Chapter 407: The Explosive Popularity of Legend of the Condor Heroes
In front of a branch office of Rediffusion Television in Admiralty, Hong Kong:
At this moment, a long line of people stood waiting. If this were any other business, the staff would be overjoyed—but the employees at Rediffusion were all wearing grim expressions. These people weren't lining up to buy something—they were all there to cancel their cable subscriptions.
And because first-year subscribers had to pay in full up front, many of them were demanding refunds, creating chaos. If it were only a few people, the police could be called and the situation managed. But with such a large crowd, even the police on-site were hesitant to escalate.
"Hurry up! Today's the 30th! Are you trying to delay us until September 1st so you can charge another month?" a woman shouted, causing many around her to chime in in agreement. It was the end of the month—people wanted to cancel now so they wouldn't get hit with another HK$30 charge on the 1st.
A female employee at the counter said anxiously, "Everyone, we're processing requests as fast as we can. But please reconsider—we've served Hong Kong for over five years. Many of you have enjoyed our programs. Is it really worth it to cancel?"
"Five years? HK$30 a month? I've spent HK$1,800 on this garbage?" another woman shouted, instantly calculating the cost and feeling a pang of regret.
In 1960s Hong Kong, even though housing was expensive, HK$1,800 could buy you a tiny washroom in Central. For many working families, it was no small sum.
"Hurry up, some of us have to get back to work!"
"Yeah, stop wasting our time!"
The frustration in the crowd began to grow.
The employee tried again to explain, but was quickly cut off: "Free TV and I don't watch it, but you expect me to pay for yours? And the content isn't even better! What does your own family watch?"
That last remark shut the staffer up completely. Truth was, she had also watched TVB the night before—and the content wasn't bad at all. There weren't many variety shows yet, sure, but that would come with time. If she didn't work here, she might have canceled too. Who would voluntarily spend money when the free alternative is just as good?
Changxing Group Headquarters:
Yang Wendong looked at the newspaper photo of long lines outside Rediffusion's branches, smiling. "This looks even worse than the bank run at Liu Chong Hing Bank a few years ago."
Qin Zhiye replied, "At a single branch, yeah, probably just as bad. But Rediffusion isn't a bank. Their services aren't that complicated, and they only have four offices across Hong Kong.
Now, every single one of them has people lined up to cancel their service. I'd say they're going to take a major hit."
"This was inevitable," Yang Wendong said calmly. "The moment a free TV station entered the market, the days of cable television were numbered."
Even without his backing, in actual history, once TVB launched, Rediffusion never recovered. Eventually, they had to plead with the Hong Kong government to convert them into a free-to-air station too. But having missed the first-mover advantage, they remained a step behind forever.
Qin Zhiye continued, "TVB is about to air Legend of the Condor Heroes, which is already halfway through production. It'll boost viewership and encourage more people to buy TVs."
"Great. I'm looking forward to seeing what Zou Wenhuai has created," Yang Wendong said with a smile.
The television adaptation of Jin Yong novels had taken a different path in this new timeline. With TVB launched early under Changxing, and with rights acquired for Jin Yong and Gu Long's works, Yang Wendong was pushing Hong Kong's film and television culture into early maturity.
Qin Zhiye grinned. "Zou's very confident. I've seen the first few episodes. The scenery, the fight choreography—it's really solid. Want me to have him send you the film reels?"
"No need," Yang Wendong waved it off. "I'll just watch it when it airs."
As someone who had read many of Jin Yong's novels in his previous life, Yang Wendong wasn't expecting anything earth-shattering. As long as it was watchable, he'd be content.
"Understood," Qin Zhiye said. "Zou also asked if we could fully promote the series before its release. He said a strong performance in Hong Kong would increase the foreign rights value, since the series can be sold to other countries too."
"Of course. Do whatever you can to help," Yang Wendong nodded. "Hong Kong only has a few million people. Even if the economy booms, it can't sustain an entire TV station. The real goal is overseas expansion."
In his past life, TVB ruled the 1980s and 1990s. Hundreds of millions of mainland Chinese grew up watching Hong Kong dramas. But by the 2010s, as mainland productions improved, TVB began to decline sharply.
Sure, part of the problem was a lack of talent. But the deeper issue was the shrinking market. Without a market, there's no revenue—and without revenue, there's no way to attract top-tier talent.
"Got it," said Qin Zhiye.
Elsewhere in Central, a group of British businessmen sat together, smoking cigars.
A blond man spoke first. "Gentlemen, we've all seen what TVB has done. Many Hongkongers are canceling their subscriptions with us. This could be the greatest crisis our Rediffusion station has faced in Hong Kong. What should we do?"
"Bloody hell, these Chinese are insufferable! Always trying to steal British business," grumbled a dark-haired Brit.
"Exactly! Some industries in Hong Kong shouldn't even be open to Chinese—especially media."
The room erupted in murmurs of frustration.
At the head of the table, the blond man's expression turned dark. "Hong Kong isn't a British-only playground anymore. You've seen what happened in Singapore."
Everyone fell silent. They knew he was right. The British Empire had lost its grip over Southeast Asia. One by one, colonies had been forced into independence. They'd tried to hold onto Singapore—but even that had slipped away.
Here in Hong Kong, they couldn't be too arrogant. If they didn't start working with local powers, they'd soon be thrown out entirely.
He continued, "Besides, this isn't about Chinese vs. British. If a British company had launched a free-to-air station, wouldn't we be facing the same situation now?"
The room fell quiet again.
Finally, a blonde woman spoke. "Mr. Everill, if we look at the Western model, cable television is naturally inferior to free-to-air. The only way cable survives is by offering ad-free, high-quality programming.
That creates a different kind of market segmentation—premium vs. free. Otherwise, no one will pay when they can watch for free."
"You're right, Phoebe," said Everill. "But how are we supposed to produce quality shows in tiny Hong Kong?"
That was the core problem. A show watched by 10 people or 10 million costs the same to make. But the profits are worlds apart. A small market simply can't afford good content.
Even Europe faced this problem. Economically, the EU wasn't far behind the U.S., but fragmented languages meant French, German, and Italian television couldn't match the production value of American and British networks.
Phoebe sighed. "Then the only option is to buy foreign shows…"
Everyone knew this had already been tried—and failed. With Hong Kong's small population and weaker economy, buying international content meant burning money without return. They'd lost their shirts last time.
With no better options, Rediffusion Television could only continue producing whatever content it could manage—after all, Hong Kong was a small market with limited choices. But now that a competitor had entered the field, and a free-to-air one at that, everything had changed.
The group of executives discussed the issue for a long time, but in the end, no one had a solution. They were completely at a loss. Finally, Everill stood up and said, "Everyone go back and think carefully. My estimation is that with the way TVB is running things, they're operating at a loss. Let's see how long they can hold out."
The others exchanged looks. No one said anything, but their expressions were grim.
Even though they were British, everyone had heard of Yang Wendong. This rising Chinese tycoon was already second only to the likes of Jardine Matheson, HSBC, and Swire in terms of financial strength. Did they really think he would care about losing a little money? This was shaping up to be a real fight to the death.
September 8 – Day 11 of TVB's official broadcast
Qi Ruifan once again came to Changxing Tower, handing a document to Yang Wendong.
"Mr. Yang, this is the estimated financial report. Since we launched, our daily losses have been around HK$3,000."
"Three thousand per day?" Yang Wendong asked. "That much?"
Qi Ruifan explained, "Yes. But part of that is due to initial capital investment, which we're amortizing over five years. Just from that, our daily cost is already HK$3,500.
Then we have transmission tower maintenance, electricity, salaries, production costs, licensing fees, and so on. Our current revenue is limited—mostly from a few outside advertisers and Changxing Group's internal products. Otherwise, the loss would be even higher."
"In that case, it's fine," Yang Wendong replied. "Right now, there just aren't enough TV owners. You can't charge high ad rates with a limited audience. We'll have to wait until more people buy TVs."
Without a solid user base, any TV station would struggle to operate. This was something that had to develop alongside overall economic growth. Losing money in the early stages was inevitable.
But that's business—almost no venture makes money from day one. Just like in his past life, the early internet boom saw massive cash burn: group buying wars, ride-hailing wars, mobile payment wars… it was all about spending until the entire population was involved. After that, the market became ripe for harvesting.
Of course, TVB was different—it would never charge viewers.
Qi Ruifan nodded. "I'm preparing to roll out more high-quality content. As long as we can produce programs that become part of daily conversations, more people will buy televisions.
The day after tomorrow, September 10, we'll begin broadcasting Legend of the Condor Heroes. I believe it'll attract a large audience."
"Yes, using Jin Yong's novels for leverage is a good strategy," Yang Wendong agreed. "He's incredibly famous. If we get him to write a commentary in Ming Pao, that'll increase the hype even more."
In an era where there were barely any TV or movie stars, literary giants like Jin Yong were at the top of the fame pyramid. For many people, they might not care who Yang Wendong was, but they absolutely respected Jin Yong.
Qi Ruifan added, "I was thinking of doing a giveaway—randomly sending out copies of Jin Yong's novels, signed by him. That might boost engagement."
"Go for it. That's a solid marketing move," Yang Wendong nodded. "But you'll have to approach Jin Yong yourself—I won't get involved."
Though his relationship with Jin Yong was decent, he wouldn't stoop to personally asking for a favor like this. That would cheapen his own social capital.
"Understood," Qi Ruifan replied.
September 10, 7:30 PM – The Yang family living room
The entire Yang family gathered in front of the television, waiting to watch the premiere of Legend of the Condor Heroes.
The program started with dramatic music, intercut with shots of the male and female leads, supporting characters, and bursts of swordplay.
"Dong-ge, this theme song is amazing," said Bai Yushan. "Is it sung by the TVB team?"
Yang Wendong shook his head. "No. It's produced by the Hong Kong Commercial Radio Station, which is under Changxing Media. They've been training music talent—composers, lyricists, singers—for years.
It's been a money-losing effort, but we've cultivated a solid base of talent. All the songs and themes from Legend of the Condor Heroes come from them."
Bai Yushan asked curiously, "If it's been losing money, why keep doing it?"
Yang Wendong smiled. "Because back then, radio was the only outlet where music could generate revenue. But I studied the development of Western music industries and knew that in the future, there would be many more avenues.
If we waited until then to start, it'd be too late. Artistic talent can't be grown overnight—it takes time, not just money. If we invest now, we'll profit when the market matures."
Bai Yujie chimed in, "So now we can earn money through the TV station?"
"Yes. TVs will eventually be more important than radios. People will associate songs with TV dramas. And later, when the economy improves, we can sell records and tapes just like in the West. That's when the music industry will really take off."
Any art form needed commercial viability to thrive. That's what attracted talent. Without it, decline was inevitable.
This was true for film, drama, music, and variety shows. In Yang Wendong's past life, China's music industry had collapsed in the early internet age due to rampant piracy. Only after platforms like TikTok (Douyin) appeared—offering new monetization paths—did music begin to recover. But even then, it never reached its early 2000s peak.
Su Yiyi smiled and said, "Dong-ge's plans are so long-term. Back then, those investments didn't seem worth it. But now, every single one of them has paid off."
"Haha~," Yang Wendong laughed. "Let's just watch the show. The story's about to begin."
The TV opened with a short intro to the Song Dynasty, followed by Wanyan Honglie's pursuit, which led to the tragic encounter in Niujia Village, where it all began.
They watched until 9:30 PM, catching two full episodes, interspersed with many advertisements.
"That was amazing! The fight scenes are as good as movies!" said Bai Yujie, eyes sparkling.
"Not bad at all," Yang Wendong nodded approvingly.
Even without CGI, the fight choreography—thanks to real martial artists, expert stunt coordination, and wirework—was visceral and impactful. While it couldn't compare to the polished productions of the 1990s or 2000s, it was far better than the cheesy, effects-laden fantasy dramas of the 2010s.
Su Yiyi asked, "Are we getting two episodes a day?"
"Dream on," Yang Wendong chuckled. "Today's the premiere, so they aired two. From now on, it's just two episodes a week—Wednesdays and Saturdays."
In his past life, most people in mainland China binged entire series at once. But internationally, it was common for shows to be released gradually, especially when filming occurred in parallel. That way, if the series flopped, they wouldn't lose everything. And if it succeeded, they could raise ad prices and stretch out the revenue.
It was a smart model—but audiences didn't like it.
"Ugh…" the three women groaned in unison.
"If you're that eager," Yang Wendong said, laughing, "you can always go to TVB headquarters in Tseung Kwan O. They've got the next 20+ episodes queued up."
The next afternoon, Qi Ruifan returned to report in person.
"Mr. Yang, Legend of the Condor Heroes is a smash hit. We haven't finished calculating last night's ratings yet, but I estimate it was no less than 65%.
This morning, I overheard people on the street—everyone's talking about it!"
Just then, Liu Huayu from Carrefour knocked on the door.
"Mr. Yang," he said excitedly, "this morning our TV sales suddenly spiked—I think Legend of the Condor Heroes is driving it!"
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