Chapter 77: Still the Same Formula as Before

As dusk settled, Xu Bu-Nian personally delivered the finished first episode to Simple Video.

Chen Qi was too busy to break away; he had been handling all the negotiations with Simple Video during this period, even signing the purchase contract with Zhao Qing-Qing himself.

With rising popularity and attention, the price for this season had notably increased. The fifteen episodes of the second season were sold as a package for three million yuan, averaging two hundred thousand per episode.

This price had been set by Simple Video. Chen Qi and Xu Bu-Nian weren’t sure if it was considered high, but it certainly wasn’t low.

Of course, they were perfectly satisfied with it. As Chen Qi put it, if Simple Video dared to quote such a price, it must be above the market rate—so just sign.

Handing the episode over to Zhao Qing-Qing, Xu Bu-Nian didn’t linger. After a few polite words, he hurried away.

He was just as busy, overwhelmed by the workload. For them, inexperienced as they were, making an episode a day pressed them considerably.

Watching Xu Bu-Nian leave, Zhao Qing-Qing immediately returned to her office and played the episode she had just received.

Yes, the opening now had advertisements, but the familiar flavor remained.

Once the opening ad ended, the episode began in earnest. Within just half a minute, the last shred of worry in Zhao Qing-Qing’s heart vanished completely.

Compared to the first season, the quality hadn’t noticeably declined.

The same style, the same brisk pace, the same excitement, the same... roughness.

Zhao Qing-Qing was sure it was the same formula; she even wondered if Chen Qi had written all these scripts in one go back then.

The main episode quickly ended, and just as Zhao Qing-Qing was about to close it, the ending content caught her attention.

In the first season, the ending featured some behind-the-scenes footage. This episode’s ending was also set on location, but the content wasn’t outtakes.

First appeared an extremely crude interview, with Chen Qi briefly explaining the reasons for producing the second season and addressing recent rumors.

"The audience is so enthusiastic. I’m making a second season mainly because the viewers love it."

Listening to Chen Qi’s deadpan nonsense on camera, Zhao Qing-Qing was both amused and exasperated.

Was this shamelessness innate to him?

Even more baffling, Chen Qi didn’t utter a single truth throughout the whole segment. He even claimed not to do advertising and shifted the blame for the opening ad onto Xu Bu-Nian.

Yet, after watching the entire ending with great interest, Zhao Qing-Qing was stunned.

She was so astonished that she replayed the latter half of the ending advertisement, her mouth agape in amazement.

No exaggeration—at that moment, she truly felt as if a new world had opened before her.

She was genuinely shocked.

Having worked in the video industry for so many years, she had never known that advertisements could be integrated in such a way.

Even as a professional, she found the ad utterly revolutionary!

She thought its brilliance rivaled that of the main episode, and even felt the minute-long ending ad was more dazzling than the show itself.

After a moment’s daze, Zhao Qing-Qing, regaining her composure, happily took the episode to arrange its release.

Previously, she had worried that the embedded ads might drag down the rating and quality of the series, but now it seemed the advertisements were a definite plus.

She had a strong premonition—the second season would certainly attract more attention and heat than the first, likely bringing Simple Video a tremendous surge in traffic.

In this light, her position as content director was surely secure.

...

Night soon fell.

As before, Zhao Qing-Qing didn’t rush to leave work. She stayed in the technical department, monitoring changes in the website’s data.

Perhaps thanks to the effective promotion of the second season of “Wanwan,” the backend showed a sharp rise in online users as eight o’clock approached.

The first season had been so astonishing, and coupled with news reports about ads failing to sell and being snatched up, many netizens were deeply interested in the second season after seeing Simple Video’s promotion.

They, too, were eager to see whether this second season was really just a cash grab, as the media claimed.

It shouldn’t be, right?

Any reasonable person wouldn’t squander hard-earned fame so easily.

With eight o’clock yet to arrive, these netizens wandered aimlessly around the homepage, pondering these random thoughts.

A minute...

Half a minute...

Eight o’clock sharp.

The second season of “Wanwan” appeared right on time on Simple Video’s homepage.

Fans refreshed eagerly, clicking in with both anticipation and anxiety.

The cover of the second season was slightly improved, but its low-budget nature was still obvious at a glance.

The viewers didn’t bother with such details, but were somewhat surprised to find only one episode in the second season...

One episode?

After a brief pause, they quickly realized it must have just been produced. After all, the first season had only been online for five days—it was hardly realistic to expect a whole new season shot in such a short time.

Wasting no time, the viewers immediately clicked on the episode.

“Didn’t See That Coming, la la la la la...”

Yes, the theme song hadn’t changed at all.

After the theme song, an advertisement popped up.

“This episode is exclusively sponsored by the following companies!”

“Nine-Nine Job Network, Nine-Nine Job Network, and Nine-Nine Job Network!”

Three Nine-Nine Job Network logos appeared onscreen.

At the same time, a subtitle appeared below.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a job—I do! Haha!”

Seeing this shameless ad, viewers were surprised to find real advertising, and couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Could you be any more cheeky? Are you pretending to have lots of sponsors?

While viewers were mildly surprised, the advertisers watching were just as taken aback. But what surprised them wasn’t the presence of ads—it was the way they were embedded.

It must be said, compared to traditional methods, this approach was a bit more interesting—but that was all.

Was this the creative genius those peers had praised?

They couldn’t help but wonder if their aesthetic standards were even aligned.

Not to disparage it intentionally, but the creativity simply didn’t seem impressive! Besides, such embedding wasn’t new—Chen Qi had already used it in the first season.

It wasn’t just the advertisers who hadn’t bought ads that were dubious; even those who had pre-booked slots felt a bit uneasy.

Why did it suddenly feel like they’d been duped?