Shang Yechu and Ji Juntao sat facing each other, with cups of instant coffee in front of them.
Ji Juntao jogged to his desk, took out two printed contracts from the drawer, and placed one in front of Shang Yechu and the other in front of himself.
"Ms. Ye Chu, please take a look at the contract first..."
Shang Yechu smiled: "I'm about the same age as you, no need to be so polite. You can call me Yechu or Xiao Ye."
Ji Juntao nodded and smiled: "Ye Chu, take a look at the contract first. This is not the final version, just a draft."
Shang Yechu flipped through a few pages of the contract. The minor details could be ignored for now; the most important things were the profit sharing and the contract term.
After reading these two items, Shang Yechu raised an eyebrow and looked at Ji Juntao: "Is this a B contract?"
Ji Juntao glanced at Shang Yechu in surprise, not expecting that this newcomer could even see through this. But then he thought, who knows how many companies would want to sign Shang Yechu, so it's reasonable that she's familiar with contracts.
“That’s right, it’s a Class B contract. Of course, it’s not fixed; it can be adjusted later,” Ji Juntao said.
When artists sign with entertainment companies, the contracts are tiered, ranging from E to A. E-level contracts are essentially indentured servitude agreements for complete novices, D-level contracts are for those at the bottom of the ladder, C-level contracts are the standard for somewhat famous but struggling artists, and B-level contracts are already at the level of second or third-tier artists. It's rumored that some companies also have F-level and G-level contracts; who knows how much worse those contracts would be.
Given Shang Yechu's current achievements, this B-level signing is quite sincere and fair. It at least proves Qingping Entertainment's sincerity.
But Shang Yechu simply sat up straight and closed the contract—a body language indicating his lack of interest in it.
Ji Juntao knew, of course, that it wasn't easy to talk to a famous and talented artist, so he wasn't in a hurry: "Any dissatisfaction can be discussed. Ye Chu, we are very sincere."
Shang Yechu smiled slightly: "If this is your company's sincerity, then I have wasted my whole morning today."
Ji Juntao observed Shang Yechu's micro-expressions and slowly said, "Do you want to talk about an A-level visa? That won't be easy."
A-level contracts offer extremely high benefits, something only top-tier artists can negotiate. For a small studio, it would essentially be equivalent to being the top male or female artist in the company. Although Shang Yechu has gained some fame, this request seems a bit presumptuous.
Unexpectedly, Shang Yechu shook his head again.
Ji Juntao was taken aback—wasn't an A-level visa enough? What else did Ye Chu want!
Shang Yechu pulled a pen from her pocket and waved it in front of Ji Juntao: "May I write on the contract?"
“Of course.” Ji Juntao watched her movements. “I told you, this is just a draft.”
Shang Yechu opened the contract again and scribbled on the paper. Ji Juntao paid special attention to what she was writing, and before Shang Yechu had finished, he said decisively, "Impossible!"
Shang Yechu raised her eyes, a half-smile on her face: "You haven't even finished reading it, and you already think it's impossible?"
“This is no longer at the level of an A visa. What you wrote is clearly—” Ji Juntao paused, “…” “...a level of treatment that might not even be available under an S visa!”
What is the concept of an S visa?
Artists and their management companies are generally considered to have a cooperative relationship—but that's just a nice way of putting it. In reality, when an artist is not famous, the company is the artist's undisputed parent company; when an artist has some fame and influence, the company is like the artist's managing elder brother or sister; only when an artist becomes a superstar and dominates the scene can the relationship between the artist and the company truly become equal, allowing them to sit at the same table, have a meal, and have a chat.
The S-signature does not fall under any of the above relationships. Moreover, what Shang Yechu wrote was more like a ploy to get Qingping Entertainment and Ji Juntao to acknowledge Shang Yechu as their grandmother!
Ji Juntao wants to sign artists, not sign an ancestor for himself.
Given Shang Yechu's stature, he was a far cry from being Ji Juntao's ancestor. Even though Ji Juntao knew this was just a negotiation tactic of trying to get things done by first removing the roof, he still refused without hesitation.
Shang Yechu calmly twirled her pen. "Don't be so quick to refuse. I haven't finished writing yet."
As he spoke, Shang Yechu flipped to the contract terms and added a "+" before "five years".
Ji Juntao's breath hitched.
Fifteen years!
What does fifteen years mean?
For an artist, this is almost the entire golden period of their career!
Shang Yechu is just over twenty this year, and in fifteen years she will be thirty-five. The years between twenty and thirty-five are precisely the peak of a female actress's commercial value, ambition, fan appeal, and the continuous improvement of her professional skills, reaching their zenith. It can be said that this one extra word has practically bound Shang Yechu's entire artistic life to Qingping Entertainment!
"Are you...are you serious?" Ji Juntao's voice trembled slightly. "This is not something to joke about."
Shang Yechu put down her pen: "If you agree to all the terms I've written, this is no joke."
“That’s absolutely impossible.” Ji Juntao still chose to refuse, but his tone was far less firm than before. “The conditions you’ve proposed are too harsh. There’s no such contract in the entertainment industry.”
Shang Yechu tilted her head slightly: "You think I'm not good enough for these conditions?"
Ji Juntao certainly wouldn't be so lacking in emotional intelligence, but her attitude has already proven her point of view.
"How about this, you answer me first, why do you want to sign me?" Shang Yechu smiled.
"Of course, it's because I think you have great potential and commercial value." Ji Juntao was puzzled by the question. "Who wouldn't want a rising star?"
"Then why do you think I came here?"
Ji Juntao fell silent again. To be honest, she was also puzzled. Sending that email to Shang Yechu was a gamble; she hadn't held out much hope. Ji Juntao knew exactly how much her own company was worth.
When Shang Yechu took the initiative to contact him, Ji Juntao felt as if he had been hit by a windfall.
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