Chapter 53: The Contract (Second Update - Please Vote for Me)

Li He thought for a moment and said, “They’re considering signing both of us, but I’m not sure if Jiang Qi will bring it up or if Shengshi Entertainment will send someone else.”

First, He Luoluo’s performance of “Dispel Sorrow” became an overnight sensation, then Jiang Qi’s rendition of “Bubble” dominated the charts, and now there was yet another unfamiliar song making waves. Even though it was just a short excerpt, the quality was unmistakable.

Li He wasn’t yet aware that He Xier’s song “A Bridge Called Fate” had already been chosen by director Wenshan as the closing theme for his new film. Other entertainment companies only knew that “Dispel Sorrow” and “Bubble” were written and composed by Jiabei, and hadn’t realized that the half-finished song sung by He Xier was also Jiabei’s work. Otherwise, they would have gone mad with excitement.

Jiabei’s talent had thoroughly won over Shengshi Entertainment. Setting aside the sheer quality, Jiabei’s prolific output alone had left many in shock. Since He Luoluo’s breakout in April, Jiang Qi’s release of the cut version of “Bubble” in May, and He Xier’s partial hit song in June, it had been one high-quality song per month. Even the most acclaimed lyricists and composers couldn’t guarantee such output—producing a hit every month was simply too difficult.

What they didn’t know was that there were still several songs gathering dust in the system’s vault. They thought it was one song per month, but little did they know there was a stockpile, with even better ones waiting in reserve.

Upon hearing this, He Luo spoke seriously: “Shengshi Entertainment sent me a private message too. As you instructed, I replied that I’d consider it, and didn’t give them my phone number or chat ID.”

Ever since “Bubble” began dominating the June charts, Li He had told Wuchizhitu to start reaching out to other entertainment companies. Most domestic companies had contacted He Luoluo, and he had talked with quite a few of them.

“Tell me about your findings,” Li He said to Wuchizhitu.

While He Luo was interacting with industry companies, he was also gathering information through various channels to better understand each one.

“There are many entertainment companies in the country—dozens, in fact,” He Luo said earnestly. “In terms of business, signed artists, and development direction, they can be divided into three main sectors.”

He continued, “Those are the music sector, the film and television sector, and the variety show sector.”

“Within the music sector alone, there are more than a dozen companies in the industry. The four with the richest resources are Shengshi Entertainment, Splendid Entertainment, Lazy Culture, and Brothers Entertainment.”

“But since last year, these companies have also begun venturing into film and television and variety shows. For example, Shengshi Entertainment will launch its first film, ‘Guardian,’ in July, and Lazy Culture will debut its first variety show, ‘Slow Pace,’ in August.”

So well-categorized?

Li He’s previous life hadn’t involved the entertainment industry, and he wasn’t especially familiar with how companies split resources in the field, but he figured things were similar here. So Shengshi Entertainment was one of the top four companies in the business.

Li He asked, “What kind of offers are they making? Surely they’re discussing terms when they contact you.”

“They are,” He Luo replied calmly. “The differences aren’t huge. Brothers Entertainment offers the highest cut, but Shengshi treats its signed artists the best.”

That had been evident during the May competition between Jiang Qi and Yin Mengna over the cut version. Shengshi Entertainment was flexible, while Brothers Entertainment was less so—their resources were locked in, and nothing changed unless you were influential enough to sway the company’s top brass.

As for the film and variety show sectors, the blasted system had already drawn three lottery rounds and hadn’t produced a single script or program plan. Those two sectors didn’t need consideration for now—maybe if the system ever spat something out in the future. For the moment, Li He’s focus was on music, and he still had several songs up his sleeve. All of them meant a wealth of negative emotion points.

“Which company are you leaning toward?” Li He asked Wuchizhitu.

He Luo tilted his head, thinking. “Shengshi Entertainment, I suppose. After all, there are people we know there—Jiang Qi, myself... even He Xier is there.”

What was he about to say after “myself?” Was he going to say my sister...? Li He shot a suspicious glance at Wuchizhitu.

Almost slipping up, He Luo quickly lowered his head, determined not to let his best friend see him blush. Dammit, why couldn’t he keep his mouth in check? How could he almost say that? What an embarrassment. He Luo wished he could disappear into the floor.

“We’ll see what terms they offer. If the contract length is too long, we’ll pass,” Li He decided. The number of years mattered greatly to him—a contract for eight or ten years would be like a shackle, making it impossible to switch companies.

Even though he hadn’t worked in the entertainment industry in his previous life, he’d heard enough stories about artists being dissatisfied with their contracts, only to be shelved by their companies.

As long as it’s not Splendid Entertainment... He Luo immediately ruled out Splendid; An Chuxia was there, after all.

After some thought, He Luo said, “Contract durations are usually five, eight, or ten years.”

“There aren’t three-year contracts? I thought those existed,” Li He countered.

When Wuchizhitu had been looking into entertainment companies, Li He had picked up a bit of knowledge too. Given their majors, both of them had at least some understanding of the field.

“There are three-year contracts, but they’re rare,” He Luo explained. “Generally, it takes at least a year for a newcomer to go from debut to stardom, during which the company spends a lot of resources. If the artist becomes popular and only has two years left to repay the company, the company feels shortchanged.”

Opportunities for newcomers to make money are limited; it’s mostly the company investing up front. Cases like Jiang Qi and He Luoluo, who shot to fame right out of the gate, are the exception, not the rule. In most new artist groups, such things are rare. The company spends money and effort, only for you to run off the moment you’re famous and the contract ends—no wonder they’d be furious. Letting you go is hard to swallow, but keeping you isn’t good for their public image. Ultimately, it’s all about uneven distribution of benefits.

“You’re red-hot right now. If you sing another hit song, your popularity will be rock solid,” Li He said confidently. “With me around, you’ll never lack for hit songs, so you don’t really need the company’s resources early on.”

“A three-year contract isn’t out of the question.”

As for himself, there was no need to elaborate. Jiabei’s popularity spoke for itself. In fact, Li He would have preferred a one-year deal, but no company would ever agree to that, so he had to settle for a three-year contract.

“At lunch, let’s see what Shengshi offers,” Li He decided.

He Luo nodded. Wherever his best friend went, he would follow.

——

PS. Posted first, edits to follow.