Chapter 116: The Hot Potato: The Patron Everyone Fights Over

Sunrise, Tuanjiehu

Yan Li didn’t expect Wang Ou’s residence to be so close to Guanghua Li—just a few kilometers away.

But that was understandable; Chaoyang had developed rapidly in recent years and had become the capital’s commercial and fashion hub.

The district concentrated countless advertising agencies, studios, and commercial event venues; models living here had more opportunities and convenient transportation.

Meanwhile, Tuanjiehu and Hujialou had many older residential complexes with relatively low rent; petite models with limited finances found renting or sharing apartments here a good option.

“I won’t see you off—see you later.”

Yan Li told the taxi driver to pull over; Wang Ou nodded and stepped out, but as she took a step forward, Yan Li called her back.

He waved her closer, leaned down, slipped something into her arms, and said:

“I’ll fight for you to get the female lead. Wait for my call. You’re short on cash—take this to buy some clothes for your auditions.”

Without waiting for Wang Ou’s reply, Yan Li waved goodbye and told the driver to drive off.

After he left, Wang Ou pulled out a small stack of cash from her chest, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and quietly counted it.

Over 5,000!

Wang Ou felt dizzy; she hadn’t seen this much money in a long time—or rather, she’d only seen this much in a single payment once before.

That was right after the CCTV modeling competition ended, when the production team took them to a Guangdong auto show; they worked for half a month and earned decent pay.

But after deducting expenses for clothing, travel, makeup, and giving a cut to the middleman, she’d ended up with only a few thousand.

It seemed like a lot, but it took long hours, hard labor, and drained her mentally.

For half a month, she stood beside cars for hours each day—aching feet, tired legs, forced to pose and be stared at, then dragged out at night to drink with clients, enduring fat, wealthy bosses who tried to take advantage.

Today, Yan Li not only promised her the female lead, but handed her this much… as a subsidy.

Wang Ou increasingly understood why her fellow models desperately clung to generous patrons.

The temptation was simply too great!

And what pleased Wang Ou—even made her proud—was that, unlike other older or ugly patrons, Director Yan was young, handsome, and well-built.

To be honest, even if he hadn’t offered her a role or money, she wouldn’t have refused.

If she had to pick a flaw, it was that Director Yan talked too long during script sessions—always grand theories, exhausting her voice…

Humming a tune, she returned to her rental apartment; a roommate emerged from the bathroom, blocked her path, and held out a hand.

“Wang Ou, you still owe me rent. It’s been half a month already.”

“Sorry, I was tight on cash, but I just withdrew money—I’ll give it to you right away.”

Wang Ou told her roommate to wait, went to her room to put down her things, counted out the cash, and handed it over.

“Thanks so much.”

“Pay next time sooner.”

The roommate rolled her eyes, took the money, and turned straight back to her room. Another roommate stepped out and comforted Wang Ou:

“Ignore her—she’s just like that. Hey, how’d you suddenly get money? Land a job?”

“Yeah, did a photo shoot.”

Wang Ou gave vague answers, then turned and went back to her room.

The roommate who borrowed from her had a bad temper, but she’d helped Wang Ou in a pinch; the other roommate spoke sweetly but had never repaid a single loan.

Wang Ou, who had seen human coldness since childhood, understood: judge people not by what they say, but by what they do.

This applied to friends—and to men too!

No matter how sweet the words, they’re cheap declarations; real, tangible benefits are far more valuable than empty flattery.

Lying in bed, Wang Ou held her phone, thought for a moment, and sent Yan Li a long message.

She thanked him for his guidance and help, swore she’d work hard and not let him down, and so on.

After sending it, there was no reply for a long time; Wang Ou felt slightly disappointed, then glanced at the cash beside her and instantly felt at ease.

Hmm, Director Yan must be busy and hasn’t seen it yet!

…

Guanghua Li

Qin Lan lay limp in Yan Li’s arms, her face slick with sweat: “Your phone’s ringing.”

Yan Li picked up the phone, glanced at it, skillfully ignored and deleted it, then tossed it aside.

“Just a real estate ad. Don’t slack off—keep going.”

————

Two days later, under Ma Yili’s arrangement, Yan Li met her boyfriend Guan Hu and discussed investing in “Survival: Migrant Workers.”

Jin Boss invested 1.5 million, Qian Shao and Bao Zong each put in 500,000, and Yan Li personally contributed 500,000—totaling 3 million. Yan Li demanded 65% of the production’s shares.

Moreover, besides casting Wang Ou—whom Yan Li recommended—as the female lead, the distribution rights must also be handed over to Yi’an Pictures.

Guan Hu naturally refused!

The female lead could be negotiated—he’d already prepared for this; no director was complete unless the investors forced an actor on him.

Distribution rights were also negotiable; Guan Hu had no channels himself and was already seeking a distribution company.

Yi’an had handled two top-tier TV dramas; their strength was solid. As long as the profit split was at market rate, letting them handle distribution was acceptable.

But “Survival: Migrant Workers” was estimated to cost over 6 million; Yan Li wanted over half the shares for just 3 million.

That was unacceptable!

How could he explain this to other investors? His own interests would suffer.

“Director Guan, if you think it won’t work, then forget it.”

Yan Li remained calm; his desire to invest in this drama wasn’t strong. If it worked, great; if not, fine.

He could arrange Wang Ou however he wanted; with his current status, he couldn’t guarantee the female lead, but placing her as a main character in another production was no problem.

As a petite model who couldn’t even act herself, Wang Ou had no grounds to be picky.

“Director Yan, please don’t rush—let us discuss it.”

At this critical moment, Ma Yili stepped in to mediate. Yan Li’s offer was harsh, but he was investing 3 million—enough to cover the entire funding gap, possibly even leaving surplus.

If they lost him, where would they find another patron willing to invest 3 million in such a niche subject?

Ma Yili pulled Guan Hu aside to persuade him, while Yan Li leisurely ate his meal.

After a while, Ma Yili brought Guan Hu back, had him apologize, then pleaded and played the victim, begging Yan Li to reduce his share—65% was simply too much.

Yan Li had anticipated this—bargaining always starts high, then comes down.

His bottom line was 50%, but from Guan Hu and Ma Yili’s reactions, he realized their limit was higher than he thought, so he adjusted immediately.

After listening to their complaints, Yan Li hesitated slightly, then told Ma Yili:

“You’re Qin Lan’s friend. For your sake, 60%—this is my lowest offer. If you refuse, forget it.”

“That’s still too low…”

Guan Hu opened his mouth to speak, but Ma Yili, seeing Yan Li frown, kicked him under the table and slammed the deal.

“Fine, it’s settled.”

Yan Li’s brow relaxed; he shook Guan Hu’s hand: “Director Guan, looking forward to our cooperation.”

Guan Hu forced a smile; Ma Yili beamed: “We’ll need your continued support, Director Yan.”

They scheduled the contract signing; Yan Li left first. After he departed, Guan Hu glared at his girlfriend.

“We only got 5%—how are we going to explain this to others?”

“Then give our share to the other investors.”

Ma Yili had already prepared for this; she explained her thinking to Guan Hu:

“This Yan Li is wealthy, knowledgeable, and influential—he might actually make this work. We’ll earn less this time, but if we build a connection, we might land a long-term patron.”

Directors like Guan Hu, who worked independently and led projects, typically held a share in the production and then sought outside investors.

The reason was simple: film projects were high-risk—you couldn’t afford to lose!

Investors provided money; the director provided labor. If they profited, they split it; if they lost, the director lost only time, effort, and a small investment—not his entire fortune.

Under these conditions, unless you were a superstar director investors fought to fund, connecting with patrons was vital.

Ma Yili strongly believed in Yan Li’s potential; if Guan Hu could establish a long-term partnership with him, it would greatly benefit his directing career.

“He’s shrewd, greedy, and only cares about profit. You’re thinking too simply.”

Guan Hu had a poor impression of Yan Li—he was too domineering, always talking about interests, harder to get along with than other investors.

Ma Yili held the opposite view: “It’s precisely people like him who get things done.”

…

The next day, Guan Hu and Ma Yili came to Yi’an to sign the contract and met Wang Ou, whom Yan Li had arranged as the female lead.

Guan Hu sized up Wang Ou and breathed a sigh of relief.

Though her acting was still unknown, her appearance was better than he’d imagined—far better.

He even considered revising the script slightly.

The original female lead was a rural girl who fell into vice, forced to become a hair salon worker—beautiful, but only slightly above average.

Wang Ou, however, was stunningly beautiful—she could easily play a nightclub queen; her role as a migrant worker’s salon employee now seemed implausible.

Ma Yili secretly glanced at Wang Ou, then subtly looked at Yan Li, saying nothing.

A young film boss placing a beautiful petite model as the female lead in his new investment.

Hmm, maybe he’s just being kind-hearted!

Ma Yili felt her relationship with Qin Lan wasn’t close enough to risk alienating Yan Li, a major patron, just to warn her.

Yan Li noticed Ma Yili secretly observing him and Wang Ou, but paid it no mind.

He leans sideways, but his shadow stays straight!

Leaving aside his own understanding—that Ma Yi won’t be that foolish—even if Ma Yi warned Qin Lan, he wasn’t afraid.

Isn’t it reasonable for the company to support and nurture artists with good potential as part of its future planning?

What’s wrong with him not wanting Qin Lan to play the lead in a low-budget film with a salon girl as the protagonist?

The company is so busy—does he have to report every casting decision to his family?

With no evidence, he could even bring Wang Ou to confront her face-to-face. Qin Lan isn’t stupid; she’d never cause trouble over such a trivial matter.

She might even suspect Ma Yi of sowing discord and damaging her relationship with Yan Li.

And…

Yan Li glanced at Ma Yi and Guan Hu, thinking these two probably didn’t have time to meddle in his affairs—they had their own troubles.

Tsk tsk, Yan Li recalled the intelligence he’d triggered and couldn’t help shaking his head. He didn’t consider himself a good man, but at least he only chased outside prey.

This Director Guan, though—he even goes after his girlfriend’s best friend. What a wild player he is.

Is the grass right next to the fence really that tasty!

After signing the contract and exchanging pleasantries, Guan Hu and his wife left. Once no outsiders remained, Wang Ou could no longer contain her excitement; she threw herself into Yan Li’s arms and passionately kissed him.

“Thank you, Director Yan…”

This is the real, legitimate female lead!

She had once worried Yan Li was just soothing her—but now he’d actually delivered.

Wang Ou’s heart swelled with excitement, gratitude, and a faint inner tremor.

Since childhood, her parents never cared for her; she lived under others’ roofs, struggled alone, endured every bitterness and hardship—this was the first time anyone had ever been so kind to her.

Without exaggeration, right now, if Yan Li told her to do anything, she’d do it willingly.

“Where’s the office?”

Facing Wang Ou’s enthusiastic advance, Yan Li lifted her from his arms and wiped the lipstick smudge from her face with a tissue.

“You must mind your image at the company—and outside too. You’re an artist now; your image matters.”

“I understand.”

Wang Ou nodded obediently, gazing at Yan Li with sultry eyes: “Director Yan, I’m still unsure about the script. Could you go over the scenes with me tonight?”

“Next time. I have something today.”

Yan Li declined. Today was Dong Xuan’s birthday—he had to return to Beiying Village in the afternoon.

Dong Xuan wasn’t some clueless fool like Qin Lan; her eyes were sharp, her nose keen. Better not take risks.

Wang Ou was already within reach—he could eat her whenever he wanted. No need to rush.

He wasn’t in a hurry, but Wang Ou felt uneasy inside.

Having tasted the sweetness of clinging to a powerful man, she now treasured Yan Li deeply, terrified he’d grow indifferent and discard her, sending her back to her old life as a drifting weed.

Today she’d prepared everything—only for Yan Li to say, “Next time.”

This left Wang Ou tense and flustered, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

She even considered asking a colleague with a more… open personal life for advice on how to improve.

Director Yan has a girlfriend, money, resources, and generosity—he probably has many women like her. If she doesn’t master some core skills, she’ll be forgotten.

Right now, there’s not even a hint of a deal—and he’s already given her the female lead. What would it be like if she truly secured his favor?

Thinking of this, Wang Ou’s heart burned hotter, her gaze toward Yan Li filled with tiny sparks of ambition…

(End of Chapter)