CHAPTER 286: CHAPTER 213: NOT A SINGLE FIGHTER_2

But it ultimately didn’t align with the values of capital and was thus inevitably abandoned.

Now, however, am I the one who’s fallen behind the times? Li Chunhua wondered. Her earlier smile seemed to mock this era, as well as her own wishful thinking.

Chu Tian remained silent on this matter; such an outcome was simply an inevitability of the times. But he knew very well that this abnormal prosperity was only temporary. Ultimately, the market would return to rationality, focusing on real strength in the end.

It was the same in his previous life: the "pretty boy" economy boomed for a while, but as time passed, singing skills, acting ability, and the quality of work once more became the standard in everyone’s minds. Those who relied on their looks, their personas, or their marketing faded away after just a few years, with very few remaining.

"Sister Hua, it’s still too early to draw conclusions." Seeing her like this, Chu Tian could only offer a word of comfort.

"Too early? The 24-hour results are so impressive! It at least shows that the market’s receptiveness is extremely high. An album’s sales surpassing fifteen million in a single day—doesn’t that prove something?"

"Prove something? That he has a lot of fans? That his fans are willing to spend money?" Chu Tian looked at Li Chunhua seriously, speaking in a calm tone. "Come, Sister Hua, look at the growth curve. The first hundred thousand copies sold in one minute. The subsequent hundred thousand took half an hour. The total sales volume in the first three hours exceeded three hundred thousand. And after that?" Chu Tian explained, dissecting the data point by point while scribbling on a piece of paper.

"See? Three hundred thousand in the first three hours—that’s the fans’ purchasing power. But in the following 21 hours, sales increased by less than one hundred thousand. What does that tell you?" Chu Tian prompted.

Li Chunhua’s eyes widened. "A lack of staying power!"

"The fan economy is indeed powerful," Chu Tian continued, "but ultimately, it’s the quality of the work that matters. Without real quality, no one will pay. The market isn’t dominated by fans, but by the general public. The public’s money doesn’t grow on trees; they analyze rationally, scrutinize value, and compare options. If your work is excellent, they’ll buy it. If your work is crap, then no matter how much your fans praise it or how powerful your marketing is, you won’t get a single penny from them. Fans are only a part of the market, not the entire market!"

Having said this, he put down his pen, stood up straight, and looked at Li Chunhua. "Sister Hua," he asked, "what were Qingqiu’s album sales? And her 24-hour sales?"

Li Chunhua pondered for a moment before responding, "At that time, it had just broken 1.8 million in 24 hours and reached 2.4 million in 36 hours..."

"And now?" Chu Tian pressed.

"Now? Hold on..." Li Chunhua was still processing the figures she had just recited. She hadn’t fully grasped it before, but thinking about it carefully now, she realized what a miracle Xu Qingqiu had achieved back then. She picked up the phone and asked the marketing department to tally the total current sales of Xu Qingqiu’s last album.

Soon, a message arrived. When Li Chunhua saw it, she was completely stunned.

"How much is it?" Chu Tian asked.

"Four... four million two hundred thousand..." Li Chunhua stammered. "How can it be so high?"

Reacting to her astonishment, Chu Tian chuckled, a hint of mockery in his expression. "Sister Hua, your persistence was correct. I know what you’re thinking: that Jiang Haoyue is simply different from Xu Qingqiu. You have many concerns—for instance, that he’s currently competing with several others, that he’s still young, that their statuses are different, and so on. But what about now? He’s selling four hundred thousand, five hundred thousand, maybe even six hundred thousand copies. But how much will that grow later? As I said, ultimately, it’s the quality of the work that matters. Whether through word-of-mouth or sharing, only solid quality will make people willingly buy it."

He wasn’t just saying this casually. Back then, how many people said Director Zhou was past his prime, that he was no longer popular? And what happened? When his latest album was released, it sold eight million copies in one year, topping global charts. Were the songs good? Honestly, they were far from his peak. So why did so many people buy it? It was simply in a league of its own, a gem shining amidst a pile of mediocrity. After listening, most people might not be able to pinpoint what was so good about it, but it boiled down to one thing: it was listenable.

What makes a classic a classic is that it’s endlessly listenable. Only after many years, by achieving high recognizability and enduring appeal, does something become a classic.

Watching Li Chunhua lost in thought, Chu Tian said no more.

His judgment proved correct. Apart from the explosive first-day sales, every subsequent release lost momentum. Jiang Haoyue, who had initially been far ahead, saw his growth falter. Even his team’s desperate marketing efforts were futile. When his album sales plateaued at 1.2 million copies, they stalled completely. Negative news even began to circulate within his fan community. One fan had spent all her savings to buy over a thousand albums. Yet, the fan group continued to pressure everyone to buy more. When she meekly stated she had no money left, she was immediately kicked out. This incident sparked an online debate, but it was quickly suppressed by public relations.

Conversely, Yu Xin and Huamei’s Pan Meichen, who had released their albums earliest, showed signs of a late surge. Each of their albums featured an excellent title track that powerfully drove subsequent sales. More than 48 hours after their releases, these two were slowly catching up, nearly surpassing Jiang Haoyue. Even so, they posed no threat to Xu Qingqiu’s previous achievements.

Chu Tian merely watched coolly from the sidelines, his own calculations already made.

Ordinarily, Jiang Haoyue’s results would have been better, but he couldn’t withstand Chu Tian’s sabotage. The usual marketing strategy involved hyping an album from the production stage, then continuously introducing fresh content, like a hook, to keep fans captivated. This technique, known as "whetting the appetite," was highly effective, directly manipulating fans’ psychology and making them yearn for the product. Over time, this yearning could transform into an obsession, almost an inner torment—an itch that could only be scratched by purchasing the album. When the album was finally released, an explosion in sales was practically guaranteed.

But then Chu Tian entered the picture, consistently causing trouble just as the other side began their marketing. If they launched a major marketing push, he would immediately release some explosive news. If they tried to guide public sentiment, he would introduce a new trending topic to distract everyone. One moment it was a new variety show, the next a new song, then a concert announcement. In short, after several rounds of this, the opposition’s marketing efforts faltered, and their attempts at psychological manipulation failed.

Just as their fans were getting hyped, their excitement would be disrupted by Chu Tian’s counter-moves. Just as they began to build momentum, their fans’ attention would be diverted by a new sensation. Whether fans were getting distracted and chasing the latest buzz, or engaging in online arguments and flame wars, the marketing campaign was effectively dead in the water. It was like a hypnotist trying to work while someone next to them kept banging a gong and beating a drum—how could it possibly succeed?

The result was that when the album was released, the fans’ blind devotion hadn’t reached its peak; their fanatical fervor was insufficient, so sales never truly took off.

To put it bluntly, their common sense hadn’t been completely suppressed. With their wits about them, they became more conscious of their money and would weigh whether a purchase was worth it. Perhaps they’d buy one or two albums as a token gesture. But the throngs of fans once willing to spend their last dime to support their idol had dwindled to a small fraction. The majority had become much more rational, and consequently, the sales figures were disappointing.

According to historical data, Jiang Haoyue’s previous album had sold over 1.2 million copies in 24 hours. For a while, his fans had praised him to the heavens, which was the source of Li Chunhua’s concern. Now, however, the current album’s sales didn’t even reach half of that previous tally—it was a complete flop. Li Chunhua had assumed the other side simply hadn’t put in enough effort, unaware they were already running on fumes.

And Jiang Haoyue wasn’t the only victim; others suffered the same fate. The current situation was dire: all the companies that had entered the competition were lamenting their losses, all reduced to mere cannon fodder.

As the dust began to settle, the various companies started to panic. They had no choice but to worry—their revenues were severely below expectations. What would happen to all the money they had invested? Failing to recoup their investment was one thing, but what about their subsequent marketing plans? This wasn’t just about one album; it was a crucial link in their entire marketing strategy, with each part interconnected. If this part failed, the subsequent stages would be in jeopardy. If album sales were poor, what about the planned concert tours? How could they continue to fleece their fans?