Investing in a TV Drama

Beijing, Hengdian.

Zhao Liying had her hair styled as a maid for a drama set. She had gradually moved from obscure small productions to large, well-funded projects.

Though she was still playing maid roles, it was at least progress.

Today, she contacted Chen Pingsheng mainly because she needed him for a particular scene.

Over the past few months, whenever she had free time, she would help out at Tengsheng Fruits.

Seeing Chen Pingsheng's rapid improvement in just a few months, she was genuinely happy for him.

But in the vast entertainment industry, such achievements were nothing.

Many people were nobodies today but would become dazzling stars tomorrow.

She wasn't envious, though she occasionally indulged in small fantasies.

When Chen Pingsheng arrived, Zhao Liying had already prepared a bottle of iced tea for him.

There was a difficult stunt scene today—a rooftop jump. The director overseeing this was the same assistant director who had previously given him a business card.

Ever since his fruit shop became profitable, Chen Pingsheng had stopped taking extra roles.

This time, he was just helping out.

The jump was from a five-meter-high city wall. The young male lead trembled just standing on the edge, let alone jumping.

Chen Pingsheng, however, didn't hesitate. The safety mats were all set up below.

With his makeup done, he jumped without hesitation. When the first take wasn't good enough, he did it two or three more times.

He wasn't injured—just a little tired.

After he finished, Zhao Liying came over to wipe his sweat.

"Brother Chen, thank you."

"No need for thanks. Didn't you also help me out often?"

After a pause, Chen Pingsheng asked, "Liying, you've been playing maid roles for so long. Don't you ever get a shot at being the lead?"

Zhao Liying's expression turned bitter. Of course, she wanted to be the lead.

But even a low-budget TV drama required at least tens of millions in investment.

Landing a lead role wasn't just about fitting the character; it depended on having the right connections.

She had none. That's why she had been stuck playing extras for five years.

"Brother Chen, if I never get to be the lead, I'll just quit and sell fruit with you."

"Come on, don't joke about that. You've stuck it out for so many years—how can you just give up?"

After thinking for a moment, Chen Pingsheng asked curiously, "I don't really understand how your industry makes money. Is investing in a TV drama actually profitable?"

"Of course it is."

Zhao Liying chuckled, then smirked self-deprecatingly.

"It's not just profitable. If you have money, you can surround yourself with beautiful people and tell the directors and producers, 'Make sure to cast her as the lead.'"

Money ruled all. She didn't say it outright, but it was clear that the women being 'embraced' were none other than the lead actresses.

Chen Pingsheng understood what she meant, which led him to think about his sister-in-law, Song Wu, who was about to graduate.

Would she have to resort to these same underhanded methods to climb up?

Secretly leaving business cards for directors? Or even slipping them hotel room numbers?

In an industry where 'hidden rules' were rampant, staying pure was almost a joke.

For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. A hardworking girl like Zhao Liying—after five years, she was still playing bit parts. That proved she had refused to take shortcuts.

But then another thought struck him.

If he could launch a superstar in the entertainment industry, it would be a massive boost to his future business ventures.

Still… was that even possible for someone like him?

Shaking his head, he stopped overthinking.

By noon, Zhao Liying had invited the assistant director to lunch. Like her, he was also a struggling figure in the industry.

He had been an assistant director for ten years but had never truly had a chance to direct his own film.

The main reason? No one was willing to invest in him.

Zhao Liying actually admired his skills. Most of the actual directing on set was done by assistant directors like him.

But without investors and good opportunities, he had never crossed that final threshold.

"小陈," the assistant director, Yang Jiancheng, said. "I heard from Liying that your fruit business is doing great. That's impressive."

"It's just so-so—enough to get by."

"Well, that's already good enough. To be honest, I have a great script right now, but I've been struggling to find startup funding."

Yang Jiancheng was in his early forties.

He wasn't just making small talk—he was subtly probing for investment.

"What kind of script?" Chen Pingsheng asked. "Tell me about it, Director Yang."

"It's a lighthearted historical romance drama."

Yang Jiancheng gave a brief introduction. The script wasn't his original work but was adapted from a massively popular novel on a female-oriented fiction site.

The story wasn't groundbreaking, but it was very entertaining—a classic wrong bridal sedan, right groom plot.

"This type of drama doesn't require a huge budget. It's perfect for small investments with big returns. If it gets a prime-time slot and becomes a hit, the profits would be substantial."

Chen Pingsheng was intrigued but needed a few days to think it over.

First, he didn't know Yang Jiancheng well enough yet. Second, he wanted to read the novel himself before making a decision.

Yang Jiancheng hadn't expected much from him anyway, so he wasn't disappointed.

It was just casual conversation.

Back home, Chen Pingsheng had Song Yanxi read the novel.

She was confused.

What kind of husband tells his wife to stop working just to read a novel?

Weird.

But soon, she didn't need any convincing—she was completely absorbed.

Later, he recommended it to Du Juan and the others. When he saw that they all enjoyed it, he became convinced that it could be successfully adapted into a drama.

In his mind, a TV show was only as good as its script.

As long as the script wasn't butchered, even without big-name actors, it could still get high ratings.

Conversely, even with a bad script, no number of A-list stars could save it.

He felt the drama industry had become completely warped in recent years.

Pretty-boy actors were forced into tough-guy roles.

Delicate, effeminate leads were cast as domineering CEOs.

He had no idea what these directors were thinking, but he knew one thing—watching them act made him cringe so hard his toes could dig a hole in the floor.

And it wasn't just one or two—it was everywhere.

The industry treated audiences like fools.

Once he confirmed the script was solid, he reached out to Yang Jiancheng to discuss investing.

Based on his calculations, if they didn't hire big-name actors, the total budget wouldn't exceed ten million.

Yang Jiancheng was even willing to sell his house to help fund the project.

That was what convinced Chen Pingsheng to invest.

If a director wasn't willing to put his own money into a project, why should anyone else?

Yang Jiancheng was surprised that he was actually willing to invest. Their next meeting was a bit rushed.

"I can contribute about five million myself," Yang Jiancheng said. "The filming should take three to four months, and if all goes well, it'll be on air before the new year. But we still need another five million."

That was fast.

Chen Pingsheng was willing to invest, but he had one condition.

"I'll invest, but Zhao Liying must be the female lead—no exceptions. That's my only demand."

It was a long shot, but if he could help launch a major star, it would be a huge win for him.

"Deal," Yang Jiancheng agreed without hesitation.

Zhao Liying was a perfect fit. Plus, the budget wasn't big enough to afford A-listers anyway.

Since he was investing half the funds, Chen Pingsheng could only take a 40% stake. The remaining 60% belonged to Yang Jiancheng.

He didn't have five million upfront, so he paid two million first, with the remaining three million to be paid midway through filming.

It was a small investment, so breaking even wouldn't be difficult.

And who knew?

Maybe it would be a huge success.

When he told his wife, Song Yanxi, about it, she was stunned.

Her husband wasn't just running a fruit shop—he was stepping into the entertainment industry too.