Chapter 124: Awe-Inspiring, the Seven Fairies Have Claimed Nearly Half

The plot of “Happy Heaven Seven Fairies” is not complicated; in summary, it’s just one sentence.

The fairies fall in love, then save the world.

The story is set a million years ago, when the Jade Emperor and the Queen Mother defeated the demon king Yin Zhu, who sought to conquer the Three Realms, and sealed him away.

Later, the Jade Emperor and the Queen Mother gave birth to seven daughters, who, as innate deities, possessed little innate power themselves but inherited a portion of their parents’ “goodness,” and when united, were naturally capable of restraining Yin Zhu.

The Jade Emperor, severely wounded in the great battle, eventually passed away, and the Heavenly Court came under the Queen Mother’s rule.

Yin Zhu had assumed that without the Jade Emperor, he might find a way to break free from his seal—but he discovered he was still firmly bound.

Until one day, the youngest fairy, Zi’er, fell in love with the mortal Dong Yong; the Queen Mother discovered this, stripped her of her immortal bones, and banished her to the mortal realm, causing Yin Zhu to sense the seal weakening.

He then manipulated the despised Broom Star, sending him to the mortal realm to sabotage Dong Yong and Zi’er.

Dong Yong and his wife struggled to survive; the other six sisters, unable to bear it, took turns descending to help.

But due to the Broom Star’s interference and a series of accidental coincidences and romantic entanglements, like the Seven Brothers rescuing their grandfather, each one who descended stayed behind, and all seven left Heaven to remain in the mortal world.

Thus, Yin Zhu broke free from his seal, brought chaos to the Three Realms, and even exiled the Queen Mother.

Fortunately, the Broom Star defected to the righteous side; the Queen Mother and the seven fairies learned Yin Zhu’s weakness, joined forces to form the Seven Stars in a Row, and ultimately defeated him.

The Queen Mother, changed by the upheaval in the Three Realms and her own descent to the mortal world, revised her longstanding prohibition against deities falling in love and amended the Heavenly Laws.

The seven fairies were finally able to live in lasting happiness with their lovers—the ending was a grand reunion!

Though the plot is simple, it combines romance and fighting villains, appealing to a broad audience.

Moreover, one main storyline connects seven subplots—dispersed yet coherent, with well-placed drama and character conflicts, clear structure, and steady pacing.

The script quality isn’t outstanding, but it can still be rated as above average.

At least Yan Li thought it better than the original versions of “The Fairy Couple.”

Just having Dong Yong and the seven fairies fall in love, suffer earthly oppression, and strive together as a couple grows monotonous.

…

Suzhou Province, Wuxi Film City

Besides the usual street scenes and existing buildings, “Happy Heaven Seven Fairies” had two new sets built here specifically.

Strictly speaking, one was a renovation, the other a new construction—these were the two most important and frequently used locations in the entire drama.

Dong Yong’s home and the Heavenly Court

Put simply, these two places served as the fairies’ two bases—one in Heaven, one on Earth.

After filming began, the crew split into two teams: Meng Ji led one, Chen Yongge led the other, divided by literary and martial scenes, with filming primarily taking place at Dong Yong’s home and the Heavenly Court.

Huosiyan became the busiest among the cast.

Sometimes she rushed to Dong Yong’s home to flirt and cuddle with him; other times she fought celestial soldiers on the Heavenly Court or on green screens, or was captured and imprisoned.

Even after wrapping up, she couldn’t rest—she had to rehearse dance routines with Dong Xuan and Li Lin.

The seven fairies had several dance sequences in the drama, and even their combat and spellcasting movements incorporated many dance elements to emphasize beauty and ethereal grace.

After all, they were fairies—close-range brawling would be too crude.

So, except for the second and third sisters, who were more combat-capable and received some martial arts choreography, the others’ fight scenes were nearly identical: graceful, floating with divine aura, more like dancing.

Using dance as a reference for combat was not only due to plot and setting needs, but also because of the actresses’ superior physical conditions.

The eldest, Li Lin, was trained in sword-and-horse opera; the third, Dong Xuan, studied dance before entering the Beijing Film Academy; the seventh, Huosiyan, had attended the Beijing Dance Academy.

Although Shuangbing wasn’t a dance major, she had been an arts backbone since childhood, could sing and dance, had a solid foundation, and since she appeared in many scenes, she had considerable combat experience.

Only the fourth, Jiang Xin, and the sixth, Yang Xue, couldn’t dance well.

But one had experience from “The Legend of the Condor Heroes,” and the other had been cast early, so both had taken classes and practiced privately—they wouldn’t hold the team back.

After casting was finalized, Yan Li consulted with Chen Yongge, who handled the martial choreography.

Don’t waste this advantage—fight more, and fight beautifully.

This meant the female actors had to undergo extra private training and practice.

Fortunately, most weren’t well-known actors; this role offered a good opportunity, so they were all serious.

Especially Huosiyan, the lead actress, constantly complained of exhaustion, yet rarely missed rehearsals whenever she had time.

It wasn’t that Huosiyan was particularly hardworking or dedicated—Yan Li had threatened her: if she performed poorly, she’d be replaced.

So, if filming progressed further, replacing her would cost too much—she wouldn’t dare slack off.

Now that filming had just started, replacing her cost almost nothing; terrified of being replaced, she naturally had to perform well.

Huosiyan feared being replaced; Dong Xuan viewed the production as her own business—Yan Li trusted her, so she naturally couldn’t let him down, and her attitude was even more positive than Huosiyan’s.

Their enthusiasm forced Li Lin to train along with them.

Otherwise, she’d seem out of sync, risk displeasing Yan Li and the director, and if rumors spread about her being unprofessional or playing petty games, it would severely damage her career.

The female actors’ diligence also subtly pushed the male actors, especially Yan Li and Zhou Yiwei.

Among the male leads, they had the most combat scenes.

The others, except for Wu Jian’s Food God, Dong Yong’s companion, who swung a few weapons, had no fight scenes at all.

And there was a touch of dark humor: Wu Yue, who played the inventor, was a genuine Wuying-level martial arts athlete, trained since childhood, far superior to Yan Li, who had only attended martial arts school for a few years.

Yet in the drama, he had no fight scenes—he played a helpless inventor.

This wasn’t because Yan Li and the team misjudged him—it was simply that Wu Yue’s appearance was a bit… ordinary.

Whether as Jin Zha, the Heavenly Court warrior played by Yan Li, or as Hei Ying, the cold-faced constable played by Zhou Yiwei, he didn’t fit either role’s image.

But among the male roles without martial action, Wu Yue’s inventor, Yu Ri, was the most striking—even slightly outshining the male lead, Dong Yong.

Humorous and quirky, his bizarre inventions kept appearing—he was the comic relief of the entire drama, had substantial screen time, and ranked second only to Dong Yong among the male leads; calling him “male second lead” wasn’t inaccurate.

Even if Wu Yue could choose for himself, he’d likely pick Yu Ri over Hei Ying, which had fighting but limited screen time.

Although Wu Yue had no fight scenes, Yan Li didn’t waste his talent—he recruited him as a martial arts coach and sparring partner for himself and Zhou Yiwei.

A Wuying-level athlete was far better than Yan Li’s old martial arts school instructors—and he was free.

One payment, multiple uses—Wu Yue’s salary was well worth it.

Wu Yue didn’t mind; he was idle anyway, and he wanted to get on Yan Li’s good side—maybe Yan Li would think of him for future projects.

Among the main cast of “Happy Heaven Seven Fairies,” he didn’t envy Pan Yueming, who played the male lead, but he envied Zhou Yiwei.

He’d heard that Zhou Yiwei was Yan Li’s dormmate.

Yan Li had included Zhou Yiwei in several of his productions; after graduating for over a year, he’d become a lead actor—what an amazing big brother!

If Wu Yue had a roommate or brother like that, he wouldn’t have to scurry around networking and kissing up to powerful people.

…

After practicing for half an hour, Yan Li was fine, but Zhou Yiwei was exhausted.

“Bro, I feel like your body’s gotten better than before.”

They’d lived together for two years in college and often trained together—playing soccer, running, practicing physique.

Both were young men in their twenties; Yan Li had trained in martial arts and was physically stronger than them, but the difference hadn’t been huge.

But now he felt Yan Li’s physical condition had improved dramatically since college—his muscles had become denser and more defined.

Take his abs: in college, Yan Li had barely visible definition; now, the contours were sharp, his shoulders looked broader, his stamina, strength, and explosive power were superior, and Zhou Yiwei even suspected Yan Li had grown slightly taller.

“Just exercise more.”

Yan Li patted Zhou Yiwei’s slightly thin shoulder: “You need a good body to get things done. I sweat day and night—how could my physique not be great?”

Yan Li wasn’t lying much.

After graduation, with more women in his life, his daily physical activity had increased significantly compared to college.

Of course, his self-discipline in martial arts and fitness had also improved greatly since college.

Still, Yan Li suspected—actually, he was certain—the system had played a significant role.

Even the best software needs hardware to run!

The system’s ability to gather intelligence was beyond reality; helping improve his physical condition was probably effortless.

Yan Li had even gone to the hospital for a checkup—all indicators were normal.

Since that was the case, he accepted it calmly; the system didn’t bother him, and he couldn’t “resist” anyway.

As for daily self-discipline and exercise, Yan Li believed his body shouldn’t rely entirely on the system—he kept a backup plan.

It was also a cover: if he ate recklessly and slept all day, his body improving was one thing, but his muscles becoming so defined and sleek? That would be unscientific.

Besides, a good body means more energy—if he didn’t expend it, he couldn’t sleep well at night.

“I’ll give you some good training methods later—try them out.”

Yan Li wasn’t sure whether the system had contributed to his strength, but the training methods it triggered were indeed more efficient and effective.

He was thinking of organizing them later, maybe opening a gym—business might be good.

Yan Li could still train, but Zhou Yiwei couldn’t—so they packed up and prepared to leave.

Wu Yue volunteered—he’d filmed here before and knew a good restaurant in the film city specializing in chicken soup and dumplings.

It was cold, and they’d just exercised hard; having some late-night snacks would fill their stomachs and warm them up.

“Sounds good.”

Yan Li was a food lover—he agreed immediately. The three walked out, and just as they reached the door, Yan Li’s phone rang; he stepped aside to answer.

Wu Yue and Zhou Yiwei waited by the door and ran into Dong Xuan and the others, who had just finished rehearsal.

Since they were in the same group and all beautiful women, Wu Yue enthusiastically invited them to join.

“No thanks, we’re too tired today.”

“We’re not hungry.”

“You go ahead—we’re heading back.”

Huosiyan, exhausted and overwhelmed, just wanted to go back to her room and sleep; Li Lin, maintaining her figure, rarely ate late-night snacks; Dong Xuan didn’t want excessive contact with men.

Zhou Yiwei glanced at Dong Xuan, about to warn her, when Yan Li returned from his call and spotted Dong Xuan and the others, asking casually.

“Finished practicing? Let’s get some late-night snacks—come with us?”

Dong Xuan replied bluntly: “Sure.”

Hu Siyan smiled sweetly: “Great, I’m starving.”

Li Lin glanced at the two and said: “If you’re all going, it’s pointless for me to go back alone.”

Wu Yue: “...”

Even if I’m not as handsome as Yan Li, and even if I’m not a producer, you can’t be this opportunistic...

The restaurant wasn’t far; they strolled there in a few minutes.

There were no private rooms, so they ate right in the main hall. With so many film crews in the studio, stars were commonplace—both the owner and other customers remained calm.

“Waiter, we’re ready to order.”

Wu Yue asked about dietary restrictions, then called the waiter to place the order.

Yan Li requested hot water to sterilize the utensils; Hu Siyan, eager to impress, took the utensils from his hands.

“Director Yan, let me handle that for you.”

“Fine... I guess.”

Yan Li handed his utensils to Hu Siyan. Zhou Yiwei glanced at Dong Xuan, who said nothing—as if she hadn’t noticed.

When the utensils were done, the dishes arrived. This place specialized in chicken soup and dumplings; the soup was pre-made. Hu Siyan stood again to serve Yan Li some soup.

“It’s hot—blow on it before you drink.”

Hu Siyan tenderly handed the bowl to Yan Li. Wu Yue, seated between them, felt deeply uncomfortable and wished he could swap places with either of them.

Zhou Yiwei felt even more uneasy—he’d clearly noticed Dong Xuan’s smile fading. In just the time it took to serve the soup, she’d narrowed her eyes at Hu Siyan three times.

Yan Li, however, remained calm. He sipped the soup and nodded to Wu Yue: “This soup really is good.”

“Right? Try their dumplings later—they’re pretty unique too.”

Yan Li looked forward to it. He loved noodles—buns and dumplings were his favorite foods.

But after tasting the dumplings, he was slightly disappointed. They weren’t bad, just not to his taste.

Seeing this, Hu Siyan smiled warmly and chimed in: “Northern dumplings are more authentic. If you like them, one day I’ll borrow a stove and make some for you.”

Yan Li was surprised: “You can cook?”

Dong Xuan’s cooking was mediocre; Qin Lan and Huang Shengyi couldn’t cook at all. Wang Ou was also never known to cook. Now, hearing a young actress could cook felt oddly novel.

“...Not bad.”

Hu Siyan felt guilty—she wasn’t really good at cooking. She’d made dumplings before, but only shaped them; the filling and dough were always pre-made at home.

Her earlier words were just an attempt to flatter Yan Li and show off her domestic virtues.

Yan Li sensed her insincerity, smiled, and didn’t press further. But Dong Xuan suddenly took over the conversation.

“Since Siyan’s so skilled, we must find a chance to taste them—let’s enjoy a good meal.”

Hu Siyan: “...”

She didn’t dare respond, mumbled a few vague replies, then picked up a dish with her chopsticks and offered it to Li Lin.

“This dish is tasty, Lin-jie, try some.”

Li Lin didn’t want late-night snacks but didn’t want to offend her, so she took a bite and nodded: “Nice.”

Hu Siyan, as if validated, urged everyone else to try it, then served Yan Li two more portions.

“Director Yan, eat more.”

This time, Dong Xuan’s smile wasn’t just fading—it was turning dark. Zhou Yiwei dared not pick up his chopsticks. Yan Li also sensed a faint aura of hostility.

Yet he calmly ate the dish Hu Siyan had served him, nodded in approval—just as Dong Xuan’s expression shifted slightly.

Yan Li reached out with his own chopsticks, picked up a bite of food, and directly held it to Dong Xuan’s lips.

“Try this.”

Dong Xuan’s eyes flickered, glanced at him, opened her mouth, and ate it: “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Yan Li continued eating as if nothing had happened. Everyone else—except Zhou Yiwei, who knew their relationship—stared in shock.

“The Seven Fairies” had only just started filming. Yan Li was busy, and he rarely revealed his private life publicly, so his interactions with Dong Xuan were limited, and he rarely showed affection in front of others.

Dong Xuan didn’t want to be seen as a favor recipient—even though she was one—and with Yan Li’s rumors still circulating, she kept things low-key.

As a result, very few in the crew knew they were together. Many who learned they were both from Beijing Film Academy’s 2000 class assumed they were just classmates, like Zhou Yiwei.

Li Lin was young but had married her college professor shortly after graduation; their marriage was still fresh and happy.

No matter how handsome or wealthy Yan Li was, she had no designs on him—she was here to focus on acting.

So even though she learned Yan Li and Dong Xuan were close, she felt only simple curiosity and surprise.

Hu Siyan, however, was deeply embarrassed.

She’d always assumed Yan Li and Li Bingbing were involved. Thinking Li Bingbing was away, she’d planned to sneak in and steal a little affection—never expecting Dong Xuan was already there.

If you two were together, just say so! I’d have kept my distance. Now I’ve walked straight into the trap—failed to dig up the dirt, and now Dong Xuan’s watching me like a threat.

Wu Yue, meanwhile, was awestruck by Yan Li. Dude’s truly incredible.

One moment he’s seen going home with Li Bingbing, the next he’s clearly close to Dong Xuan, and now Hu Siyan’s fawning over him.

He’s almost got half of “The Seven Fairies” lined up.

Worse—he’s not just juggling multiple women, he’s putting them all in the same drama as sisters.

Wu Yue admired Yan Li utterly. He thought Jin Zha’s role as a mere heavenly general was wasted—he should’ve been rewritten as a love god, entangled in a polyamorous romance with several fairies...

Full and satisfied, Wu Yue stubbornly wrestled the bill away from Yan Li. Everyone headed back.

“The Seven Fairies” had rented two floors of a hotel in the studio for main cast and key crew.

Rooms came in singles and doubles. Doubles were larger and better equipped; singles were quieter but smaller and more basic.

Of course, better options like king beds and suites existed—but only senior crew and big-name actors got them.

Hu Siyan chose a single room. Back in her room, she felt uneasy.

She’d offended Dong Xuan today. She feared Dong Xuan would whisper in Yan Li’s ear and get her replaced.

Only two paths left!

First: apologize to Dong Xuan immediately, show submission, beg for mercy.

Second: go all in—go straight to Yan Li. Dong Xuan only had power because of him. If she clung to Yan Li, she’d no longer fear her.

Hu Siyan hesitated no longer and decisively chose the second path.

Afraid Yan Li might already be asleep, she didn’t delay—fixed her makeup, then went straight to his room and rang the bell.

As investor and producer of “The Seven Fairies,” Yan Li had spared no expense on his accommodations—he stayed in a top-tier business suite.

After pressing the bell, he waited about one or two minutes before the door opened. Hu Siyan opened her mouth to speak—then saw Dong Xuan standing there.

Dong Xuan wore a silk robe, expressionless: “What do you want?”

“...”

Hu Siyan paused for over ten seconds, then forced a harmless smile: “Sister Xuan, I went to your room earlier but you weren’t there, so I dared to disturb you...”

A few minutes later, Yan Li emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, and saw Dong Xuan sitting on the sofa reading a magazine.

“What did she say?”

“Hmph. What could she say? She just wilted the moment she saw me.”

Dong Xuan still ground her teeth thinking about it. Thank goodness she’d gotten jealous and come to Yan Li’s room tonight—if she’d stayed away like usual, that fox might’ve stolen his heart.

Thinking of it, she pulled Yan Li onto the sofa and straddled him.

“If I hadn’t been here, would you have let her in?”

“Look at you.”

Yan Li wrapped his arms around her waist: “She served me food—I fed you to show my stance. She came to my door—I made you answer it. Even Liu Xiaohui couldn’t be more virtuous. Still doubting me? That hurts.”

Yan Li had no intention of playing around on “The Seven Fairies.”

Rabbits don’t eat the grass near their burrows. He produced projects to make money, not to chase women.

Especially with Dong Xuan on set—he wouldn’t dare act recklessly.

Though he was fond of beauty, he still cared for Dong Xuan. He had to protect her dignity and feelings.

Hearing his words, remembering his actions earlier, Dong Xuan’s anxiety eased. A sweet warmth spread through her. She lowered her head and kissed him softly, nuzzling against him.

“So many women are after you. I’m scared.”

Watching Hu Siyan—a moderately famous actress—go to such lengths to please Yan Li, even knocking on his door at midnight, had deeply shaken Dong Xuan.

“Why be scared?”

Yan Li saw her unease and chuckled: “I know why they’re after me—my money, my resources, my looks.”

“You’re different. You only want my looks.”

“Pfft.”

Dong Xuan spat at him—but then she understood his implication.

Other women wanted too much. Dong Xuan, who’d been with him since campus, was fundamentally different. He saw that clearly—and treated her differently.

Emotions swirling inside her, Dong Xuan pressed her face against Yan Li’s chest. He held her close, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the moment.

But soon, the mood was ruined.

As his pajama pants were tossed aside, Dong Xuan glared at him with furious eyes. Every time they were tender like this, Yan Li soon started undressing her.

Such a mood-killer!

Yan Li, though in the wrong, spoke with boldness: “You drove away a good opportunity from your door—you must compensate me.”

Saying this, he stripped Dong Xuan bare as a white lamb, tossed her onto the bed, then transformed into a ravenous wolf and devoured her bit by bit…

————

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(End of chapter)