Chapter 112: What a Coincidence—We Both

"Fortune Star Shines on Zhu Bajie" is the sequel to the hit series "Spring Sunshine Zhu Bajie" from a few years ago.

The investment was substantial, and the cast was quite impressive.

The male lead, Huang Haibo, gained minor fame after "Passionate Years," and Fan Xiaopang needs no introduction—he’s a solid second-tier actress.

Others like Hu Ke, Yang Ruoxi, and Zhang Yanmin also had some influence, and after Yan Li stepped down from playing Niutianwang, they quickly brought in Gao Xin to fill the role.

Gao Xin is Erhao from "Love in a Rainy Season."

A couple of years ago, he was one of the hottest young male leads, but after "Love in a Rainy Season," his career stagnated.

Fan Xiaotian had previously cast him in "Angry Butterfly," and they got along well; since Gao Xin had no projects lined up, a single call brought him over.

When Gao Xin joined the set, he specifically came to greet Yan Li—even though Yan Li had voluntarily stepped down and Gao Xin was just filling in, not stealing the role.

But Yan Li wasn’t an ordinary actor, and Gao Xin didn’t want to offend him.

Gao Xin didn’t expect that his cautious, polite greeting would draw Yan Li’s attention.

But it wasn’t a bad thing—it was a good thing!

Yan Li thought Gao Xin had a good appearance and some name recognition, was affordable, and could be tested as one of the Seven Fairies’ love interests.

So far, half of the Seven Fairies’ love interests for "Happy Heaven Seven Fairies" have been cast.

Yan Li plays Jin Zha, the heavenly general paired with the third fairy.

For the fourth fairy’s inventor, Yu Ri, director Chen Yongge recommended Wu Yue, the male lead of "Liancheng Jue."

For the eldest fairy’s god of food, Chen Yongge recommended Wu Jian, the male lead of "Xiake Xing."

How to put it—Old Chen really loves using people he knows!

Still, Yan Li approved of Chen Yongge’s recommendations: they had name recognition without being superstars, were affordable, and looked the part.

Like Gao Xin, they were all practical actors—exactly what Yan Li liked.

Yan Li, Gao Xin, and the two Wus made three; Yan Li thought Zhou Yiwei’s appearance was decent too, and he could take on a role, like the stoic constable paired with the second fairy.

For the remaining three, Yan Li already had a preference for the sixth fairy’s love interest: Qiao Zhenyu from "Snow Goddess Dragon."

As the distributor of "Snow Goddess Dragon," Yan Li knew the audience’s feedback well.

The female lead, Dong Xuan, received the most attention, followed by Qiao Zhenyu’s character Ouyang Mingri; the male lead Ren Tianye and actual second male lead Sun Yaowei made little impact.

Yan Li boldly predicted that once "Snow Goddess Dragon" aired on satellite TV, Qiao Zhenyu had a real chance of becoming a minor star—signing him now was buying low.

Moreover, Qiao Zhenyu’s appearance was excellent; the sixth fairy’s love interest was a scholar, requiring scholarly grace, and he fit perfectly.

If Gao Xin joined, Yan Li intended him to play the fifth fairy’s love interest—a rich second-generation heir, an ancient version of Erhao, Gao Xin’s specialty.

As for the last one—the nominal male lead, Dong Yong—Yan Li planned to find someone with slightly more fame.

With him leading, plus Gao Xin, Qiao Zhenyu, and the two Wus, it could practically be called an all-star cast.

But he hadn’t found the right one—not because there weren’t enough actors, but the unknown ones he looked down on, and the famous ones demanded too much.

For example, Su Youpeng—he was Yan Li’s first choice; he asked for the price and walked away.

Too damn expensive!

After "My Fair Princess," "Love in a Rainy Season," and "The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber," he was one of the hottest top-tier young male leads in the industry; add to that Hong Kong and Taiwan actors usually command higher fees, and the final offer was 80,000 yuan per episode.

Dong Yong had at least thirty episodes—this would eat up one-tenth of the entire production budget; Yan Li couldn’t afford it.

Still, even though Dong Yong hadn’t been cast yet, Gao Xin’s involvement was basically settled.

"Happy Heaven Seven Fairies" had high investment; even though it was a supporting role, the screen time was substantial, and crucially, Gao Xin had never played a male lead before.

In "Love in a Rainy Season," he was the third male lead; in all his subsequent roles, he remained a supporting actor. Wu Jian and Wu Yue, who had played male leads in Jin Yong dramas, accepted the role easily; he, a supporting actor from a Qiong Yao drama, had little screen time.

With most of the seven main couples cast, the supporting roles were easier to fill.

Yan Li calculated that once he returned to Beijing and made the arrangements, "Happy Heaven Seven Fairies" could start filming no later than January next year.

…

Though he was preoccupied with "Happy Heaven Seven Fairies," Yan Li didn’t let it interfere with his filming.

The role of the Devouring Rat was easy to shoot.

He was a complete madman—only when facing his sister, the Brocade Rat, did he show a sliver of humanity, sometimes speaking softly to deceive her; otherwise, he just ate, ate, ate.

In the plot, the Devouring Rat, due to his insatiable appetite, harmed countless beings and was imprisoned in the Demon Subduing Pagoda.

Fan Xiaopang’s Brocade Rat, unable to bear her brother’s suffering and deceived by him, stole the Bow of Shooting the Sun and shot open the Demon Subduing Pagoda, releasing the Devouring Rat.

After being imprisoned too long, the Devouring Rat grew even more insane; as soon as he was freed, he began devouring wildly.

At first, he only ate grain and vegetables; later, he devoured all the city’s food, even the city walls; then, ignoring the Brocade Rat’s attempts to stop him, he began eating demons and humans, and even set his sights on the two celestial generals, Heng and Ha.

In the forest, Heng and Ha were tied together, blaming each other and bickering, when suddenly they felt a chill, their hair standing on end.

"Old Heng, why’s it suddenly so creepy?"

"Old Ha, I feel something’s off too."

At that moment, a dark shadow descended before them—a large hood half-concealing the face, pale skin, Yan Li’s bloodshot eyes gleaming with hunger, his voice hoarse.

"So delicious?"

Heng and Ha sensed something was wrong and instinctively shuffled backward, screaming in terror.

"What do you want? We’re gods!"

"Gods?"

Yan Li leaned forward eagerly, licked his bloody lips, his voice excited.

"Gods are great—I’ve never eaten a god before."

With a sweep of his black robe, he lunged at them as they screamed in agony.

Director Meng Ji called "Cut!" and Yan Li stood up, feeling somewhat unimpressed.

"That’s it? Shouldn’t we shoot a few details—like me gnawing on a severed hand, or a child seeing me and screaming and running, maybe add a dessert?"

Meng Ji: "…"

What kind of footage do your Beijing Film Academy teachers show you?!

"Ahem."

Even Fan Xiaotian, who had suggested Yan Li for the Devouring Rat, couldn’t hold back: "This is still primarily a comedy—too scary isn’t appropriate; we can use animation for those scenes."

Yan Li blinked: "You can do that?"

His mind raced—this approach could avoid horror scenes, and perhaps even major battle sequences could be replaced with animation.

Save a ton of money!

Fan Xiaotian, a veteran industry figure, was truly skilled at cutting corners—er, budgeting wisely; Yan Li still had a lot to learn.

Though Yan Li felt it wasn’t satisfying enough, he didn’t insist—instead, he asked Meng Ji for feedback on his performance.

"Do you think I need to adjust anything? Should I make it more brutal?"

Meng Ji paused: "No need—the one you just did was fine. But maybe tone it down slightly—just a little eerie."

Yan Li: "…"

Still, under Meng Ji’s suggestion, he watched the playback and had to admit—it was indeed a bit frightening.

Afterward, the crew moved to another forest clearing to shoot Yan Li’s death scene.

Yes, Yan Li died again in this drama.

Because the Devouring Rat had committed countless evils, Manjushri Bodhisattva descended to destroy the demon; since the Brocade Rat had released her brother, she was ordered to atone by luring him back into the Demon Subduing Pagoda—but this might also kill her.

Zhu Bajie loved the Brocade Rat and wanted to be the bait for her, but she guessed his intention and acted first.

The Brocade Rat transformed into Zhu Bajie; after devouring Heng and Ha, the Devouring Rat adored the taste of gods and chased the Brocade Rat into the Demon Subduing Pagoda.

According to the script, the pagoda was engulfed in thunder and fire, so Yan Li knelt and collapsed to the ground in agony, rolled around a few times, then turned to ash.

Of course, turning to ash required CGI; Yan Li finished his agonized screams and movements, and his part was done.

Afterward, Yan Li didn’t leave—he crossed his arms and watched Fan Xiaopang’s Brocade Rat say goodbye to Zhu Bajie.

Fan Xiaopang, tears streaming, gazed at the pig-headed monster: "Bajie, goodbye."

Meng Ji explained to Yan Li that in post-production, Fan Xiaopang would be digitally erased from bottom to top—so the Brocade Rat would also turn to ash.

"…"

Yan Li understood the lack of villainous rights, but couldn’t help complaining.

This Demon Subduing Pagoda was too smart.

When the Devouring Rat died, thunder and fire engulfed him; the Brocade Rat just cried prettily and that was it—why not strike her with a couple of lightning bolts?

…

After this scene, filming ended for the day; Huang Haibo wore a reverse-mold mask, so his makeup removal was slow, meaning he always left first.

Fan Xiaopang wasn’t in a hurry—she specifically came to the monitor to review her own performance.

She was quite satisfied, then turned to Yan Li: "What do you think of my acting?"

"Very good."

Yan Li gave a casual compliment; Fan Xiaopang sensed his insincerity and pressed further.

"Don’t just praise—give me feedback, I’ll improve, so I can do better in 'Happy Heaven Seven Fairies.'"

Yan Li was convinced.

He did look down on Fan Xiaopang’s acting—she was lively and charming in quirky, coquettish scenes, but when it came to heavy emotional moments like parting and death, she fell flat.

Not to mention her crying scene—Qin Lan could outperform her with only half her strength.

With effort, Yan Li could fully immerse himself and effortlessly outshine Fan Xiaopang through instinct alone.

Considering the production’s interests alone, Yan Li sincerely hoped she could hone her craft.

Of course, Yan Li had emotional intelligence—he gave feedback, but gently.

"Overall, it’s quite good, but it feels a bit superficial—your performance lacks depth, and your physical movements are too… monotonous."

I understand.

Fan Xiaopang nodded in agreement, but his smile gradually vanished without him noticing.

Yan Li sighed; he’d boasted himself, then insisted on hearing criticism—but when criticism came, he got upset.

Hmph, women!

Still, remembering they hadn’t signed the contract yet, Yan Li quickly backtracked.

“Your acting can be improved over time—you already have a face of peerless beauty, which puts you ahead of ninety-nine percent of female actors.”

Oh, so I’m peerless in beauty again?!

Fan Xiaopang saw right through Yan Li’s act and sneered: “Saying it so nicely—you just mean I’m a pretty face.”

“So what’s wrong with being a pretty face? Many actors would kill to have that chance.”

Yan Li rejected her view, replying seriously: “A pretty face can become a serious actor—but can a serious actor become a pretty face? Frankly, don’t you go squeezing into the serious actor camp—leave some room for other actresses.”

“Pfft, smooth talker.”

Fan Xiaopang complained aloud, but her cheeks flushed slightly; she felt secretly pleased and somewhat moved.

If Yan Li weren’t so sarcastic every day—if he spoke sweet words like this daily—she’d have long considered him her soulmate.

As they spoke, the assistant director came over and handed each of them a comfort envelope.

Yan Li was fine—he’d at least groaned on the ground, embracing the mindset of a dead character.

Fan Xiaopang had just stood there crying; only after seeing the envelope did she realize she’d just “died.”

“Hey, I remember last time in ‘Jubao Pen,’ we both ‘died’ on the same day—this time, not only the same day, but we died together too.”

Yan Li wasn’t surprised by the comfort envelope, but seeing it reminded him of that day on ‘Jubao Pen’ when he’d peeled sugared chestnuts while watching Fan Xiaopang get “killed.”

Including this drama, since his debut, Yan Li had officially shot only five dramas.

Two of them he’d worked on with Fan Xiaopang, with plenty of scenes together.

One was about a pursuer and the pursued; the other, siblings—and both times they’d “died” on the same day. It was truly fate.

Prompted by Yan Li, Fan Xiaopang recalled that day too, but more than the two-drama connection, she was curious about one thing.

“Did you ever wash out the bloodstains on that shirt?”

Back then, on the ‘Jubao Pen’ set, she’d never been able to outdo Yan Li, and resented how he enjoyed watching her get “killed,” so she’d worn her blood-stained costume to steal his clothes after makeup removal—finally getting revenge right at the end of filming.

“It was all blood—the dry cleaner only agreed to wash it after much pleading. Two pieces cost forty yuan—I’ll deduct it from your salary.”

Yan Li had forgotten, but now he remembered—this little witch still owed him money.

“You keep track of such a tiny debt?”

Fan Xiaopang scoffed, opened the envelope, and found fifty yuan inside—she slapped it straight into Yan Li’s hand.

“No need for change—the extra is interest.”

Yan Li didn’t refuse; he stuffed it straight into his pocket, then opened his own envelope, pulled out the red bill, and shook it: “Fan Zong’s set is generous—actual banknotes!”

Usually, comfort envelopes held just a few yuan—ten yuan was already generous. A hundred-yuan note? Yan Li had never seen one before.

“What?”

Fan Xiaopang stared at the bill in Yan Li’s hand, indignant: “We both ‘died’ in the drama—why do I get fifty and you get a hundred?”

“What do you think?”

Yan Li smiled and asked back, then shoved the empty envelope into her hand, gesturing for her to throw it away. He turned and walked off, leaving one last remark.

“Young comrade, keep working hard.”

Fan Xiaopang crushed the envelope in her fist, stared at Yan Li’s retreating back, hesitated again and again—but still didn’t dare run up and kick that arrogant bastard…

(End of Chapter)