Chapter 113

The role of the Devouring Rat was minor; Yan Li stayed with the cast of “Fortune Star Blesses Zhu Bajie” for less than ten days before wrapping up.

But he didn’t leave immediately.

Although the actors and director were finalized, there were still matters to discuss with Director Meng Ji.

Yan Li decided to stay a few more days to speak face-to-face with Meng Ji about “Joyful Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies.”

If Meng Ji had any good ideas, he could arrange them in advance.

At the same time, letting Meng Ji better understand “Joyful Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies” would ensure smooth communication with the crew later.

But Meng Ji was still busy filming, so with nothing else to do, Yan Li went to explore Dali.

In the 1980s and 1990s, Lijiang and Dali in Yunnan Province were considered for tourism development due to their superior geography and scenery.

After 2000, with economic growth and the rise of domestic tourism, Lijiang and Dali seized the early advantage and quickly became relatively well-known tourist cities.

It was Yan Li’s first time there, and he had a great time, taking many local landscape photos to send to his parents later.

He also bought plenty of local specialties!

He bought Pu’er tea, flower cakes, fruit preserves, and other delicacies; carvings, batik, embroidery, silverware, and other crafts—so much he had to buy an extra suitcase just to carry it all.

Fan Xiaopang had arranged things with the company and came to meet Yan Li to sign the contract; she was stunned by all the specialties piled up in his room.

“Are you selling goods?”

“It’s rare to come once—I bought extra to keep some for myself and give the rest as gifts.”

Yan Li wasn’t a reckless shopper; he genuinely thought these specialties were good enough to give as presents.

His business required maintaining many personal relationships; beyond standard gifts, occasionally offering small local specialties showed closeness and sincerity.

Fan Xiaopang was puzzled—though skilled in socializing, she mostly operated within the film industry and wasn’t familiar with business etiquette.

So she didn’t dwell on it, instead rummaging through the goods with a grin: “Since it’s all for gifts, I might as well benefit too.”

“You’re in Dali yourself—why not buy your own?”

Fan Xiaopang tilted her oval face, looking pitiful: “I don’t have your freedom—my schedule is packed every day; I barely get half a day off, and even then I’ve got a mountain of things to do. Where’s the time to wander?”

Yan Li shook his head: “Help yourself.”

Fan Xiaopang brightened, then frowned with suspicion: “You’re really giving this to me? Don’t go back on it and dock my pay later.”

Yan Li’s face darkened slightly: “I was joking—do you really think I’m that stingy?”

“Of course not.”

Fan Xiaopang denied it verbally but still thought Yan Li was stingy and petty.

But that was fine—this was a rare chance to really take advantage of him and make him suffer.

Fan Xiaopang showed no restraint, grabbing only the largest and most beautifully crafted items.

Yan Li let her go—he was giving them all away anyway; who received them didn’t matter, and he’d need her help again later, so a little sweetness wouldn’t hurt.

But when Fan Xiaopang reached for a pair of silver love locks, Yan Li stopped her.

“This one isn’t for you—it’s already claimed.”

“Girlfriend?”

The meaning of the love lock wasn’t hard to guess; Yan Li didn’t hide it, nodded, and Fan Xiaopang promptly returned the silver lock.

“Didn’t see that coming—you’re actually sentimental? I thought someone like you, smooth-talking and slick, would be a playboy.”

Yan Li tucked the lock away: “You’ve got too many preconceptions about me—go ask around at Beijing Film Academy; I’m famously devoted…”

Before he finished, Fan Xiaopang’s hand brushed another silver love lock, identical to the first.

Fan Xiaopang: “….”

Yan Li: “….”

“Ahem, I bought a spare in case the first one broke.”

Fan Xiaopang said nothing, clicked her tongue twice, handed him the second lock, then turned to the embroidery.

“I want to pick one embroidery piece—tell me now which ones you won’t let me take.”

Yan Li awkwardly wiped his mouth, then examined the stack of embroidery, first selecting one with orchid patterns, then one with daylily flowers.

After thinking, he also pulled out one with ice crystals, snowflakes, and tulips, and another dominated by red tones.

“Alright, pick whatever’s left.”

Yan Li stepped back, and Fan Xiaopang looked at him with disdain, sneering:

“This is your idea of devotion?”

Yan Li remained calm: “Yeah.”

What’s wrong with being devoted? He never said how many…

Fan Xiaopang was stunned by the man’s audacity, but it wasn’t her concern.

The entertainment industry had far more hypocritical people than Yan Li; compared to them, he was practically honest—she was used to it.

Fan Xiaopang didn’t dwell on whether Yan Li was fickle—she was focused on the ice crystal embroidery.

“You said you weren’t involved with her?”

“I’m not—giving two small gifts to friends isn’t wrong, right? Don’t you have some too? Are we not also… involved?”

Fan Xiaopang didn’t argue; she picked up the ice crystal embroidery and shoved it into her arms.

“This one’s mine.”

Yan Li stared at her, speechless: “There’s still plenty left—why take someone else’s?”

“The meaning’s different.”

Fan Xiaopang shook her head firmly: “I want this one.”

“Fine, take it.”

Yan Li didn’t argue—he agreed, watching her look triumphant, as if she’d won a major victory, and internally sighed.

It wasn’t a limited edition—once back, he’d just have someone buy another.

After looting enough, Fan Xiaopang finally got down to business; the contract had already been agreed upon, and Yan Li had printed it out.

For “Joyful Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies,” Fan Xiaopang’s episodes totaled 25, with a per-episode fee of 18,000 yuan, amounting to 450,000 yuan total.

Don’t think it’s low—actor pay at this stage was just like this; much better than average wages, but not outrageous.

Many female stars became famous not to build their careers, but to find a wealthy husband, precisely because actor income was low and peak periods too short.

Fan Xiaopang had decent fame but still far from top-tier, so the TV market rate for her was roughly 10,000 to 30,000 yuan per episode.

Of course, for a lead role like in “The Rogue Swordsman,” the production might pay more—but actors sometimes accepted lower pay for resources.

Each case required individual analysis.

Fan Xiaopang’s pay for “Joyful Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies” wasn’t high—it was slightly lowballed—but she wasn’t shortchanged.

Fan Xiaopang was satisfied with the price, then asked about Li Bingbing.

Yan Li knew what she wanted to hear: “Less than you.”

In popularity, Li Bingbing was definitely bigger—her per-episode fee was around 20,000 to 50,000 yuan; if “The Mobile” released, it might be even higher.

But Li Bingbing was helping out of goodwill, and her role was small, so she accepted a friend’s rate—

300,000 yuan!

Among the Seven Fairies, the two Bings had the highest pay, then came the moderately famous Li Lin; Jiang Xin, Yang Xue, and Dong Xuan had limited fame or were newcomers, so they got Baicaijia .

Hu Siyan, despite playing the lead, was heavily underpaid by Yan Li.

Liu Xiaoqing, who played the Queen Mother, was famous but had troubles—same low pay.

Among the eight mother-daughter roles, Yan Li kept total pay around 1.5 million yuan—earning him the nickname “Yan the Skinflint.”

Yan Li had no choice: funds were limited. He wouldn’t cut quality on costumes, makeup, or sets, and needed to reserve enough for special effects—so he had to squeeze actors.

He wasn’t just skinflint with others—he cut his own pay too.

He took a symbolic 50,000 yuan, averaging less than 2,000 yuan per episode, making him one of the lowest-paid leads in the entire “Joyful Heaven and Earth: Seven Fairies” crew.

Of course, beyond the meager pay, Yan Li also received a producer’s salary, controlled the crew’s expense reimbursement, and held a percentage of the project’s profits—that was another matter…

After signing the contract, Fan Xiaopang extended her pale, slender hand: “Director Yan, please take care of me in the future.”

“Of course.”

Yan Li shook her hand: “Wishing us smooth cooperation, high ratings, me getting rich, and you becoming famous.”

————

In late October, Yan Li returned to Jingcheng; the weather had turned chilly.

He gave Lin Jiachuan a break, stored most items in Jimen, then carried one suitcase back to Guanghua Li.

Qin Lan, having learned he was back, opened the door; after a month of sleeping alone in the grasslands and Yunnan, Yan Li tossed his suitcase on the floor and hugged Qin Lan, kissing her.

His cold hands reached to slip under her clothes for warmth, but Qin Lan broke free, blushing and stopping his advances.

“Someone’s home.”

“Who?”

Yan Li’s eyes were bloodshot—didn’t he know separation made reunion sweeter? His cannon was loaded, and now someone came to be the third wheel.

“Ahem, it’s me.”

Ma Yili, sitting on the living room sofa and too afraid to move after hearing the door, finally spoke up.

Yan Li didn’t recognize her voice; he silently formed the question with his lips. Qin Lan leaned close and whispered the name into his ear.

“Why is she here?”

“I don’t know. She showed up out of nowhere, stayed ten minutes—I couldn’t kick her out.”

After a quick summary, Yan Li and Qin Lan entered the living room; Ma Yili stood to apologize.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know you were coming back today, I’ve interrupted your reunion. Maybe I should leave now.”

Yan Li wanted to nod in agreement, but didn’t quite, waving his hand instead.

“It’s fine. Qin Lan doesn’t have many friends in Jingcheng. You’ve come to see her so rarely—stay a while, have dinner before you leave.”

Qin Lan added: “Exactly. Since we split up during the Hunan promotion, it’s been months. I’ve really missed you.”

This little vixen’s talent for lying with a straight face isn’t weak either!

Yan Li sighed inwardly—he didn’t know anyone else, but he knew Qin Lan well enough.

When filming “My Fair Princess 3,” Qin Lan was a newcomer, playing an unlikable role; her relationship with the two female leads, Huang Yi and Ma Yi, was merely decent—not close at all.

Later, because of Yan Li’s connection with Nie Yuan, Huang Yi and Qin Lan, by association, grew somewhat closer in the later stages.

But between Qin Lan and Ma Yi, it was still just ordinary friendship—even calling them friends was a stretch; they were merely decent colleagues and acquaintances.

That’s why Yan Li was genuinely curious about why Ma Yi had suddenly shown up.

To join “The Seven Fairies”?

A bit late, isn’t it? They’ve been casting for months already. Anyone with half a brain knows the roles are nearly settled.

Ma Yi was now caught in an awkward spot. No one visits the Three Treasures without reason—she came to Qin Lan because she had something to ask for.

But what she wanted wasn’t Qin Lan—it was Yan Li, who had minor influence in the industry behind Qin Lan.

Yan Li had become famous too recently; others couldn’t figure him out, and privately, no one had yet established contact. Ma Yi had seen Yan Li in Hengdian and knew his relationship with Qin Lan, so she planned to use that as her entry point.

Originally, Ma Yi’s plan was to proceed slowly—best if she could befriend Qin Lan, but even if not, at least lay some groundwork.

But she never expected her first visit to catch Yan Li suddenly returning home, leaving her completely unprepared.

Now she was the awkward third wheel at a long-awaited reunion between the couple—neither leaving nor staying felt right.

Trapped between retreat and advance, Ma Yi, fearing further complications, gritted her teeth and blurted out her purpose.

“Director Yan, actually, I came here because I need your help with something.”

Yan Li wasn’t surprised; he took the hot water Qin Lan poured him: “Go on.”

“I won’t hide it from you two—I have a boyfriend, a TV director who once directed ‘Black Hole.’ He was quite popular two years ago.”

Yan Li paused and asked: “That ‘Black Hole’ starring Chen Daoming, with Nie… Nie Mingyu as the lead?”

“Yes.”

Yan Li understood: “Continue.”

Ma Yi went on: her boyfriend, Guan Hu, was a film director by training, whose father was an actor at Beiyingchang, having appeared in “The Bao Family” and “Little Soldier Zhang Ga.”

That’s why this unknown film director was able to immediately helm “Black Hole,” starring Chen Daoming.

He was a genuine second-generation Beiyingchang insider, a core member of the Beijing circle!

“Black Hole” became a hit, and Guan Hu gained minor fame in the industry—but his subsequent projects performed poorly, and the momentum he’d built was quickly crushed.

Now Guan Hu wants to shift genres—from crime and police thrillers to a realistic drama centered on migrant workers.

Even if Guan Hu were to make another “Black Hole,” this subject alone would make many investors shake their heads.

So fundraising for this project has been extremely difficult; Guan Hu is so stressed he’s losing his hair.

Ma Yi naturally wanted to help her boyfriend. Hearing that Yan Li had made a fortune from “Conquest,” she came to see if she could secure some funding.

“Migrant workers?”

The moment Yan Li heard those two words, his interest dropped by half.

He himself came from a farming family; his uncle had once been a migrant worker. He held no prejudice or disrespect toward this group.

But as a film company boss and producer, Yan Li knew this subject had almost no market potential.

The odds of losing money were high; even if it turned a profit, it wouldn’t be profitable—essentially an arthouse TV drama.

Some film bosses with artistic ideals might invest—but Yan Li, now obsessed with making money, had no interest in this project.

Still, since she’d come seeking help, he couldn’t refuse outright. He asked Ma Yi to leave the script outline, saying he’d reply after reading it.

Seeing Yan Li take the script, Ma Yi didn’t linger. After perfunctory pleas from Yan and Qin to stay, she took her leave.

The moment the door shut, before Yan Li could even move, Qin Lan kissed him.

Saying she missed Ma Yi was just polite talk—but missing Yan Li was real.

Dry tinder met blazing fire—crackling, the entire rented apartment grew faintly warm…

(End of Chapter)