Chapter 355: 《The Hidden Man》Explodes, Yi

The drama《The Hidden Man》was taken seriously within Yi’an.

The reason was simple: Yan Li valued it, and from the finished product, its quality was indeed high.

But no one expected this drama could become this wildly popular.

The premiere of《The Hidden Man》aired on four satellite channels: Jingcheng, Modu, Yushi, and Heisheng; during its simultaneous broadcast, its peak viewership exceeded 10%, with an average market share of 22% or higher.

What does that even mean?!

It was already 2009; viewership figures were nowhere near as inflated as in past years, where breaking 2% or 3% was considered a massive hit—yet《The Hidden Man》’s performance could rival the annual champion.

However, the most astonishing thing wasn’t the viewership—high ratings merely meant many people watched it, but that didn’t necessarily equate to cultural fire in the public sense.

Otherwise, every year’s breakout hits and top stars would all be CCTV’s mainstream drama actors.

What made《The Hidden Man》truly terrifying was its immense influence across online, offline, and media platforms—it genuinely shattered social circles.

It didn’t just attract traditional spy drama fans, but also large numbers of young people, women, intellectuals, and housewives who had never watched such genres; offices, schools, cafeterias, and buses were all buzzing about the plot.

Countless people passionately analyzed not just the plot, but deeper themes: Yu Zecheng’s workplace tactics, Cuiping’s growth journey, and the power of faith.

Many lines became catchphrases; online, countless fan-made creations based on《The Hidden Man》’s dialogue spread widely.

On Weibo, from the premiere to the finale, at least two to three related trending topics appeared daily, and even after the finale, momentum remained strong, with related topics surpassing one hundred million reads.

This was the first television drama since Weibo launched its trending list to reach such a level of popularity.

Several main actors of《The Hidden Man》also saw massive follower growth and exposure on Weibo.

The biggest surge was Jiang Xin, who, through her role as Cuiping—direct, fiery, down-to-earth, strong, and cheerful—garnered a frenzy of fans; during the drama’s peak, she gained over a million followers in less than ten days.

Originally, Jiang Xin had just over one million Weibo followers, which was already decent—among second-tier stars, she ranked mid-to-upper tier.

Now, after《The Hidden Man》ended, her follower count had surpassed three million, and with continued buzz and reruns, her growth rate remained rapid.

According to Weibo’s backend estimates, the five-million mark was absolutely unstoppable—she was already heading toward top-tier status, even among top-tier stars, she stood out exceptionally.

Whenever Jiang Xin posted anything related to《The Hidden Man》during this period, it almost always trended, easily breaking into the top ten, and she even claimed the number one spot twice.

Sun Honglei wasn’t as extreme as Jiang Xin, mainly because his baseline was already stronger, and his acting range and appearance leaned more toward a serious actor—his audience base was larger than his fanbase.

Even so, Sun Honglei’s popularity skyrocketed, with Weibo followers increasing by the million.

This was the fame and popularity a super-hit drama brought to its core beneficiary actors.

Previously, everyone knew that starring in a great drama could make you famous, but no one had a clear sense of just how far that fame could go.

Now, Weibo’s follower growth speed and scale, though not comprehensive, provided some indirect data support.

The Jingcheng Daily called《The Hidden Man》a cultural phenomenon; Weibo Entertainment labeled it “Everyone Is Talking About The Hidden Man” and the biggest hit of the first half of 2009.

Yi’an was overjoyed!

Although Yi’an didn’t earn much from the initial broadcast rights of《The Hidden Man》，it had already recouped its costs; now that the drama had exploded, all subsequent licensing deals would surely rise in price—and not just rise, but attract numerous buyers.

The earning potential of a drama at this level was unimaginable for most ordinary film and television projects.

Everyone wanted to ride the wave, and whoever rode it had to pay; a mature distribution team could turn licensing into art, with profits potentially exceeding the value of the original rights themselves.

Of course, since《The Hidden Man》was a main melody theme, certain aspects still required caution.

If an idol drama, especially one suited for commercialization, had become as huge as《The Hidden Man》，it would have been a gold mine.

But《The Hidden Man》was also a gold mine—just a smaller one.

Direct project earnings were only one aspect; the potential gains were far greater.

When Yi’an was preparing for its IPO, The Hidden Man was a dazzling crown jewel, capable of boosting Yi’an in every possible way.

In addition, Sun Honglei had also joined《The Wind Blows》，and with his current popularity, he could bring tremendous benefits to《The Wind Blows》.

Jiang Xin was even more obvious—outside《The Hidden Man》，she already had one drama in development with Yi’an; after《The Hidden Man》exploded, Yi’an immediately announced a new collaboration with Jiang Xin.

Moreover, rumors spread that Yi’an intended to sign Jiang Xin and Sun Honglei, and Jiang Xin herself confirmed this on Weibo.

However, this “signing” differed somewhat from traditional artist contracts.

Sun was the top star at Xinbaoyuan; boss Zhao Baogang valued him deeply, and Zhao was his benefactor—he couldn’t easily leave Xinbaoyuan.

Jiang Xin was already under contract with Haiyun; now, with《The Hidden Man》’s massive success, she could rival Sun Li for the top female star position, and she already had channels to access Yi’an’s resources—there was no need to come to Yi’an and endure the internal competition, bowing to Fan Xiaopang’s whims.

So the signing Yi’an negotiated with them wasn’t an exclusive contract, but rather a film and commercial agreement.

With the rise of the entertainment market, artist management had become more professional and specialized, emphasizing resource coordination and mutual benefit.

For example, Sun Honglei and Jiang Xin’s companies, Xinbaoyuan and Haiyun, were both television-focused studios with minimal film resources and poor commercial capabilities.

As their fame and commercial value rose, they inevitably wanted to enter the film industry and secure better commercial gains.

But Xinbaoyuan and Haiyun couldn’t deliver on this, and they weren’t willing to let these two cash cows leave.

Under these circumstances, either the artist would turn hostile, sue, and forcibly terminate the contract, or they’d stall, wasting their peak development window.

This was bad for both the artist and the company, creating a lose-lose or even double-lose situation.

So Yi’an proactively reached out to Sun, Jiang, and both companies to propose cooperation.

Split Sun and Jiang’s management contracts into two parts: television projects remained with their original companies, while film and commercial ventures would be handled by Yi’an.

In this way, both companies retained ownership of the artists and could still share in film and commercial profits.

The artists gained better development opportunities without burning bridges with their original companies—they now had two patrons.

Yi’an didn’t work for free—it could reap the benefits of two top-tier artists in film and commercial ventures, and establish a degree of binding, expanding Yi’an’s star strategy.

A true three-way win!

For Yi’an, this wasn’t just a win—it was an exceptional one.

As previously mentioned, Yi’an’s star strategy had always lagged behind Huayi; it didn’t have many lead actors.

No way—Huayi’s model was like killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.

They gathered a bunch of popular stars purely to breed monsters, exhausting future potential; Yan Li didn’t want to ruin Yi’an’s internal atmosphere or artist pipeline, so he restrained himself even if it meant Yi’an’s stars remained dim.

But this time, Yan Li, through a yearly intelligence report combined with current market shifts, discussed with the artist management department and devised the “split contract” strategy.

Yi’an still had ample film and television resources, and its commercial resources were the industry’s best.

Thus, Yi’an could easily channel its surplus resources to collaborate with popular stars who lacked them.

Soon, Yi’an would gain several top-tier stars, its star power would surge, and its weaknesses would be filled.

Most people didn’t understand split contracts versus exclusive contracts—they just saw so many stars, saw the money made, and thought Yi’an was brilliant.

Meanwhile, these split-contract artists had their own restrictions; although some competition remained, it didn’t threaten Yi’an’s core artists, and internal rivalry wasn’t as brutal.

Sun and Jiang were the first artists to collaborate under Yi’an’s split-contract system, and the results exceeded Yi’an’s expectations.

You don’t realize how bad others are until you compare—aside from Yi’an, Huayi, and a few others, most companies had no such thing as film resources.

Many didn’t understand why some popular TV actors didn’t go into film—it wasn’t that they didn’t want to, but the film industry simply didn’t include them.

Compared to the film industry’s isolation, film studios at least had ways to make connections.

Commercial operations truly exposed the unprofessionalism of many film and entertainment companies—no connections, no channels, no clue how to even begin.

If someone approached them, they’d cooperate; if no one came, they’d just give up—some popular stars only knew how to act, with shockingly low commercial resources.

Yeah, they were complete amateur troupes.

Looking at these companies’ conditions, Yan Li sometimes felt he’d been too harsh when he’d previously criticized certain Yi’an departments and teams for being unprofessional.

In mainland China, Yi’an was absolutely a top-tier player in many areas.

Sun and Jiang were step one; Yi’an planned to sign a few more artists, but the bar was very high.

After all, Yi’an’s main goal was to enhance its star strategy—if you weren’t famous enough, you offered no help to Yi’an, so there was no point signing you.

Besides fame, Yi’an also preferred artists with whom it had good relationships, ensuring closer cooperation and higher responsiveness.

Li Bingbing was unlikely—her fame was already established, and Huayi wasn’t just any company; it wouldn’t easily let her bind with Yi’an.

But Sun Li of Haiyun, Hu Ge of Tangren, Tong Dawei of Chengtian, and Nie Yuan of Ciwen—all were sufficiently famous, close to Yi’an, had prior collaborations, and their companies lacked strength, making cooperation with Yi’an highly probable.

Of course, this split-contract model wasn’t exclusive to Yi’an—Huayi and others could imitate it too.

But considering Yi’an’s scale, resources, professionalism, industry standing, and strategic tie-in with Weibo, even if other companies copied it, they couldn’t match Yi’an’s advantages or scale.

…

Where there was joy, there was also suffering.

While Yi’an was busy reaping the benefits of《The Hidden Man》，Tudou.com was falling into chaos.

During a senior management meeting, a senior executive raised the many benefits of bringing《The Hidden Man》to Youku.

“Because of its strong suspense, The Hidden Man has extremely high audience retention; combined with exclusive legitimate broadcasting, it brought Youku a surge of new users and significantly boosted active user engagement.”

“According to Youku’s published data,《The Hidden Man》’s reputation and social buzz broke multiple platform records—including per-episode and total views—and can be considered Youku’s flagship asset for external promotion and attracting advertisers this year.”

“Our statistics show Youku’s advertising data related to《The Hidden Man》has risen sharply, and combined with traffic fees, Youku’s revenue from this may exceed the cost of acquiring the rights.”

“More crucially, beyond these short-term quantifiable gains, The Hidden Man’s ecological activation effect, immense influence, traffic attraction, and long-term traffic value are incalculable strategic assets.”

“And this landmark content asset, beneficial to the entire platform, is one we handed over to Youku.”

The executive finished coldly and sat down; others, directly or indirectly, turned to Wang Wei at the head of the table, whose expression was grim.

Just as he was about to speak, another executive stood up to report.

The previous executive had detailed Youku’s major gains; this one focused on Tudou.com’s cold reception and financial losses from Youku’s surge.

The market was limited; phenomenon-level works like《The Hidden Man》often triggered whale-feeding or even total domination effects.

Especially in today’s video website market, none of the platforms had cultivated stable user bases or strong content moats, and with VIP subscription services not yet widespread, user mobility remained high.

In other words, the more lively Youku was, the colder Tudou became.

Especially during the daily new episode release times of《The Hidden Man》，Tudou’s traffic plummeted to unbearable levels.

Tudou and Youku had competed for years, with wins and losses, but this time, it was the worst defeat yet.

As mentioned earlier, Tudou had been spoiled by Yi’an; most of the time, things had gone smoothly.

Because of this, when faced with this “humiliating moment,” internal reactions were fierce—even senior executives directly challenged Wang Wei in the meeting room, nearly pointing fingers at his nose.

As founder and largest shareholder, Wang Wei held a prominent position at Tudou.com.

The fact that he’s being targeted so directly shows that internal dissent at Tudou.com has reached a critical level.

Both lower-level staff and upper shareholders are deeply dissatisfied; otherwise, no one would have backed these two executives in openly defying Wang Wei.

Wang Wei has lost control of Tudou.com!

This revelation made several sharp-minded executives ponder: Yan Li’s attacks on Tudou.com are indeed fierce, but behind the strikes, there may be deeper motives and clashes at play.

Wang Wei was furious—this was a premeditated challenge to his authority, leaving him trapped between internal and external pressures.

This is undoubtedly tied to Yan Li!

Wang Wei glared dangerously at the two executives; both remained calm, and one even spoke up voluntarily.

“Manager Wang, don’t look at me like that. I’m pointing out problems because I’m responsible to the company—not because I’m targeting you.”

You &#{ }￥￠……

Do you think I’m an idiot? I can’t see the unrest inside the company? Some people want to earn favor by backing the winner are being far too obvious.

Wang Wei took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t back down now—if he did, he’d never recover his standing. He had to grit his teeth and hold on.

He spoke again, first taking full responsibility for the “Infiltration” incident—no blame-shifting—and won back some goodwill from the executives.

Then he downplayed the impact on Tudou.com: though Tudou had suffered losses, it was only a temporary slump, nowhere near existential crisis.

He shifted the blame toward Yan Li, arguing that Yi’an’s collaboration with Youku was the real cause of Tudou’s losses, and seized the moment to rally morale, vowing Tudou must remain independent and free from outside control, and so on.

Whether the reasoning held water didn’t matter—first, create division, then unite against the external enemy.

Even some neutral executives couldn’t take it anymore: “Manager Wang, you just said you wanted to negotiate—now you’re talking like this? Are you declaring war?”

No one knows how many executives have secretly aligned with Yan Li. If Wang Wei’s words reach Yan Li, it’ll be an all-out war.

Before, Wang Wei wanted to talk, so everyone held back. Now, if he’s going to fight, the impact on Tudou will be enormous.

Wang Wei’s face darkened as he growled: “I’m not the one declaring war—he Yan Li has gone too far.”

The executive who had asked the question closed his eyes. Done. This time, the mask was truly off.

Three executives stood up and left the meeting room. The rest either muttered among themselves, fell silent, or clustered around Wang Wei, anxiously questioning and pleading.

“Enough.”

Wang Wei slammed the table and roared: “What’s there to fear? When soldiers come, meet them with generals; when water comes, block it with earth.”

With that, he shoved past the crowd and stormed back to his office.

A few of Wang Wei’s staunch supporters hurried after him—likely to strategize. The remaining executives exchanged uneasy glances.

One executive, scowling, muttered: “He’s lost his mind. If Tudou goes to war with Yan Li, forget Youku—by then, KuKu6 might be crawling on top of us.”

Another sneered: “After I’m dead, let the floods rise. He’s afraid of being pushed out of the company, of losing control. To him, the company’s fate doesn’t matter.”

Someone complained: “He’s the founder and CEO. For his own selfish interests, he ignores the company’s welfare—and ours, and all these employees. He’s utterly irresponsible.”