Chapter 175: Nearing Settlement—A Close Call
On June 21st, the documentary "Breaking the Cocoon" produced by Feihuang Studio was officially released on the Aili Island website!
As a true documentary, Breaking the Cocoon featured no ads, and no special revenue-sharing agreement with the platform.
According to Aili Island's standard incentive plan, even if the video surpassed one million views, the revenue would only amount to a few thousand yuan—a drop in the bucket.
Because of this, both Huang Sibo and Zhu Xiaoce had long since given up on making a profit from it. They'd accepted that this was purely a passion project.
However, since Feihuang Studio had already amassed a large fanbase from their previous short video series "President Pei's Daily Life", the documentary immediately drew widespread attention the moment it dropped!
In the video, esports player Li Zhengwei looked directly into the camera, recounting his emotional journey over the years:
"After he left, I kicked the door open and ran off alone to Shanghai to start my career."
"Looking back, I don't regret it. I think I was born for esports. If I'd followed the usual path—working odd jobs, getting married, settling down—I'd probably spend my whole life full of regret."
"I wasn't born with a silver spoon. I came from a dirt-poor family. But in a way, I was lucky. I found a career I loved and made a name for myself."
"Still, I don't recommend kids walk the same path I did."
"After I became famous, many people asked me about going pro."
"My answer is always the same: If you truly made up your mind, you wouldn't need to ask me. You'd do what I did—kick the door down and never look back, dedicating your life to your dream."
"But if you need my advice before making that choice, then you should first ask yourself this: Are you trying to escape school and responsibility, or do you really understand what it costs to become a professional player?"
…
Soon, the comment section under the video exploded with player reactions:
"First!"
"Ah, so this is why Feihuang Studio stopped doing President Pei's Daily Life—they were preparing a big drop!"
"This documentary looks super high-end. The production quality is insane!"
"My favorite pro player's story? Instant support!"
"I had no idea pro gamers had it this rough… Kicking the door open to run away? That's intense. Glad his parents finally came around after he made it big."
"Every word from Brother Li felt genuine."
"This documentary really means something. My younger brother skips school to play games and always talks about going pro. I think Brother Li nailed it—it's not about passion or talent for him, it's just escapism."
"Exactly. Most esports content just glorifies the thrill, the hustle, the hype—it's overdone and gives young people the wrong idea. What makes this documentary so valuable is how honestly it shows the pain, the struggle, and how many pros don't make it. It's incredibly grounded."
"Never expected Feihuang Studio to produce something with such real-world weight. I'm in full support!"
The video's comments section overflowed with praise!
Breaking the Cocoon quickly shot up the trending charts in the gaming category, and soon landed on Aili Island's front page, where its popularity continued to climb.
. . . . . . . . .
June 23rd
At the Moyu Internet Café, Pei Qian shut off the documentary on his phone and took a sip of his coffee.
The tension in his chest finally eased.
'Whew~ the tone was finally normal for once.'
'And it actually didn't make any money—that's incredible!'
What a close call!
Breaking the Cocoon had been live for three days, and in that time, Pei Qian had been on edge the entire time.
He was constantly worried that Huang Sibo might suddenly call out of the blue and say, "President Pei, the documentary made money after all!"
Thankfully, that nightmare scenario never happened.
After triple-checking, Pei Qian confirmed that although Breaking the Cocoon had racked up nearly 2 million views in just three days, securing a spot in the top 3 on the site-wide leaderboard, it hadn't generated any meaningful revenue.
Under the standard incentive plan, the total earnings from this video would barely amount to a few thousand yuan—pennies, really.
This was perfectly in line with his expectations.
'Excellent. Another valuable lesson in how to lose money.'
'Turns out that making these well-made, non-commercial documentaries really is a good way to bleed cash.'
'Looks like it's time to invest more money into Feihuang Studio.'
Pei Qian suddenly realized that after Moyu Internet Café, he'd now discovered another viable money-losing channel—
Making critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful videos!
After so many failed attempts, Pei Qian had come to understand a painful truth: losing money wasn't as easy as it seemed.
The system imposed many strict limitations to prevent him from deliberately tanking projects—rules like no low-quality work, no deliberate sabotage, and all products must have monetization options.
In other words, he had to create quality products, but that didn't necessarily mean they had to make money.
But now, he had noticed something else: according to the system's logic, "quality" wasn't just about profit—it also included public opinion and critical reception.
Take Breaking the Cocoon, for example: it was unlikely to ever recoup its production costs, yet the system didn't flag it as a deliberate loss-making scheme.
Same with Moyu Internet Café—its high potential for loss didn't trigger any system warnings either.
This meant that in the system's eyes, "good reputation" was just as important a metric as profitability. As long as a product was well-received and valuable to the public, the system considered it a valid, sincere effort—not a cheap money-burning ploy.
Pei Qian had vaguely suspected this before but hadn't pursued the idea further—mainly because the monetization mechanisms of games and videos were different.
In the gaming world, a strong reputation often led directly to high sales. Since the system required all games to include monetization, a high-reputation game almost always made money.
Sure, there were a few critically praised flops in gaming history—but nowhere near as many as in the film and video industry.
But videos were a different story. Even with glowing reviews and millions of views, monetizing them was still incredibly difficult—as this documentary proved.
'So all I need to do is keep Feihuang Studio focused on making these kinds of videos—popular with critics, ignored by advertisers—and I'll have a reliable money-loss engine!'
Pei Qian felt like he'd just struck gold.
Next time he saw Huang Sibo and Zhu Xiaoce, he'd make sure to gently coax them into staying on the documentary path forever. That way, Feihuang Studio could become a long-term, stable source of financial loss. Perfect!
That said, they probably wouldn't revisit the esports theme, so they'd have to discuss what direction to go in next.
There was just one week left before the system's settlement—and by then, no new projects could be pending release.
In other words, there wasn't much left he could do. All that was left was to burn money as quickly as possible, while praying nothing unexpected would ruin his plans.
He glanced at his system balance—currently in the red.
'All the pieces are in place. Now the challenge is… how do I stay in the red until settlement?'
<+>
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