Chapter 37: The Company Wants to Shape You into the Trident of the Limited Group

Dai Huiyun, assistant to the artist director at TideSound Culture, spoke with practiced eloquence, making all sorts of promises:
“The company values you greatly. We’re planning to build you, Wu Junchen, and Liu Yichen into the trident of our limited-time group. When the time comes, you’ll be the top stars in the country.”
Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen were already immensely popular, showing clear signs of becoming A-list celebrities. Given the current popularity of “Star of Tomorrow,” it was almost certain that Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen would debut together as champion and runner-up, inevitably rising to top-tier stardom.
If it had been any other trainee, hearing that TideSound Culture wanted to shape them into a trident with Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen, they would probably laugh themselves awake even in their dreams.
Dai Huiyun thought so as well, so she skipped explaining the contract altogether.
After painting a rosy picture, she pushed the contract and a pen toward Fang Xing, pointing out the signature line with her manicured finger. “Sign here. Once you’ve signed, the company will notify Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen to look after you.
“For the next performance, we can arrange for you and Wu Junchen to be in the same team, and a professional music production team will help create your performance song.”
After listening to her promises, Fang Xing felt uneasy.
Verbal promises, while technically valid under the law, were notoriously difficult to enforce in reality.
Besides, these promises came from an assistant to the director. Was he really supposed to hold an assistant accountable for them?
Still, out of courtesy, Fang Xing decided to review the contract.
What mattered most were the artist’s revenue share and the restrictions imposed by the contract.
Seeing Fang Xing reading the contract, Dai Huiyun grew impatient. “There’s no need to look it over. Trust me, the company will never treat you unfairly.”
Fang Xing glanced through the contract and quickly lost interest.
The artist’s share was set at 20%.
That meant no matter what job the artist took, he would only receive 20% of the pay.
For example, if an artist took a gig with a fee of 10,000 yuan, TideSound Culture would take 8,000, leaving the artist with 2,000.
But that wasn’t all.
The artist’s agent also took a cut, usually 10% to 20% from the artist’s portion.
In other words, from the remaining 2,000, at least 200 would go to the agent.
As for makeup artists and assistants, their cut depended on the company’s arrangements.
With only a 20% share, any ordinary person would be furious upon seeing this.
Yet such was the reality of the entertainment industry.
A 20/80 split was considered standard; some agencies even offered a 19/81 split.

Some might ask, is it really that grim for celebrities?
Not exactly.
For those who achieve true stardom, it’s a different story.
If an artist is lucky enough to make it big, the entertainment company will often take the initiative to renegotiate for a more generous split.
Of course, the company won’t lose out; while increasing the split, they’ll also extend the contract period—sometimes to ten years or more.
The specific terms depend on negotiation.
When a star’s contract is about to expire and the company wants to keep them, they’ll offer better conditions as an incentive.
Sometimes, extra terms are included, such as promising a champion spot in a variety competition, which can also serve as leverage for renewal.
However, none of this had anything to do with Fang Xing.
He was still just a trainee on “Star of Tomorrow,” not even officially debuted.
After skimming the contract, Fang Xing saw it for what it was: an extremely harsh agreement.
It stipulated a 20/80 revenue split in favor of the company.
The artist had to comply with all company arrangements.
Moreover, this 20/80 split applied to every economic activity—even if the artist landed a gig through personal connections, with the company uninvolved, 80% would still go to the company.
Such was the unvarnished reality of showbiz.
As for all the artistic resources promised, not a single one was written into the contract; it was all verbal.
Fang Xing was no fool. He knew the rules of big companies well, so none of this surprised him.
To sign such a contract after living a second life would be sheer folly.
Fang Xing refused outright: “I won’t sign this contract.”
Dai Huiyun’s face showed surprise. “This is the company’s standard contract. Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen both signed this one—actually, theirs was even stricter. This is the best I could get for you after pleading with the boss.”
Fang Xing had no doubts about the first part.
Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen had been recruited by TideSound Culture at fifteen or sixteen, trained for years, then sent to participate in talent shows, only gradually rising to fame.

Therefore, the contracts they signed were the most basic trainee agreements, with no right to negotiate.
Of course, once their contracts expired and they were due for renewal, they’d be able to make demands.
If it were any other trainee in Fang Xing’s situation, they would have no choice but to accept.
Fang Xing, however, was different—he may not have better offers, but he could refuse to sign: “I’m sorry, I won’t sign this. I have other things to do.”
With that, he got up to leave.
Dai Huiyun’s face turned cold. She threatened, “You’d better think this through. If you don’t sign, you’ll be eliminated in the next performance.”
“Suit yourself. I don’t even care if I’m kicked from the show.” Fang Xing strode away without the slightest hesitation.
Even if he was eliminated, he could still make music, or simply return to school—there was no pressure at all.
…
Later that afternoon.
Dai Huiyun reappeared, dragging Fang Xing into a small meeting room. Out of breath, she produced a new contract.
“Fang Xing, you should thank me for this. I pleaded with the boss for a long time to get you this premium contract.
“Take a look—these terms are much better than what Wu Junchen and Liu Yichen have.
“Just don’t tell them you got a premium contract, or they’ll make a scene with the company.
“Hurry, sign it now. If the boss changes his mind, you’ll miss the opportunity.”
By now, Fang Xing saw right through this assistant: everything out of her mouth was empty talk.
There was no way she had secured a premium contract for him—it was only possible after reporting back and her boss seriously reconsidered.
Fang Xing skimmed through the new contract and gave a helpless smile.
This one was indeed a bit better than the last.
The artist’s share had increased to 30%, but other terms were unchanged. The contract period had even been extended from ten to fifteen years.
For an undeclared trainee, such a contract could be considered lucky.
But aside from a higher share, it was still little more than a slave contract.
Once signed, the company could make you do anything, and if you refused, you’d better be ready for a lawsuit and a sky-high penalty.
The penalty fee for this contract was a staggering ten million yuan.