Chapter 54: The Agent

Lin Qihua finally received his own exclusive agent—a stunningly beautiful woman named Shen Manni. Though not yet thirty, she was already the most renowned agent at Galaxy Entertainment. Previously, she managed a top-tier celebrity, and upon discovering that the star was secretly negotiating with Starshine Entertainment, she sided with the company without hesitation, scolding her client harshly. Her style was sharp and uncompromising, earning her a formidable reputation within the company; some called her “Shen the Demon,” making many artists wary of approaching her. In truth, she possessed deep connections and formidable abilities—her assertive manner simply wasn’t suitable for most artists. The company’s decision to assign her to Lin Qihua showed their high regard and expectations for him, and in just a few days, Lin Qihua had already witnessed her capabilities.

There was, however, one small quirk about this agent: she enjoyed teasing people—men and women alike. This was one reason for her less-than-stellar reputation among artists. Who could withstand the attentions of such a beautiful woman, especially when there was nothing one could do in response? Now, it seemed she had found a new target: her latest artist, Lin Qihua.

Even now, as they discussed work earnestly, her gestures and expressions were full of playful provocation. Watching Lin Qihua struggle between curiosity and embarrassment, she laughed heartily.

Lin Qihua shook his head. With an agent like this, he couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse. Still, her competence was undeniable. From the moment she took over, she had clarified his work strategy.

“Although you’re still a few months away from your comeback, we need to start preparing early,” Shen Manni said, her serious tone possessing a different kind of allure. “First, there’s your contract with the company. This is crucial. What are your requirements? Bring them up now and we can negotiate with the company in advance. That way, we won’t be haggling when it’s time to sign.”

“There’s nothing much. Sister Qin has already shown enough sincerity. No need to complicate things. Just follow the company’s contract,” Lin Qihua replied, shaking his head. Yu Fengqin had already offered him a top-tier contract—one reserved for first-line stars—which was more than generous. To ask for more would seem petty. He trusted the company wouldn’t have unreasonable demands of him, since their interests were aligned. The company understood his true value—not just his commercial appeal, but his talent in writing bespoke songs for other artists, which was most needed. He suspected the contract would include additional benefits. Galaxy Entertainment’s good reputation was well earned. As for revenue after signing, the company would take its share, which was only fair. After all, the company was investing in him, providing resources and full services. In today’s entertainment industry, the relationship between company and artist was no longer exploitative; win-win cooperation was the norm.

“Alright, that won’t be a problem. Director He has spoken to me, and you’ll get a satisfactory contract,” Shen Manni said, giving Lin Qihua an admiring glance. “Second, you need to set up your own social media platforms soon. You might not like this, but as an artist, you have a responsibility to interact with your fans. They need a place to follow you and stay updated. Before, as part of a group, one account was enough, but now that you’re going solo, you need your own verified platforms to gather your fans. If you don’t want to manage it yourself, we can handle it for you. Modern artists can’t ignore the internet. The days when good work alone was enough are gone. You have to promote yourself alongside creating quality content. Fans enjoy interacting with you, and following your every move is their greatest pleasure. Without it, they’d lose much of their joy.”

“I understand. If you think it’s right, then let’s do it,” Lin Qihua said, recalling his fan group. Were they still quietly waiting for him? Perhaps it was time to give them some news. “Once verified, I’ll handle it when I can, but most of the time, I’ll need your help.”

“That’s part of my job, so don’t call it trouble,” Shen Manni replied with a flirtatious smile, giving him a teasing look. When he avoided her gaze, her smile grew even broader.

“Oh, right,” Lin Qihua remembered the girl who’d come to him for authorization that night—Chang Yan. She’d said she wanted to set up his official fan club. “There’s a girl who asked for permission to start my official fan club. She’s been a loyal fan since my days performing at the bar, very enthusiastic. Judging by her tone, she’s taking this seriously. Could you follow up on this for me? If she’s really doing it, let’s grant her the authorization.”

“Alright, her name is Chang Yan? What’s the fan club called?”

“I think it’s ‘Morning Star.’”

“Morning Star?” Shen Manni laughed. “She’s definitely serious. The Morning Star is Venus. Right before dawn, you sometimes see a particularly bright ‘morning star’ on the eastern horizon. It’s not a light source itself, but people call it the ‘Morning Star,’ also known as Venus, the brightest star at that moment. Your name is Qihua, so it’s a perfect fit—very meaningful. She wants to make you the brightest rising star in the East. What a wonderful omen.”

“Yes,” Lin Qihua sighed, “and I’ve joined Galaxy Entertainment. It’s fate—the brightest star in the galaxy. The symbolism is really nice.”

“Just for that name, we should give her authorization,” Shen Manni decided. “She’s definitely a die-hard fan who won’t give up halfway. I’ll contact her right away and invite her over for a visit. For artists, the fan club is crucial; you can’t value it enough. Artists rely on their fans. We’ll talk with her and see how we can improve this aspect, maybe try some new approaches, since fan club management is becoming more professional.”

“Yes, I agree. I have some ideas myself—we can discuss them together,” Lin Qihua nodded. Fans were the foundation of an artist’s career. In the nineties, fandom was wild—fans were fervent, sometimes affecting artists’ lives. Back then, secret marriages and hidden relationships were common, and there were even incidents where fans rioted when their idols got married. By the twenty-first century, fandom had become more rational and professional. Though fans still supported their idols unconditionally, they accepted them as normal people with their own lives. As long as nothing too outrageous happened, fans could accept it. At the same time, idols didn’t invest themselves fully anymore; image became more important, and if an artist did something fans couldn’t accept, their support could vanish in an instant.

With the advent of the internet, this trend became even more pronounced. Fans were no longer divided strictly; many supported more than one artist. For fans, artists brought joy and inspiration, but they weren’t as invested as before. The chaos of the industry could be met with calm, and people kept their personal lives and fandom separate. At this point, the role of fan clubs became clearer—these were groups of die-hard fans, organized with structure and leadership, mobilizing support for their idols. As their importance grew, entertainment companies began to focus on better ways to utilize fan clubs.

“Now, for the final matter,” Shen Manni noted it down and continued, “What are your plans for your comeback?”

“What do you think?” Lin Qihua asked.

“There are two paths. One is to release singles step by step, promote them, and gradually build your popularity. If the songs are good and well-received, your fan base will grow quickly,” Shen Manni explained. “The second path is riskier: joining variety shows. These are major media platforms with high visibility. Participating in a show gives you instant exposure, but the attention is comprehensive—not just your performance, but your image, behavior, everything. The rewards are high, but so is the risk. Also, the show’s producers may not choose you. Top-rated shows are picky; besides connections, you need something to impress them. Lesser shows won’t achieve our goals, so there’s a dilemma.”

“That’s something to consider carefully,” Lin Qihua mused. “Fortunately, there’s still time. Please gather information on variety shows starting after September, and we’ll discuss it thoroughly. We’ll find a way. If nothing works out, we’ll stick to releasing singles step by step.”

It seemed Lin Qihua was inclined toward the second route, perhaps because the company needed him to break through quickly. Shen Manni sighed and nodded, “I’ll do my best. After September, there will be a surge of top variety shows—there’s sure to be one that fits.”

“Thank you,” Lin Qihua said earnestly. “Having such a troublesome artist on your hands.”

Shen Manni laughed, her laughter like a cascade of flowers, and boldly lifted Lin Qihua’s chin with her finger. “Why thank me? The challenge makes it interesting.”

Lin Qihua, unable to help himself, blushed deeply.