Traffic Star Development Program

Chapter 68 Breaks 5

Zeng Hao paused for a moment, then gently placed the pen on the table.

Between "Lost Sandbar" and "The Brightest Star in the Night Sky," any normal businessperson would immediately choose the latter.

With a wide audience and high traffic, you can't go wrong no matter how you sing it.

But the scariest thing about the stage is that it "cannot be wrong".

Tell her to sing "Lost Sandbar".

Xu Wen's hand, gripping the phone, paused, a look of disbelief on his face: "That's...that's it?"

"Um."

Xu Wen quickly typed a few words and sent them. Less than thirty seconds later, Xu Jiaying replied with a single word: Okay.

Clean and efficient, without any unnecessary delays.

Xu Wen stared at the screen for a long time, his lips twitching, but he couldn't hold back any longer: "President Zeng, aren't you afraid she'll have a bad performance in the first episode? The production team said—"

"What the production team said is their business." Zeng Hao pulled the schedule back in front of him. "After the first episode airs, go and talk to those three brand representatives and tell them that Xu Jiaying's cooperation window is in our hands. If they really want to cooperate, we can talk again after the fourth episode."

Xu Wen was truly stunned this time, his eyes widened, and he almost dropped his phone: "The first episode hasn't even started yet, and you're already scheduling the fourth episode and beyond?"

"Um."

"What if she messes up her first project..." He lowered his voice instinctively, "...what if it fails?"

Zeng Hao raised his eyes and glanced at him indifferently.

Just one glance.

Xu Wen shrank back and immediately changed his mind: "Understood, I'll go say hello right now."

...

The fourth season of "I Am a Singer" will premiere on Friday, January 15th at 1 PM.

Zeng Hao didn't go to the scene; he stayed alone in his office, his computer displaying the real-time viewership curve, which jumped up and down like a heartbeat.

Xu Jiaying was the seventh to appear.

This ranking was originally reserved for big names in the industry, so it was a bit of a surprise that she was ranked here.

When she first stepped onto the stage, the live chat was filled with questions from casual viewers: "Taiwanese singer? Never heard of her before, who is she?"

Until the prelude to "Lost Sandbar" came on.

The sound level noticeably decreased throughout the recording session.

She made no exaggerated movements, no dramatic entrance; she simply stood there quietly. When she uttered her first words, her breath was heavy, and her emotions were genuine. She wasn't acting out sadness; she was laying bare her innermost feelings on the stage, bit by bit.

She doesn't possess the kind of striking, aggressive beauty that immediately captivates. Her face is small, her features soft and clean, her eyes carrying a natural gentleness. Yet, once she stands under the lights, a restrained yet resolute aura emerges. She doesn't try to steal the spotlight, doesn't strike a pose, just sings quietly. But the moment she opens her mouth, you can't look away. That beauty is deep within her voice, a comfortable beauty that emanates from her very being—not dazzling, but unforgettable.

As soon as the chorus started, the comments section became completely deserted.

This is a rare occurrence in live-streamed variety shows.

Either it's so boring that no one watches, or everyone is so engrossed in the singing that they forget to type.

The last note faded away.

The applause erupted, louder than the post-production mixing; more than half of the five hundred audience members stood up.

The rankings came out quickly: first place.

Xu Wen's WeChat exploded with a long string of exclamation marks followed by a voice message. Zeng Hao didn't respond, only replying with two words: Continue.

第二期。

"Cultivating Love" ranked sixth.

Online comments are sharply divided. Half say the first round was just luck, while the other half say too many people don't understand it. Xu Wen's brand representatives are frantic, urging him daily to sign contracts while the hype is still high.

Zeng Hao only replied with one word: Wait.

It was a little after 3 p.m. the Thursday before the fourth episode was recorded.

A message came through.

A moderately well-known music critic blogger posted a long article after the third episode aired, saying that Xu Jiaying's song choices were inconsistent and lacked a stable, recognizable style, and that she was unlikely to survive until the knockout stage. The post was shared nearly 20,000 times, but also received a lot of negative comments.

Xu Wen rushed in, clutching his phone, and shoved it at Zeng Hao, his face almost breaking down: "President Zeng, this... should we have the PR team fight back? Otherwise, the brand will panic when they see this."

Zeng Hao scanned the phone for ten seconds, then pushed it back: "No need."

"What about the brand..."

"We'll contact you after the fourth episode airs, not today." Zeng Hao flipped the schedule to Xu Jiaying's page, but the song for the fourth episode was still blank; the production team hadn't made a final confirmation yet.

But he knew better than anyone what would be filled in that square.

It's *Lilian*.

The recording is scheduled for February 5th, but the broadcast will be delayed by a few more days. However, the outcome has already been decided, and it has absolutely nothing to do with what that music critic blogger says.

"All three brands are urging us, and the sports drink is the most urgent. The business manager sent two WeChat messages today." Xu Wen stood at the door, his phone screen facing outwards, the red dots of unread messages glaringly bright.

"Make them wait another two hours." Zeng Hao's eyes didn't leave the computer screen; the live viewership for the fourth episode of the fourth season of "I Am a Singer" was still fluctuating.

The intro to "Lilian" had barely finished when the rankings were announced: third place.

Xu Wen didn't react for a moment, paused for a second, glanced down at his phone, then looked up at Zeng Hao: "Third, it's better than last week... but what does two hours mean?"

"The popularity curve." Zeng Hao minimized the viewing window and cut out a simple line graph, with the number of topics on the vertical axis and the time on the horizontal axis. "After the program ends, there will be a peak, which will last forty minutes to two hours after the show ends. Weibo, Douban, and the comment section will all be flooded with secondary fermentation. Brands receive quotes at the highest point, are most emotional, sign contracts the fastest, and negotiate prices the best."

Xu Wen stared at the picture for several seconds, his expression somewhat complicated, as if he was understanding this logic for the first time.

"Then... I'll contact you again in two hours?"

"Wait for me to speak before you move."

Xu Wen put his phone back in his pocket, stood there pondering for a moment, then took it out again: "Should I tell the sports drink manager to wait a moment?"

"Let him wait." Zeng Hao's gaze returned to the screen.

"OK."

Xu Wen withdrew.

Less than three minutes later, his voice, hushed as he made a phone call, drifted in intermittently: "Yes, yes, Mr. Zeng is still evaluating... Don't worry, I'll definitely give you an answer tonight."

After hanging up the phone, he poked his head back in, lowering his voice even further: "He asked... if he could give me a price range first."

"cannot."

"……good."

Two hours later.

The Weibo hashtag #IAmSingerLilian# has garnered over 30 million views.

The top-rated comment came from a music blogger with over 100,000 followers, who hit the nail on the head in one sentence: This is what "I Am a Singer" should be about—not showing off skills, but being authentic. The comment was shared nearly 40,000 times, with the comments section filled with agreement.

Zeng Hao looked at it for thirty seconds, closed the page, and dialed Xu Wen's internal line directly.

"Contact all three parties and discuss this tonight."

...

The sports drink's business manager was Zhou Tao, around thirty-five or thirty-six years old. He had negotiated with several top celebrities and was very experienced. He came in with an assistant and sat down to go over the brand's requirements: a six-month endorsement, two rounds of promotional material shoots, and at least four social media posts per month.

Zeng Hao gently pushed the price list in front of him.

Zhou Tao flipped through the document, his gaze lingering on the number column. He looked up at Zeng Hao and said, "President Zeng, this price is almost 40% higher than our budget."

"Teacher Xu came in first place in the first episode, and you weren't here," Zeng Hao said calmly. "You came in sixth place in the second episode too. Now you're here in third place in the fourth episode, with 30 million views."

Zhou Tao didn't say anything.

"This is the price for being late." Zeng Hao pointed to the price list. "And this price is only valid until midnight tonight."

The assistant beside Zhou Tao glanced at her furtively. Zhou Tao looked down and flipped through the price list again, stopping when she reached the additional clauses: "During the exclusive period, Ms. Xu will not accept similar competing products, that's fine. But this clause—'the artist carries competing products in public'—is too broad."

"Look at Article 7." Zeng Hao casually flipped to that page. "The definition is 'within the scope of the competitor list specified in writing by the brand,' not a general term. You create your own list, and it takes effect on the day of submission; previous lists don't count."

Zhou Tao whispered a few words to his assistant, then looked up again: "Six months, can it be extended to eight months? And the price can be adjusted slightly."

"We can discuss it." Zeng Hao placed his pen next to the contract. "Eight months, 15% increase in total price, plus one more material shooting session."

Zhou Tao remained silent for fifteen seconds, then picked up the pen and signed.

The other two were similar. One was a skincare brand, and the other was an e-commerce platform. The skincare brand went through a tug-of-war over content review, but Zeng Hao's statement that "brands must provide written feedback within 72 hours; otherwise, it will be considered automatically approved" effectively sealed the deal, and the contract was signed smoothly.

All three deals were finalized, and it was past midnight.

After seeing off the last group of people, Xu Wen returned and gently closed the door. He placed three contracts on Zeng Hao's desk, his eyes almost too tired to keep open, but he couldn't hide his excitement.

"Sister Liu did the math." He turned his phone screen around. "The first payments from the three companies combined are expected to reach 8.2 million. Adding that to what's already in the account, the total will be a little over 53 million."

Fifty-three million.

Previously, the film "What Kind of Conduct" had swallowed up 31 million, leaving the company's accounts already tight and struggling to even breathe.

Now I feel much more relaxed. I won't say I'm rich and powerful, but at least I don't have to worry about money every day.

Zeng Hao neatly stacked the three contracts, pushed them into the file shelf, and said nothing.

Xu Wen stood there for a few seconds, receiving neither praise nor comment. He cleared his throat and cautiously began, "President Zeng, you knew she could sing 'Lilian' in the fourth episode, so you knew all along, didn't you?"

It's not a question, it's a confirmation.

Zeng Hao glanced at him.

Xu Wen immediately changed his tune: "It's nothing, it's nothing, I was just saying it offhand. I'll go pack my things."

The talent show was the first thing iQiyi extended an olive branch to.

It wasn't an official letter; it was a private message from a business associate named Chen from iQiyi to Xu Wen. The gist was that the platform was planning a custom-produced variety show for the second half of 2016, and there was a slot available for a talent show; they were looking for a partner and asked if Sunshine Entertainment was interested in discussing it.

The timing of the news was perfect.

It happened to be the night "Lilian" aired, when the brand negotiations were about the second company.

When Zeng Hao saw the news, the three contracts had not yet been signed, but he knew better than anyone what the news meant.

iQiyi is going to do a talent show in the second half of 2016.

He knew this schedule better than anyone inside the platform.

The boy named Xu Kunkun hasn't become a big star yet, but how far he can go in the future remains to be seen.

The problem is, just because iQiyi approached them doesn't mean that the slot belongs to Sunshine Entertainment.

The rules for customized variety shows are very realistic: the platform provides the money, the production company provides the content, and the power of discourse is inherently in the hands of the platform.

The most problematic clauses in the contract are those with "one-vote veto power over content review".

It's impossible to explain clearly. The production company is just an employee; if there are successes, the platform benefits, but if there are failures, they have to take the blame.

Xu Wen added insult to injury: Dingsheng Media is already in contact with the management company of a Korean boy band, and it is said that they are discussing the introduction of the group, aiming for the same time slot.

Zeng Hao starred the WeChat message, then pulled out the stack of iQiyi contracts again, found Article 9 in the appendix, and went through each page, mentally reviewing the location, loopholes, and counter-arguments of the key clauses.

When talking to iQiyi, you can't just talk about the program content.

We need to discuss revenue sharing structures, the boundaries of content moderation, and the ownership of artist contracts.

If these three points cannot be agreed upon, even if you get the slot, it will be a hot potato.

Dingsheng's introduction of a Korean boy band looks impressive and lively right now. But Zeng Hao knows in his heart that this move won't last.

But now is not the time to say it out loud.

...

The next day, Zeng Hao looked at the person opposite him, waiting for him to speak first.

"Our platform has a complete review process for content moderation."

Chen, the business manager, placed his teacup on the table and said unhurriedly, "The production company submits the content, and the platform approves it before we can proceed to the next step. This is the industry standard, and I think Mr. Zeng should understand."

Zeng Hao didn't speak, his finger flipping to page eleven of the draft contract. The corresponding clause in that section was marked with a red box—he had read the entire draft last night, and this was the only clause he had circled three times.

"A veto right for content review." He pushed the draft back, pointed to that line with his fingertip, and said, "President Chen, I've seen this word in the custom contracts between iQiyi and the other two production companies, and none of them contain these four words."

Chen, the business manager, paused for a moment, his expression unchanged, but his eyes narrowed slightly: "President Zeng, that's a matter of contract details, we can—"

"It's not about the details." Zeng Hao's tone remained flat. "The veto power is written in, which means that even if you don't change a single word of what I've done, I can't broadcast it. I can stop it at any time. This isn't censorship; this is control."

Chen Shangwu was silent for three seconds, picked up his teacup, didn't drink it, and then put it down.

The legal representative from the platform who had come along flipped through the folders and wrote two words on a notepad.

Xu Wen sat next to Zeng Hao, his eyes scanning back and forth between Chen Shangwu and the notebook, but he didn't dare to say a word.

"So, what Mr. Zeng means is..." Chen, the business manager, spoke again, leaning back slightly, a bit more relaxed than before, "This clause can be changed?"

"It can be changed." Zeng Hao turned to the third page of the draft. "Change it to 'Content reviewers must provide specific modification suggestions in writing within 72 hours of submission. Failure to do so will be considered as approval. Each modification suggestion shall not exceed three points, and must point to the risk of violation and shall not involve any adjustment to the creative direction.'"

The legal department paused for a moment.

Chen, the business manager, narrowed his eyes and counted on his fingers: "72 hours, three, not related to the creative direction... Mr. Zeng, the changes are a bit too much, I need to go back and ask for instructions."