017 The Rise of the Underdog

[Ding!]
["Superstar System" Reminder: Be cautious when filming; harmony ensures safety.]
["Masked Calabash Hero Filming Guide" has been delivered.]
["Film and Television Pyrotechnics and Explosives Classification" has been delivered.]
["Action Scene Analysis and Production Tutorial" has been delivered.]
…
[Wishing you an early success in raising production funds—may you present a classic to this beautiful world!]

Ding ding ding ding ding—Ding your head! Why would a guy like me, who saves coupons just to soak in a hot spring, casually throw money into making a movie? Damn system, if you’ve got the guts, take the money straight out of my bank account.

Just in case, some of Li’s money was in the studio’s business account; the house in Pingjiang was technically the property of his personal studio, and now “Creative Level Ability Ltd.” was another new shell company. Who knew if this damn system could conjure things out of thin air, rewrite the world line, or pull off some other outrageous feat?

So far, what he’d gained from the system were mostly individual skills—acceptable enough. But if one day it suddenly started hurling fireballs from a distance, that would be a whole different story.

No matter what, he couldn’t just go along with whatever this system wanted. If he did, wouldn’t that make him a puppet? Besides, even without this system, life was still pretty good—he could easily coast along with two or three million in savings.

["Superstar System" Reminder: Darkness shrouds all things, but you are the light that breaks through it, shattering the shadows with thunder!]

Heh.

Li Jie treated the system’s reminder as little more than ringing in his ears, ignoring it completely.

The real business today was making the rounds for a few appearances and interviews to earn some extra cash. Besides, the online shop’s “Masked Calabash Hero” merchandise had exploded in popularity. In fact, “Ten-Year Anti-Fan” was at the heart of the promotion. Even though they hadn’t intentionally planned to push Xie’s products, everyone posted pictures of the trinkets on their own social media accounts. As the posts kept coming, and with Agent Chen biting the bullet and buying a day’s worth of trending topic traffic, the whole thing went viral.

Everyone was riding the wave of the “Good Samaritan” story. Some influencers and minor celebrities even used their support for “Masked Hero” as an excuse for a bit of personal marketing.

On Li Jie’s side, after Chen Pi announced through Creative Ability Ltd.’s public account that a portion of the proceeds would be donated to Red Star Welfare Home, sales rose again.

In other words, all parties tasted the benefits, and there were no victims—truly a win-win situation.

After all, it’s not like Li Jie and Chen Pi took the money and bought luxury cars to flaunt on social media.

“Li, we might end up earning two or three times more than we expected this time!”

Seeing the sales figures, Chen Pi was overjoyed.

His agent commission was three percent, though he’d originally only asked for one. That was a special arrangement by Red Star Welfare Home back in the day, since Li Jie was still young and needed looking after when he went out, and Aunt Shu and the others agreed Chen Pi should earn a little more.

Yet, as it turned out, Li Jie didn’t give him much to earn. In three years, he’d only appeared on one variety show, and that was as “the kid who breaks stones on his chest.”

He’d also once endorsed a “kids’ health supplement” that supposedly made you smarter—though it was really just sugar water. The fee wasn’t much, and he only did it for two years; once he hit thirteen, he couldn’t do it anymore.

At thirteen, Li Jie was already 1.78 meters tall…
By fourteen, 1.83 meters…

Chen Pi had nearly lost hope.

Later, Li Jie did well in sports, but not well enough to switch to sports endorsements, so when his talents dried up, Chen Pi was left scraping by on his base salary.

Even then, he nearly didn’t make it, because the TV station couldn’t keep supporting two “useless” employees forever.

This time, though—after the “Niutou Mountain Heroic Deed” and the “Masked Hero” frenzy online—it was as if manna had fallen from heaven.

At last, Old Chen’s fortunes had turned.

His agent fees still weren’t much, but the merchandise sales brought in a windfall. Not to mention the licensing fees—just the sales through Creative Ability Ltd. alone reached over three hundred thousand. Add in Li Jie’s personal online shop and all the licensed and co-branded shops, and the total for assorted merchandise was three and a half million.

Originally, they’d only hoped to make a million or so; this result far exceeded expectations.

But “viral hits” thrive on immediate traffic. If the sales cycle lasts a year, the first month often accounts for more than four times the following eleven months combined.

Eighty percent of the sales come from that initial month—after that, what sells is just a bonus, and if nothing sells, it’s no big deal.

“Xiao Pi, do you know the most important thing in life?”

“Timing?”

“….”

“Sorry, sorry, Li. I’ve been reading adventure novels lately, and they mention cannibals—I haven’t switched gears yet. Please enlighten me.”

“It’s steadiness! Only with steadiness—”

Ding!

“Holy—!”

The notification sound startled him. This time it wasn’t the system barking again, but a new text message—a director he’d once known was inviting him to audition for a mythological TV drama, offering him the supporting role of Erlang God.

Even though Li Jie’s acting was notoriously bad, the director specified in the message that acting skills weren’t necessary. A blank face the whole time would do.

Well then!

Tailor-made!

“Li?” Chen Pi found Li Jie’s sudden loss of composure amusing.

There was a reason Chen Pi didn’t have the director’s contact info: years ago, the director had wanted to adopt Li Jie, but Li Jie had refused—he couldn’t bear to leave his twelve mothers.

Still, they kept in touch.

The director wasn’t especially famous, nor did he have any hit works, but with his seniority, he could sometimes pull in funding, which made him a go-to “name-only” director for investors.

This time, with “Masked Hero” going viral, even the elderly director Ai Shoujin, in his sixties, took notice and sent a text to the boy who’d nearly become his son.

Whether it would work out was not up to him, since he was just a figurehead—the real power lay elsewhere. He was simply a relentless funding machine.

“Chen, Director Ai wants me to play Erlang God!”

“Are you sure it’s not ‘Howling Celestial Dog’?”

“…”

Nothing was set in stone, but Li Jie couldn’t resist showing off in the “Ten-Year Anti-Fan” group: “Children, your father’s just landed a role—playing Erlang Slimy True Fungus…”

Retract!

“Playing Erlang the Manifest True Lord!”

He’d joked about “League of Kings” in the group so many times, even his input method had developed muscle memory.

“Xie, you sure you’re not playing the ‘Howling Celestial Dog’?”

“I want to see Xie play the ‘Howling Celestial Dog’!”

“I want to see it!”

“I want to see it +1”

“I want to see it +2”

“I want to see it +666”

…

After sending a universal gesture, Li Jie muted the group, then hurried to reply to the man who’d almost become his father, Ai Shoujin: “I accept.”