3 Transition of Copyright
Back in the rented room beside the school, Yu Zhi tossed her suitcase aside and collapsed wearily onto the sofa.
“Let’s order takeout,” she said, tilting her head and struggling to lift her phone.
During the journey, Yu Zhi had already mapped out her next steps.
First, tomorrow she would contact the copyright editor to clarify the ownership of the rights;
Second, she would find suitable screenwriters, directors, producers, crew members, and so on;
Finally, she would officially begin casting actors, while preparing for the script reading sessions and handling all the preliminary work for art design, props, and set decoration.
The roadmap was clear, but the only problem was: it all looked incredibly labor-intensive!
When Yu Zhi had previously written novels about the entertainment industry, she had also come across many stories about film crews, all fraught with complications.
The more people involved, the more problems and troubles inevitably followed.
That was a law of nature.
Yu Zhi had experienced this herself.
When she submitted short stories to magazines, there were few issues.
On one hand, her heavy studies left her little time to pay attention; on the other, paper editors acted as buffers so she never had to face readers directly.
But once she started writing serialized novellas, she had to pay attention to editors' feedback.
Later, as an online novelist, the situation changed dramatically—direct communication from creator to consumer with no middleman.
She opened her articles straight into the comments section; feedback came directly without editors to filter it—though what was earned was often negative emotions, a poor trade-off.
Yu Zhi struggled for a time.
The feedback from paper editors was rarely outrageous;
Yet online serial novels attracted countless readers all voicing different concerns, so even constructive criticism often clashed.
It was hard for her to take.
This part still hadn’t fully settled.
Eventually, she realized the best approach was to ignore core issues and keep writing, while fixing minor details as needed.
So now, assembling an entire film crew involving hundreds of people clearly represented a massive undertaking.
Yu Zhi felt she desperately needed helpers—many of them—and trustworthy ones at that.
She tapped at the blue dot in her mind and stared at the screen that reappeared before her eyes.
“Help me out, please,” she pleaded.
·
The screenwriting app seemed quite simple at first glance, without complicated second- or third-level menus, making it easy to navigate.
But it guided Yu Zhi step by step.
Yu Zhi was quite proactive; rarely procrastinating, once she set a plan, she did her best to stick to it. Sometimes, when her perfectionism kicked in, she’d work without sleep for two days straight to finish a task.
The next day, she contacted the copyright editor.
This editor was not Qingzi, who only managed website updates, rankings, and audits; the copyright was handled by someone else.
Before reaching out, Yu Zhi had given the matter some thought.
Because “Zhengzheng” was registered under her as the legal representative, information easily searchable online, and her real details were on the website.
So even though the screenwriting app claimed it could help her create a pseudonym and use a third party for contract negotiations, anyone searching the company would still see that the top boss was Yu Zhi herself.
Moreover, Yu Zhi didn’t feel the need to hide her identity in this drama production; she wanted that director and producer to know who she was!
Yu Zhi: “Then there’s no point in using a pseudonym.”
[Xiaoyu—Copyright]: “I suggest you transfer the copyright to the company’s name. Although the company belongs to you, this makes it more official.”
[Xiaoyu—Copyright]: “Also, filming can be complicated. Make sure you understand the shareholding proportions clearly; don’t be at a disadvantage.”
Even if it was her own novel, her own team, and her own investment, it didn’t mean the novel’s copyright was free.
Unless Yu Zhi voluntarily gave up that part of the income.
The editor advised her to keep accounts clear even with close relatives, like a technical equity contribution; intangible doesn’t mean valueless.
On the contrary, it was extremely valuable, and giving it away for free would infringe on her personal rights.
The Danqing Novel Website did not retain authors’ copyrights but acted as an agent. Previously, the online drama adaptation rights for Yu Zhi’s book had been negotiated by the website on her behalf.
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The revenue generated was actually an agency service fee.
If Yu Zhi insisted on granting free authorization to a copyright party, Danqing could do nothing since she held the rights herself.
However, the editor advised her to follow proper procedures and purchase the IP adaptation rights.
[Xiaoyu—Copyright]: “A screenwriter is a screenwriter; a novel is a novel. You should receive two separate payments, not mix them.”
Yu Zhi: “I understand what you mean.”
She would hand the copyright to the film production company, which would pay her copyright fees;
Then, the company would hire her as a screenwriter and pay appropriate remuneration.
Though she was working alone, funding and novel both from her, on paper the money must be carefully divided.
Signing contracts meant sharing some with the website, but this was transparent and accounted for within the copyright fees; not a loss.
[Task One] Your First Drama
“Copyright is a crucial aspect; never overlook it! I’m glad you recognize this. Now, let’s decide on its formal ownership. Suggested copyright fee ranges from 300,000 to 800,000 yuan; anything above is premium and not permitted.”
[Note] Moving funds from one hand to another is not unnecessary!
There are rumors online of “xx novel’s ten-million-yuan copyright,” but such figures belong only to the very top tier.
Moreover, although that sounds like a lot, if even the elite in an industry don’t earn much, that industry truly has no future.
Besides, not everyone’s copyright reaches that level; even a million-yuan deal isn’t common.
Yu Zhi bought out all TV drama adaptation rights, animation rights, related merchandise rights, and a secondary non-exclusive online drama license for 800,000 yuan.
After the website’s 20% cut, the contract signed, and payment processed the next day, 512,000 yuan landed in Yu Zhi’s bank account—after 20% tax, with annual adjustments based on total income.
A week had passed by then.
During this period, Yu Zhi entrusted everything to the screenwriting app and subtly inquired with the copyright editor, who said a lawyer and a responsible person were liaising with the website.
Yu Zhi: “...Impressive.”
Though there was no full system, this app seemed quite smart.
She also unlocked features related to “contracts” and “lawyers.”
Yu Zhi found the app could directly fulfill her requests, such as contracts or legal procedures if she wanted to hire people later.
“Made money!” she rejoiced.
Though she didn’t mind interacting with people, unfamiliar territory and ignorance often led to deception—something she’d learned the hard way.
She had been compelled to learn many things she was initially uninterested in.
Not difficult, just annoying.
She glanced at the app.
The progress bar for [Task One] showed “Signing contracts to acquire relevant rights.”
After all, setting prices required drafting contracts and triple signatures; even with next-day delivery, back and forth would take time.
Fortunately, once contracts were signed and funds secured, everything wrapped up quickly.
Seeing the money arrive and her savings swell, with the next stage of tasks for the crew ahead, Yu Zhi felt delighted.
Xiaoyu even joked this was their fastest payment process; other copyrights, no matter how fast, took at least half a month to process before the company paid.
Yu Zhi: “Mm-hmm!”
Of course! This money was transferred right under my watchful eye!
[Task One] Your First Drama
“Ding dong! Copyright transfer complete! Current fixed expenditure: 800,000 yuan. Keep up the good work!”
[Starting Funds] Unavailable balance: 199,200,000 yuan
[Expenditure] 800,000 yuan
[Stage Reward One] 100,000 yuan discretionary funds, transferred to Zhengzheng Film Co., Ltd. corporate account.
After setting up the company, Yu Zhi discovered a series of supporting measures arrived as well.
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The business license was even couriered to her.
Yu Zhi: “Huh? 100,000 yuan?”
She had been curious before, so she checked the financial records this time.
She found in the “Zhengzheng” exclusive interface on the screenwriting app, there was 800,000 yuan income, followed by an expenditure record paid to Danqing Novel Website.
The income transfer was from an investment company.
No matter how many similar novels Yu Zhi had written before, such a surreal event happening to her felt a bit unreal.
She searched for the company named “Zero Origin Asset Management Co., Ltd.” and found it was a registered, certified investment company and a subsidiary of a major group.
This 100,000 yuan was also transferred from Zero Origin.
Yu Zhi: “!!!”
So impressive!
Taking advantage of her curiosity, she asked about the source of funds via the app’s feedback interface and received a prompt reply the next second.
“Please rest assured, the funds are legitimate, supported by technology cooperation, asset transfer, and independent investment. This app holds physical and virtual assets worldwide.”
Yu Zhi murmured, “Is that a hint of showing off wealth?”
So this major group company was also part of your app?
She resolutely declared, “Fine, mine!”
From now on, it shall all be mine!
Now there’s 100,000 yuan!
The company account was finally not empty!
The 512,000 yuan copyright funds were in her personal bank card—the same one she received royalties on—belonging to her private savings.
The 100,000 yuan in Zhengzheng’s corporate account was presumably for company use.
Yu Zhi: “Now I can proceed to the next steps!”
There was still so much to do!
She checked off “Copyright” on her memo and looked at the list of tasks under “Crew Recruitment.”
Yu Zhi: “A bit dizzy.”
[Random Reward] You have secured your rightful interests, celebrate with a flourish! You are granted one essential item for crew recruitment! Please draw!
Yu Zhi snapped back to reality. “What? What?”
An item? What item?
Moving money left to right, and now a reward too?
A chest appeared before her; reaching in, she grabbed a ball.
Who could resist touching it?
Upon squeezing the ball, a line of text appeared:
[Supporting Interview Venue]
Yu Zhi: “???”
The word “supporting” implied something significant.
She had been granted free use for one month of two floors in a five-star hotel in Maple City, including a large conference room serving as an interview venue.
Yu Zhi: “So rich!!!”
Two floors!
A whole month!
How expensive that must be!