Chapter 70: I Don

In early January, Yu Yanli obtained partial screener copies of The Conquest from Gao Qunshu.

The boss of Yian Pictures, Boss Yu, was now officially online!

Formerly, Boss Yu had been nothing but an empty title; now that he held a project, he could no longer go it alone.

He at least needed an accountant—otherwise, the money from selling the drama would go straight into his personal account, which was unprofessional, and someone had to handle the accounting and taxes.

As a startup, Yu Yanli didn’t demand much—he just needed someone who knew the business, or failing that, he could hire freelancers to patch things together until the company turned a profit.

He also needed to hire one or two workers to handle tasks like preparing documents and contracts, coordinating with the production crew, TV stations, and media outlets.

Finally, there was Boss Yu himself and his chief assistant, Lin Jiachuan, who primarily handled PR and selling the drama.

After assembling the team, Yu Yanli didn’t rent any office space—he found a small storefront in a residential building near Beiyingchang, previously used as a matchmaking agency.

After cleaning it up, buying and renting secondhand office supplies, hanging up a sign, he opened for business.

Though open for business, there was still little work—so he had the staff clean up while he and Lin Jiachuan went out networking.

“Bro, isn’t this a bit too shabby?”

On the way, Lin Jiachuan felt uneasy; Yu Yanli had handled most operations himself, and his so-called assistant role amounted to little more than running errands—he didn’t fully understand the situation.

Even now, Lin Jiachuan only knew that Yu Yanli had one drama and was currently pushing its distribution.

To Lin Jiachuan, a recent graduate who had barely acted in any dramas, Yu Yanli’s business seemed far too high-end.

Already lacking confidence, seeing Yu Yanli’s company firsthand only made him more panicked.

Several people were crammed into a tiny storefront; even the boss had no private office—just a cabinet separating his space.

The company’s staff were all new: the boss was inexperienced, and his assistant had barely been working long.

The accountant was part-time and rarely showed up; the two workers were greenhorns, one even a high school dropout who had previously worked as a hotel phone operator.

Who would want to cooperate with a company even shoddier than a makeshift troupe?

“Don’t judge by how shabby the company looks—we’re in distribution, a light-asset business. We go door-to-door to negotiate deals; as long as we look presentable, no one knows our true situation.”

“If something unexpected happens, there are plenty of short-term office rentals—we can just rent one to cover.”

Yu Yanli himself remained calm; with limited funds, he had to spend them wisely.

If he could have handled everything alone, he wouldn’t have rented even this small storefront—he’d have worked solo with Lin Jiachuan.

“...”

Lin Jiachuan scratched his head, bewildered—could you really operate like this?

But even if the company didn’t matter, how would distribution work?

Yu Yanli had told him the drama was taken over precisely because distribution had failed.

Lin Jiachuan had also asked Zhou Yiwei, who had acted in The Conquest, about Gao Qunshu and learned he was a veteran in the industry.

If even he was helpless, how could Yu Yanli possibly sell the drama?

“You don’t need to worry—I’ve got my own plan.”

Yu Yanli spoke with absolute confidence; he wasn’t an idiot—if he hadn’t been certain, he wouldn’t have signed a five-million-yuan contract with Gao Qunshu.

Just because Gao couldn’t sell it didn’t mean Yu Yanli couldn’t.

Yu Yanli had already figured out exactly how Gao had operated.

Though Gao was a veteran in the circle, as mentioned earlier, he only made low-budget dramas; his only slightly influential work was The Thirteen Murders, which was almost a documentary.

Put more bluntly, to Yu Yanli and his team, Gao was “Director Gao,” but to everyone else, he was just “Little Gao.”

Thus, Gao’s network was limited—or rather, it consisted mostly of drinking buddies who were good for meals and entertainment but useless for getting things done.

Otherwise, The Conquest wouldn’t have required Gao to fund it himself, distribute it himself, and endure ridicule so severe that Yu Yanli nearly cried just hearing about it.

Compared to Old Gao, Yu Yanli’s network wasn’t much better—in fact, it was worse—but he had his own advantage—

The Daily Intelligence System!

Ever since he first set his sights on The Conquest, Yu Yanli had been figuring out how to cheat using the system.

At first, his idea was simple: every day he’d ask himself which TV station would want The Conquest, then let the system list the names, and he’d go visit them one by one.

Later, he realized this request was too ambitious—the system triggered too rarely and was unreliable.

Yu Yanli saw that random searching was unrealistic, so he changed his approach.

Directly approaching TV stations with The Conquest had low trigger rates and poor accuracy.

But asking which TV station in a certain region preferred crime dramas was easier to trigger, or visiting multiple stations and making direct contact with their acquisition departments could yield relevant intelligence.

Once he identified promising TV stations and their contacts, he’d further engage them, using the system to dig up data, tailor his pitch to their preferences, and break them down one by one.

This strategy was impossible for anyone else to pull off.

These seasoned TV station veterans had spent years in the industry—who could possibly uncover their true preferences and intentions without immense effort?

Some would pretend to be enthusiastic about the project, making you think cooperation was possible—only to, after meals, drinks, and entertainment, invent an excuse or offer an unacceptable price and kill the deal.

After two or three such experiences, the time, energy, and money invested could drive you to madness.

But with the system, Yu Yanli could research, screen, and briefly interact to judge a partner’s sincerity—knowing whether to pursue further—with extremely high efficiency.

Others might spend a week just making initial contact with one regional station’s acquisition officer.

In a week, Yu Yanli could screen through nearly every TV station’s relevant contact in Beijing, pinpoint the highest-probability partners, and gather solid information on them.

If things went smoothly, a few more days would let him screen through Tianjin as well.

Forget half-baked Old Gao—even if you brought in a whole team of professional distribution companies, Yu Yanli could still show them how it’s done.

As long as he could sell The Conquest and get it broadcast.

Yu Yanli believed this drama, poised to compete for one of the Top Ten Most Popular Dramas of 2003, would shine brilliantly.

Once The Conquest gained influence, he wouldn’t need to visit stations one by one—TV stations would come knocking on his door, and he could sit back and count his money.

System cheat + future information

Combined, these two were the true source of Yu Yanli’s confidence in signing the five-million-yuan contract—he knew he could sell it, and he believed the drama would become a hit, earning profits far exceeding five million.

Thinking of this, Yu Yanli’s heart grew hot.

He’d had the system for over half a year, slowly accumulating small gains—now, at last, he’d found his chance. If he handled this well, earned his first pot of gold, his future would be much easier…

(End of Chapter)