Even Showbiz Ends Up Chasing “Job Security”

Right now, in China’s entertainment industry, it’s no longer surprising to see actors—whether “unknowns” or A-listers—between projects. When schedules go quiet, some stars pivot into travel content, fitness content, livestream sales, or side businesses. That contrast makes a certain group stand out even more: actors with close ties to major video platforms, who seem able to move into productions seamlessly, almost without a break.

And so, much like young professionals dreaming of a stable, “official” position, independent entertainment talent is racing to “get on the platform track.” The most visible examples are the platform-backed “breakout-in-waiting” names and rising leading men and women—but this wave also includes countless supporting players you constantly recognize on-screen: seasoned veterans, mid-career regulars, and newer faces who never seem to disappear.

This is different from the older, familiar playbook of platforms “crowning” a few chosen princes and princesses. Today, platforms appear to be building something more systematic: a stable, controllable talent pool. The goal is a deep bench—leads to supporting roles, across ages and styles—so casting becomes predictable and costs become manageable. People love to say TVB is “past its prime,” yet so many still want the security and pipeline it represents.

A shared talent pool—and a new era of cooperation

Lately, there have even been rumors that four major video platforms have signed agreements to share a single artist pool—meaning talent signed to one platform could film across multiple platforms. One frequently cited example is He Bu Tong Zhou Du (《何不同舟渡》), which reportedly shifted from Tencent Video to Mango TV. The second female lead is said to be Zhao Zhaoyi (a Mango TV–signed artist), while the male lead is Tan Jianci, linked to Yaoke Media (with Tencent-related capital), and the female lead is Lu Yuxiao, represented by an agency reportedly backed by iQIYI.

For anyone who remembers the cash-burning wars of the early long-video era, this possible alignment is striking. In a way, short-video competition has become the only “glue” holding long-video rivals together. If long-video platforms truly coordinate, they can reduce audience fatigue from constantly seeing the same “in-house” combinations—and they can also become a stronger united front in pushing actor fees down through scale, bargaining power, and standardized casting.

After all, actor pay ballooned during the internet era, when money poured into film and TV at high speed and inflated the market. Now the long-video world appears to be reviving a model closer to the television system it once disrupted: creators and actors “go to work” under a platform structure, where everything is cheaper, steadier, and easier to control.

And once the most attractive part—sky-high pay—has been squeezed by cost discipline, “platform absorption” becomes a different contest: not just money, but each platform’s unique incentives and ecosystem advantages.

How platforms “absorb” talent: different playbooks, different perks

Over the past year, the most visible moves have come from Youku.

After its parent Alibaba Pictures reshaped and rebranded parts of its entertainment structure (with “Tiger Whale” branding becoming more prominent), Youku launched multiple talent programs. There are initiatives aimed at directors and writers, and most notably an actor-training program widely described as a TVB-style “boot camp” (often referred to as the “Tiger Whale Transcendence Class”). Recently, Huang Xiyan also appeared in a graduation showcase tied to this system.

To convince actors to ignore the distractions of the wider market and accept a more “company employee” rhythm, Youku’s signature pitch is “full-spectrum” development. Within the broader Alibaba Group entertainment ecosystem, one of the strongest revenue engines is the live events business. Since Damai Entertainment (formerly Damai under Alibaba’s entertainment umbrella) published results after its naming shift, its performance underscored how lucrative performances and touring can be.

That trend is also visible on the ground: more screen actors are appearing on stage. For top-tier actors in a gap between dramas, theatre can be craft training and reputation-building. For many lesser-known actors facing long stretches of unemployment, it’s a very practical way to earn income.

Inside Youku’s ecosystem, talent flow goes both ways. While film-and-TV actors increasingly cross into theatre, theatre performers are also being pulled into screen work. One example often mentioned is Han Jing, whose performance as a supporting character in Fan Ren Lei Bao Xing (《反人類暴行》) drew attention.

That’s the public-facing side. Behind the scenes, Youku is also widely believed to have established cooperative arrangements with multiple young A-list actresses and actors. For example, Zhao Lusi’s company “Yi Er San Si” has been linked—through shareholder structures and joint ventures—to entities associated with the “Tiger Whale” system. Rumors also suggest that Liu Haocun and Song Weilong have platform-linked sub-contract collaborations as well.

For Tencent Video, the most powerful “absorption tool” is commercial endorsement return.

It’s not an accident Tencent’s year-end gala is branded around “starlight.” In the Tencent system, the shine is real: artists who work closely with Tencent Video often receive noticeably stronger brand-resource feedback than peers aligned with other platforms. Those labeled “Tencent princes/princesses,” such as Zhou Yiran and Meng Ziyi, are frequently associated with premium luxury partnerships—like Guerlain and Bulgari. Some long-running brand relationships are even joked about as “inherited resources,” because they began in earlier talent-show eras and continued through platform ecosystems.

Meng Ziyi’s endorsement volume is often cited as being near the top of the post-95 female cohort, while her frequent on-screen partner Li Yunrui is similarly viewed as strong among post-95 male actors in brand deals.

iQIYI also offers meaningful commercial upside. Artists like Lu Yuxiao—alongside Li Landi, who has repeatedly partnered with iQIYI—have seen brand momentum improve.

But iQIYI’s more distinctive advantage may be creative range. The platform is known for offering actors broader genre opportunities, reducing the risk of getting stuck endlessly in historical romance and modern romance loops. Its suspense and period dramas remain especially attractive. Actors often labeled as iQIYI’s favored faces—such as Zeng Shunxi and Chen Zheyuan—have taken suspense roles, while Cheng Lei has explored Republican-era stories.

For Mango TV, the edge is variety shows.

Signed artists can build recognition through major variety IPs; Zhao Zhaoyi, for instance, became better known through Divas Hit the Road 5 (《花兒與少年5》). Mango TV’s self-produced drama strength is often viewed as slightly behind the top three, which can make platform-to-platform rivalry less direct—and, importantly, can make co-broadcast deals easier. Those co-productions, in turn, become a channel to place Mango’s own artists.

With cross-platform talent collaboration rumors growing, Zhao Zhaoyi is now reported not only to appear in co-broadcast projects, but also to land supporting roles in platform exclusives such as Shi Wan Kuang Hua Ru Meng Lai (《十萬狂花入夢來》) and Yun Gui Xi Shi (《雲歸喜事》). The pattern suggests that “platform borders” are becoming more flexible in practice, not just in theory.

Production giants are forming alliances too

As long-video platforms evolve from aggressive land-grabbing into cooperative “win-win” talent economics, major production houses haven’t stood still.

Even companies that long claimed they wouldn’t do artist management are changing course. Daylight Entertainment (often called “Zhengwu”) established a talent arm, reportedly backed by family-linked shareholders. Its signed artist Shen Jiayu has appeared in Daylight projects such as Die Bao Shang Bu Feng Ding (《諜報上不封頂》) and Ying Tao Hu Po (《櫻桃琥珀》).

Meanwhile, Shen Jiayu is also linked to Zhaosen Entertainment, which has cooperative ties within the wider production ecosystem. In parallel, Linmon Pictures appears in interconnected collaborations, including with projects featuring Xiao Zhan. The closeness between Daylight and Linmon has become one of the more notable “friendly relationships” among major drama producers.

If major producers—especially those still able to develop IP dramas with meaningful casting autonomy—can form a casting circle distinct from platform-owned talent systems, it could lead to fresher ensembles and less predictable combinations.

Another partnership frequently discussed is between Huace Film & TV and YiXin Entertainment. Recently, many Huace projects have reportedly cast heavily from YiXin’s roster. For example, the historical drama Taiping Nian (《太平年》) features leads like Bai Yu, Zhou Yutong, and Zhu Yawen—all associated with YiXin. Upcoming projects have been rumored to follow similar patterns.

Huace’s reliance on agency partnerships may partly reflect a thinner in-house roster after several formerly prominent names moved on. The company has also accelerated its own talent cultivation—such as bringing Wu Qian into training and mentoring programs.

A similar talent-reserve challenge faces H&R Century Pictures (often known for idol dramas). Its biggest star Cheng Yi has been the subject of contract rumors; if major departures happen, producers still need bankable leads to anchor projects, which pushes them toward the same solution: cooperate with top agencies that can supply “sellable” actors at scale.

In this model, agencies offer preferential pricing in exchange for high-value drama slots; producers control costs while also finding opportunities to place their own trainees. Head agencies linking up with production giants—and production giants linking up with each other—creates a distinct packaging style that competes with platform-talent packaging.

The “outside the system” squeeze

For artists outside both platform and production-company “systems,” the situation is increasingly awkward.

True top-tier actors who can trigger greenlights and raise a project’s price aren’t short on attention—but the number of truly large-scale projects has shrunk, which reduces even their options. If they refuse to “downshift” and insist on only the best projects, they may have to accept longer gaps.

In 2025, online observers even circulated informal counts of popular actors who went more than 100 days without joining a set. That list reportedly included frequent “gap-year” names like Wang Yibo and Liu Yifei, alongside Zhang Ruoyun, Li Xian, Gong Jun, and Wu Lei. On the women’s side, the list often mentioned steady workers like Jin Chen and Li Qin, as well as many from the post-85 cohort.

That’s one reason the 2025 long-video year-end galas were criticized for lacking “star power”: fewer post-85 actresses to compete for headlines, and fewer post-90 male stars to supply traffic.

Some post-85 actresses who once dominated costume romance still face constant comparisons, but there’s also a growing sense that their era is shifting. Liu Yifei reportedly went more than two years without entering a new production; Zhao Liying and Yang Mi have also faced periods with limited new drama announcements.

Even those with “inventory” (already-shot projects waiting to air) carry different pressures. Liu Shishi aired multiple costume romances in 2025, but the results were often discussed as weaker than her earlier breakout. Tang Yan saw limited “comeback effect,” with projects underperforming expectations and scheduling disruptions affecting momentum.

At the same time, platform-aligned post-95 actresses and actors are still being mixed and matched constantly—only now, cross-platform combinations are becoming more common. Chen Zheyuan, often associated with iQIYI, has recently filmed costume romance projects with other platforms. Li Yunrui, long tied to Tencent Video leading roles, has taken Mango TV projects; Zhou Yiran, also strongly associated with Tencent, has moved into Youku productions.

In other words, the “shared artist pool” rumor is increasingly supported by visible casting reality. Cross-platform pairing naturally feels fresher than endless “all in-house” casting.

But that freshness comes with a cost: it leaves even less oxygen for “outside-the-system” talent. If top-tier actors are already queuing for fewer big projects, the ladder becomes steeper for everyone below the top. In today’s environment, for a non-top-tier actor who still hopes to break out, choosing the right “unit” to attach to may be more practical than waiting endlessly for auditions.

After the pay-bubble: will long dramas become steadier again?

So, as the industry enters a “staffed system” era and strips out inflated pay, will long-video culture return to the grounded discipline of the traditional TV era—and revive long-form drama quality?

The comparison is hard to ignore. A classic like Empresses in the Palace reportedly delivered massive impact with a production budget that now looks modest by today’s standards, and its lead Sun Li became a benchmark not by chasing the highest fee, but by leveraging broader commercial value.

Whatever the outcome, one thing is clear: as the industry cools, some of its most criticized structural problems—especially runaway costs and chaotic talent cycles—finally look solvable. And in a strange way, that’s the paradox of the current moment: where the pressure rises, “rescue mechanisms” tend to appear.