Chapter 156 Sales Bottleneck

As the moon sank behind the western hills, Ren Qian returned home, feeling utterly exhausted. This exhaustion stemmed not only from his relentless travels as the anti-drug publicity ambassador, but even more so from the fact that Murong Xue—in whom he had placed such high hopes—had launched her nationwide concert tour, yet her album sales were dragging along like a donkey turning a millstone, barely inching upward.

Murong Xue’s efforts over the past two weeks had yielded almost negligible results. Not everyone who attended her concerts necessarily bought her album; furthermore, many in the audience had likely already purchased a copy long ago and had no intention of buying another just to attend the show.

Therefore, from Jiangnan City to Shanghai, then to Beijing, Alaska, and the Nansha Islands, the increase in album sales compared to the overall total was virtually insignificant.

A few hundred thousand copies—it was pitifully small. Coupled with the initial sales figures, the total hadn't even broken the twenty-five-million mark.

Let alone thirty million, or forty million!

Despair.

Reluctant to accept defeat, Ren Qian immediately pulled up the data for the Heavenly Queen’s album from the Roll Poetry System.

In the first twenty-four hours of its release, sales had surged dramatically, but after two weeks, they had begun to stagnate.

After enduring another week, everyone reached a consensus: this album was never going to experience the explosive secondary sales surge that Lin Ruowan’s had managed after two weeks.

The facts forced Ren Qian to admit a harsh reality: the market of the Huaxia Charter Empire was indeed saturated. The number of people willing to spend money on physical records for a singer was only a little over twenty-three million.

Even if some people were willing to buy multiple copies, the resulting margin of error could not possibly exceed two or three million.

In other words, the Heavenly Queen’s twenty-six million copies represented the absolute peak of sales, achieved only through hardcore fans purchasing multiple copies.

There was only a single bucket of water in the market; no matter how large a vat Ren Qian brought to catch it, it was useless.

Desperate and resentful, a frustrated Ren Qian even had the impulse to drag the God of Songs out of retirement, have him release an album, and use that to gauge the true size of the market.

He immediately dismissed the thought, however.

The audience for the God of Songs’ albums was far broader—spanning three entire generations. Three full generations had listened to his songs and held a special emotional attachment to them.

When the God of Songs released an album, he wasn't just selling musical skill; he was selling nostalgia. How much was nostalgia worth?

Put it this way:

The influence of the God of Songs was no less than that of the King of Comedy from the Heavenly... Empire, and perhaps even stronger. Therefore, if we draw a horizontal comparison between the God of Songs' potential sales and the box office of The Mermaid...

Even forty million wouldn't be surprising. The crucial point was that Ren Qian could not extract any useful information about the broader market from the God of Songs' sales figures. There were simply too many influencing factors surrounding the God of Songs' albums to ever serve as a reliable touchstone for market size.

"Damn it, the internet is already so developed in this era. Many music listeners are willing to pay for music online, while those who buy CDs are mostly die-hard fans.

Even though I have forty million followers on my Weibo, there is simply no way forty million people are going to buy a physical CD."

Ren Qian’s head throbbed with a headache as massive as a bushel. Yet, no amount of fretting or distress could improve the situation, so he simply tossed aside the scratchpad containing the sales data, turned on his computer, and opened the file labeled *Anti-Drug Promotional Choir Ensemble*. He began arranging the tracks in an unhurried manner.

For nearly a month, accompanied by his team, he had visited various junior high schools, high schools, and universities across several major cities in Jiangnan Province, giving promotional speeches and organizing choirs. Now, the anti-drug songs had taken initial shape, requiring only post-production editing, followed by the integration of audio and video.

Many people at Jiangnan Television could handle this task, and Roll Poetry had plenty of staff capable of it as well, so Ren Qian hardly needed to worry.

After zipping the files and sending them to the sub-team leader who had accompanied him on his promotional tour, accompanied by a few brief instructions, Ren Qian prepared to take a shower and go to bed.

His cell phone rang. It was Murong Xue.

At this hour, she should have just finished a concert and returned to her hotel, taking a shower and getting ready for bed, right?

He wondered why she was calling him...

"Murong Xue? A whole day of prep followed by a four-hour concert—you must be exhausted, right?"

Ren Qian offered some polite small talk.

"Not tired at all. I remember how back when I was suppressed by the company, I had to handle all the performance preparations entirely by myself. Now, so many people help me out, and I can see massive returns, so I'm not tired."

Murong Xue’s words were somewhat poignant, and they reminded Ren Qian of the young girl who used to sweat profusely inside the besieged fortress of the art industry. Back then, she was just a raw newcomer with good vocal conditions but no technique, full of potential yet lacking a discerning mentor.

That kind of perseverance, however, was worth encouraging.

To this day, even after becoming a big star, she would still roll up her sleeves and pitch in alongside the staff during preparations.

"You don't have many scandals, at least. Someone like me—the moment the slightest little thing pops up, the media pounces on it and refuses to let go..."

Ren Qian sighed, thinking once more of that notoriously tacky media company. Those fellows never rested and had recently published articles attacking him. It seemed he would soon have to persuade Wangyi to up the stakes and then urge the Provincial Department of Culture to step in and sweep them clean.

After all, someone had to restore a patch of pure blue sky to the internet world.

Ren Qian’s motives were completely selfless and public-spirited.

"My fame can't possibly compare to yours. Look at recent news media—they don't even deign to report on me. Still, that's fine; hovering in the spotlight every day is pretty agonizing."

"Qian-ge... I want to tell you something."

"Go ahead."

"I'm really sorry that this album didn't reach the sales numbers you expected."

Murong Xue sounded deeply apologetic.

"What sales volume do you think would be appropriate for me?"

Ren Qian gave a carefree laugh, and his joking tone immediately put Murong Xue much more at ease. On the other end of the line, the nervous and apprehensive Murong Xue blinked, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. She looked quite adorable.

"At least thirty million, right?"

"You certainly don't lack ambition. Even the Heavenly Queen could only reach a little over twenty million in sales, and you—having just debuted a mere half-year ago—are already trying to match the Heavenly Queen. Aren't you easily satisfied?"

Murong Xue stuck out her tongue. Satisfied? Far from it; she was flattered and overwhelmed. From an obscure minor singer with no visible future, she had transformed into a hot young diva whose album sales rivaled those of the Heavenly Queen herself.

The transformation was akin to an ugly duckling turning into a swan.

Could she still be dissatisfied? Her only lingering anxiety and guilt stemmed from failing to contribute even a little bit to Qian-ge’s wager.

"Don't carry such a heavy psychological burden. I have my own certainty regarding this wager. What's that saying again? *The hermit in the mountains has his own clever schemes.*"

"Hmph..."

"Alright, go to sleep early. You still have performances coming up, so make sure you get enough sleep. If you go on stage singing with dark circles under your eyes, the fans who bought your album might just demand a refund."

Murong Xue let out a soft giggle, murmured a barely audible "good night," and hastily hung up the phone—though she quickly buried her little head beneath the quilt so the color on her cheeks wouldn't be seen.

PS: Thank you for reading. Still owing one chapter from the one who wandered alone in the rainy night... [Crying face] (To be continued.)