Chapter 105: Yan Li: Am I a [Wife-Bringing Fortune]?

Yan Li had just signed contracts with several investors and secured funding when Wang Decai immediately resigned from the set of “Liancheng Jue” and came to Beijing.

On the day Wang arrived, Yan Li appointed him as producer of “Happy Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies,” assisting Yan Li with project preparation.

Screenwriter Fei Yingli also arrived; Yan Li still had ideas about the script and planned to discuss and make some revisions.

Director Chen Yongge was still on the set of “Liancheng Jue,” but that drama was nearly finished and he would arrive soon.

Yan Li had no intention of kicking out his helpers, but Chen Yongge had always served as martial arts director and had never directed independently; Yan Li preferred to find a director skilled in emotional scenes to co-direct with Chen.

Han Xiaojun was a decent candidate, but Yan Li felt his ability was still lacking and he had no prior experience directing independently.

So Yan Li still preferred to find an experienced director, preferably one with a signature work.

Yan Li had previously collaborated with several directors.

Gao Qunshu of “Conquest” couldn’t handle this genre, and the director of “Jubao Pen” was beneath Yan Li’s standards.

Hu Mingkai, director of “Heroes of Sui and Tang,” was a renowned director in the industry, but his fees were high and Yan Li didn’t admire his style; Hu Mei of “Emperor Wu of Han”? Hiring him would be asking for humiliation.

Then Yan Li thought of a director he was about to collaborate with—

Meng Ji

Director of “Spring Light Shines on Zhu Bajie” and “Wulin Waishi,” with experience in mythological and costume dramas, excelling in romantic scenes and adept at comedy.

Crucially, he had a good personal relationship with Yan Li, making collaboration easier, and his fees wouldn’t be excessive.

“Fuxing Gaozhao Zhu Bajie” was preparing to begin filming; Yan Li planned to lay some groundwork before visiting the set to discuss details.

The plot of “Happy Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies” wasn’t complex; finding a director was actually easy.

Had Yan Li not been cautious and sought a famous, experienced director to lead, any halfway decent one would have sufficed.

After discussions among Yan Li, Wang Decai, Chen Yongge, Fei Yingli, and several planners, they unanimously agreed the key selling point of this drama must be the cast.

“Happy Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies”

The key isn’t “happy heaven and earth”—it’s the seven fairies!

Set aside the romantic plots for now—the actresses must be beautiful, pleasing to women and children, and make men drool.

The love interests of the seven fairies mustn’t be ugly either; handsome men and beautiful women look better together, especially since one major audience segment is women—more handsome men would help.

As they spoke, Wang Decai looked at Yan Li: “Director Yan is quite handsome—definitely take a role to add luster to our drama.”

Yan Li glanced at Wang Decai; since joining his team, Wang had positioned himself unusually well, never stopping his flattery.

“I’ll decide later whether to act; even if I do, I’ll find other actors first—if any role truly has no suitable candidate, I’ll step in.”

Though Yan Li hadn’t abandoned his desire to become a famous actor, he still understood priorities.

The goal of “Happy Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies” is to make money; he had no need to obsess over whether to act or which role to take.

But Yan Li said that—Wang Decai and the planners wouldn’t accept it so easily.

Come on, letting the boss pick the leftover role—do they want to survive in this industry?

Wang Decai had privately discussed with the director and screenwriter.

Among the seven fairies’ love interests, Dong Yong, the seventh fairy’s, had relatively more screen time but was a gentle, timid man—unsuitable for Yan Li’s image.

The wealthy young master and scholar involved with the fifth and sixth fairies had low visibility; Yu Ri, the fourth fairy’s love interest, was a comic relief character—also unsuitable.

So the roles suitable for Yan Li were the God of Food, linked to the eldest fairy; the constable He Ying, linked to the second; and Jin Zha, linked to the third.

Among these, Jin Zha was unquestionably the best role in terms of screen time and impact.

Moreover, Jin Zha’s romantic arc with the third fairy was the most richly developed among the seven pairs—loving and killing each other, life and death, unforgettable.

Also, considering Yan Li had played military generals many times and excelled in action scenes.

Though unspoken, Wang Decai and the others all tacitly agreed Jin Zha’s role was reserved for Yan Li.

Of course, ultimately it depended on Yan Li’s own choice—if he insisted on playing the larger role of Dong Yong, they as employees couldn’t stop him.

Currently, among the seven fairies, only one role was settled—Dong Xuan.

After much consideration, Yan Li still felt Dong Xuan was relatively more suitable for the fairy image than Qin Lan.

Also, Yan Li respected seniority; Dong had followed him longer.

For his first major project as lead producer, if no suitable role existed, fine—but if one did, how could he possibly pass over Dong Xuan to choose Qin Lan?

With Dong Xuan chosen, Qin Lan couldn’t appear; Yan Li would have to compensate her in other ways later.

Meanwhile, Huang Shengyi couldn’t act either; Qin Lan could at least be concealed, but Dong Xuan despised Huang Shengyi bitterly—Yan Li dared not put them together.

Yan Li found this regrettable; he had once hoped to bask in the starlet’s glow.

Dong Xuan was internally chosen to play one of the seven fairies, but which one hadn’t been decided yet—awaiting other candidates.

Yan Li thought the seventh fairy was good—more screen time, almost the primary female lead.

The second and third fairies were also fine—strong, powerful, and aloof; Dong Xuan had played a martial heroine in “Snow Goddess Dragon,” so she had experience with such roles.

Besides Dong Xuan, the remaining roles needed external casting.

Among Yan Li’s preferred candidates was Li Bingbing, to play the eldest and second fairy—she owed him a favor from “The Mobile Phone.”

Though casting Li Bingbing as a fairy might be a waste, keeping that favor for another drama might prove more useful later.

But Yan Li felt that while Li Bingbing still felt grateful and was cooperative, it was better to use the favor now and save trouble later.

After “The Mobile Phone” releases and her status rises, she’ll delay and stall—many things will change.

Even if they signed contracts or publicly declared it on camera, many had broken promises afterward; securing it now was the best strategy.

“Happy Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies” needed stars to anchor it; with Li Bingbing, a popular rising star, it would satisfy investors and aid promotion.

Later, if Yan Li grew bigger, Li Bingbing would come to him willingly without needing favors.

Dong Xuan was fixed; Li Bingbing needed negotiation—Yan Li thought the odds were good, tentatively confirmed.

The remaining five fairies had no clear direction yet.

So he planned to make a big splash with a nationwide open casting for the seven fairies.

Wang Decai, quick-witted, caught the implication: “You mean publicity?”

“Mm.”

Yan Li nodded; filming straightforward dramas wouldn’t fetch high prices; Zhang Dahu had mastered publicity, and Yan Li wasn’t unaware of it either.

Seven fairies, seven actresses—even seven starlets—what a perfect marketing hook; not exploiting it would insult the premise.

Open casting, online voting, media hype.

It wouldn’t cost much but could greatly boost “Happy Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies”’s influence.

It might even attract famous rising stars to join; crucially, it could raise the selling price and possibly bypass local channels, securing direct satellite TV distribution.

Oh, and product placement ads.

Revenue from these isn’t guaranteed—it requires the drama itself to be popular, hot, and in demand to attract advertisers and negotiate with TV stations for a share.

TV stations make money from ads; product placement isn’t something you just slap on.

The producer must have enough clout to reach into the client’s bowl.

Ultimately, publicity—making the drama hot, making it a coveted commodity—is how you make big money.

“I understand.”

Wang Decai nodded thoughtfully: “I’ll contact the media right away and find someone to build a voting website.”

Yan Li instructed: “Don’t rush the voting—first hold open casting, then post promising candidates online, add the popular rising stars, and only then start voting.”

The tactic of online voting for casting had been used before.

For example, Fan Xiaopang’s “Pingshan Xia Ying,” the production team held a vote for the lead roles.

They claimed they’d contact whoever won, but they’d already pre-selected.

For the male lead, Zhang Danfeng, the top vote-getters were Zhou Jie and Huang Sanshi, but due to a “system error,” all previous votes were voided and the site restarted; later, Huang Haibing “surprised” everyone by winning.

The female lead Yun Lei was even messier—someone else took the stage as soon as one left.

Xiao Yanzi, Jiang Qinqin, Huang Yi, Li Jiaxin, Lin Xinru all battled—until Fan Xiaopang “emerged unexpectedly” and claimed the role.

Everyone knew how it worked: the production gained attention, the actors got exposure, all understood without saying.

Even the online voters, aside from a few fans and original novel readers, were mostly just there for the spectacle.

The seven fairies vote would be the same!

Later, manipulate the data to boost votes for Li Bingbing, Dong Xuan, and others, ensuring their natural selection.

Of course, if a truly suitable candidate emerged—low salary, good condition, high votes—Yan Li wouldn’t rule her out.

After all, there were seven fairies; more choices allowed netizens a sense of participation.

————

The meeting lasted until night; Yan Li had dinner with several people, then drove to Guanghua Li.

Qin Lan had returned.

Opening the door, Qin Lan was watching TV; she rose from the sofa, took his bag, and sniffed him: “No business dinners today?”

“Had dinner with the crew—didn’t drink.”

Qin Lan nodded happily: “That’s right—no need to keep drinking at dinners; it harms your health.”

During her days back in Beijing, she’d coincided with Yan Li’s fundraising; though he never got drunk, he always reeked of alcohol, worrying her greatly.

“I don’t want to drink either, but I can’t avoid it—when they pay, refusing a toast is rude.”

Yan Li wrapped his arms around Qin Lan’s waist and inhaled the scent of her shampoo.

After a long day at work, returning home to a woman’s gentle concern—whether it was Dong Xuan or Qin Lan—Yan Li cherished these brief moments of warmth.

Of course, if both were together, it would be even better!

Qin Lan let him hold her for a while, then pushed him: “Go shower—the water’s ready, or it’ll get cold.”

Yan Li’s hands were restless: “Why not shower together? Saves washing the sheets.”

Qin Lan blushed and kicked at him, but Yan Li caught her leg, half-lifting, half-carrying her into the bathroom.

「…」

After washing twice, Yan Li dried off, didn’t put on any clothes, and strolled casually into the living room to sit and watch TV.

Qin Lan wasn’t as casual as him; she changed into a long T-shirt in the bedroom, but since there were only two people at home, she wore only the T-shirt and underwear.

Yan Li hugged Qin Lan and said with slight guilt: “This project didn’t use you—don’t take it to heart.”

“It’s fine.”

Qin Lan kissed him and said understandingly: “There are so many investors involved; not everything is up to you. There’ll be another chance next time.”

Yan Li’s preparations for “Happy Heaven, Happy Earth: Seven Fairies” couldn’t be hidden, and he never intended to hide it from Qin Lan.

But since it was his own project, why wasn’t she cast? He needed a strategy.

So, the “evil” investor stepped forward to take the blame.

Although Yan Li didn’t say it outright, his tone made it clear; Qin Lan understood his difficulties and didn’t want to make things harder for him, so she volunteered not to appear in the drama.

But seeing how thoughtful and considerate Qin Lan was, Yan Li—who had something to hide—felt even more guilty.

Yan Li had considered using “Seven Fairies” to trade for another role for Qin Lan, but he wasn’t sure what drama or part would fit—it wasn’t like a suitable opportunity would just appear when needed.

He could only take it one step at a time; if no suitable resources came up, he’d wait until his funds recovered and then make arrangements.

Qin Lan truly didn’t take it seriously—she still didn’t understand Yan Li well enough.

She thought Yan Li was just a producer who had to listen to his bosses behind the scenes and had limited authority.

Like the producer of “My Fair Princess 3,” who wielded great power on set, but had only recommendation and execution rights for casting—the final decisions were made by Qiong Yao in Taiwan.

All lead roles required Qiong Yao’s approval; Qin Lan, who had once been Qiong Yao’s chosen actress for the role of Zhihua, understood this best.

Speaking of “My Fair Princess 3,” the drama had already begun airing on several local channels, with impressive ratings, and Hunan Satellite TV had officially designated it as its New Year’s blockbuster.

Soon, if Yan Li came to see Qin Lan again, he’d need disguise gear—otherwise, he’d risk being caught by paparazzi.

Not just Qin Lan—Dong Xuan’s “Snow Goddess Dragon” also had strong initial ratings and a good chance of going national.

Yan Li hadn’t expected that after over a year of struggling himself without success, the two girls sleeping beside him would become famous first.

Was he somehow gifted with a “lucky husband” aura!?

But no matter what, becoming the lover of two future female stars felt different from before.

The thrill increased dramatically; his happiness and sense of accomplishment multiplied.

At that moment, Yan Li caught an entertainment news report on TV: Liu Xiaoqing, arrested last year for tax evasion, had just been released after over 400 days in custody.

Qin Lan also saw the news and sighed, pointing at the photo on screen.

“I heard over a hundred reporters waited outside the prison to photograph her release, but she delayed her exit—they missed her.”

“Later, a paparazzo named Zhuo something disguised himself as a construction worker, camped outside her neighborhood for days, found out she liked badminton, and waited outside the sports center—finally catching her picture, and even her boyfriend.”

“Damn, that’s talent.”

Yan Li marveled, but more than the paparazzo, he was curious whether Liu Xiaoqing could still act.

She was a major figure, naturally drawing attention, and now at her lowest point—alive but broke.

Perfect—“Happy Heaven, Happy Earth: Seven Fairies” still hadn’t cast the Queen Mother of Heaven…

(End of Chapter)