The backlash intensified. Director Zhang, who had initially preferred to let the issue cool down, found himself facing official legal channels educating the public. They emphasized that Ye Huanqiu had respected his contract and managed his time reasonably, and that the blame for the situation lay squarely with the production team.
The production team's unwillingness to publicly defend their contestant had fueled the controversy. Indirectly, this also stemmed from Tomato TV's internal disregard for contractual integrity.
Damn it! The narrative took a sharp turn, launching a direct attack on the entire television station with twisted logic.
This was clearly an overreach. What had started as a production issue with I Am a Creator had now escalated to encompass the entirety of Tomato TV.
It was likely a rival station, seeing Tomato TV's recent success, trying to sabotage them.
The executives couldn't let this stand. They immediately called "Little Zhang," the autocratic director of I Am a Creator, known as "The Tyrant." Director Zhang was scolded like a disobedient subordinate.
The message from above was clear: Clean up this mess.
After the call, Director Zhang seethed with fury. He desperately wanted to kick Ye Huanqiu off the show. How much trouble has that guy caused me since he joined?
But when Director Zhang saw the viewership report—a peak rating of 0.93% and an average of 0.68%—he didn't dare make a move until he found someone who could replace Ye Huanqiu.
Moreover, the situation was still highly sensitive. He couldn't even speak to Ye Huanqiu without facing a barrage of criticism, let alone take any drastic action against him.
Yet he had no choice. He had to carry out his superiors' orders, and he had to do it well.
The official Weibo account for I Am a Creator posted an apology, which Director Zhang personally reposted on his private account. Simultaneously, the production team's law firm launched a mass lawsuit against the marketing accounts that had fueled the controversy.
Apart from the few major accounts they had specifically targeted, most had simply jumped on the bandwagon. The legal action primarily focused on these opportunistic accounts, while the handful of accounts with tens of millions of followers quietly deleted their posts and feigned ignorance.
Social media erupted as the marketing accounts wailed and scrambled. Most chose to delete their offending posts and pin the apology to their feeds, effectively letting the matter fade away.
A stubborn few who refused to back down soon found themselves facing court summonses.
On Sunday morning, just after nine o'clock, Ye Huanqiu arrived at Yang Chaoyue's company, his sole purpose being to discuss the copyright purchase of "Rainy Day."
Money always motivated Ye Huanqiu, but this time the price wasn't so appealing. Previously, "Chinese" had been specifically requested for the Mid-Autumn Festival gala, and securing its copyright was akin to obtaining an official invitation—a deal he'd closed for 1.2 million yuan.
For "Rainy Day," however, after considering various factors, her company offered only 600,000 yuan, effectively halving the price.
Despite this, Ye Huanqiu, a former employee of Nuocheng Company, was well-versed in the compensation expectations of arrangers and lyricists at different tiers.
For instance, a Bronze-tier artist, regardless of their star rating, typically wouldn't charge more than 8,000 yuan for a song if working independently. However, through established company collaborations like Nuocheng's with trainee agencies, the price could inflate to around 30,000 yuan per song—a negligible expense for management companies.
At the Silver-tier, a song achieving "minor fame" and wide appeal would usually fetch between 50,000 and 100,000 yuan, with the exact amount fluctuating based on the singer's satisfaction and the company's willingness to pay.
For Gold-tier compositions, songs with a "Rising Fame" level of popularity typically command a starting price of 300,000 yuan.
Ye Huanqiu had no experience with higher tiers, as Nuocheng, his shabby company, had never represented a writer above the Gold tier.
"Your company is well aware of this song's quality," Ye Huanqiu argued during negotiations with Sister Zhang, Yang Chaoyue's manager, and a representative from her management company. "It's undeniably on par with a 'Renowned Far and Wide' level track. I believe a song that can enhance your artist's image and generate sustained revenue warrants a higher price."
Ye Huanqiu stuck to his guns, arguing logically and persuasively.
"Teacher Ye," Sister Zhang countered, "this price is already higher than what most Gold-tier arrangers and lyricists typically receive. Given your age, we don't believe you could possibly exceed the Gold tier. This price is more than fair."
"Ms. Zhang, how many Gold-tier writers can produce a 'Renowned Far and Wide' level song? This unique piece deserves an additional 200,000 yuan!"
Ye Huanqiu boldly demanded an extra 200,000 yuan. While this might seem trivial to established celebrities, it was a substantial sum for professionals in the cultural and creative industries.
"Eight hundred thousand? Teacher Ye, that's highway robbery! We..." Sister Zhang began to protest, but the company representative beside her stopped her with a gesture.
"Eight hundred thousand... Agreed. Let's sign the contract."
"A pleasure doing business with you," Ye Huanqiu said, shaking hands with the representative.
With that, a deal originally priced at six hundred thousand was renegotiated to eight hundred thousand. Ye Huanqiu would still have Starbeam thoroughly vet the contract for loopholes. He had learned his lesson from past mistakes and now approached legal matters with extreme caution.
While he and Yang Chaoyue were friends, Ye Huanqiu harbored no such sentiments toward her management company—it was purely a matter of mutual benefit.
Ye Huanqiu left the master recording with them, allowing them to release the music immediately. Yang Chaoyue wasn't at the office; she was out fulfilling her promotional obligations.
"Representative, this eight hundred thousand..." Sister Zhang trailed off, still questioning the sum.
"He's right," the representative replied. "A song with renowned, far-and-wide appeal? Even a Platinum-tier writer might struggle to produce one a year, let alone a Gold-tier writer. They're incredibly rare. But since his debut, he's already had three. If Blooming Life weren't incompatible with our company's image, I'd snap it up myself."
"But he's just an independent musician," Sister Zhang protested. "Is it really appropriate for him to demand such a high price? Since he doesn't have a management company, this is the perfect opportunity to lowball him. Once this chance is gone, we won't get another like it."
"Think long-term," the representative replied. "He might not be established yet, but this kid's got real talent. Securing ties with a future Platinum-tier, maybe even Diamond-tier, writer now? Twenty thousand yuan is pocket change."
"Him? Diamond-tier!"
"Why don't you trust my judgment? I personally scouted Yang Chaoyue for the company, and none of you believed in her potential back then either."
The representative offered no further explanation and returned to his office upstairs, leaving Sister Zhang to handle the master recording herself.
Ye Huanqiu sat in the car, feeling a pang of emotion. The original owner of this body hadn't earned in seven years what he could make in a single day. Opportunity and talent were inseparable.
Alone in this vast city, money was the only thing that gave him a sense of security right now.
He had only one goal in participating in I Am a Creator: to make money! Make money! And more money!