CHAPTER 148: CHAPTER 130: HOU YICHUAN’S CONCERNS, VENTURING INTO THE FILM AND TELEVISION INDUSTRY

"Fine, go ahead and record."

Chu Tian always felt she was lying, but sadly he had no proof.

When he opened the door and saw that everyone else had already dispersed, Chu Tian finally heaved a sigh of relief. He had been somewhat socially embarrassed just now.

Xu Qingqiu nearly laughed out loud at his furtive expression. Seeing him close the door and start to turn back, she quickly covered her mouth, casually placed the items on the sofa, and got up to walk toward the recording studio.

Making it seem so formal, Chu Tian muttered, watching her hurried, retreating figure. Curious, he picked up the materials on the sofa and started looking through them.

Oh, a costume drama, huh?

He had initially thought it was some kind of document, but it turned out to be a script—and for a costume drama, no less.

"Is this your script? Or are you going to sing the theme song for this drama?"

"Of course, it’s the theme song. I can’t act."

Since the door to the recording studio was open, there was no barrier to their conversation.

Inside, Xu Qingqiu was adjusting the equipment. She wasn’t sure if Chu Tian was mocking her or not, and when she heard his comment about her acting, her face couldn’t help but turn red.

It wasn’t strange for her to be sensitive. After all, in this era, crossing over into different fields was all too common. Which company didn’t wish for its artists to develop in multiple areas? Cultivating one person to earn money from several avenues—everyone understood this; no one was a fool.

Previously, when she was with Baise Entertainment, the company had given Xu Qingqiu film and television scripts, and she had tried acting.

In the end, as expected, it was a disaster. Xu Qingqiu was heavily criticized; to say she had no acting talent was putting it mildly.

It turned out she really wasn’t cut out for that kind of work.

Xu Qingqiu knew this herself. She had no acting skills, and her interest didn’t lie there either.

But Baise Entertainment didn’t see it that way. They didn’t care whether she was suited for it or not.

As long as she was famous, they would find every way to monetize that fame.

It was during that period that she accepted quite a few scripts, most of which were intended to use her fame to make a quick profit.

Unsurprisingly, all those productions flopped without exception.

And it was also during that time that Xu Qingqiu’s fans rapidly deserted her, even boycotting her work.

Li Chunhua had strongly opposed these moves back then, but to no avail. After all, she was just a manager, and company decisions weren’t hers to make.

This directly led to Li Chunhua and Xu Qingqiu’s final decision to terminate her contract.

Terminating the contract was the only option. The company was clearly set on squeezing every last bit of value from her. If she didn’t leave, those terrible productions and subsequent low-quality shows and cheap commercial gigs would completely destroy her career.

These past events were supposed to be behind her. But now, with Chu Tian unexpectedly bringing up her acting, Xu Qingqiu felt a surge of shame and annoyance, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say much.

Chu Tian initially hadn’t considered this. He had transmigrated relatively recently and hadn’t experienced that period. His memories didn’t include those events, so he was oblivious to many things.

Xu Qingqiu, of course, knew he was unintentional, so although her expression was a little downcast, her tone remained fairly even.

The theme song is pretty average, too.

The clueless Chu Tian flipped through the script. He felt it was quite good—a typical costume romance drama set in the Immortal World, focusing on love, just with the setting changed to the Immortal World.

With such things, those who disliked them truly disliked them, and those who liked them truly liked them.

Different circles naturally have different tastes. It’s like those controversial hit shows: many people criticize them, but there’s always a segment of the audience that enjoys them. And if it makes money, what can you do?

This kind of production is the same. If there’s an audience for it, there’s a market. If there’s a market and it can make money, naturally, people will film it.

"Don’t talk nonsense. The director spent a long time choosing this. Where is it bad?"

"Seriously? Was everything I taught you before for nothing? Can’t you tell if this song is good or bad?"

Xu Qingqiu stood up helplessly, rolled her eyes at him, and said, "Of course, I know. But at least this song is above average, right? It’s already a decent song, especially since it’s tailor-made for the production. Do you think good pieces are that easy to find?"

Hearing her say this, Chu Tian thought about it and realized she had a point. For a tailor-made song to be above average was already pretty good; for it to be exceptional truly depended on luck. He was only critical because he had a plethora of masterpieces at his disposal, but that didn’t mean just anyone could produce good work. He himself was merely standing on the shoulders of giants, reaping the benefits. Looked at this way, it seemed he had been rather presumptuous.

Realizing his mistake, he didn’t say anything further. Besides, neither the script nor the song had anything to do with him.

After he helped Xu Qingqiu adjust the equipment, just as he was about to hear her sing, his phone suddenly rang.

It was Hou Yichuan. Glancing at Xu Qingqiu and seeing she wasn’t paying attention, Chu Tian called out a brief farewell and hurried out.

"What’s up, President Hou?"

"President Chu, how long has it been since you last came to the company? You haven’t forgotten about us, have you?"

"How could I? I’ve just been a bit busy recently."

Chu Tian touched his nose. He hadn’t forgotten; he simply couldn’t be bothered to go.

As the company manager, Hou Yichuan’s competence was undeniable. He organized everything and reported it all to Chu Tian.

So, although Chu Tian rarely visited, he was still well-informed about the company’s status.

The company had been developing well recently. The revenue share from Xu Qingqiu’s album had been deposited, and his company had been expanding with the funds.

The number of employees had rapidly grown from three to over seventy, and several new departments had been added. Recently, Hou Yichuan was also preparing to assemble their own production team to venture into the film and television industry.

Wang Zhiyong had reviewed Hou Yichuan’s plan and initially hadn’t intended to intervene, giving him the authority to test the waters with projects under five million yuan, regardless of success or failure.

But unexpectedly, Hou Yichuan had called him directly.

Having just managed to placate this zealous general, Chu Tian quickly changed the subject.

"Do you have something urgent to discuss?"

Meaning: If you have something, say it quickly. If not, I’m hanging up.

Of course, Hou Yichuan understood the implication. His heart was a maelstrom of emotions: distress, joy, apprehension, speechlessness—a whole mix of feelings.

The good news: his boss had money, didn’t interfere, and stayed out of sight, giving him a great deal of autonomy. The bad news: his boss didn’t interfere and stayed out of sight, giving him *too much* autonomy, to the point where he didn’t know what he should be doing.

"It’s like this, Boss. I’ve just put together a production team. We cover pre-production and production, with a complete setup for screenwriting, creative direction, and filming. It’s robust enough to support a small-scale film or television project."

"Well, isn’t that excellent? What’s the issue?"

Chu Tian nodded as he listened. It sounded like Hou Yichuan had done thorough work. Why was he calling him?

Hou Yichuan, on the other end of the line, nearly rolled his eyes. He could only manage a wry smile and say, "President Chu, Boss, it *is* good, but the project still needs your final approval. I’ve selected a few properties we previously acquired, intending to develop them into IPs, but I’ve found them to be very challenging."

After waiting a moment and hearing no response from Chu Tian, he continued to explain, "I discussed it with the main creative team, and they also feel it’s somewhat risky. Given our crew’s current capabilities, we might very well ruin the IP."

Now Chu Tian understood. They wanted to launch a project but lacked confidence, afraid of wasting money and messing it up.

To put it bluntly, the team lacked experience in project management. This would be the company’s first such project. If they failed, it would not only damage morale but also likely cause the boss to lose confidence in them.