Summary

Mini-program short dramas are first and foremost a user-acquisition business, not a scaled-down version of traditional film and television. They evolved from web-fiction acquisition creatives: in 2022, “Crooked-Mouthed Dragon King” showed that humiliation-to-reversal stories could generate tens of millions or even 100M-plus plays, while early market lore held that a RMB100K production could unlock a RMB10M-level revenue-share market. The traffic and web-fiction companies that controlled cheap acquisition, IP and user profiles were the first to realize the profits.
The core assets in the short-drama boom are not studios or scripts but the ability to buy traffic, the conversion model and control of the data. 九州, 掌阅, 点众 and 番茄 routinely ranked near the top of short-drama charts; whoever controlled traffic and the platform also controlled top-ups, distribution and the cost dashboard, leaving producers—even co-investors—to wait for the platform’s performance report. “The house is always at the table: everyone comes to play, but only I can see the hole cards” (这就是庄家一直在牌桌上，大家都来玩，但底牌只有我看得见).
强哥’s own projects showed that eye-popping top-up revenue is not the same as distributable profit. One show cost RMB500K, split evenly at RMB250K per side; after its fantasy opening was replaced, the platform reported more than RMB30M in top-ups, but claimed that only more than RMB1.2M remained after paid-traffic costs. 强哥’s side received RMB600K, which then had to be divided among participants; the key dashboard was never visible: “If the numbers look good, I’ll send you a screenshot; if they don’t, I’ll let you look at the computer” (好的给你截个图，不好的拿电脑给你看一眼).
The first taste of profit is the easiest trigger for leverage, while a short drama’s effective distribution window may last only 7 days. 强哥 pitched outside capital on a 10-show framework in which each side contributed RMB2.5M, using ROI of 1.12 or 1.2 to sell a repeatable playbook; the first 2 projects then barely broke even, and by day 10 or half a month later there was almost no new revenue share. He stopped in July and August 2023, saying that continuing would mean “dragging a lot more people under” (拖了好多人下水).
Short-drama content is not about fully rounded characters; it manages emotion and payment triggers at extremely high frequency. The platform editors’ hard rule was that a show without an emotional hook in its first 3 seconds was dead, while acquisition creatives needed a climax every 5 to 6 seconds on average. Genres rotated rapidly from Dragon Kings, live-in sons-in-law, God of War figures and miracle doctors to female-skewing revenge, children, misery and “Shenhao”; traditional film and television experience could become a source of misreadings.
Short dramas’ payment resilience comes from fragmented pricing and an entertainment gap among overlooked consumers. 强哥 cited a report he acknowledged might not be fully accurate: viewers were concentrated in fourth- and fifth-tier cities in Guangdong, Guangxi, Sichuan and Henan, typically used phones costing less than RMB1,500 and worked in service industries. One episode at RMB0.60 looks trivial, but 100 episodes cost RMB60. “Do fourth- and fifth-tier cities have nightlife? No. So what do people do after work?”
The gratification behind the format is a compensation mechanism for real-world pressure. A delivery rider helps an elderly person, delivers late and triggers a system that grants wealth or superpowers; viewers know the protagonist will eventually turn things around, but still pay to watch the humiliation get reversed. 卫诗婕 consequently pulled back from her simplistic judgment that the content was “low,” while 强哥 stressed: “At the very least, they can find some solace here. I think that alone gives it a reason to exist” (最起码，他们能够在这里得到慰藉，我觉得这件事就有存在的意义).
For outside investors, the industry’s biggest risk is not hit rate but the inability to verify revenue, costs and settlement. Some producers cannot even obtain project screenshots; another show that ranked No. 2 last month was kept waiting as the platform cited continued distribution and an extended settlement cycle. The traffic buyer may also have priority repayment rights, while third-party charts show only creative spend and top-up rankings, not actual profit. 强哥 agrees that “this industry belongs only to the house,” whose real asset is “absolute control” over the data.

Deep dive

1. “Short Dramas” Are Actually 3 Entirely Different Businesses

强哥 starts by splitting the category into 3 layers: horizontal-screen revenue-share dramas on iQIYI, Youku, Tencent Video and Mango TV; premium vertical dramas on Douyin and Kuaishou; and the mini-program dramas at the center of the current boom. Their development, production and scale are all different.
Under the regulator’s definition, any micro-short drama with episodes under 20 minutes qualifies. Long-video platforms typically run 8 to 15 minutes per episode, premium Douyin and Kuaishou dramas about 1 to 3 minutes, and mini-program dramas roughly 1 minute across 80 to 100 episodes—with episode counts still rising.
The first 2 categories are closer to miniature versions of traditional premium series. Mini-program dramas, by contrast, are designed from the start around paid distribution, redirects and payment, with today’s audience and payment habits heavily concentrated in lower-tier markets.

2. “Crooked-Mouthed Dragon King” Turned Web-Fiction Advertising into an Independent Content Industry

In 2022, “Crooked-Mouthed Dragon King” spread on Douyin and Kuaishou through a formula of a humiliated live-in son-in-law, a hidden identity, successive reversals and the final cocky smirk. The audience got a highly compressed dose of humiliation, comeback and instant gratification.
As 强哥 reconstructs it, the starting point was not an innovation in film and television. Web-fiction companies had hired traffic teams to turn novels into short-video promotional creatives that drove users to download reading apps; once those creatives reached tens of millions or even 100M-plus plays and comment sections filled with demands for updates, the industry realized the material could become a series in its own right.
The early profit stories were irresistible: “A show made for RMB100K could unlock a revenue-share market worth around RMB10M.” By late 2023, capital had begun moving in and broadcast media regulators had started paying attention, pushing the boom into the next phase.

3. Idle Film and Television Capacity Supplied Short Dramas Cheaply

When COVID disruptions and filming restrictions curtailed traditional production, Hengdian and Xiangshan were full of background actors, production staff and crew members with no work. Small-budget dramas could at least cover their living expenses; as orders multiplied, workers even began choosing which jobs to take.
Traffic companies initially outsourced IP and production teams, but traditional screenwriters might take 1 or 2 months to deliver while the business demanded 7 days. They eventually built their own content incubators, turning writers and editors into manageable employees.
Traditional film and television production capacity, web fiction’s mature tropes and the machinery of performance advertising converged. The power relationship, however, remained unequal: production teams supplied capacity, while the traffic gateway determined whether a show would be scaled.

4. Web-Fiction Companies Won by Understanding Content, Users and Acquisition

Web-fiction companies naturally owned IP, editorial systems, mature user profiles and years of buying experience. Readers of web fiction and viewers of mini-program dramas were “basically the same group”; video simply converted familiar tropes into more direct gratification.
强哥 says the companies still making real money at that stage were mainly web-fiction and traffic companies. They knew what content would convert and what price to pay for a paying user; profit ultimately depended on getting ROI above 1.
番茄 had a particularly strong structural position: it owned a large fiction library and sat inside the ByteDance ecosystem, giving it access to cheaper internal traffic discounts and allowing it to buy traffic wholesale.

5. Broadcasters, MCNs and Big Platforms Entered from Different Positions

Local broadcast groups mainly entered in search of new revenue. The broadcast system had been issuing frequent press releases since last year; 强哥 recalls seeing 河南卫视 move into short dramas early on, only for the effort to go quiet later. He dates broader participation by the broadcast sector to around December 2023. 江苏电视台 had made a horizontal revenue-share drama for Tencent Video in 2022, but the gap between its investment and actual revenue was substantial.
Mango TV offered a model for horizontal short dramas and platform co-distribution, but that was still a different business from the most profitable mini-program format.
MCNs formed the first tier in premium vertical dramas on Douyin and Kuaishou. Platforms set thresholds for creator participation, follower counts and subsidies; MCNs brought their own talent, audiences and production crews, enabling fast output and controllable costs. Traditional film and television companies also tested the format with small amounts of capital.
卫诗婕 says she heard industry figures say in early 2024 that short dramas would be one of ByteDance’s most important businesses that year. 强哥 believes that included both premium vertical dramas and mini-program content. 红果 is a standalone app carrying a broad range of content.

6. Payments, Memberships and Advertising Formed the Monetization Funnel

Mini-program dramas typically place clips on channels such as Douyin and Kuaishou, then route users to WeChat or Douyin mini-programs. After watching roughly the sixth episode, users can pay by episode, buy the full series or subscribe monthly or annually.
Free viewing is also emerging through the IAA model: users watch an ad to unlock the next episode, with the advertiser effectively paying on their behalf. 强哥 describes it as applying the 今日头条 model to short dramas, with only the content format changed.
Mini-programs themselves can be built cheaply with plugins. The expensive, decisive inputs are sustained traffic buying and detailed operations, which is why the channel side is usually closer than the production side to cash flow and the real accounts.

7. Co-Production Put Producers at the Table Without Showing Them the Cards

Early production contractors charged only RMB50K or RMB100K in production fees. After seeing projects generate more than RMB100M in top-ups, they no longer wanted to remain pure contractors and began co-investing 50-50 with platforms, sharing profits after costs.
The traffic team, mini-program and settlement dashboard, however, all remained in the hands of the platform or traffic company. Exposure, top-ups, customer-acquisition costs and actual distribution spend were recorded by the same party, leaving producers to judge performance from the reports sent by the platform.
卫诗婕 summarizes the relationship as a black box: even an ordinary producer who invests in a project “may not get to see the hole cards.” 强哥 confirms that platforms control both distribution and payment data and can choose whom to disclose it to, and how much to reveal.

8. In Spring 2023, Production Costs Rose from RMB300K to RMB500K in 2 Months

强哥 had already noticed the trend while following “Dragon Emperor,” but only in early 2023, after a friend in Hengdian said a drama could be shot in 7 days and generate fat profits for its producer, did he start considering pooling a few tens of thousands of RMB from multiple people to spread the risk.
He initially applied traditional production logic to improve the odds of a hit: choose hot genres such as the God of War, find a reliable team and stack up gratification points. Instead, he ran into a rapid cost surge; between March and May 2023, quotes jumped from RMB300K to RMB400K and then RMB500K.
The market even produced RMB700K projects featuring ancient costumes, fantasy and additional special effects. Looking back, 强哥 says: “If they don’t fleece you, whom will they fleece?” (不割你，割谁？)

9. Traditional Film Experience Failed Against the “Three-Second Emotional Hook”

强哥 initially believed that his experience making highly rated Douban series meant he understood content. The editor at the partner platform told him bluntly: “We won’t take any of your opinions.”
Traditional film and television asks whether characters’ actions and plots are logically coherent. Mini-program audiences do not care much about those gaps; the platform wants the action to start immediately, and a show without an emotional hook in its first 3 seconds can fail.
The standard for acquisition creatives is even more extreme: “There must be a hook every 5 to 6 seconds on average.” 强哥 realized that he could control the shoot, at most, but could no longer use his old content framework to control conversion.

10. A 2-Minute Fantasy Opening Rescued the First Show

强哥’s first project had a total production cost of RMB500K, split evenly with the platform at RMB250K each. Initial distribution produced weak data, few users and low payment intent; if ROI still failed to turn positive after 2 to 3 consecutive days, the platform might stop spending.
The team therefore reshot a roughly 2-minute opening with a different presentation: the God of War had 7 senior sisters, each controlling wealth, medicine, martial power or other resources. The new footage added lightning, vortexes, awakening effects and voice-over narration.
The main body of the show did not change; only the packaging of the first 2 episodes became more fantastical, and the project came back to life. The platform reported more than RMB30M in top-ups but, after deducting the invisible distribution costs, claimed profit of more than RMB1.2M, or RMB600K per side.
Each participant received only a few tens of thousands of RMB, but the first taste of profit made the model look repeatable. 卫诗婕’s summary is exact: “The first step toward becoming a sucker is letting you taste a little sweetness.”

11. The 10-Show Leverage Story Lost to a 7-Day Distribution Window

强哥 later designed a 10-show plan for an investor in the seafood business who knew little about the internet: each side would contribute RMB2.5M, control 5 shows, spread risk across a portfolio and use historical cases to pitch ROI of 1.12 or 1.2.
Once the first 2 shows were actually made, the platform began saying that new projects would take longer to pay back and that male-skewing titles were losing heat. But the first week usually decided the outcome: strong data brought heavier spending, with the platform trying to “consume to the limit” every convertible user.
The 2 shows ultimately barely broke even. By day 10 or half a month later, there were almost no further top-ups or revenue share. The platform only had to say that “distribution costs and collections had just broken even” for the producer to be left with no profit.
By July and August 2023, 强哥 realized that continuing to add leverage would drag more people under, and he exited. “I went around in circles, took so many steps, and when I ran the numbers it may have been only RMB300K,” he says, while noting that this was an illustration and that the real loss was more heavily measured in time.

12. Rapid Genre Rotation Made Every Hit Formula Obsolete

For roughly the first 6 months, the market was dominated by male-skewing titles: Dragon King live-in sons-in-law, God of War figures and security guards reborn, followed by miracle doctors, immortal doctors and “Taiyi Divine Needle.” The common structure was endurance, humiliation and a final counterattack.
Female-skewing titles then took off, including “Back to the 1980s as a Stepmother,” soul-transmigration stories in which a woman slaps down her mother-in-law, wives seeking revenge, “Flash Marriage, Instant Favorite” and “President Pei Wants a Child-Born Heir Every Day.” The core formula remained the same: push the protagonist to a low point, then delay the reveal of her identity and victory.
Female-skewing dramas later spawned child prodigies and misery plots. The children possessed various abilities and helped solve problems; misery stories let viewers know first that someone’s college entrance slot had been taken or that siblings’ identities had been switched, then kept them watching as the characters remained unaware of the truth.
强哥 can only map the market through the end of last year, because he is no longer in the business. He explicitly says he does not understand this year’s trends, including family-and-kinship stories and twilight romance.

13. Supernatural Dramas Briefly Exploded, Then Hit Regulation First

Northeast spirit-medium, household-guardian-spirit and haunted-house stories were popular for less than a month. They assigned supernatural abilities to animals such as “Hu, Huang, Bai, Liu and Hui,” and drew on material that had long existed in related fiction.
With little early oversight, some productions mixed superstition, graphic violence and borderline pornography. The influx of players quickly drew attention, and the content was soon taken down. 卫诗婕 says other genres may be workable, but material involving feudal superstition is completely off-limits.

14. “Shenhao” and Cheat Abilities Inverted Real-World Scarcity

The “Shenhao” setup makes money around the world suddenly extraordinarily valuable: a Rolls-Royce might cost only RMB2, while the protagonist’s original RMB50K is the sole amount left unaffected. Withdrawing RMB2,000 from a bank may require the bank president’s personal authorization.
The system issues instant rewards: “Help a beautiful woman pick up her bicycle and your account gains RMB5M”; after an ex-girlfriend and a rich second-generation heir humiliate him, another trigger appears: “Endure 3 of her insults and you’ll receive RMB10M.”
Cheat abilities convert kindness into power. A delivery rider spills an order while helping an elderly person or arrives late, then gains the ability to understand animals. He identifies an illness in a rich man’s dog, gets it to a hospital before “3 seconds later,” and wins the rich man’s backing.

15. At RMB0.60 an Episode, Viewers Buy the Process, Not the Ending

强哥 cites a report he says “may not be entirely accurate”: viewers were concentrated in fourth- and fifth-tier cities in Guangdong, Guangxi, Sichuan and Henan, typically used phones costing less than RMB1,500 and worked mainly in service industries.
The question “Do fourth- and fifth-tier cities have nightlife?” explains the demand side. After work, entertainment options are limited; once viewers have had their fill of livestreams, dancing and other videos, a 1-minute-per-episode drama offers convenient, continuous and immediate emotional stimulation.
An episode at RMB0.60 looks cheap, but 100 episodes cost RMB60. It is similar to users resisting a one-time RMB298 annual fee while accepting RMB29 per month: small unlocks lower the psychological barrier to each payment.
Consumers are not limited to the so-called lower-tier population. 强哥 says classmates working in schools or the public sector, as well as highly educated young people, watch too, for simple reasons: “Entertainment, fun” and “seeing how the slap-down happens.”

16. Payment Hooks Land Just Before the Slap

强哥 describes the basic technique this way: “The episode ends just when the slap is about to land.” Viewers must unlock the next episode to see the long-awaited reversal, a psychological mechanism similar to spending in games.
强哥 believes viewers already know the woman will eventually reconcile with her mother-in-law, otherwise the story would not satisfy the genre’s narrative requirements. 卫诗婕 puts it differently: “I know the outcome, but I want to watch the process.” What they are really buying is the path from humiliation to retaliation.
For delivery riders and service workers, short dramas also fit waiting time and other fragments of the day. They do not have the energy for a full-length series, but can get one identity reversal or moment of justice in 1 minute.
After hearing the cheat-ability stories, 卫诗婕 found them “pretty complicated.” They clearly reflect the pressure and grievances accumulated in migrant workers’ daily lives, but if they provide positive value and brief solace, they cannot simply be classified as “low.”

17. The Most Dangerous Hidden Accounts Appear After the Hit

强哥 saw a friend who had come from a video platform form a short-drama department with a traditional internet company, each investing 50%. After their project partnership, the only answer was “this show didn’t get distributed”; they never saw the backend page or even a single-project screenshot.
Another friend’s show ranked No. 2 on last month’s chart. The platform admitted it was profitable but extended the settlement cycle on the grounds that distribution would continue and the final accounts had to be completed. When the producer went to Beijing to collect, the other side switched to the “brother” card: “We’ve known each other for so many years. You still don’t trust me? I’ll pay you sooner or later.”
Contracts usually provide for profit sharing only after all costs are deducted, and the traffic buyer may also have priority repayment rights. If the platform says it spent RMB100M and collected only RMB85M, there is logically a RMB15M shortfall; the terrifying part is that the partner has no way to verify the figures.
Burning the relationship down may not help. The platform can switch from “we made money but are temporarily withholding it” to a final claim of losses; the producer does not have to cover the loss, but receives nothing either. Settlement periods were originally around 6 months or even 1 year, and delays could push a newly formed company into a cash crunch while damaging its reputation with future investors.

18. Rankings Prove Popularity, Not Who Made Money

Third-party data companies can show creative-spend charts, top-up rankings and daily standings, letting producers know whether content is popular. They cannot access the platform’s actual traffic prices, total top-ups or net profit for a project.
That is why 强哥 calls the platform “the house”: the wholesale price of traffic, how much was actually spent and how much users topped up are 3 critical cards held by the same party. The right to disclose data is, in essence, “absolute control.”
After the shakeout, the survivors are still a handful of platforms, web-fiction companies and traffic companies. They control cheap traffic, distribution models and distribution data. Whether peripheral participants make money has become an unspoken industry topic: someone may once have been dazzling, then disappear from the next dinner table, and nobody asks again.

19. 强哥 Left the Table but Refuses to Call Every Short Drama “Low”

These days, when 强哥 hears people say short dramas are highly profitable, he is “a little unhappy again.” Real profits are nowhere near what outsiders imagine, and the effort demanded from creators is not fundamentally different from that of films or long-form series; the projects are simply smaller.
He also rejects using mini-program instant-gratification dramas to represent all short dramas. Horizontal revenue-share dramas and premium vertical dramas still produce quality work, while traditional film and television creators can likewise find meaning in ratings and creative achievement.
强哥’s final point is that short dramas cannot be dismissed wholesale as “low.” For people who find solace in fragmented time, the format has a reason to exist; pornography, feudal superstition and similar content, however, can still cross regulatory boundaries.

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