "The Smiling, Proud Wanderer" was another example—highly controversial and with a long gap.

But Yan Li immediately abandoned the idea—Yi An hadn't finished its Gu Long series yet.

Moreover, he didn't believe in the current wuxia market's prospects, thinking it was heading downhill; Gu Long dramas were Yi An's signature, with sufficient appeal, while Jin Yong adaptations carried far greater risk.

So even if Yi An ever remade a Jin Yong drama, it wouldn't be now—at least not until the wuxia market became clearer.

Beside him, Cai Yinong didn't know Yan Li's thoughts; she sighed, "We've invested heavily in this drama and are under great pressure—we hope Director Yan will give us extra support in distribution."

Yan Li understood Cai's meaning: this drama was reportedly delayed to wait for Hu Ge's recovery from his car accident, and Tang Ren stood by Hu Ge under pressure, costing the production team considerable time.

As a result, both costs and risks rose sharply, placing immense pressure on Tang Ren.

"We're old friends—Yi'an will certainly do our best."

Yan Li had collaborated with Tang Ren more than once or twice, and overall the partnership had been pleasant.

Tang Ren's dramas were still well received by the market, with solid results; Yi'an earned substantial profits and reputation from them, making Tang Ren one of Yi'an's premium clients.

Otherwise, Yan Li wouldn't have come here in person just to build rapport with Tang Ren.

"Thank you, General Yan. With your word, I'm at ease."

Cai Yinong expressed profuse gratitude, but in truth, Yi'an had made plenty of money and gained fame through its collaboration with Tang Ren—and Tang Ren had made money too.

Over the past few years since Yi'an's rise as a distributor, many partners and industry insiders had roughly calculated the numbers.

Dramas distributed by Yi'an generated overall revenues 10% to 30% higher than those distributed by others; if the project and market were strong, the difference could be even greater.

Don't underestimate this margin—many drama producers barely scraped by on hard-earned profits; even a few percentage points of increase meant real money.

Beyond revenue, dramas distributed by Yi'an had dramatically higher chances and faster speeds of broadcast on satellite channels, with far superior security and speed of payment recovery.

These two advantages were even more enticing to film and TV companies than the revenue boost.

The former enhanced a project's influence, bringing all kinds of benefits.

The latter needed no elaboration: in this industry, the most painful thing was delayed payment—contract figures often bore no resemblance to actual earnings; arrears, defaults, and dead debts were all common.

Yi'an's ability to recover payments as quickly and fully as possible was enough to make countless film and TV companies beg for collaboration.

The reason Yi'an could achieve this was not complicated.

One was through gathering intelligence and cultivating wide-ranging partnerships to gradually identify stable, high-quality television stations, reducing bad debt at the source.

The other was that once Yi'an held enough drama projects and television station partnerships, it gained the leverage to negotiate with stations.

Many stations feared Yi'an's resources and the threat of competitors, so they avoided antagonizing or offending Yi'an's projects—after all, people pick the softest persimmons to squeeze.

So any business must grow large—bigger size means more leverage, and more leverage means greater capital to advance or retreat.

Tang Ren had once considered maintaining its own distribution channels, refusing to entrust such a critical function to other companies and becoming dependent on them.

They had even taken action—but after completing one project, they halted the effort.

Yi'an was just too tempting!

Its advantages—high returns, low risk, fast payback—were simply impossible for Tang Ren to match on its own.

After some internal struggle, Tang Ren ultimately chose to cling to Yi'an's leg—and even went so far as to cede certain interests to Yi'an to hold on tighter.

If not for the delay and rescheduling of this "The Legend of the Condor Heroes," Yi'an would surely have secured one or two roles.

Guo Jing and Huang Rong were uncertain, but Yang Kang, Mu Nianci, Ouyang Ke, and Hua Zheng had strong potential.

Speaking of this, Yan Li glanced at a girl in the waiting area and turned to Cai Yinong.

"That's your company's Little Liu Fairy?"

Cai Yinong smirked—it was good press to run a story like that, but publicly, both the actress and the company would deny it.

"Shishi, come here."

Cai Yinong didn't really want her own artist getting too close to Yan Li, the playboy—if he made any inappropriate demands, Tang Ren, which relied on him for profits, would find it hard to refuse.

But Yan Li had already spoken; she couldn't pretend not to hear.

At worst, she'd mediate—besides, she knew Yan Li, though lecherous, had no reputation for underhanded tactics; everything was consensual.

He was amorous but not vulgar! Lustful but not desperate!

Liu Shishi walked over, looking confused and nervous upon seeing Yan Li.

It wasn't fear of Yan Li's reputation—it was simply that, as a newcomer facing such a big shot, she couldn't help being flustered.

"General Yan, hello. I'm Liu Shishi."

Liu Shishi greeted him politely. Yan Li sized her up.

She did resemble that one person, but her features were slightly duller, her aura more cool and gentle, her gaze a bit vacant—yet her physique looked good; likely a dancer.

Yan Li had dealt with many dancers and knew the signs well—just by her aura and build, he could guess her background.

Thinking of this, Yan Li glanced again at Liu Shishi and felt she resembled Wu Jiani too.

Perhaps because they were both dancers, their body types and facial contours were similar—belonging to the classical, subtle-featured type—so at first glance, their eyes and brows shared two or three points of resemblance.

But that was all—she lacked the real cachet of the Little Liu Fairy.

She didn't even resemble Sun Li, Tang Ren's former top actress, as closely.

Yan Li couldn't help muttering: Was Cai Zong obsessed? Did Tang Ren insist on casting women in just one mold? After Sun Li, they failed to sign Liu Tianxian, so they signed a Little Liu Tianxian.

If Wu Jiani's contract expires and Yi'an doesn't renew it, I could refer her to Tang Ren.

Just for her face, Cai Yinong wouldn't treat her poorly.

After a brief chat, Yan Li dismissed Liu Shishi. Sensing Cai Yinong's relief, Yan Li couldn't help saying:

"Do you see me as a flood or a beast?"

What's that supposed to mean? I haven't done anything. You called her over yourself—now it looks like I'm about to do something to her.

Cai Yinong realized she'd overreacted and quickly joked to defuse the tension.

"General Yan, your charm is too great—I've only got this one promising talent. I'm afraid you'll use your good looks to steal her away?"

Though the meaning remained the same, the way she said it made Yan Li feel much better.

After all, they were partners. Yan Li said a few more things, then let it drop.

As for the Little Liu Fairy, Yan Li had no real interest.

Just a green girl, unknown, with no halo.

She was decent-looking, but Yan Li already had Wu Jiani. The only thing she had going for her was her resemblance to Wu—but he didn't want to bother with that. He didn't lack for this kind of thing.

Cai Yinong worried he'd fixate on her—but actually, he was afraid Tang Ren would fabricate gossip to piggyback on his fame.

The only person in the entire "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" crew Yan Li cared about was Hu Ge.

He was popular and Tang Ren's current treasure. If Yi'an weren't already full, Yan Li would've gladly swung his shovel.

Yan Li specifically chatted with Hu Ge during this visit, inquired about his recovery, and offered to introduce him to a few medical contacts he knew.

For all other actors, Yan Li merely exchanged polite greetings and then left.

Tang Ren casting Yuan Hong and Liu Shishi as newcomers—he could understand; they had to invest in their own artists.

But Lin Yichen playing Huang Rong? He could only attribute that to the drama having funding from Taiwan.

Still, this woman had a round little face—how was she like Huang Rong?!

From Xiangshan all the way back to Beijing, Yan Li carried this doubt, and couldn't help complaining to Fan Xiaopang.

The latter was unfazed: on one hand, such things were common in the industry; on the other, she thought Huang Rong was hard to cast.

"Lin Yichen is fine enough—she at least has a touch of liveliness. If not her, there aren't many others who'd fit."

Yan Li admitted—it was true. "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" had a huge influence; everyone had their own version of Huang Rong, not to mention the iconic portrayal by Weng Meiling.

Yan Li, who had personally cast two Gu Long dramas, understood the difficulty all too well.

Not just Lin Yichen—even Hu Ge's original roles were clever and sharp; now playing the simple, upright Guo Jing, he felt slightly off.

"This drama won't be easy to distribute."

Because of the lead casting, Yan Li gave Tang Ren's "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" a question mark.

The audience for Jin Yong dramas was clear, wuxia wasn't fading, and the cast was solid—sales were unlikely to be a problem.

But to reach the industry ceiling like "The Return of the Condor Heroes" or "The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng," Cai Yinong would likely be disappointed.

Compared to this drama, Yan Li was more interested in what Cai Yinong had mentioned before he left: "The Legend of Sword and Fairy 3."

When "The Legend of Sword and Fairy" was made, Yi'an and Tang Ren jointly held the rights. Now that Tang Ren wanted to make "The Legend of Sword and Fairy 3," they couldn't bypass Yi'an.

Technically, they could bypass her—run a gray-area project, then sue. Lose the case, pay some damages—it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Such things weren't new in the industry; loopholes were plentiful, laws hard to define, and lawsuits often went either way.

But Tang Ren couldn't afford to offend Yan Li—they had to give Yi'an a share.

Fortunately, Yan Li trusted Tang Ren's production ability and didn't interfere in production—but he still claimed some roles and influence.

"The Legend of Sword and Fairy" Part One had boosted many careers. Yan Li planned to study it later—perhaps he could promote his own people…

(End of Chapter)