'Love Letter' and 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' were, after all, the only major new releases available on Qingyun's platform. While other film companies did cooperate with Qingyun, they remained cautious.
Only Jing Yu was bold enough to go all in. That's why, starting two weeks before the release of both films, the Qingyun video app was being aggressively promoted through various channels.
Anyone who liked spending time online, whether they had seen these two films in theaters or not, would have likely come across headlines like:
"The two highest-rated films of the Great Zhou this year will premiere on Qingyun on November 15th."
What's more, Jing Yu's version of Qingyun came with bonus content—behind-the-scenes footage, merchandise previews, and other extras inserted at the end credits.
This got the fans of both movies fired up.
At 10 PM, when the films were released online, both the mobile and web versions of the Qingyun platform visibly lagged under the traffic. Payment request data was increasing every single second.
Jing Yu's fans were actively spreading the word in every major fan group.
With combined box office revenues in the billions, and even accounting for repeat viewers, 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' had close to 30 million theatergoers, while 'Love Letter' had around 20 million. Whether audiences would pay again for DVDs, merchandise, or streaming depended on the quality of the film in their eyes.
And the numbers spoke for themselves: within the first hour, 'Trust & Betrayal' saw 1.67 million purchases, and 'Love Letter' 950,000.
By the second hour: 2.67 million and 1.66 million, respectively.
These stats kept Qingyun's internal team up all night in excitement.
By the next morning, when Jing Yu woke up, the sales for 'Trust & Betrayal' had reached 4.77 million, and 'Love Letter' 3.52 million.
At noon, Qingyun's official Qingmao account and several media outlets released the figures publicly.
The average person might not care about this kind of information.
But for people in the film and television industry, this was enough to shock them for an entire year.
Two previously released movies, garnering over 8 million purchases in a single night?
At an initial price of 12 yuan per purchase—that's over 90 million yuan in revenue in one day!
Now, for a blockbuster movie, 90 million yuan in one day isn't unheard of. For example, 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' earned over 100 million in box office within the first few days of release.
But that was the combined total of thousands of cinemas across the Great Zhou!
What did Qingyun do?
They just promoted the films online, uploaded the files, and then sat back and collected revenue.
No offline operating costs, no massive electricity bills, no storefront rent, cleaning, or security fees like cinemas.
And let's not forget: Qingyun was a video platform launched less than a year ago. It had been growing at a snail's pace during the first half of the year. Only after June, when it started bringing in legacy content from major TV stations, did the user base surpass 20 million.
Yet this seemingly small platform, by putting up two already-released films, made over 90 million yuan in just one day?
To the television and film industries in the Great Zhou, this was a seismic shock.
And to Jing Yu himself, it was a complete surprise.
In his previous life, it wasn't unusual for a major drama to earn billions through premium memberships and pay-per-view fees on streaming platforms.
But those platforms had user bases in the hundreds of millions. Qingyun, with just over 20 million registered users, had sold nearly 5 million and 4 million copies of 'Trust & Betrayal' and 'Love Letter', respectively—overnight.
Then again, Jing Yu soon realized the reason.
"It's still a matter of copyright awareness," he sighed.
In his previous life, even after a show went live on a platform, people could easily find pirated HD versions online. Pirated copies would appear within 30 minutes of release. Many people would watch a few free episodes legally, then jump to pirate sites.
But in the Great Zhou? No such alternative existed. If you wanted to watch, you had to pay. So audiences were surprisingly decisive.
Jing Yu set down the sales report and looked across the table at Cheng Lie.
He, too, was visibly taken aback.
Of course, they both knew this surge was temporary. As with theater box office trends, sales would spike at the beginning and then taper off.
But online streaming had one huge advantage over cinemas: films don't go offline.
With time, the total revenue would only continue to accumulate.
"This sales performance really exceeded my expectations," Cheng Lie said, sipping warm water as he picked the report back up. After a long pause, he continued,
"It seems... audiences are unexpectedly open to this new way of watching films. If that's the case, these streaming platforms are bound to bring huge changes to the Great Zhou's entertainment industry."
"Yes, I was thinking the same," Jing Yu nodded in agreement.
The change might come fast—in a year or two, maybe three.
During this time, the influence of these platforms would steadily catch up to, and eventually surpass, that of major TV stations.
Cheng Lie lowered his head in thought, glancing at Jing Yu a few times.
He was already seriously considering Jing Yu's earlier suggestion about working more closely with streaming platforms.
If a platform like Qingyun, with only 20 million users, could already release this much potential, imagine what could happen when these platforms reach 100 million, or even hundreds of millions.
Their influence in the film industry would become astronomical.
"I know what you're thinking. But aside from Qingyun, there are also other platforms like Qiezi, with 17 million users, and Jixun, with 25 million," Jing Yu said thoughtfully.
"Aside from these three, more than a dozen other companies are developing similar platforms. Right now, Jixun is the one with the most users. This industry might have great potential—but in the end, only a few will survive."
Jing Yu fell silent.
Even as a transmigrator, he wasn't omnipotent. When it came to new internet products, who would emerge as the winner was ultimately a matter of timing, opportunity, and luck.
In his past life, when QQ launched, there were dozens—maybe hundreds—of similar messaging apps. The same happened when Taobao rose to prominence, or before WeChat launched (when apps like Fetion were still in the game). In the end, who survived came down to fate.
That's why Jing Yu hadn't tried to develop such products himself.
He was an outsider to the industry—and even insiders couldn't always win without the right luck.
But one thing was certain:
If Jing Yu wanted to stay in the entertainment industry long-term, he'd have to forge strong ties with the heads of these internet video platforms.
If he wanted a say in the industry seven to ten years down the line, he had to start planning now.
"Hey... Cheng Lie, if those platform heads are still interested in working with us…" Jing Yu paused and said,
"Ask them if they'd be open to us investing—maybe even taking an equity stake?"