For the Lan Province film and television industry, no one saw it coming—how explosive Jin Hui TV's spring season would become.
Usually, the four major networks in the province would each produce one so-called "flagship" drama every few months. They'd invest heavily, hoping to create something with obvious quality and ratings success, which they could then use as leverage with advertisers. After all, if your average viewership is flat, ad rates won't go up either.
That's how Jiang Shiqing's Dangerous Girlfriend came about.
But what the hell was 'Your Lie in April'?
Total investment is just barely over 10 million.
From director to screenwriter to producer—practically no one had ever heard of them.
And yet, three weeks in…
Its average viewership had already surpassed 1.5%.
Of course, you couldn't say the production team was completely unknown. At the very least, Jing Yu's 'My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday' had caused a decent stir in the Lan Province drama scene.
But that was just a two-episode mini-series. Even with good ratings, most industry insiders had shrugged it off.
Now, though, faced with 'Your Lie in April's ongoing performance…
"Who is this Jing Yu, anyway?"
"He's said to be Jing Liang's son."
"Wait, you mean the veteran screenwriter from Jin Hui who died recently? That Jing Liang?"
"That's the one. Who'd have thought his son would be this ridiculous?"
"Jiang Shiqing's Dangerous Girlfriend might finally have met its match."
"Match? If 'Your Lie in April' keeps growing at this pace, give it two more weeks and Dangerous Girlfriend is going to drop to second place for the spring season."
"If that really happens, it'll be a massive blow to Jiang Shiqing's career."
"No one has a smooth ride forever. Jiang Shiqing's first two solo projects averaged 1.1% and 0.89%. Even White Lovers—which was doing well—suffered at the end because of 'My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday'. Still, the full series averaged 1.34%, which is solid. That's probably why Jin Hui was willing to go all-in for his next drama. But hey, there's always someone better. And now? He hasn't even stepped out of the province, and he's already got a rival."
"I used to drink and gamble with Jing Liang. He used to complain all the time that his son was too naïve—'Just a pretty face, good for nothing.' But looking at him now? That kid is anything but that."
"Maybe it was a wake-up call. You might not know this if you're not from Jin Hui, but after Jing Liang died, Jiang Shiqing tried to get Jing Yu kicked out. Didn't work, but the kid's long-term contract got downgraded to a year-by-year short-term deal—basically, from staff to freelancer. And after that? His girlfriend Song Xin dumped him for Jiang Shiqing. Family, love, and career—all down the drain. Some people collapse under that. Others… rise."
"…Wait, hold on. Did you say Jing Yu is still on a short-term contract with Jin Hui?"
The day after Episode 3 aired, Jing Yu's phone wouldn't stop ringing.
The three other networks in Lan Province had caught wind of his situation and were eager to poach him. Friendly competition aside, station employees often had cross-network relationships. Word travels fast.
And once they realized he wasn't under a long-term contract?
Opportunity.
But Jing Yu had no patience for this.
He shut off his phone entirely.
The reality was that all four provincial networks were more or less equal in size and reach. At Jin Hui, at least, he was familiar with the people.
But early that morning, Chu You showed up again—grinning ear to ear.
"Jing Yu, my boy—you've outdone yourself! I knew you had talent! I personally pushed for you to write one of our spring dramas. Went against all the opposition, too!" Chu You beamed.
"Yes."
"Ah, yes, yes, exactly!"
"Absolutely."
"Everything you're saying is completely right." Jing Yu, hearing Chu You's post-facto boasting, flipped into default perfunctory mode.
Chu You, of course, was just getting warmed up.
"See? That's how men should do things! What's a big-budget production? Doesn't matter what stars they hired. Even if they spent four times more, when it comes to ratings, I'm not losing to anyone!" He was practically hyping himself up at this point.
Jing Yu watched him calmly, waiting for the actual point.
Finally, Chu You sobered a little and pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase.
"So, uh… Jing Yu, nephew. I'm here today because I have a matter to discuss."
"A new contract?" Jing Yu glanced through the papers, his expression growing serious.
In this economy, with widespread job insecurity, a long-term contract with a TV station—especially as a screenwriter—was a big deal.
Unlike freelance writers who only got paid if their scripts were picked up, a long-term contracted writer got guaranteed income every year—even if they weren't actively working on a project.
Plus, when their scripts were used, they got favorable treatment and higher pay.
Of course, the trade-off was that any script written during the contract period belonged to the station and couldn't be sold elsewhere without permission.
Top-tier writers across Dazhou rarely signed these contracts. Their scripts were in such high demand that they didn't need the security—they could negotiate freely across networks.
But for everyone else?
They didn't have that luxury.
If two scripts of equal quality landed on a station executive's desk—one from a contracted writer, the other from a freelancer—who do you think gets the greenlight?
And without greenlights, your "genius script" is just printer paper.
Only the best of the best could afford to remain independent. Everyone else needed a platform and funding.
Sure, a wealthy writer could self-fund and produce their own series, but that was a whole different level. For most, TV network backing was essential.
"My current contract still has over half a year left. No need to rush into a new one," Jing Yu said calmly, glancing at Chu You.
That caught Chu You off guard.
Is he… rejecting me?
The contract he'd brought was generous—far better than the downgraded one Jing Yu had been forced to sign after his father's death.
There were no traps, no hidden clauses. The pay, rights, and profit-sharing were all above industry standard.
"Why… you…" Chu You hesitated, unsure how to phrase it.
Was Jing Yu considering jumping ship?
"I just think it makes sense to wait until my current short-term deal ends. Then we can talk about future cooperation," Jing Yu said evenly.
"I believe by then, I'll be in a position to negotiate even better terms."
Chu You relaxed.
Ah… so that's what this is about.
"You feel like the station didn't recognize your full potential before?" he asked.
As long as Jing Yu wasn't planning to leave for one of the other networks, Chu You could breathe easy.
After all, Director Shi Teng had personally instructed him to handle this as soon as possible.
It was already an embarrassment that someone whose drama had just passed 1.5% viewership after three episodes… was still signed on a freelance contract.
Chu You had rushed over before the other networks made their move.
"Jing Yu, you have to understand—dramas are always a gamble. Sure, 'Your Lie in April' is riding high now, but it might just be the novelty. Ratings could dip in a few weeks. What if it drops back below 1%?"
"Right now, the station is offering you this contract based on 'Your Lie in April's current performance. But if the ratings fall off, we might not be able to offer you something this good again."
He wasn't wrong.
Across Dazhou, very few writers were able to work freely across multiple networks. Most wanted nothing more than a stable relationship with one station—because that meant their scripts had a consistent path to production.
If Jing Yu turned this down and 'Your Lie in April' faltered later, he might seriously regret it.
But Chu You had no idea what Jing Yu was really thinking.