098 Goes Live

Setting aside the latest online buzz about Lee Big Ox, TC Entertainment Media, under his leadership, was finally launching the first truly meaningful project since the company’s founding.

The advertising had already been blasted across every corner of the market. All Lee and his team had to do now was record the first two episodes well.

Since TC Entertainment and ABC Television had secured Wednesday and Thursday for broadcast, two episodes had to air every week.

The schedule was tight, but under Lee Big Ox’s money-driven assault, everything was moving forward in orderly fashion.

The stage, the coaches, the host, the production crew, and everyone else were already in place. As for the contestants, the music department had sifted through the submission inbox in a needle-in-a-haystack search and selected them one by one.

Thanks to Lee Big Ox’s tens of millions of followers, this unprecedented, outrageously ambitious online audition had truly been a one-in-a-million affair. In the end, after Lee and the others refined every detail to perfection, thirty-two contestants were finally assembled.

During all of this, the troublesome matters of contacting the contestants and getting them to the recording site, as well as verifying the identities of those who had taken part in the online audition, had nothing to do with Lee Big Ox. He was the boss. TC Entertainment had hired so many people, paid out so many salaries each month, and if he had to worry about all that too, one day he would end up like Zhuge Liang, toiling until the very end and giving everything he had.

Although TC Entertainment was a newly formed company and the recording of a television program inevitably brought all kinds of minor problems, it was a pre-recorded show, so most of those issues amounted to little more than a few extra takes.

And Lee Big Ox also had some experience from his previous life watching this program, so when Wednesday finally arrived, the show was able to air smoothly at last.

One hour before the broadcast, Lee once again spared no effort in posting a new update on EyeBook.

“Recently I accidentally heard a certain singer performing, and I felt like my ears had been polluted. I believe many people are suffering from the same problem. So, in order to let everyone hear what real good singing sounds like, I created a talent show to find voices truly worthy of the name. Tonight at 8:30 on ABC Television, The Voice of America—don’t miss it. Special reminder: the first and second episodes will have no commercials~”

This post received far fewer shares. After all, this was a genuine advertisement. If you were not a true fan, why would you share Lee Big Ox’s ad?

But Lee did not worry about the lack of shares, because in his view, the ratings were already guaranteed.

First, the four coaches were all true giants of the American music scene, each with a long list of classic songs to their name. Just the fans of these four alone were enough to bring a substantial audience to the program, which was why Lee had been willing to pay an appearance fee averaging eight million dollars apiece.

Second, Lee’s spending on promotion was unprecedented in the television industry. Never before had a program been promoted so aggressively both in the real world and online, with advertising spending rivaling that of a major Hollywood blockbuster.

Third, Lee’s own EyeBook following had already reached the tens of millions, and for some time he had been at the center of America’s online storm, with news and discussion about him everywhere. So even out of pure curiosity, many people would tune in just to see what kind of show Lee had made.

For a new program, the ratings of the first episode depend on only two things: the caliber of the guests and the strength of the promotion.

And The Voice of America lacked neither, so Lee had no reason to worry about weak ratings.

The reason a debut episode with guaranteed ratings still had no sponsor was simple: Lee was asking too much. In his eyes, this was a show destined to sweep the world.

In his previous life, The Voice had charged billions of dollars worldwide every year just for the format rights, not to mention the miracle ratings that every national version achieved, often taking first place in its time slot.

So Lee’s asking price for title sponsorship, and even for mid-show commercials, was extremely high. As for the companies in need of advertising, it was not that none of them believed in this talent-show format. The problem was that believing in it did not mean they were willing to take the risk and sink a huge sum into advertising.

Your four coaches are indeed very famous. Your stage and sound system are world-class. Your promotional budget covers the entire United States. And the producer of your show, Lee Big Ox, is currently one of the hottest topics in all of America.

But so what?

The Voice format is unprecedented. There has never been a talent show in this world that chooses contestants solely by voice. Audiences are drawn to talent competitions not only because of singing ability, but also because appearance matters greatly.

Who knows? If the contestants you end up selecting are all middle-aged men and women, will anyone still watch the next episode, or the so-called coach team battles?

Commercial deals for a show are not negotiated episode by episode, but season by season. No company is willing to gamble an entire year’s worth of ad spending on a program whose prospects are still unclear.

Still, that was fine. Lee Big Ox did not care about one or two episodes’ worth of advertising revenue. In his view, if he sold the ads cheaply now, it would be like abandoning the elephant to pick up a pebble. Even if the entire first season ran without ads, he could still make back every cent of his investment, multiplied many times over, from the singers discovered through the show.

As the broadcast time drew nearer and nearer, Lee and several of the company’s key people sat in the office, watching the television already switched to ABC.

“Chairman,” Quinn said, having kept in constant contact with ABC’s side, “they say the ratings have already reached 0.9 and are still climbing steadily.”

“Only 0.9? That low?” Lee said.

Hearing his question, Quinn broke into a cold sweat. “Chairman, our program doesn’t start for another three minutes.”

“Oh. Still a bit low, then.” Lee felt that with three minutes left, people should at least have already turned their TVs over to ABC.

“Chairman, it’s 1.1 now,” Quinn said excitedly.

In truth, 1.1 was nowhere near a breakout hit in America. The current U.S. television ratings record belonged to Dancing with the Stars on CDG Television, which had reached an unbelievable 9.6.

Still, for a show that had not even officially begun, a 1.1 rating was already very good.

At exactly 8:30, the television screen displayed a logo: the hand gripping a microphone that Lee Big Ox had borrowed from the previous life’s The Voice.

Then came the coaches’ introductions. Nothing remarkable there—each coach took the stage in turn and explained why they had come to the program. All of it had been arranged with the production team beforehand, nothing more than the usual talk about finding truly great voices.

“Chairman, the rating has already reached 2.7,” Quinn said, even more excited now.

A 2.7 rating was enough to declare the program a success. Although the ad revenue at that level would not recover all of Lee Big Ox’s investment, once the reuse value of the stage equipment was factored in, they would not lose too much.

Lee paid no attention to Quinn’s excitement. To him, this rating was really nothing. After all, in his previous life, the tenth season of The Voice in the United States had reached a 3.4 rating.

At that moment, the first contestant took the stage, and the audience let out a collective gasp, because the performer was actually an ordinary-looking Black middle-aged woman.

“People like that can sing too?” someone immediately snapped a photo and uploaded it to EyeBook. It was hardly strange that they thought so, because everyone knew women like that—plain, commonplace, the kind who seemed to have nothing at all to do with the word singer.

Quinn had not been watching the television at all. He had been at the recording session in person, and even the finished episode had already been viewed at least five times, since he had to coordinate approval with the television station. He kept his eyes fixed on his phone, watching the live feedback data from ABC.

“Chairman, it’s already 3.2.”

At Quinn’s shout, the entire conference room erupted in cheers. That number had already reached their expected target. If the rating could hold there, the show would certainly not lose money—it would make money.

One point five billion dollars of investment, after all.

Meanwhile, Lee Big Ox kept refreshing EyeBook, reading the comments about The Voice of America.

“Why did someone like that make it on? Why wasn’t I chosen?”

“With that image, she wants to be a singer?”

“Is Tarek not supposed to be loaded? Why is the production team so stingy they can’t even give the contestants new clothes?”

“If those judges are all turned away from the contestants, when they spin around will they fall right out of their chairs?”

...

Just then, the music began. As the intro ended, the Black middle-aged woman drew a deep breath and then started to sing.

Pure, ethereal, almost otherworldly.

Her voice and her appearance were complete opposites. A voice rising from the common world had suddenly blossomed into something transcendent. That contrast left everyone watching in front of the television doubting their own ears.

The online comments paused for nearly a minute before surging again.

“Damn, are my ears broken?”

“Is this lip-syncing?”

“How can it possibly sound this good?”

...

The woman herself had no idea that her singing was stunning millions. The more she sang, the more relaxed she became. When the song reached its climax, she closed her eyes and imagined that she was back in the shower at home, free to sing with all her heart and without restraint.

Bang... bang... bang... bang!

Four drumbeats in a row. In perfect unison, the four coaches pressed the buttons in front of them, and the chairs they sat in began to turn.

When the four coaches saw the performer on stage, they were instantly stunned, and the camera very timely captured their expressions.

“4.7, Chairman! It’s up to 4.7!” Quinn cried, practically jumping with excitement.