Soon, the food arrived, and the atmosphere became a bit more relaxed, thanks to Zhao Yunfeng and Zhao Qinghui.
During the meal, Zhao Qinghui vividly recounted what had happened at the Poetry Conference.
“‘Smoke veils the willows by the pond’?”
Director Zhao murmured to himself, glancing at Qin Lang with a hint of surprise. He hadn’t expected Qin Lang, a singer, to come up with such a clever couplet!
“It’s such a pity that there are so few people in our country who truly love poetry,” Zhao Qinghui said with a sigh of regret.
As someone who specialized in classical poetry, Zhao Qinghui knew all too well how little attention the people of Jiuzhou paid to poetry these days. Many even considered classical poetry completely useless.
Director Zhao furrowed his brows slightly. “That is indeed a problem. I’ve thought about doing a show on classical poetry before, but after discussions at the station, we ultimately decided against it.”
“Why!” Zhao Qinghui quickly asked. “Uncle, this would be such a wonderful thing!”
“It might be a wonderful thing, but as a television station, our priority is ratings. Do you think people nowadays still have an interest in classical poetry?”
“Of course! Classical poetry is the embodiment of Jiuzhou’s traditional culture…”
“Alright then. How many people under thirty have joined the Poetry Association in the last three years?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I do. Let me tell you—across Jiuzhou, the total number of people under thirty who’ve joined various poetry associations is less than three hundred. Out of over a billion people in Jiuzhou, with four to five hundred million under thirty, fewer than three hundred have joined.”
Zhao Qinghui was stunned. Although she was a member of the Poetry Association, she had never really paid attention to those numbers.
“With such a weak audience base, do you really think we’d make a show that’s bound to have poor ratings?”
Zhao Qinghui fell silent, a trace of sorrow in her eyes.
She truly loved poetry and genuinely wished more people would share that love, but…
Her uncle wasn’t wrong—fewer and fewer young people appreciated poetry.
“Old Zhao, why are you saying all this to the kid?”
Director Zhao’s wife gave him a disapproving glare. “Qinghui, don’t be so upset. Some things are beyond our control. Just focus on doing your best.”
Zhao Qinghui let out a soft sigh and turned to look at Qin Lang.
“Xuanxuan, do you feel the same way?”
Qin Lang had been quietly eating his meal—the food at the Shuangzi Grand Hotel was really quite good.
But he hadn’t expected Zhao Qinghui to suddenly ask him.
How was he supposed to know? If Director Zhao said so, it was probably true.
But seeing the hopeful look in Zhao Qinghui’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to discourage her.
“Well… about that… I don’t really know much either. But I think… while ratings are certainly important for a show, what’s even more important is how we guide the audience, help them develop the right values, and cultivate a better cultural taste. Isn’t that what we, as media professionals and artists, should be doing?”
Director Zhao was momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected such words to come from Qin Yunxuan’s mouth.
To have that kind of insight showed that Qin Yunxuan had a certain sense of belief and integrity.
That was exactly what young artists these days lacked the most.
“Yunxuan, do you have any ideas? Feel free to share them,” Director Zhao said.
Qin Lang smiled. “I don’t have anything particularly special in mind. I just think that as people who are often in the spotlight, our actions tend to be imitated by many. So we have a responsibility to do things that benefit society.”
“As for the Poetry Conference… I do think we could create a show like that. Even if the ratings aren’t great, Jiuyang Television would be setting a precedent for cultural programs in the country. That would benefit the station in the long run, wouldn’t it?”
Director Zhao fell silent. He hadn’t considered it from that angle before.
Now that Qin Lang mentioned it, he felt there was some truth to what he said.
With the hit show I Am a Singer already on the station, even if a poetry-themed show flopped, it wouldn’t hurt the station too much.
In Qin Lang’s mind, memories of The Chinese Poetry Conference from Earth surfaced—that show had sparked a nationwide passion for poetry.
If a program like that could be brought to this world…
“Yunxuan, I feel like you have more thoughts you haven’t shared yet. Go on,” Director Zhao said with a smile.
Qin Lang composed himself. “I think the reason people aren’t enthusiastic about poetry is that the way it’s currently taught doesn’t let them experience its beauty. Instead, poetry is often associated with something outdated and stale—that’s the real issue.”
“Take the Poetry Conference we just attended, for example. Honestly, all I felt was rigidity and boredom. An event like that can only be enjoyed by people already in the circle—it will never appeal to the general public.”
Zhao Qinghui’s face showed a hint of awkwardness at Qin Lang’s critique of the Poetry Conference.
She had thought Qin Lang had enjoyed himself there, but it seemed…
“So what we need to do is create something that resonates with the public. Let more people discover the beauty of poetry and realize that poetry isn’t something distant and unattainable—it’s closely connected to their own lives.”
Director Zhao grew interested. “Go on. I think you’re making a lot of sense.”
“What I mean is, we could hold a nationwide poetry conference, inviting people from all walks of life who love poetry. They might not usually have a chance to showcase their passion, so we can give them that opportunity.”
“At the same time, we should invite experts in the field and make the format more engaging…”
With that, Qin Lang poured out everything he remembered about the poetry conference from Earth.
Things like poetry chain games, the “Flying Flower Order,” picture-based poetry guessing, revisiting historical anecdotes…
The more Qin Lang spoke, the more excited he became, while Director Zhao grew increasingly astonished.
As an experienced media professional, he immediately recognized the groundbreaking innovation in Qin Lang’s ideas.
If this show could be made the way Qin Lang described, it would be the most revolutionary cultural program out there.
Television stations needed hit shows, but they also needed programs that pushed industry boundaries.
And this new poetry conference Qin Lang was talking about had that kind of potential.
“Is this really just a singer?” Director Zhao thought, struggling to contain his amazement.
Qin Lang spoke for a full ten minutes before finally pausing to take a sip of water.
Suddenly, he noticed something felt off—it was way too quiet.
At that moment, apart from Zhao Yunfeng, who looked a bit confused, everyone else was too stunned to speak.
“What’s wrong? I was just sharing my thoughts. I don’t even know if it’s feasible…”
“Xuanxuan, you’re amazing!” Zhao Qinghui, who was sitting next to Qin Lang, suddenly threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Your ideas—they’re absolutely genius!”
Director Zhao let out a relieved breath. He had thought Qin Lang only had a rough idea, but it turned out he had practically laid out a full production plan.
“Alright. We’ll call this show Jiuzhou Poetry Conference!” Director Zhao made the decision. “Yunxuan, I’d like to invite you to be the chief planner and director of this show. What do you think?”
What? Qin Lang was completely taken aback by Director Zhao’s words.
