Chapter Twelve: All He Wanted Was to Write a Book—What Wrong Had He Done?
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After leaving the stage, Yu Wei’s first instinct was to take notes…
Although online novels are not known for their literary merit, they still require one to hear, see, and feel things for oneself. It is difficult to write vividly about anything one has never experienced.
There was a running joke in the comments: “Have you ever been a certain kind of person? You’re just making things up.” In truth, there was some sense to it.
A poor nobody like Yu Wei could hardly imagine the life of the rich. Even after racking his brains, all he could come up with were luxury cars, mansions, and famous watches—ideas that were more fantasy than reality.
Yu Wei wrote about the entertainment industry. For someone in that field, having actually performed onstage was an invaluable experience. He had to make use of it.
However, before he could put pen to paper backstage, several teammates stopped him…
More precisely, they should now be called his former teammates.
“You sly dog. Keeping quiet while making a big move?”
After watching Yu Wei’s performance, their attitudes had undergone a complete reversal.
They had been trainees together. They were not especially close, but they knew each other’s circumstances well enough.
They knew exactly what Yu Wei had been like before. Aside from his face and his honest, dependable nature, he had seemed to possess no redeeming qualities at all…
His family was poor, he had no connections, and his abilities were unremarkable. In short, he had nothing going for him and was good at nothing.
But things were different now.
They had heard from Zhang Lingye that “Heart Wall” had actually been written by Yu Wei himself. What did that mean?
It meant he needed neither connections nor resources. He himself was his own resource…
These days, singer-songwriters were exceedingly rare.
Especially after short videos became wildly popular, fewer and fewer people were willing to settle down and create. The music industry had entered the Age of the Great Tailors: alter a little here, patch a little there, and another song was born.
Under such circumstances, what kind of standing would a young man who could independently create excellent music possess?
Without even discussing his potential for future development, a single song like this would guarantee a strong response. With a little marketing, he could become the new “musical prodigy” of his generation…
In entertainment-industry novels, there was one question that could never be avoided after the protagonist finished singing: How much was the song worth?
Novels usually gave a specific figure, but in real life, the price of a song was rarely discussed on its own.
After the arrival of the internet age, transactions in show business were no longer a matter of getting what one paid for. Rather than asking how much something was worth, it was better to ask how much it could be made worth.
Take a stuffed toy. Its production cost might be only a few dozen, but if it came with intellectual-property value, celebrity appeal, and a wave of hype, its price could soar beyond imagination…
The same applied to this song.
How much was the song itself worth? And how much more could it be worth if it were tied to Yu Wei, its creator, and marketed alongside the image of a “musical prodigy”?
The song mattered, but not that much. What truly mattered was the person who had written it…
Perhaps it was only Yu Wei’s imagination, but he felt that the attitudes of his former teammates had changed noticeably after he left the stage.
On the surface, they still treated him like a brother, yet there was a hint of caution in their manner.
How should he put it? They were no longer as relaxed around him as they had been before.
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Their feelings were complicated. Surprise, relief, doubt, envy, respect—even flattery and ingratiation—any of these were possible. After all, people themselves were complicated creatures.
If a fellow writer with whom he had spent his days chatting and lamenting their failures suddenly achieved godlike success with a single book, Yu Wei’s own state of mind would certainly change as well…
Before he had a chance to spend much more time with his former teammates, his manager, Liu Ning, arrived.
In the workplace, Sister Liu usually wore a perpetually stern expression. Tonight, however, she was smiling, and there was no hidden motive or calculation behind it.
She was the only one who was genuinely happy for him.
Liu Ning directly summoned Yu Wei away under the pretext of work, removing him from the center of trouble and cutting off the others’ hopes.
How could she not know what schemes these youngsters were plotting?
As they watched Yu Wei leave, the few of them were left with complicated feelings. In the past, they had never regarded him as anyone important, and their relationship had never gone beyond that of superficial friends.
Now, it was too late for regret…
In the entertainment industry, marketing could get you moving quickly, but only ability could carry you far. Moving fast did not count as victory; going the distance did.
They wanted so badly to improve!
Zhang Yeling had known for some time, so his state of mind was fairly calm. Apart from him, Qiyuan was the most composed of them all.
Of course he envied Yu Wei’s song, but he also understood that a minor success depended on promotion, while a major success depended on fate.
More than envy, what Qiyuan felt was frustration. Yu Wei’s song had shattered the confidence he had always possessed…
Throughout four years, he had never regarded this mediocre teammate as a rival, nor had he ever truly looked him in the eye.
It had taken Qiyuan four years to defeat Zhang Lingye.
But Yu Wei had defeated him in a single night.
This inconspicuous teammate had stepped onto the stage and crushed him in an instant…
Qiyuan did not know how to deal with it.
He forced out a bitter smile and was about to find the recording and listen to the song a few more times when a new message from his younger sister appeared at the top of the screen.
Was she here to make fun of him?
In the past, whenever she mocked him, Qiyuan would fire back immediately. But today, having been dealt such a blow, he chose to lie flat and let her ridicule him.
Qiyuan prepared himself to be laughed at. Who could have guessed that Qiluo An was actually contacting him to ask for Yu Wei’s information?
Why did that make him feel even worse?
…
Liu Ning took Yu Wei back to sign a new contract.
After RUIKO disbanded, his previous contract had expired. Tonight was supposed to be Yu Wei’s final performance, but he had danced his way back from the brink.
They had said he would drown, and instead he had performed underwater ballet?
In more than a decade in the industry, Liu Ning had never seen anyone save himself in such a way. After all, those facing the threat of leaving show business were usually mediocre talents who had nothing with which to turn the situation around.
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Yu Wei was an exception. With this song, what did four years of obscurity matter?
They were nothing more than a little wind and frost.
“The company was afraid that waiting too long might lead to complications, so they asked me to contact you about renewing your contract tonight.” The smile never left Liu Ning’s lips, and she was much more talkative than usual.
“They’re mainly worried that another agency might poach you.”
Ever since the music director had spoken with upper management about changing the song, renewing Yu Wei’s contract had already been placed on the agenda.
After watching his performance that evening, Firefly Chinese Media became even more determined to keep him. He was handsome, talented, and already had a signature work. Why would they not sign someone like that?
It was worth mentioning that celebrity contracts were not the soul-selling documents novels made them out to be. They left considerable room for negotiation.
Artist contracts generally fell into three categories: commercial representation, management, and full-service contracts.
A full-service contract was what people called a “soul contract.” It lasted for many years—eight or ten, sometimes even longer—and granted the company complete control over the celebrity’s personal rights, commercial partnerships, and derivative intellectual property.
Once someone signed such a contract, they could accept only the work arranged by the company. They had almost no personal freedom, but in return, the company would direct a great deal of resources their way.
Full-service contracts were generally signed by complete newcomers and aging veterans. Newcomers had to sell their lives if they wanted to rise, while veterans simply lived off their old achievements until retirement.
Yu Wei had no intention of considering a full-service contract. He was willing to work for someone, but selling his life was out of the question. Besides, he truly did not lack resources…
The other two types were partial contracts. Commercial representation was similar to a business partnership: the company merely represented the artist’s works and arranged commercial opportunities, leaving the artist a considerable degree of freedom.
A commercial contract suited someone who already had successful works. Without any achievements, the company would not take you seriously, and there was no guaranteed income.
A management contract, meanwhile, was a two-way choice. The artist’s professional focus would rest with the company, but they would still retain a certain amount of free time.
The advantage was security, but the artist still had to listen to the company.
Commercial representation meant lending one’s name. Management meant working for the company. A full-service contract meant selling one’s life. The advantages and disadvantages of all three were obvious.
“A commercial contract will do. I’ll sell my talent, not my soul.”
Yu Wei made his choice quickly, as though he had decided long ago.
Liu Ning had actually hoped he would sign a management contract. Even if he failed to write another song afterward, he could still thrive under such an arrangement.
Nevertheless, she respected Yu Wei’s choice.
Since he had chosen commercial representation, it meant he had great confidence in the works he would create in the future…
In reality, Yu Wei had no choice at all.
Both management and full-service contracts required that an artist hold no other contracts simultaneously.
But Yu Wei was still a contracted author…
He only wanted to write books. What had he done wrong?
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