After Chen Xiaoqi left, only Zhou Ziheng and Liu Zhiwen remained in the office.
Liu Zhiwen poured a cup of tea for Zhou Ziheng and then spoke:
"Judging by what Xiaoqi said, you have very high standards for signing. Tell me! What are your demands? If they aren't too outrageous, I'll do my best to accommodate them."
If it were anyone else, or if Zhou Ziheng's cassette weren't so captivating, Liu Zhiwen would never have said those words. But clearly, Zhou Ziheng's cassette had successfully won him over. Moreover, Chen Xiaoqi's words just moments ago had played a major role; Liu Zhiwen was genuinely afraid that unfavorable contract terms might drive Zhou Ziheng to take his cassette to New Era for release.
Zhou Ziheng gathered his thoughts before replying:
"Director Liu, here is my idea: instead of signing a singer contract, we can work together through a cooperative arrangement—"
Before Zhou Ziheng could finish, Liu Zhiwen furrowed his brows and interrupted him. "You mean you aren't signing a singer contract with us?"
"Yes!" Zhou Ziheng nodded and said, "I have the ability to write songs for my own cassette records myself. I am confident that my future songs will not be any worse than this cassette."
Pausing for a moment, and unafraid of offending Liu Zhiwen, Zhou Ziheng continued:
"To be honest, I don't think joining Pacific would bring me all that much help from the company on the musical side of things. Since that's the case, I might as well not join, and instead partner with you as an independent musician."
The model of independent musicians collaborating with companies was popular not just abroad. Although Mainland China's music culture was not yet robust, some people had already adopted this approach to work with record companies. Top-tier Mainland musicians like Cui Jian and Liu Huan were themselves independent musicians who produced their own records and then handed them over to major record companies for release. Therefore, Zhou Ziheng's move could not truly be considered setting a precedent.
However, compared to signing directly with a record company, being an independent musician was admittedly harder. When it came to resources, independent musicians had very few. Aside from when a record company promoted a record, they generally wouldn't help singers get on television or radio at other times. Singers had to arrange all of that themselves.
Of course, in Zhou Ziheng's view, these were not major problems. Commercial performances, television appearances, and radio spots were all determined by a singer's fame. As long as people listened to your songs and you were famous, you wouldn't need to contact them yourself—they would come looking for you.
Liu Zhiwen frowned deeply, unable to hold back a touch of exasperation as he said:
"Comrade Zhou Ziheng, you are making things very difficult for me!"
As if immune to the irritation in his tone, Zhou Ziheng pressed on:
"Director Liu, while I am not signing a singer contract with Pacific, that doesn't mean I don't belong with Pacific. I can sign for multiple records with Pacific. Just think about it: Pacific hardly needs to invest anything, and simply by handling the distribution and publishing, you get a decent return. Why wouldn't you want to do this? Your company doesn't even have to worry about whether I'll blow up in the future. If I don't become popular and the records don't sell, all you lose is some raw material costs for pressing the cassettes and some promotional expenses. Besides, do you really think this cassette has no market? As long as it sells even a hundred thousand copies, Pacific will turn a profit. The only loss for Pacific in all this is giving up a slightly larger share of the returns to me."
Liu Zhiwen's expression was less than stellar. Of course he wanted to sign the singer directly. Because once a singer contract was signed, given Zhou Ziheng's looks and this cassette, he was confident he could mold Zhou Ziheng into Mainland China's first generation of idols. Additionally, there was one most important factor: Pacific could take the lion's share of the revenue Zhou Ziheng generated in the future.
Yet if Zhou Ziheng only cooperated with Pacific, the situation would be rather different. If Zhou Ziheng took charge of producing his own records, it meant that the payout he received wouldn't simply be a singer's salary, but would instead be calculated directly as a percentage share. From the perspective of a record company, they were never eager to cede an extra inch of profit.
Only...
Glancing at the cassette on the desk, he couldn't bear to let it go.
As mentioned earlier, during the 1980s, Mainland China had almost no original music, and bestselling cassettes mostly came from Hong Kong and Taiwan or through pirated covers. Now, the authorities had introduced a copyright law requiring covers to obtain copyright authorization, or else it would be a crime—which directly cut off the major record companies' plans for pirated covers.
As for Hong Kong and Taiwan records, releasing and publishing them in Mainland China also demanded a price. The bigger the name of the Hong Kong or Taiwan singer, the more expensive the Mainland distribution and publishing rights, as well as the agency fees, would be. To say nothing of the others, just to secure the record agency rights for the Four Heavenly Kings, a Mainland record publishing company would have to pay agency fees no lower than several million for a single record.
Several million! That was an astronomical sum in this era. Spending millions to secure agency rights still carried a certain amount of risk. Although the records of wildly popular Hong Kong and Taiwan singers during this period mostly sold very well in the Mainland, occasional flops were inevitable. Pacific had once encountered a situation where they paid several million to secure agency rights for a record, only for sales to fall short of the target, leaving them with earnings that didn't even cover the agency fee.
Furthermore, agency rights for Hong Kong and Taiwan singers could no longer be obtained simply by paying agency fees. Just this year, foreign companies, eyeing the Mainland's massive cassette market, applied to establish an audiovisual production company with Tong Sulan. The Mainland cassette publication and production rights for all major singers, including PolyGram and Warner Music, were handed over to this company, turning this firm—named Guangdong Cailing—directly into the largest importer in the Mainland.
This move practically severed the plans of Pacific and other companies to import Hong Kong and Taiwan records, forcing them to start cultivating their own singers.
Pirated covers were no longer viable, and importing records by Hong Kong and Taiwan singers was also off the table. Record companies, including Pacific, naturally placed a much higher value on Mainland singers, especially those with songwriting capabilities.
Liu Zhiwen was not a man lacking vision; judging by Zhou Ziheng's cassette, he had already recognized Zhou Ziheng's formidable songwriting talent. At the very least, Pacific currently had no one of that caliber.
After a long silence, Liu Zhiwen took a deep breath and took a step back. "We'll do as you say—let's cooperate! However, your share cannot be too high. Two tenths at most."
Then, seemingly worried that Zhou Ziheng would find this percentage too low, he proactively explained:
"Don't think it's too little. This share is already setting a precedent, and if your record sales perform well, we can raise it later."
Twenty percent!
To be honest, Zhou Ziheng wasn't entirely satisfied with this share. But he also knew that being able to secure this percentage based solely on an unreleased cassette was already a testament to Liu Zhiwen recognizing his talent. Therefore, he didn't argue further, but instead nodded and agreed to the percentage split.
Anyway, as Liu Zhiwen had said, if sales were good later on, subsequent records would see an increased percentage depending on the situation.
That single point was enough.