Is this really possible?

Li Yisheng placed a very high value on "Masked Gourd Hero"—he was highly experienced in this field. If it had been a traditional costume drama, the export ceiling would have been a hundred thousand US dollars per episode, and that was only for runaway hits within ten years, with immense commercial value; whether it was a classic or not was completely irrelevant, for a classic did not equate to high commercial worth.

But if it was children's programming, and the licensing included peripheral merchandise, the price could break through to two hundred thousand US dollars per episode. Even for export to Southeast Asia, the same would hold true. Without the rights to derivative merchandise, however, the price would be slashed by seventy or eighty percent, and settling at forty thousand per episode would already be considered excellent.

The reason Daye Film dared to guarantee distribution in Korea was because Daye Film could also sell merchandise there, from children's clothing and books to toys, with a mature and established distribution network. Of course, Daye Film was not the only company with such capabilities—Yongle Media, where Li Yisheng served as a consultant, also had channels in Korea and Japan. Especially since Japan had been divided into four occupation zones after the war, Yongle Media was one of the few Chinese cultural enterprises able to distribute works in all four jointly managed regions.

Li Yisheng was not boasting to Li Jie—he was taking thirty percent strictly on principle. If it were Daye Film, they would certainly take seventy or eighty percent; after all, overseas business offered high profit but also high risk.

“As for the contract for the second season, we’ll discuss it when the time comes. After all, you’re a student from Jianyi. I won’t let you suffer any loss.”

The contract signing with Li Jie was scheduled for the following day. Guo Wei, who came to join the fun, could only look on enviously. Though he had many comrades, his overseas connections were far inferior to those of Vice President Li Yisheng. Not to mention, Li Yisheng was also a consultant at Yongle Media.

“Thank you, Principal.”

“It’s only right. I’m also striving to secure top-quality resources for the school. As vice principal, my job is to make money for the school and arrange employment for students. You’re one of our own at Jianyi—of course I’ll look after you. If it were someone else, Yongle Media would have locked in all derivative works for the second and third seasons in advance.”

After exchanging contract drafts, Li Yisheng shook Li Jie’s hand warmly and said, “I have great faith in your future success. Ten years of silent preparation, ten years of gathering strength. The comeback of a ‘former child star’—I hope you can work another miracle, create another legend. If one day you can dominate your field, it will benefit both me and Jianyi greatly.”

Seventy thousand per episode was top-tier pricing. Of course, if the vision were raised even further, it wouldn’t be the absolute ceiling—but in terms of “creative ability,” this was already a direct entry into the Korean cultural market, and a significant boost to international trade experience.

Unfortunately, contracts in the Japanese market were not so easily secured. Unlike Daye Film, which would negotiate only for the Kansai region, Yongle Media would either do nothing or go all in, covering all four jointly administered zones. The Kansai region was under British trusteeship, so legal clauses involved British overseas law. Some standards weren’t even metric—though Britain had adopted the metric system at home, its overseas colonies and postwar zones still used a mix of imperial and metric.

But that was still better than the Kanto region, which used imperial units and was under American trusteeship—America, ever the outlier, remained the only major nation to resist full metrication.

As a result, for print materials, artistic works, conversion standards, and so forth, even just measurement specifications required several confirmation documents. It was a tedious and complex process. Few enterprises could manage an “all-in-one” solution—Yongle Media was one, and its parent company, Hongwu Group, was another.

“Does your company need a more professional legal team? If so, you can choose among the four best law firms in Jianye. The rest is up to the school—the principal is a Jianye University law graduate.”

“…”

Li Jie had thought Vice Principal Li Yisheng was already impressive, but now he understood why he hadn’t become the full principal—there was always a reason. The Jianye Academy of Arts was indeed a place of hidden dragons and crouching tigers. Fortunately, Li Jie was not ordinary himself, blessed with the advantage of a certain “dog system plug-in”—though admittedly, it didn’t always work as expected.

After the signing ceremony, many anecdotes were brought up as topics of conversation. For example, “New Rainflower Culture” had managed to revive itself again and again, returning to full health and vigor each time, largely because of the local political and business rivalry in Jianye against the “Daxing Consortium.” Of course, the scale was smaller, limited to the cultural and entertainment industry; if it had extended to the entire political and economic sphere, that would have been another matter altogether.

Unfortunately, the Jianye Academy of Arts had yet to produce truly outstanding cultural works—the sort that win awards were many, but such accolades were of little practical use. This was unlike the Chang’an Film Academy, which had a dual focus on artistic excellence and commercial output, thus earning itself real influence. Other institutions like the Capital Film Academy, Huating Film Academy, Qilu Art Academy, Huadu Art Academy, and Yongzhou Art Academy all boasted higher output than Jianye Academy. This left the province of Sanjiang in a rather passive position; even the local TV stations had two-thirds of their market taken by Daye Film and Little Sunflower.

Later, “New Rainflower Culture” was catapulted into the internet spotlight by Boss Li’s telephoto lens, leaving the entire Sanjiang cultural and entertainment industry utterly exposed. Who could have predicted that “Gourd Hero” would appear out of nowhere, saving countless fragile spirits?

There was a member of parliament in Sanjiang province specializing in the arts, who had long wanted to make a statement, but since “Creative Ability” was still in production and “Masked Gourd Hero” was already a sensational hit—its merchandise hitting shelves before the show even aired—the shameless politicians who played at politics decided to bide their time. They planned to step in only if “Creative Ability” truly needed help.

How much trouble could one get into in Sanjiang province, after all?

Yet, once again, the politicians were caught off guard—Li Jie, the owner of “Creative Ability,” allegedly broke the left leg of Yang Ying, chairman of Daye Film.

Such a bizarre episode—one that, across the entire history of the cultural, performing, and entertainment circles, was nothing short of explosive.

The politicians’ hesitation allowed Li Yisheng to seize the opportunity, strengthening the school’s deep bond with its outstanding graduates. Although it was said that “Masked Gourd Hero: The Wisdom Orange” had already chosen Ding Wei to play “Wisdom Orange,” the school believed that, as a member of Jianyi, Li Jie would surely give priority to fellow alumni for the third installment. If the older generation didn’t fit, there were always younger students. And if even the juniors weren’t suitable, there were still other solutions.

“What the heck, Wei, working this hard? Are you planning to go to grad school?”

“I don’t know either! Guo Rong delivered this to me, said the Acting Department really appreciated my performance, and asked if I’d consider pursuing a graduate degree at Jianye while working.”

“Is that even possible?”

Boss Li stared in disbelief at the “Jianyi Talent Recruitment Invitation” Ding Wei handed over, momentarily dumbfounded.

The world he had crossed into was, indeed, a little mad.