Chapter 68 | My Acting System Only Gives Me Villain Roles

After changing out of his costume and removing his makeup, Jiang Yue walked out of the studio with his phone in hand.

The 3:00 PM Hengcheng sun beat down on the concrete ground outside the studio, and his phone vibrated twice in his palm.

Jiang Yue tapped open the screen. A bank text message showed that his savings card ending in xxxx had received a deposit of RMB.

Seven figures after tax.

Jiuhe pharmaceutical company was prompt with their payment, and the contract wrap-up was clean. They were indeed a rare, hassle-free client.

Jiang Yue looked at the deposit notification, his fingers pausing at the edge of the screen for a moment.

Getting paid was, of course, a great feeling.

But this time, from brand screening, contract review, and tax documentation to shooting coordination, it had all relied on Xu Pingqiu and the business coordinator of 《The Grand Game》's crew to shield him.

He exited the messaging app, opened his phone's notes app, and created a new line of text.

Personal Studio.

The fastest way to return to Donghai from Hengcheng was not by plane, but by high-speed rail.

At 4:00 PM, the Fuxing bullet train pulled out of Hengcheng Station. The business-class carriage was so quiet that only the hum of the air conditioning could be heard.

Jiang Yue leaned back in his seat, his phone screen resting on a tax calculation page. With his acting fees combined with the advertising payout for the cold relief powder, the available balance in his card was already enough to support a basic team.

After boarding the train, he had run the numbers based on the Xia Nation's latest tax rates.

Accepting commercial and labor contracts under an individual's name meant that as income rose, the tax rate climbed right along with it.

While tax rates could be calculated with a calculator, things like contract terms, invoicing processes, scheduling conflicts, legal reviews, and the hidden traps in every business negotiation could not be monitored by him alone.

For this ad shoot, the early brand screening, contract finalization, and itinerary coordination had almost entirely relied on Xu Pingqiu lending him the business coordinator from 《The Grand Game》's crew.

A debt of gratitude was the hardest to repay.

He could not keep leeching off the production crew's resources forever.

Once 《The Grand Game》 began broadcasting, if the character of Chu Yan truly resonated with the audience, all kinds of announcements, commercial collaborations, and interview invitations would only multiply and pile onto him.

Without a professional team to act as a shield, his energy would be drained by petty squabbles, and he would be far more likely to fall into contract traps.

He needed his own base of operations.

Jiang Yue opened WeChat, scrolled down his chat list, and tapped into his conversation with Han Song.

Jiang Yue: 【Brother Han, you busy?】

In less than ten seconds, a voice message popped up from the other end.

Jiang Yue tapped to play it. The background was filled with the sounds of the director shouting through a megaphone to rush the scene and guests running around.

Han Song lowered his voice, his breath weak. “I'm hiding in the bathroom to catch my breath. The production team just made me run three rounds of a relay race. My legs go soft just looking at stairs right now. Do you need something?”

Jiang Yue typed a reply.

Jiang Yue: 【I want to set up a personal studio. Is it reliable to use an agency for this, and are there any traps?】

After waiting for a minute, Han Song sent over a long voice message.

“Brother, this question is way out of my league.”

“For someone like me signed to a company, everything from promotions and business deals to whether I eat boiled vegetables or chicken breast tonight is monitored by someone.”

“Instead of asking me this, you'd be better off asking Chen Jiaming.”

“Old Chen is a famous sole proprietor in the industry. He hasn't signed with any company and has been flying solo for several years.”

After a couple of seconds, Han Song added another line.

“I'll give Teacher Chen a heads-up first. You can ask him directly. It'll be much more reliable than asking me.”

Jiang Yue typed back 【Got it】 and exited the chat.

A salted fish's scope of business, indeed, did not include establishing a faction.

He pulled up Chen Jiaming's WeChat.

Since 《The Hidden Sentry》 had wrapped up, the two of them would occasionally like each other's posts on Moments. Their friendship wasn't particularly deep, but they had shared actual scenes together and understood each other's temperaments to some extent.

Jiang Yue: 【Teacher Chen, are you done with your scenes? I have a few questions about starting a studio that I'd like to ask.】

After sending the message, there was no reply for a long time.

Jiang Yue wasn't in a hurry either. He placed his phone face down on the tray table, pulled down the window shade, and closed his eyes to rest.

Over an hour later, the high-speed train slowed down and pulled into Donghai Hongqiao Station.

Jiang Yue put on a black baseball cap and a face mask, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked out.

Just as he passed through the exit turnstiles, his phone began to vibrate.

The caller ID showed Chen Jiaming.

Jiang Yue pressed the answer button, avoided the crowd exiting the station, and stood next to a structural pillar.

“I just finished my scenes and only now saw your message.”

Chen Jiaming's voice was raspy, and someone in the background was shouting about wrapping up for the day.

“Han Song just sent me a message saying you want to set up your own shop and go solo?”

“I have that idea.”

Jiang Yue watched the headlights lighting up one after another outside the exit, his tone sincere.

“Right now, it's just me. I wanted to learn from your experience, Teacher Chen. To set up a skeleton crew in the early stages, how much money do I need to throw in?”

The sound of a lighter's flint wheel striking came from the other end of the line.

Chen Jiaming had probably lit a cigarette.

“It doesn't cost much in the early stages.”

Chen Jiaming exhaled a puff of smoke, speaking bluntly.

“If you aren't picky, a few tens of thousands of yuan is enough to set up the shell.”

“For the registered address, you don't need to immediately rent a few hundred square meters of office space. Just find a compliant address to register under. Accounting and legal can be outsourced in the beginning, and promotions can also be handled by a PR team.”

Jiang Yue caught the real crux of the matter.

“Then what's the bottleneck?”

“People.”

Chen Jiaming's side went quiet for half a second, the noise of wrapping up the shoot shut out further away.

“If you only want to register an empty shell, it's not that hard.”

“But if you want to use the studio to accept roles, do variety shows, sign endorsements, and run commercial performances, you have to pass one hurdle first.”

“What hurdle?”

“The Commercial Performance License.”

Chen Jiaming enunciated each word clearly.

“Taking jobs as an individual is just small-time stuff. If your studio wants to formally accept bookings, commercial deals, and commercial performances in the future, once the contracts involve performance brokerage services, the Ministry of Culture and Tourism will look at your qualifications. If your licenses aren't complete, you can get away with it in the short term, but once the platforms' and brands' legal departments tighten up later, all kinds of trouble will find its way to you.”

“Is this license hard to get?”

“For big companies, it's just a standard procedure. For a personal studio, it's a choke point. At least in both Donghai and Hengcheng, the regulations are very strict right now. If you want to apply for this license, the studio must have at least three full-time performance brokers registered under its name. Their certificates, labor contracts, and social security materials all need to match up perfectly, and the annual review will look at them too.”

Jiang Yue broke down this information.

“In other words, there must be people who have passed the performance broker qualification exam, and their employment relationship must be registered under the studio's name.”

“Yes.”

Chen Jiaming took over the conversation.

“If you just want to make up the numbers, it's not hard.”

“Paying people to register under your name, or hiring a few low-paid clerks to take the exam—there are people who do both. But I advise you not to try and cut corners here.”

The relaxed look in Jiang Yue's eyes faded slightly.

“Are you afraid of inside traitors?”

“I'm afraid you won't even know who the traitor is.”

Chen Jiaming's voice sank.

“You haven't been in the entertainment industry for long, so you haven't seen the dirty laundry inside yet.”

“A couple of years ago, there was a top star who opened his own studio and found some professional outside brokers and assistants to fill the spots. The broker took the official seal and accepted terrible films to cash out, while the assistant sold private itineraries to sasaeng fans and paparazzi.”

“In the end, the contracts were real, the seal was real, and the debts were real. All the blame was pinned on the artist, and he's still paying off the money even now.”

Jiang Yue watched the long line of ride-hailing cars outside the exit, not responding immediately.

The studio's official seal, financial lifeblood, contract reviews, and private itineraries—handing any of these over to the wrong person would turn into a blade slicing into his own flesh in the future.

“So the safest way is to find the right people first, and only register once the team is assembled.”

“Exactly.”

Chen Jiaming put out his cigarette.

“The most core role is the agent.”

“This person not only needs to have a license, but they also have to be able to command authority, understand external coordination, and most importantly, they must be someone you can trust.”

He paused, then added a piece of heartfelt advice.

“If you don't sign with a company and work on your own, you are snatching food right out of the mouths of the big companies.”

“Platform package resources, top-tier business deals, and hot scripts—they've already divided those among themselves internally. They won't easily let any of it slip into your hands.”

“That is the price.”

Jiang Yue pressed further, “And the benefits?”

“Freedom.”

Chen Jiaming answered without a second thought, his tone carrying the wisdom of someone who had been through it all.

“No betting agreements, no back-to-back shooting of ten dramas in three years, and no being forced to act as a stepping stone for the company's newcomers.”