Chapter 116: Which One to Choose?

Judging by the current level of attention, the television station that had originally purchased the premiere rights mainly because of Qiu Xian and the star-studded cast was quietly delighted. Meanwhile, the stations that missed out on securing those rights were beating their chests in regret, never imagining that “Jiangshan,” a drama that had yet to spark any buzz, would become so wildly popular even before its first broadcast.

Hindsight is invaluable. Aside from hurriedly releasing trailers to announce that “Jiangshan” would air on their channel, the stations had little else to do.

Though there had been no prior promotion for “Jiangshan,” the cast’s strong performances invisibly boosted its popularity. Add to that the powerful trailer, which seemed to strike a chord with the audience’s deepest desires, and the show became a sensation almost overnight.

Following that, Qiu Xian, along with several lead actors, became flying ambassadors, appearing on various programs to promote the series, fueling the craze even more.

In the trailer, Chu Luoxi appeared in only one scene but shone brilliantly, standing apart from the familiar veteran stars. That moment was the final scene she shot—a poignant blend of reluctance, warmth, and devotion to the emperor, yet in an instant, it revealed the heroic resolve and ruthless decisiveness of someone ready to sacrifice herself and manipulate the entire game.

Although it was just a trailer, and the audience had no idea it was the radiant final moment before Consort Rou’s death, this did nothing to diminish their appreciation of the woman’s tender yet fierce inner strength.

Thus, solely based on the trailer, Chu Luoxi’s fan forum exploded with activity. Many assumed she must be the lead. Of course, no one expected the trailer to reveal Consort Rou’s fate—not just hers, but the endings of others as well—since Qiu Xian was not one to spoil such things.

In short, “Jiangshan” had already toppled all other costume dramas before it had even officially aired, and that was just from the trailer.

“Wow, the momentum of ‘Jiangshan’ is really unstoppable,” Liu Yujia said, clicking away at her computer with a sense of wonder. The drama market had been weak for a long time, and nothing like “Jiangshan” had stirred such a strong reaction in ages.

“Your ‘Crystal’ isn’t bad either,” Chu Luoxi smiled knowingly, unsurprised by the situation. “You two really became overnight sensations.”

“Crystal” had wrapped filming earlier than “Jiangshan,” just in time for the New Year and Spring Festival holidays. It wasn’t just a beautifully crafted idol drama; the timing during a vacation period helped immensely. Moreover, Li Shuangmu’s campaign branding it as a “mainland idol drama” added considerable appeal.

For a while, “Crystal” was blazing hot from north to south, exceeding all expectations. Online avatars, emojis, real-life clothing, stickers, and all manner of merchandise featuring the cast flooded the market. Although many of these were technically copyright infringements, they nonetheless reflected “Crystal’s” undeniable popularity.

When “Jiangshan” emerged, “Crystal” was already at its peak, wielding tremendous influence. Since the two dramas were not of the same genre and targeted different audiences, “Jiangshan’s” rise had no negative impact on “Crystal.”

“That popularity is somewhat inflated, but the agents say several brands are approaching for endorsements, and the offers are quite good,” Zhu Xueshuang smiled. She enjoyed browsing her official website and fan forums every day, which had flourished since the airing of “Crystal.”

Upon hearing this, Chu Luoxi considered thoughtfully, “Endorsements?”

“Yes, I have quite a few offers. Xiao Xi, what do you think we should do?” Liu Yujia asked directly, somewhat troubled by the situation. The agents were undecided, hoping they would accept them all.

“Stay away from food products for now. If the prices are similar, choose the shorter contracts, even if that means accepting less money. Also, don’t take too many—just pick one or two representative ones,” Chu Luoxi advised firmly. “Since you’ve risen to fame through an idol drama, you don’t want to be labeled as mere pretty faces. The endorsements should be limited. You know your popularity is somewhat inflated; overexposing yourselves now would be unwise. If you cause audience fatigue, your reputation will suffer badly later.”

Endorsements require putting your face on the product. If viewers see you everywhere for everything, they’ll soon grow weary. Being ubiquitous but shallow damages public perception. Reputation is fragile and hard to rebuild once lost.

Understanding the hidden implications, Zhu Xueshuang and Liu Yujia nodded in realization. This was a long-term strategy. If the company and agents focused only on immediate gains, they might try to cash in while they could, regardless of the impact on their popularity or reputation.

“By the way, my agent has also received several scripts. What should we do about those?” Zhu Xueshuang asked without hesitation.

Fame brings such opportunities. Newcomers who once struggled to land even minor roles suddenly become hot commodities, often offered leading parts.

“What kind of scripts? If they’re idol dramas, just pass. If other roles lack depth, don’t accept them either. It’s best to wait until next semester during your senior year internship and then choose carefully,” Chu Luoxi replied calmly.

She knew well that when a certain genre becomes popular, ninety percent of new scripts will follow the same formula. But how many idol dramas could surpass Li Shuangmu’s “Crystal”? Accepting such roles would only cement their reputation as pretty faces with no substance.

Zhu Xueshuang and Liu Yujia needed time to temper their inflated popularity. Their last semester of junior year was the perfect buffer.

“Any agent worth their salt would consider these things,” Chu Luoxi continued. “Your previous agent was just a temporary fix—if they don’t work out, replace them early. Also, if you plan to join a company, now is when your value is highest. You should decide soon.”

She emphasized that these considerations would help them gauge whether an agent truly had their best interests at heart.

“I understand. As for companies, Xiao Xi, do you have any recommendations? We’ve received quite a few contract offers recently,” Zhu Xueshuang nodded thoughtfully.

After some reflection, Chu Luoxi finally said, “I recommend Fengjing Entertainment, where Brother Xiao works. It’s an emerging entertainment company. To establish itself, contracts are more flexible and policies friendlier. Plus, the management is young, with a fresh vision and direction. Compared to others, it’s better suited for newcomers.”

She spoke candidly. Though Fengjing Entertainment couldn’t match the deep-rooted legacy of veteran companies, it possessed undeniable strength. She had witnessed its growth firsthand in a past life, eventually becoming a colossal international powerhouse—far ahead of the old established firms in China.

“If you decide, I can recommend you to Brother Xiao,” Chu Luoxi smiled. Without his approval, she couldn’t casually reveal that he was the top boss of Fengjing Entertainment, but she hoped the two young ladies would have a better path in this life.