319: Chapter 299 Grace

When Park Jin-young's booming "Welcome to JYP!!" echoed through the corridor, the expressions of all the JYP executives present momentarily froze in a subtle way.

They looked at their own president—this legendary figure known as "The Gorilla" (though no one dared say it to his face). He had clearly dressed up meticulously today. His dark gray suit was an Italian custom-made piece, his shirt collar was crisp, his hair was perfectly styled with gel, and his face wore a contagious, enthusiastic smile honed through countless media training sessions.

In all fairness, Park Jin-young wasn't ugly. As an artist, he possessed a unique charm and aura. That face was highly recognizable, and his expressiveness and charisma on stage were universally acknowledged as top-tier.

But the problem was...

Standing opposite him was Jiang Zhiyu.

It was the nineteen-year-old Jiang Zhiyu, with an estimated height of over 180cm, broad shoulders, long legs, wearing a perfectly tailored deep blue suit, with a temperament that sat between the clarity of a youth and the steady maturity of a man.

It was the Jiang Zhiyu who, even with a mask covering half his face, could make people unable to look away just with his eyes and silhouette.

It was the Jiang Zhiyu whom the media called "the president with visuals enough to debut," "the most handsome face in the Korean entertainment industry," and "the miracle who can secure investment just with his face."

When the two stood together to shake hands, the image produced a certain... cruel contrast.

One executive subconsciously glanced at Park Jin-young, then at Jiang Zhiyu, and a thought uncontrollably popped into their head:

Ah, damn...

He quickly looked away, but three seconds later, he couldn't help but look again.

Ah, damn it all~~~~~

The facial expression management of the other executives was also subtly breaking down. They tried their best to maintain professional smiles, but their eyes wandered; some even started studying the lights on the corridor ceiling to see if they needed replacing.

(Our president actually looks quite good once you get used to him, really. If you look long enough, he's quite manly and has a lot of presence...)

(But now, with this contrast...)

(Ah, damn~ why does someone else's president look like the male lead of an idol drama, while our president...)

(Ah, seriously... was God a bit too biased when he created people?)

Park Jin-young himself seemed completely unaware of the psychological activities of those around him. Or rather, he had long since grown accustomed to such comparisons—after all, JYP was filled with handsome men and beautiful women. Standing among them as president, he had long ago developed a powerful psychological resilience to "coexisting with beauty."

He gripped Jiang Zhiyu's hand firmly, his smile sincere. "President Jiang, a pleasure to meet you at last! Since our last meeting at Haidilao, I've been looking forward to having a deep chat with you every single day!"

Jiang Zhiyu returned a perfect smile, neither humble nor arrogant. "President Park is too kind. I've also been looking forward to today's meeting and being at JYP again."

The two shook hands for a full five seconds before letting go.

Then, surrounded by the group of executives, they walked into the conference room.

The moment the door closed, the staff in the office area outside immediately exploded into chatter.

"Did you see him? Did you see him? The real Jiang Zhiyu!"

"He's even more handsome than on TV! My god, that suit, that aura... is he really a president? Not some actor a company just launched?"

"And so young! I heard he's only nineteen? Twenty-one by Korean age? What was I doing at twenty-one? Working part-time at a convenience store to save money for concerts..."

"The key is, standing next to President Park... pfft, sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but the visual was really too..."

"Shh! Keep it down! We're dead if we're heard!"

At the other end of the corridor, Shin Ryujin, who had just slipped back into the practice room, pushed the door open with lightning speed.

"He's here, he's here!" she lowered her voice, unable to hide her excitement. "President Jiang is here! He's in the conference room right now!"

Inside the practice room, the other four members of ITZY were stretching. Hearing her words, everyone stopped what they were doing.

Hwang Yeji sat up from the floor. "Really? You saw him?"

"I saw him! Right at the entrance!" Shin Ryujin quickly recounted their encounter, including Jiang Zhiyu recognizing the fried chicken shop, telling her to stay safe, and that final meaningful "there will be opportunities in the future."

Lee Chaeryeong's eyes lit up. "So he really is considering collaborating with us?"

"The possibility is very high!" Shin Ryujin nodded vigorously, then as if remembering something, her expression turned a bit strange. "And... you didn't see the visual of President Park and President Jiang standing together..."

"What's wrong?" Lia asked curiously.

Shin Ryujin opened her mouth, wanting to say "the contrast was tragic," but considering it was their own president, she swallowed the words and changed it to: "...just, very harmonious. Yes, very harmonious."

But her expression betrayed her.

The other members looked at each other and understood, holding back their laughter without calling her out.

"But," Shin Ryujin said seriously, "President Jiang coming today must be for official business. If we, ITZY, really can cooperate with TG..."

"That would be our chance," Hwang Yeji picked up, her tone serious. "TG's variety show and planning capabilities are obvious to all. If we can participate, maybe we really can break through our current positioning."

"The 'Performance Group' label..." Shin Yuna said softly, "actually gets quite tiring sometimes."

The practice room fell silent for a moment.

This was something they rarely discussed publicly, but everyone knew it in their hearts. ITZY was very strong, with dance skills among the best in the fourth-generation girl groups, but because of that, every comeback, the fans and the public expected an even more explosive and difficult stage. They were like being on a high-speed train, only able to accelerate, unable to slow down, and certainly unable to stop.

If there was a chance to show a different side...

"Let's not think too much for now." As the leader, Hwang Yeji stabilized the mood. "Let's wait for news from the company. What we need to do now is continue practicing and prepare ourselves."

The members nodded and resumed their stretching.

But in everyone's heart, a seed of expectation had been quietly planted.

Inside the conference room, the atmosphere was entirely different.

The two sides of the long table were clearly divided. On one side was the JYP executive team, with Park Jin-young in the main seat, flanked by the Head of Content Production, the Director of Artist Management, and the Marketing Director, among others. On the other side was only Jiang Zhiyu and his assistant—a serious-looking man in his early thirties who was quietly operating a laptop.

After simple pleasantries and mutual introductions, the meeting got down to business.

Jiang Zhiyu spoke first. He didn't immediately discuss the details of the cooperation, but instead approached it from a macro perspective.

"Before we begin today's specific discussion, I'd like to first talk about TG's view on the future development of the Korean entertainment industry." His voice was steady and clear, carrying a convincing calmness. "And, JYP's place within this future landscape."

A chart showing trends in the Korean entertainment industry appeared on the projection screen.

"Over the past decade, K-pop has achieved amazing success globally. But at the same time, the industry is facing increasingly severe challenges." Jiang Zhiyu used a laser pointer to indicate several key data points. "First, market saturation. New groups are debuting faster and faster, but those who can truly break through are few and far between. Second, homogenization of content. Everyone is copying successful models, leading to fan aesthetic fatigue. Third, fast-food style consumption. The rise of short-form video platforms has changed content consumption habits, making deep, complete concept planning increasingly difficult to gain attention."

The JYP executives listened intently, nodding from time to time.

They knew these problems better than anyone. As one of the 'Big Three' agencies, JYP faced the pressure of launching new groups every year and also had to find breakthroughs for existing groups.

"In this situation," Jiang Zhiyu switched to the next slide, showing the TG logo, "TG Entertainment chose a different path—we don't launch idols or participate in the competition of a saturated market. Instead, we position ourselves as a 'creative solutions provider'."

TG's three major business sectors appeared on the screen: Content Production, IP Operation, and Technical Integration.

"Our core value is providing inspiration, creativity, and execution plans. We help our partners find differentiated positioning and build unique brand narratives amidst fierce market competition."

His gaze swept across the JYP executives, finally landing on Park Jin-young.

"And JYP, as an iconic company in Korean pop music, under President Park's brilliant leadership, has expanded its territory over the years and established a massive music empire." Jiang Zhiyu's tone was sincere, without excessive flattery, more like stating facts. "From Wonder Girls' 'Nobody' opening the US market, to 2PM's beast idol style, then to TWICE's status as the nation's girl group, and ITZY's new generation Girl Crush trend—every breakthrough JYP has made has pushed the entire industry forward."

These words were beautifully spoken.

They both acknowledged JYP's achievements and hinted at the necessity of continued breakthroughs.

Park Jin-young felt comfortable listening, and the smile on his face deepened.

But then Jiang Zhiyu shifted the topic.

"However, it's easier to conquer a kingdom than to maintain it." His voice lowered slightly, carrying a calm cruelty. "Under the impact of increasingly fast-food style internet development and cookie-cutter industry content, even a giant like JYP faces the challenge of maintaining innovative momentum and continuing its glory."

The atmosphere in the conference room became solemn.

The expressions of several executives turned serious. What Jiang Zhiyu was saying was exactly what they had been repeatedly discussing in internal meetings lately.

"So," Jiang Zhiyu clicked to the next slide, and TG's package cooperation model appeared on the screen, "the cooperation plan launched by TG Entertainment is essentially a new attempt—we hope to explore the future form of the entertainment industry together with an industry leader like JYP."

He explained the differences and applicable scenarios of the A, B, and C packages in detail, but this time, he emphasized the deeper philosophy.

"This isn't simple 'outsourcing' or 'buying services'," Jiang Zhiyu said. "It's a deeply bound, co-creative partnership. TG provides creativity and execution, JYP provides the artists and brand foundation. Both sides share the results and the risks."

He paused, his eyes meeting Park Jin-young's again.

"More importantly, this isn't just about doing a successful project, but about opening up a new world."

"A new world?" the Head of Content Production couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," Jiang Zhiyu nodded. "A world no longer limited to the traditional model of 'idol group comeback - music shows - variety show promotion,' but one that connects music, variety shows, film and television, digital content, and offline experiences to build a complete IP ecosystem."

There was an indescribable infectiousness in his voice.

"Imagine an idol group's comeback no longer being just an album and a few music show stages, but an immersive story spanning several months—with a prequel variety show laying the groundwork for the world-view, music carrying the core narrative, MVs and short dramas enriching the characters, online interactions for fan participation, and even offline themed exhibitions and immersive performances."

"This isn't a fantasy. TG is already trying it—'Twelve Star Messengers' is the prototype. We've integrated IZ*ONE's zodiac personas throughout variety shows, music, and even product placements, building a complete 'Star Universe.' The result is that the members' individual recognition has increased significantly, and their commercial value has grown exponentially."

The conference room was so quiet that the hum of the air conditioner could be heard.

The JYP executives fell into deep thought.

They were already aware of the success of Twelve Star Messengers: Records of Survival in the Mortal Realm. However, hearing Jiang Zhiyu systematically explain the underlying philosophy made them truly realize the disruptive nature of this model.

This wasn't some minor adjustment; it was a complete restructuring of the entire industry's rules of play.

“So,” Jiang Zhiyu concluded, his tone returning to a calm state, “if the collaboration between TG and JYP can be reached, it will be more than just a business transaction. It will be an experiment, an exploration, and an attempt to find a new way forward for the entire industry.”

He looked at Park Jin-young and gave a slight nod.

“And I believe that with President Park and JYP's courage and vision, you won't miss such an opportunity.”

As his voice trailed off, a brief silence fell over the conference room.

Then, Park Jin-young took the lead in applauding.

“Well said!” His voice was loud, and his eyes shimmered with excitement. “President Jiang's insights have truly opened my eyes! If there's one thing we at JYP don't lack, it's courage!”

The other executives also began to applaud, though their expressions varied—some were excited, some were skeptical, and some were rapidly calculating the pros and cons.

Jiang Zhiyu smiled in acknowledgment, but he knew in his heart: the real negotiation was only just beginning.

Outside the window, the rain had completely stopped. Sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting bright patches on the conference room floor.

A new world might truly be about to begin.

But who could become the leader of this new world would still depend on the gamesmanship to follow.

—

The 30-70 Split and the Copyright Empire

After Jiang Zhiyu finished speaking, a brief silence filled the conference room.

The JYP executives exchanged glances with varying expressions. Some had furrowed brows, calculating rapidly in their notebooks; some stroked their chins in deep thought, their gazes shifting between Jiang Zhiyu and Park Jin-young; others couldn't help but whisper to those beside them.

Finally, the Head of the Content Production Department was the first to speak—he was a senior producer at JYP who had followed Park Jin-young for many years, and his words carried significant weight.

“We admit that President Jiang's philosophy is very forward-thinking,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “However, regarding the specific cooperation model... we still have some questions.”

Jiang Zhiyu smiled and nodded. “Please, go ahead.”

“First is the distribution of interests.” The department head's gaze was sharp. “According to your proposal, TG provides the creativity, planning, and even part of the production, while JYP provides the artists, the brand, and basic resources. So, how should the final revenue be distributed?”

This question hit the core of the matter.

Everyone looked at Jiang Zhiyu, waiting for his answer.

Jiang Zhiyu remained unhurried and gestured for his assistant to switch the PPT. A clear revenue distribution chart appeared on the screen.

“Based on the ratio of resources invested by both parties, we suggest adopting a 30-70 split model,” he said in a steady voice. “During the five-year cooperation period, TG will only charge a service fee, accounting for thirty percent of the total project profits.”

“Thirty-seventy?” someone blurted out in surprise.

“TG gets thirty, and JYP gets seventy?” the Marketing Director confirmed.

“Yes,” Jiang Zhiyu nodded. “Taking a full comeback project for TWICE as an example—if we collaborate, TG will lead the execution of every stage, from concept planning, music production, and MV filming to variety show support, promotional marketing, and derivative product development. Of all the final profit generated, after deducting basic costs, TG will only take thirty percent, while seventy percent goes to JYP.”

A series of low gasps echoed through the conference room.

This ratio... was too tempting.

One had to realize that in traditional outsourcing collaborations, the production side usually took forty to fifty percent of the profit, and if it were a top-tier producer, it might even be higher. Yet TG, as the hottest creative company in the industry right now, had actually taken the initiative to ask for only thirty percent?

Several executives quickly did the math in their heads.

Assuming the total profit from one TWICE comeback was 10 billion KRW (which wasn't an exaggeration, given TWICE's commercial value), deducting about 2 billion in production costs left a net profit of 8 billion. With a 30-70 split, JYP would get 5.6 billion, while TG would only get 2.4 billion.

And if JYP handled it themselves, while they could take all the profit, they would bear all the risk, and it would be hard to guarantee the same results as a TG-planned project.

More importantly—TG's plan included the creativity and execution of the entire process. This meant JYP could save a vast amount of manpower and material resources, allowing them to concentrate their resources on artist management and brand maintenance.

“Objectively speaking,” the Artist Management Director whispered to the colleague beside him, “there's a reason Jiang Zhiyu was able to build TG Entertainment in just a few years. This kind of profit-sharing measure... is very clever.”

“But with a 30-70 split, doesn't TG need to grow?” the Chief Financial Officer frowned. “Their operating costs can't be low, right? Their employee benefits are so high, and they have to invest in R&D for new technology... Is taking only thirty percent enough?”

This question also represented the doubts in the hearts of others.

Jiang Zhiyu seemed to be able to hear their inner thoughts. The corners of his mouth curled up in a very faint arc, and a cold glint flashed deep in his eyes.

There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world.

He sneered inwardly, but his expression remained calm and composed.

Waiting for the discussion to subside slightly, he spoke slowly: “Everyone's doubts are very reasonable. From a short-term perspective, TG's profit margin with a 30-70 split is indeed limited. However—”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room before finally landing on Park Jin-young.

“What we value is not the immediate revenue from one or two collaborations, but the long-term construction of an ecosystem.”

The assistant cooperatively switched the PPT, and new keywords appeared on the screen: Copyright, Ecosystem, Long-term Binding.

“In this cooperation model, TG has one core requirement.” Jiang Zhiyu's voice was clear and forceful. “All content led and created by TG—including but not limited to music, variety show scripts, visual concepts, character settings, and worldview architectures—the copyright must belong to TG.”

The air in the conference room instantly froze.

Copyright!

That was the true core!

The expressions of several executives changed. They finally understood why TG was willing to give up such a large share of the profits—because they were plotting for something much bigger.

“Of course, this doesn't mean the partner company needs to pay massive copyright royalties,” Jiang Zhiyu continued, his tone as relaxed as if he were discussing today's weather. “On the contrary, as long as one becomes a deep partner of TG, they only need to pay a small annual fee to freely use all the intellectual property in TG's copyright library.”

A simulated interface appeared on the screen: TG Creative Copyright Library.

Below were category labels: Music Library, Variety Model Library, Film and TV Script Library, Visual Concept Library, IP Worldview Library...

“This copyright library contains not only content we tailor for our partners but also the TG original music library filled by me, Lee Tima, and occasionally Chairwoman Kim,” Jiang Zhiyu added. “In other words, as long as the annual fee is paid, JYP's artists can select suitable songs from the TG library without paying extra copyright fees.”

He looked around at everyone, seeing their expressions shift from shock to contemplation, and then to realization.

“This is a disguised form of binding cooperation,” someone finally whispered. “A... subscription-based business model.”

“Exactly,” Jiang Zhiyu admitted frankly. “But please think about it from another perspective—this isn't just binding; it's resource sharing and risk-sharing.”

He stood up, walked to the screen, and pointed a laser pointer at the copyright library icon.

“In the traditional model, every collaboration is a one-off. The producer gets the money, delivers the goods, and the cooperation ends. For the next collaboration, you renegotiate prices and play the game again. This model is inefficient and makes it difficult to build long-term trust.”

“But TG's model is—we build a large pool. JYP pays a fixed annual fee to gain access to the pool. Inside the pool are new ideas and content constantly injected by TG, as well as high-quality resources contributed by other partners (under copyright sharing agreements, of course). Everyone shares the pool and maintains its water level and quality together.”

His metaphor was very vivid.

The executives began to understand the brilliance of this model.

“More importantly,” Jiang Zhiyu returned to his seat and interlaced his fingers on the table, “this model can truly achieve what we mentioned earlier—digging into the deep personality charm of idols and enhancing the long-term value of groups and members.”

He clicked to the next page, and a case simulation appeared.

“Suppose ITZY collaborates with TG. We tailor a 'Possibilities Beyond a Performance Group' project for them. During this process, the music, dance concepts, member personas, and variety scripts we develop... the copyright for all this content stays in TG's hands.”

“But JYP, through the annual fee, gains permanent usage rights. This means even if ITZY transitions or a new group is launched five years later, this high-quality content can still be reused, adapted, and re-interpreted. Meanwhile, TG will continue to update the music and creative libraries, ensuring the water in the pool is always fresh.”

The conference room fell into an even deeper silence.

This silence wasn't one of doubt, but of digestion and reflection.

Park Jin-young hadn't spoken for a while. He sat with his arms crossed, leaning against the back of his chair, his gaze sharp as a hawk as he stared intently at Jiang Zhiyu.

He understood.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't want to build a company; he wanted to build an empire.

An entertainment empire with copyright as its core, creativity as its lifeblood, and collaboration as its skeleton.

In this empire, TG wasn't the ruler, but the builder and maintainer of the infrastructure. They weren't fighting for the throne; instead, they were paving the roads, building the bridges, and constructing the palaces, then charging a toll to everyone who passed through.

What was even more terrifying was that once this model was established, it would be extremely difficult to break.

Because the copyright was in TG's hands.

Because the creative library was in TG's hands.

Because all the partners would become accustomed to drawing water from this pool, and no one would be willing to risk a drought to go dig another well.

“Taking only thirty percent of the profit within five years seems like a concession, but in reality, it's for rapid expansion, to get more companies to join this ecosystem,” Park Jin-young finally spoke, his voice low. “Once the ecosystem is established, the annual fee income will become a stable cash flow for TG. And the value of the copyright library will continue to appreciate over time.”

Jiang Zhiyu smiled. “President Park is very perceptive.”

The two looked at each other, and it felt as if electricity were crackling in the air.

One was the king of an old empire, seeing through the new king's strategy.

The other was the builder of a rising empire, calmly displaying his blueprint.

“Then,” Park Jin-young leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, “what is the specific amount of the annual fee? What are the detailed rules for copyright usage? If a dispute arises during the cooperation, how will it be resolved?”

The questions came one after another, sharp and specific.

The real negotiation had truly begun now.

The sunlight outside grew brighter, completely dispelling the gloom after the rain.

Inside the conference room, the detailed discussion regarding the construction of the future entertainment empire lasted for three full hours.

And when the meeting ended, although no contract was signed on the spot, everyone knew—the collaboration between JYP and TG had taken a decisive step forward.

As for where this step would lead, that would depend on the gamesmanship to come, and... the choice of the era.