Chapter Four: An Age of Flourishing Entertainment

After switching off his communicator, Lin Qihua let out a quiet sigh. Though he always appeared confident before others, in truth, he lacked any real assurance. Who could predict what would happen in a year? Would he even get through it? Would anyone remember him after all that time? Moreover, Young Master Guo would certainly not be pleased to see him rise again. With his current abilities, he would likely never reach the grand stage; at best, he’d remain one of the countless drifters in the industry.

It was the late 21st century—2076. After more than a hundred years of unprecedented economic growth, the nation finally had the strength to compete with other world powers. With dual advantages in military and economy, China had secured its place as a global superpower. The treasured island had long since returned. In the wake of the decline of the former two great powers and a series of bloody wars in the early 21st century, the Chinese people now stood tall among the nations of the world. Yet, with so many interests at play, the age of the global village no longer relied on war for profit. China, true to its word, refrained from launching major military campaigns, instead reclaiming its historical territories through diplomacy. Eventually, the world order stabilized: a unified Europe, an America still dominated by the United States, an Asia led by China with other countries occasionally making waves, and a Russia sprawling across Eurasia, maintaining its status as a major power thanks to geography, though its strength was waning. In truth, it was only with China’s rise that genuine world peace arrived—even Africa, once plagued by constant warfare, saw large-scale ceasefires due to international intervention, with all sides locked in arduous negotiations.

With peace as the prevailing theme, culture and related industries became the new arenas for competition. Particularly in the cultural and entertainment sectors, nations sought to achieve their goals by exporting their own entertainment products—a phenomenon dubbed the “entertainment war.” In this contest, America continued to capitalize on its long-standing advantages, flooding the world with blockbuster films and raking in enormous profits while subtly instilling its values everywhere. The Oscars and the Grammys were still considered the highest honors in global entertainment. Europe kept pace with America but maintained its own traditions, with a host of prestigious awards upholding its enduring ideals. In Asia, diversity thrived: Japan, always renowned for games and anime, invested heavily to further develop these industries, while its film, television, and variety programs also wielded significant influence over neighboring nations. The Korean peninsula remained divided, but South Korea, building on the “K-wave” that swept all of Asia a century prior, continued to flourish, focusing on high production values, striking visuals, and long-legged idols. Even after a century, the Korean Wave remained a trendsetter. India and Thailand, with their exotic charm, also maintained their unique influence.

After its peaceful rise in the 21st century, China turned inward to address domestic affairs, only to discover its own cultural and entertainment industry had been battered and fragmented. Workers in the field struggled; creators seldom produced original work of note. Outwardly, it all seemed dazzling, with countless variety shows and record-breaking films, but it soon became clear the industry was being steadily eroded, and the public’s mindset was being gradually assimilated. The entertainment industry—burdened with a cultural mission—was in complete disarray, rife with scandals and chaos.

After several years of careful research, the government at last enacted a series of policies: the Cultural and Entertainment Industry Development Plan, the Cultural and Entertainment Industry Intellectual Property Regulations, the Ten Prohibitions for the Entertainment Industry, and more. This top-down overhaul, modeled after mature foreign systems and tailored to China’s own circumstances, finally brought clarity and order to the industry. Creators’ rights and the status of singers and actors were significantly elevated. The boundaries of entertainment agencies, film studios, and music companies were clearly defined, curbing the industry’s descent into chaos. Though half of the entertainment world was swept away in this purge, all manner of troublemakers vanished, and the atmosphere grew cleaner. Although countless shows and productions took a major hit and the public seemed to return to an era of cultural scarcity, no one complained. All understood this was the darkness before the dawn—a period later referred to in entertainment history as the “Yinmao Reformation,” signifying that, after endless night, the industry would finally see the light.

In the wake of these reforms, various professional associations emerged: the Actors’ Guild, the Directors’ Guild, the Screenwriters’ Guild, the Composers’ Guild, and others, all offering support and protection to industry workers. Under the National Intellectual Property Administration, a special department was established to safeguard entertainment copyrights, eradicating piracy entirely. Creators of original works could now expect proper protection and rewards. For instance, a composer whose song was chosen by a singer would not only receive a usage fee but also a share of the profits from music downloads. Although the percentage was modest, the vast population—now nearly two billion—meant that even a tiny fraction translated into substantial income. In this era of advanced urbanization, almost everyone had access to entertainment. A hit song easily surpassed a hundred million downloads, and even the lowest royalty rates yielded enormous profits. With no fear of piracy, creators were duly rewarded and motivated to produce even better work.

For front-line actors and singers, the difference was even more profound. First came social recognition. In the past, entertainers were dismissed as mere performers, and the word “celebrity” invoked knowing glances. But the new development plan explicitly raised their status, encouraging them to perform and create, open the nation’s doors, and promote Chinese entertainment culture worldwide. The shadowy forces once manipulating the industry from behind the scenes were severed. Entertainment companies could no longer control every aspect of their artists’ lives; the new model was one of cooperation, with the various guilds providing protection. While major agencies remained formidable, the era of total domination was over. Of course, where there is light, there is shadow. Those with vast resources still wielded considerable influence, and darkness persisted. But, overall, progress continued.

Against this backdrop, after nearly a decade of silence, China’s entertainment industry was finally reborn and thriving. Today, it was an age of cultural prosperity—at least in Asia, where Chinese entertainment wielded immense influence. Chinese music and cinema were especially popular in Southeast Asia, and many superstars had even broken into America, the global entertainment hub, making their presence felt and showcasing Chinese culture abroad.

After years of development, the industry stabilized, forming five major entertainment centers: the East, anchored by the five cities of East China, was an economic and entertainment powerhouse; the North, with Beijing at its core, radiated political and cultural influence; the South, encompassing Guangdong, Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan, boasted its unique Cantonese culture; the West centered on Sichuan, covering the vast western regions; and the Central region, focused on the two Hunan provinces, was home to a highly developed entertainment industry.

Lin Qihua was scouted by StarArt’s talent agents in his freshman year of college. He joined as a trainee and faced countless hardships. This was no longer the old era when looks alone could guarantee success—true skill and unique qualities mattered most. From the moment Lin Qihua entered training camp, he caused a sensation: striking good looks, a musical talent nurtured since childhood by his mother’s guidance, a rich and magnetic voice, and a mastery of numerous instruments all promised him a luminous future. Lin Qihua believed this as well, and it was during this time that he met Zhao Wanting.

At the thought of Zhao Wanting, a dull ache returned to Lin Qihua’s mind. He couldn’t help but recall that sweet chapter of his life. Back then, he was spirited and brilliant—the most outstanding male trainee in the camp—while Zhao Wanting, the brightest among the female trainees, was exceptionally beautiful with expressive eyes, already hailed as the next diva. Everyone knew that the life of a trainee was tedious and grueling, but through mutual encouragement and the good-natured teasing of friends, feelings blossomed between them. Supporting and cheering each other on, they became an official couple, vowing to debut together, to become king and queen of the stage, and then to be together.

Lin Qihua believed this promise would one day come true. Unfortunately, reality was cruel. On the very night he made his debut, that dream was shattered. Lin Qihua watched helplessly as Zhao Wanting threw herself into Young Master Guo’s arms, smiling radiantly. She left behind only the words “I’m sorry,” and slipped away, leaving Lin Qihua with nothing but regret.