Huayu: This producer has no bottom line.

Chapter 64 War Producers

On January 6th, Youku's first GG revenue share arrived in their account.

130,000.

This is just the revenue from the first four episodes of "Report to the Boss" in December, so Youku will temporarily settle accounts based on a 30% ratio.

But at the current growth rate, once all 12 episodes are aired, reaching the third-tier revenue sharing ratio is a foregone conclusion.

Ren Pingsheng quickly did the math.

If we calculate based on a 60% revenue share, plus long-tail traffic and the more than one million RMB in GG integration fees that have been received over time, then...

This low-budget web series not only made Shengping TV famous, but also brought in at least 250 million yuan in revenue.

This doesn't even include Guevara's ticketing commission.

"Hongming, Xiaoai, Yibo, stop for a moment."

Ren Pingsheng clapped his hands and called the group over.

He took out several envelopes from the drawer and handed one to each person.

Bai Ke clutched the envelope, hesitant to open it. "What's this?"

"Year-end bonus," Ren Pingsheng smiled, "not much, ten thousand each. Our company is just starting out, and we need to save cash for the upcoming battles. Let's all make do for the New Year."

Zhang Yibo was the first to open his. When the bright red bills were revealed, his eyes instantly welled up with tears.

"Brother Pingsheng, this...this is too much," Xiao Ai pushed the envelope back.

"Take it, this is what you deserve," Ren Pingsheng waved his hand, and pulled out a stack of receipts from the file bag. "Also, social security and housing provident fund are all settled. Go back and let your family know you're safe."

Bai Ke looked at his name and social security number on the receipt without saying a word.

Ren Pingsheng was well aware of the destructive power of this thing on young people.

For him, a reborn individual with a vision of the future, he knew that ten thousand yuan and company benefits were nothing to these people.

But in 2010, for these young people who had just graduated, this was a real means of making a living.

What is the most frightening thing about starting a business?

It was a precarious existence, and being criticized by family members for not doing proper work.

With this real money and these social insurance and housing fund benefits, they feel more confident when facing their parents and relatives during the Spring Festival.

This means they are not fooling around, but are working in a legitimate and promising company, doing a decent and secure job.

"Brother Pingsheng..." Bai Ke sniffed, put the envelope in his pocket, and after a long pause, he finally said, "I'll work for you for the rest of my life."

"Get lost, don't try to cling to me."

Ren Pingsheng laughed and scolded them, then sent them back to their workstations.

If you want a horse to run, you have to feed it the fattest grass.

In this society where interests are intertwined, talking about money is worse than talking about ideals, and paying social security is worse than making empty promises. This is Ren Pingsheng's way of managing his subordinates.

After finishing his work with the team, Ren Pingsheng sat back down at his computer and opened a webpage.

If life's perspective at this moment is warm and cozy, then the Simplified Chinese Internet has now become a cesspool of war.

The War on Internet Addiction

This 64-minute engine-generated movie, made using footage from the game World of Warcraft, sparked an unprecedented media frenzy within just three days of its release.

Weibo, which had only been online for a few days, was the first to be flooded with negative comments, followed closely by Woba and the comment section of 17173.

The cause was that protracted agency dispute.

The fierce competition between the two departments has made Chinese players the biggest victims in the mortal realm.

While players around the world were already battling the Lich King in the frozen wastelands of Northrend, they were trapped in the unchanging Crusade, grinding the same familiar dungeons day after day.

Countless unwilling players were forced to leave their homes and become "mainland locusts" on the Taiwan server, enduring high latency.

Those who remain in the Chinese server face a censored world.

But the river crab was just the fuse.

What truly ignited everyone's passion was the era's scar that the film revealed.

Since that fire, the label of "electronic heroin" has been attached to all players.

The mainstream media's overwhelming coverage, parents' hysterical accusations, and experts and scholars who "just got off the plane in the United States" taking turns to condemn the game as a mental drug and a social scourge.

An entire generation of young people, under the prejudiced eyes of their elders and the condemnation of the media, guarded their hobbies like thieves.

"This is an illness, and it needs treatment."

At the end of "The War on Internet Addiction," the Tauren mage named "Look at Your Sister" delivered a desperate monologue in the game that resonated with millions of Warcraft players and even young people across the country.

"Yes, we are addicted, but we are not addicted to the game itself, but to the sense of belonging it gives us, the friends and feelings here, and our attachment and reliance on this place."

"We diligently squeeze onto buses to go to work every day, and diligently consume all kinds of food, regardless of whether there are unfamiliar chemical ingredients in them. We have never complained about our meager wages, nor have we felt resentful because you are living in townhouses while receiving X deducted from my meager wages."

"We, like everyone else, grieve and weep over floods and earthquakes, and cheer for manned spaceflight and the Olympics. From the bottom of our hearts, we do not want to lag behind any other nation in the world in any way."

"Why can't we have cheap entertainment for 4 cents an hour after a long day?"

This is no longer a protest by players against a version update; it is the most desperate and violent roar of a generation that has long been marginalized, misunderstood, and oppressed!

Ren Pingsheng opened Xinlang's Weibo.

Perhaps because he spoke "fairly" for ordinary people during the "Three Guns" incident, his private messages and comments have exploded.

"Hey, have you read 'The War on Internet Addiction'?"

"You dared to criticize Hong Huang and those elites before, do you dare to stand up this time?"

One after another, there's no end to them all.

The words are filled with anger, but beneath that anger lies a sense of powerlessness.

Ren Pingsheng scrolled down the page for a long time, reading every single item.

He is not a saint and has little interest in saving the world.

But he knew better than anyone how terrifying the energy was behind that emotion.

In 2010, those who were proficient in using the internet were among the first in the country to be exposed to the information age.

The majority of this group are people born in the 1980s, and even the youngest are 21 years old.

They endure the harsh realities of life while seeking a sense of belonging in the virtual world.

They have independent spending power, a strong desire to express themselves, and a natural resistance to mainstream discourse.

Ren Pingsheng had been thinking about how to maximize the benefits of the money he had saved up at this critical juncture.

Now he knows.

What could be better than this group of "old boys" who suppressed their entire youth, harbored a bellyful of anger, but finally gained wealth?

More combat-ready?