Chapter 56: Signing the Contract

Two days later, in Yang Junrong’s office. The day had finally arrived for Gu Cheng to confront Alpha Records.

Jay Chou’s debut album, "JAY," was about to be officially released by Sony Music, and time was of the essence.

At the conference table, Lin Zhiling had lost count of how many times she’d pressed her lips together or sipped her tea, yet she still felt out of step with Gu Cheng and Yang Junrong’s rhythm.

She really hadn’t managed to slip fully into the role of "manager" just yet.

Yang Junrong spoke at length, systematically rebutting the dozen or so contract terms Gu Cheng had suggested and Lin Zhiling had polished:

"These are our company’s conditions—a promise of annual sales of 500,000 copies is far too vague. Unless you change it to a monthly minimum of 40,000 units, with 60,000 for the launch month, or pay a lump sum deposit equivalent to 100,000 units at the start of the year, we won’t even consider this contract."

"Half a million albums means fifty million Taiwan dollars in wholesale price, and your company’s registered capital is only two million. If you breach the contract and go bankrupt, you wouldn’t even cover the penalty. Why should we trust you?"

Yang Junrong’s tone and words made it clear he saw Gu Cheng’s company as a shell operation, one that would fold and disappear if a deal didn’t turn a profit.

"Working for a company like this really isn’t respectable," Lin Zhiling thought, wavering slightly. She’d grown up in a wealthy family, always surrounded by trustworthy people, never rubbing shoulders with those running fly-by-night outfits. In the end, her conscience steadied her: "Mr. Gu said he’d give me two months’ salary to try it out—can’t just run off before the time’s up."

On the other side, Gu Cheng knew that when it came to managing artists, he was no match for Yang Junrong. Bargaining was pointless; his only advantage was foresight.

"Mr. Yang, the conditions you just mentioned are all acceptable to us at Chengpin Media. I’ll choose the first method—monthly minimum sales with penalties for shortfalls. These are technical details.

But I hope you’ll accurately verify our company’s strength, and not view this partnership through the lens of a shell company—I own the largest online platform for audio and video sales in China. Please open your eyes to see the world of e-commerce on the internet."

Gu Cheng spared no effort in demonstrating his capabilities. He produced the authorization contract he’d signed with Dangdang.com and the agreements for acquiring music e-commerce businesses on the mainland, giving Yang Junrong a lesson in the new era.

Distribution channels in this world were evolving every moment. Whether Yang Junrong believed people would buy albums online or not, the future was inevitable.

"People in the mainland buying albums online? Dream on," Yang Junrong thought disdainfully, finally confirming, "Mr. Gu, are you certain you can accept these terms? Starting January next year, your company must pay at least 1.2 million yuan as wholesale. We offer a maximum of thirty days’ credit—if you fail to meet this, we reserve the right to terminate the partnership!"

Album prices were still relatively low in 2000. In Taiwan, a new release cost about 180 dollars, and after being imported to the mainland, it sold for around 38 yuan.

With outsourced promotion to the target market, record companies typically offered distributors wholesale rates at 60% of retail. So, Gu Cheng could buy from Alpha at 20 yuan per album, retail online for 38, or discount for other channels.

Meanwhile, Gu Cheng would be responsible for all promotion and advertising costs for Jay Chou’s music in the mainland.

Older albums, usually sold at a discount—100 Taiwan dollars in Taiwan, 18 yuan in the mainland—had a factory price of about 10 yuan, with similar margins.

Lin Zhiling, who had been quietly taking notes and calculating, didn’t really grasp the business risks involved. She only sensed, from Yang Junrong’s tone, that this seemed like a daunting task.

She couldn’t help but glance worriedly at her young boss.

Gu Cheng showed no sign of unease: "That’s exactly what I mean, Mr. Yang. If you’re satisfied, let’s sign the contract—oh, one more thing. After signing, will our company also be able to handle Jay Chou’s advertising endorsements and commercial events in the mainland?"

Yang Junrong answered precisely, "Yes. Like the albums, you’ll receive forty percent of whatever comes in. The rest goes to Alpha and Jay Chou himself. You’ll be responsible for business costs and initial negotiations—all outlined in the contract."

With the executives satisfied, the lawyers took over, cross-checked the draft, made a few tweaks, and after reconfirmation, Gu Cheng and Yang Junrong exchanged signatures.

"Pleasure working with you." Gu Cheng shook hands with Yang Junrong, then made a reasonable request: "Now that we’ve signed, could I meet Jay?"

Yang Junrong hesitated briefly—it was a fair request, so he didn’t object.

He explained that Jay Chou was currently filming a debut promo clip and preparing his remarks, not at the company. If Gu Cheng wanted to meet him, he’d have to go to Alpha’s dedicated recording studio.

Gu Cheng didn’t quite understand, but it didn’t keep him from agreeing.

After leaving Alpha, Lin Zhiling came up to him and quietly explained, "Many artists, when they debut, will film a few ‘just-in-case-I-get-famous’ speech clips, like the acceptance speeches on talent shows. Because if you suddenly make it big, filming one last-minute would be disruptive. But most never use them, since they never get the chance."

Gu Cheng mused, thinking it was just like the final "Thank you, mom and dad and CCTV" on The Voice of China, or athletes saying "Thank you to my coach, thank you to the country..." (Order matters.)

"How do you know? Did you film one too?" Gu Cheng asked, curious.

Lin Zhiling was a little embarrassed, "Well... After we shot the MV for Harlem Yu, I filmed a twenty-second clip. Harlem’s manager told me it was in case the MV got big, so they’d have a speech for the highlights."

It never got used, of course.

"Sigh, truly a life arranged by directors and scriptwriters—even speaking in your own voice isn’t allowed."

Gu Cheng sighed at the over-staged nature of artists in this era, then glanced at the address Yang Junrong had just given him, handing the slip to Lin Zhiling: "Let’s go meet Jay Chou, then. You can give directions to the driver."

Lin Zhiling hesitated, thoughtfully, "Is this really appropriate? Maybe you don’t know how things work in the industry. Seeing someone film a ‘winner’s speech’ before they’re famous is pretty awkward. If they never make it, you’ll have witnessed their lowest moment—makes it hard to even be friends."

"Don’t worry. I’ve seen his songs—he’ll absolutely make it big."

Gu Cheng said it with such confidence and authority that Lin Zhiling couldn’t argue. She hailed a taxi and gave the driver instructions.

In the car, Lin Zhiling felt a swirl of emotion. She couldn’t understand where Gu Cheng’s confidence came from, but it was compelling and contagious. She couldn’t help but ask, "Mr. Gu, are you always like this? I mean—do you always believe that what you’ve set your sights on is never wrong?"

Gu Cheng replied casually, "Not always, but when I’m sure about something, I’m willing to pay the price for it."

Lin Zhiling sighed softly, "Do you think... I’ll be a manager for life? Or is there something else for me?"

"It depends on what you want. Sometimes too much talent isn’t a good thing—it can overwhelm you."

Gu Cheng didn’t want to interfere too much in Lin Zhiling’s path; perhaps he felt that modeling wasn’t a profession where she could truly shine. If not a model, he wasn’t sure what she was best suited for.

The car soon arrived at Alpha’s recording studio. Lin Zhiling slipped naturally into the role of advance scout for her boss, explained their purpose, and let the staff take them inside. In the studio, a strikingly handsome "bad boy" was finishing a rather flamboyant speech clip with a mustachioed man.

"Jay Chou, someone’s here for you!" The staffer, seeing a break in filming, shouted loudly, adding, "Remember to treat us tonight! Mr. Yang just signed you a new distributor—for the mainland. Your album will be on sale there starting New Year’s Day."

Albums weren’t released globally—they depended on target markets. Jay Chou’s debut had so far only been signed to Sony Music for Taiwan and Hong Kong. Even Sony’s strongest channels in Japan weren’t planning to release it—they didn’t believe a rookie Mandarin singer would draw Japanese buyers.

Now, at the cusp of debut, hearing that Mr. Yang had signed a mainland distributor, Jay Chou was naturally delighted. He quickly tidied his clothes and came up to greet Gu Cheng.

But before he could speak, Lin Zhiling cried out in surprise, "Ah! Aren’t you the guy from the other day’s elec—"

The mustachioed Fang Wenshan rushed over and, rough hands and all, clamped a hand over Lin Zhiling’s mouth.

"Ah..."

"Old Fang, what are you doing? You’re making me really awkward here..."

Gu Cheng and Jay Chou each grabbed one, pulling Lin Zhiling and Fang Wenshan apart.

Lin Zhiling’s voice was always soft and sweet, but now, startled, her face drained of color and she was breathless.

"Ahem... Zhiling, Old Fang won’t be an electrician anymore. What happened the other day is a secret between us—let’s never speak of it again, don’t let a fifth person know."

Gu Cheng added, pointing to Lin Zhiling, "Lin Zhiling, my new manager."

With Fang Wenshan there, Gu Cheng didn’t need to introduce himself; Fang Wenshan eagerly gave Jay Chou a heads-up: "Jay, this is the Mr. Gu I told you about—the one from the mainland who wants to buy your agency contract. He listened to your demo and flew over just for you."

"So what’s with the electrician thing?"

"Hey, hey, that’s not important! Keep it down! I haven’t done that in ages, okay?"