Ti is like the cash in one’s pocket—originally sparse and yet particularly easy to spend.
In the blink of an eye, the busy months of March and April had flashed by.
In these two months, Xu Qingqiu had temporarily halted her hurried pace, beginning to tally the fruits of her labor from the hard work of the previous year.
Owing to various music festivals and award ceremonies being held one after another, she spent most of her ti traveling back and forth across Asia.
Yes, Asia. It was hard to say whether it was because music festivals were now taking an international route, or because Xu Qingqiu’s album truly had that much influence.
Aside from so dostic music award ceremonies, this ti she even received invitations from Japan and so music festivals in Southeast Asia.
So, not only was she busy dostically, but traveling abroad had also beco commonplace for her.
Even she didn’t know that she had quite a number of fans overseas. Every ti she arrived sowhere, the airport was packed with fans who had co to greet her.
If Chu Tian hadn’t, with great foresight, assigned her several bodyguards, Xu Qingqiu worried she might not even be able to get out of the airport.
Sister Hua had also fully scheduled the rest of her ti with nurous engagents to capitalize on her recently accumulated popularity, converting it into considerable revenue.
These activities were not without their rewards. After all, Xu Qingqiu’s two albums were out there for everyone to see; their success was undeniable.
For an award to gain influence and prestige, fairness is paramount.
Of course, this fairness could only be relative; absolute fairness definitely didn’t exist.
But even relative fairness depended on the standards of the organizers.
So organizers, concerned about their reputation or aspiring to greater legitimacy, wouldn’t do anything too excessive openly. Even if money was spent on public relations, it was done very discreetly.
As for those third-rate events that brazenly sold titles for cash, Sister Hua rejected them before they even reached Xu Qingqiu.
Therefore, the events Xu Qingqiu attended were mostly reputable.
Despite this, such events had a history of scandals, which naturally diminished their influence.
But no matter how scandalous, if such an event dared to slight an album widely recognized as a masterpiece, Xu Qingqiu wouldn’t even need to get angry. The netizens’ fury alone would be enough to destroy the award’s credibility, and organizing such an event in the future would beco incredibly difficult.
Moreover, while rigging was possible, one absolutely could not overdo it. Even if dostic regulation in this area wasn’t strict, verging on laissez-faire, crossing the line and inciting public outrage would likely invite intervention from the authorities. They might not target issues with the awards themselves, but they would surely find problems with the event’s organization. If things escalated to that point, who could claim to be completely blaless?
So, after touring Asia, Xu Qingqiu’s haul was substantial. She won two Best Album awards alone, not to ntion a host of others like Best Singer, Most Influential Singer, Best Female Singer, Best Chinese Singer, Singer of the Year, and Best Lyricist and Composer.
Xu Qingqiu, who previously held only the single title of Best Female Singer, saw her list of honors grow by more than ten in one fell swoop.
A special cabinet was even purchased for the studio just to display the trophies.
Thinking back to that single, lonely award from before and comparing it to her current collection, Xu Qingqiu felt it was all quite surreal.
Oh, right. Those awards for Best Lyricist and Composer were actually for Chu Tian, but he couldn’t be bothered to attend, so Xu Qingqiu accepted them on his behalf.
Not only did he not attend, but Chu Tian hadn’t even had the chance to accompany her during this period. He had stayed behind at the company to manage its expansion.
After two months of expansion, Unlimited Entertainnt had nearly doubled in size compared to before the new year.
From managent and the main film production creative teams to technical crew mbers and general staff, Unlimited Entertainnt hired over seventy people in one go.
The previously sowhat empty offices instantly beca packed.
Consequently, with ample funding and personnel secured, various projects began to unfold rapidly.
Progress on "Candle in the Tomb" was incredibly fast. Even with on-location filming, Wei Chuan managed to shoot half of it in just two months.
Chu Tian found ti to visit the set. He and Wei Chuan spent a week reviewing the footage fild so far.
How to put it? This world’s adaptation of "Candle in the Tomb" is different from all the versions in the other world.
This was because, aside from showing Wei Chuan the original novel, Chu Tian hadn’t given him any script at all, leaving everything to Wei Chuan’s creative control.
The reasoning was simple: while the "Candle in the Tomb" series from his previous life had its rits, the adaptations were a mixed bag, each with its own shortcomings.
Furthermore, as a seasoned director—especially one from that era—Wei Chuan found writing his own scripts to be second nature.
Chu Tian couldn’t guarantee that a script from his previous life would necessarily be better than whatever Wei Chuan might create himself.
Given this, it was better to let Wei Chuan work his magic, with Chu Tian only needing to review the final product.
In fact, Chu Tian had already read the script as soon as it was ready. Unlike so adaptations from his previous life that were altered beyond recognition simply to emphasize the "adaptation" aspect, Wei Chuan’s script was different.
Wei Chuan, despite his extensive experience, showed no signs of arrogance. While his script incorporated creative touches and artistic license, it fundantally adhered to the original novel’s plotline.
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