Business negotiations aren't child's play, especially when large sums of money are involved. It often takes a battle of wits and patience to finally reach a compromise… or to walk away entirely.
SPG Entertainment, or more specifically, Park Jeong-Ho, was indeed sincere about bringing 'Autumn in My Heart' to Korea. But his demands were simply too high for Lu Chen to accept.
That said, terms are always negotiable. It was clear that Park Jeong-Ho's first visit was more about testing the waters. Of course, if he could close the deal right then and there, he'd be thrilled, but Lu Chen's unwavering stance on protecting his own interests put a quick stop to that.
If it had been an executive from another Japanese or Korean entertainment company, things might have turned sour. Many of them carry a superiority complex when dealing with China's entertainment industry, assuming that tossing out any offer would have people scrambling for it.
But Park Jeong-Ho was different. He had been living and working in China for over a decade. He understood Chinese culture and had deep insight into the domestic entertainment landscape. That's why he recognized Lu Chen's true potential.
To Park Jeong-Ho, Lu Chen was the Chinese equivalent of Kim Hyun-Pyung.
Kim Hyun-Pyung was Korea's most celebrated entertainer from 2000 to 2010. Exceptionally talented, he wrote numerous classic songs, was tall and handsome, and starred in hit dramas and films that took Asia by storm.
But six years ago, Kim grew disillusioned with the Korean entertainment scene and looked down on the Chinese market. With grand ambitions, he tried to make it in Hollywood.
Yet after years of struggling, he failed to gain any real recognition, reduced to being a token Asian supporting actor tailored for Hollywood's Asian audiences. His popularity back in Korea suffered heavily as a result.
Lu Chen shared many similarities with the early Kim Hyun-Pyung: both rose to fame through talent competitions, both were charismatic and good-looking, both were gifted musicians, and both were young and full of fire.
But compared to Korea's tight and brutally competitive industry, China's entertainment market was vast, like a boundless ocean capable of nurturing a true dragon.
So long as Lu Chen didn't self-destruct, his potential was limitless.
If SPG Entertainment could build a solid relationship with someone like that, it would be akin to investing in a high-growth stock.
That's why Park Jeong-Ho offered a "premium" 800 million won price tag for 'Autumn in My Heart', to demonstrate good faith. The extra demands he added later were more about probing Lu Chen's bottom line than expecting a full agreement.
It didn't matter that they didn't close the deal today, as long as the relationship wasn't damaged, they could continue negotiating.
That's what setting boundaries is all about, testing, step by step.
Because of this shared understanding, the negotiation remained cordial. There was no tension or conflict. After spending two hours at Lu Chen's studio, Park Jeong-Ho finally took his leave.
Seeing him off, Lu Chen felt as if he had just finished a grueling battle. He was mentally and physically exhausted.
Chen Fei'er's understanding of Park Jeong-Ho had clearly been too shallow; this old fox was anything but easy to handle.
He was tough, but not rigid. His sharpness was concealed beneath a soft facade.
Lu Chen turned to Lu Xi and said, "If there's ever a chance, I'd love to poach him."
Lu Xi was speechless.
After serving as Lu Chen's manager for over half a year, she had gained a much deeper understanding of how the industry worked. And she knew very well that someone like Park Jeong-Ho was far beyond their studio's ability to "poach."
China's entertainment industry had long been influenced by Korea. Many large domestic companies tried to recruit Korean professionals, music producers, choreographers, executive producers, directors, and sometimes even actors.
But in reality, the people they managed to recruit were usually second- or third-tier.
Park Jeong-Ho was SPG's representative in China, a true senior executive. If he were to switch companies, it would be for a heavyweight like Flying Stone Records, not a modest studio like Lu Chen's.
Lu Chen was being a bit too idealistic.
Of course, Lu Chen noticed Lu Xi's skepticism. But he didn't explain further, it wasn't the right time.
It was true that Park Jeong-Ho held a high position in SPG. But he was also a marginalized figure within the company. Though he had worked tirelessly to expand SPG's presence in China and certainly earned his stripes, his rank had remained unchanged for years.
Why?
Because Park Jeong-Ho wasn't part of the current chairman's inner circle, he had been a trusted confidant of the previous chairman.
Korea's corporate structure is modeled after Japan's. During the country's economic boom in the '80s and '90s, this system played a crucial role in the rise of corporate giants like Samsung.
But in the new millennium, as emerging industries rapidly evolved, these rigid systems came under cultural pressure. Bureaucratic management, strict seniority-based promotions, and ruthless internal power struggles caused many companies to stagnate, or even collapse.
SPG was one of Korea's top-ranking entertainment firms, but it hadn't been around as long as others. It, too, was a family-run enterprise. And after the chairman who favored Park Jeong-Ho stepped down, he had been quietly sidelined to the company's China office, effectively shelved.
In terms of merit, Park Jeong-Ho absolutely had the qualifications to return to Korea and be promoted to a higher position.
Moreover, Park Jeong-Ho wasn't a pure-blooded Korean. His father was a Korean ethnic from Northeast China who had immigrated to South Korea years ago.
This kind of background information had been shared with Lu Chen by Chen Fei'er. She had specifically asked insiders about him; it was an open secret in certain circles. Many people didn't believe Park Jeong-Ho would stay with SPG forever. But up until now, he had shown no signs of wanting to leave.
After the earlier meeting, Lu Chen had developed a strong, intuitive impression of Park Jeong-Ho, and a deep admiration for his sharpness and finesse.
If someone so well-versed in both Chinese and Korean markets could be recruited, the benefits would be obvious, especially since Lu Chen had long harbored ambitions of expanding into the greater Asian market.
Of course, Lu Chen's current studio was still far too small to realistically attract someone like Park Jeong-Ho. But opportunity always favors the prepared.
Lu Chen said, "Sis, we must lock down that space in the Art District. Even if the price is a bit high, it's worth it!"
Establishing a base in the Art District would be a critical step in the studio's expansion. It wasn't just about more space; it was about the strategic location and creative atmosphere, both of which were ideal for the studio's long-term survival and growth.
Lu Xi nodded. She had already scheduled another meeting with Yu Jizhong for that afternoon.
Since the meeting involved detailed contract negotiations, Lu Chen didn't attend. But the sublease process went smoothly. Lu Chen brought Chen Xin along and spent the afternoon negotiating with Yu Jizhong before signing the formal contract.
The New Era Art Center, better known as the Art District, in the capital was completed in 2001. The property there had restricted commercial use. Some sections were fully purchased by companies, while others were designated for long-term lease.
Yu Jizhong's art studio space had been leased from the Art Center's management committee. He held a long-term contract with priority renewal rights. What he was doing now was essentially transferring part of that lease to Lu Chen.
This arrangement was compliant with the rules. As long as the business activity stayed within the permitted scope, the management committee allowed subleasing. Of course, the rent Yu Jizhong had originally paid back then was far lower than what he was asking for now.
After the contract was signed, Lu Xi drew up a budget that same night to calculate the cost of relocating the studio. Factoring in rent, renovations, and the construction of a new recording room, the total came to no less than 15 million yuan.
Meanwhile, Lu Chen had also entrusted Li Mubai with the application for a charitable foundation. Of the 20 million yuan in registered capital, 10 million would be locked in and untouchable by regulation.
That meant that just between the studio move and the charity fund, 25 million yuan would be going out the door.
And this year, Lu Chen was also launching a brand-new drama. The studio's production investment was bound to be another massive cost. Based on this, the money made from 'Autumn in My Heart' wouldn't be nearly enough to cover it all.
Lu Xi even reminded Lu Chen about the property transfer contract he'd signed with Chen Fei'er. Even if the 30 million yuan cost was paid over five years, that still meant a yearly repayment of 6 million yuan!
After doing the math, Lu Chen suddenly realized he was broke again, and this time, buried under a mountain of debt.
"Hehe~" After hearing Lu Chen complain, Chen Fei'er laughed happily on the phone. "Then write a few more songs for other artists! You'll make the money back in no time."
As a rising star in the domestic music scene and fresh off two major wins at the Asian Chinese Music Awards, Lu Chen was hot. Tons of singers were lining up to buy songs from him.
If Lu Chen really went all in and wrote freely, making tens of millions wouldn't be an issue, after all, he had thousands of outstanding compositions in his memory bank.
But he had never intended to be a song factory. Nor would he squander that musical treasure trove. Instead, he had raised the threshold for song requests and was selective about whom he worked with.
Currently, Lu Chen's going rate was 500,000 yuan per song, placing him at the very top of the industry.
That price scared off most people and sparked no small amount of chatter in showbiz circles.
Chen Fei'er's teasing was aimed precisely at this.
Lu Chen laughed and said, "I'm not taking on any outside work for now. Let's focus on finishing your album, that's the priority."
"Oh, listen to you sweet-talking. Want me to lend you some money to tide you over?"
A woman in love is most vulnerable to sweet words. For a moment, Chen Fei'er's EQ and IQ both plummeted under Lu Chen's coaxing. "Don't worry about that contract. If you pay me back later, that's fine too."
If Lu Chen had decided to live with a rich girlfriend, he'd probably succeed brilliantly.
But he stubbornly chose to puff up his chest: "No need. Even without writing more songs, I'll manage just fine!"
Lu Chen's confidence wasn't without basis. Because for a celebrity, especially one at the peak of their fame, there's one major money-making channel: brand endorsements.
And among all the brands currently vying to work with Lu Chen, Zhonghua Auto was undoubtedly the biggest name of them all.
(End of chapter)
You can read ahead up to 60 chapters on my patreon https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395