Chapter 145

After returning to Jingcheng in mid-April, Yan Li spent most of his time at various banquets and social engagements.

He met with TV stations, investors, and industry insiders—everything he needed—and though he was constantly on the move, he achieved some results.

Among them, a few were worth mentioning.

First, Yan Li secured distribution rights for two drama productions, one of which was precisely the 2005 Top 50 ratings list that appeared monthly in the intelligence reports.

If these two dramas are distributed successfully, they will bring Yian Film & Television a profit of 2 to 4 million yuan.

Second, the project Yan Li had been eager for—The Railway Guerrillas—finally received approval from Shandong TV.

Yan Li acquired a 30% share of the drama under the terms of 3 million yuan plus free distribution, co-producing with Shandong Film & Television and another Shandong-based production company.

Given this investment and share, along with free distribution, Yan Li's profit from this deal would be quite limited.

That's why everyone loves partnering with outsiders—they're so easy to fool.

Companies like Tang Ren are hard to negotiate with; trying to get an edge over official partners like CCTV or Shandong Film & Television, who hold the upper hand, is even harder.

But The Railway Guerrillas already had Shandong Film & Television in charge, so they didn't need distribution help much—the so-called free distribution was just assisting Shandong Film & Television.

Yan Li never expected to get rich from The Railway Guerrillas.

Red-themed dramas, if handled well, guarantee steady profits through policies and subsidies, but if you want to make a big killing, your odds are the same as winning a scratch-off lottery.

So Yan Li's goal was stability, plus securing some hidden official benefits.

But he still gained some unexpected rewards.

Through this collaboration, Yan Li connected with Shandong TV and convinced them to lead the joint broadcast of Huan Tian Xi Di Seven Fairies.

Compared to The Railway Guerrillas, this project was truly profitable.

Shandong Satellite TV would lead, Shanghai Satellite TV already had a preference, and Yan Li had existing connections with Tianjin Satellite TV from distributing The Conquest.

If he secured one more satellite channel, he was confident he could push the first-run broadcast rights for Huan Tian Xi Di Seven Fairies to 26 to 30 million yuan.

If the drama's buzz grew even bigger, landing 8 million yuan from a single satellite channel wasn't impossible.

Beyond that, it would be difficult—after all, with four channels broadcasting together, each station's acquisition cost dropped, as did viewership ratings and advertising revenue.

Huan Tian Xi Di Seven Fairies had a clear production cost, and TV stations were sharp and cautious—hard to fool.

Yan Li wasn't greedy.

This figure was far higher than Hunan TV's exclusive price, guaranteeing immediate cost recovery and substantial profit.

Most importantly, Yan Li had invested zero yuan in Huan Tian Xi Di Seven Fairies—every cent earned was pure profit.

…

In May, Yan Li took time off to visit Northeast China.

The drama Survival: Migrant Workers had been shooting for some time; as its Lead Producer and someone who had invested several million, he couldn't avoid going to see it.

Jilin Province, Song City

Survival: Migrant Workers had rented a construction site there to film most of its scenes.

When Yan Li arrived on set, if not for the crew and cameras, he almost thought he'd gone to the wrong place.

The actors, all dusty, sun-darkened, and rough-skinned, squatted there with shy, simple smiles tinged with rustic cunning, speaking in their native dialects—indistinguishable from real migrant workers.

Not just similar—many of the extras were actual migrant workers hired by the crew.

Yet even the professional actors blended in perfectly; unless you recognized some familiar faces, you couldn't tell the difference.

Yan Li, rarely one to praise, gave Director Guan Hu a thumbs-up: "Guang Dao, great crew, great actors."

He saw that Guan Hu had put in real effort.

The actors were carefully selected, likely trained and prepared in advance—those skin tones? They'd spent plenty of time in the sun before joining.

On set, they didn't act spoiled—they wore dirty, sweaty, stinking clothes without complaint, slept in worker dorms, and worked with no half-hearted acting, striving for documentary-level realism.

Yan Li had encountered such a crew once before—Gao Qunshu's The Conquest.

But The Conquest's subject matter was somewhat distant from the public; Survival: Migrant Workers hit with far stronger documentary intensity.

From the perspective of an actor and film industry professional, Yan Li admired this crew.

But as a film company boss and distributor, the more he watched, the more uneasy he felt.

The subject matter was already unappealing, and now it was shot so… bluntly—broadcasting on national TV was out of the question; even provincial channels would struggle to distribute it.

Yan Li even worried the drama might be banned and pulled.

Without disturbing Guan Hu's crew, Yan Li met with the producer of this drama, Li Xing, and slowly observed the set.

This unexpected visitor naturally drew attention from some of the actors.

"Who's that?"

"So good-looking—he must be an actor. Isn't that the young guy who's Du Boss's cousin?"

"Bullshit. Have you ever seen an actor followed around by the director and the producer?"

"He's an actor—I've seen his work. Wu Tian in The Conquest."

"Yeah, now I remember—it's him."

As the actors chatted, a long-haired ugly man with big teeth and a strong seafood stench sidled up.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Look, a new face."

The long-haired ugly man glanced over and immediately said: "New face? That's the big boss."

The other actors froze. Compared to them, this long-haired man was close to Director Guan Hu and well-informed—they naturally believed him.

"Big boss? So young?"

The long-haired ugly man looked at them in confusion: "Don't you watch the news? Yan Li—Li Bingbing's boyfriend—haven't you heard of him?"

Some actors looked blank; others suddenly understood: "Oh, that's him! No wonder he looked familiar."

The long-haired ugly man didn't care—he went on: "Now that you know who he is, be careful. If you mess up, even Guan Dao can't save you."

…

At noon, the crew took a break for lunch; Yan Li ordered a box meal too and ate with them, shoveling rice while asking Guan Hu.

"What time do we wrap tonight?"

Guan Hu glanced at the assistant director, who replied: "We've got night scenes today—we won't finish until around ten."

Everyone who's worked on sets knows: if they say wrap at ten, finishing by ten-thirty is considered fast; dragging until midnight or even past dawn is common.

Yan Li had been on several sets; he could count on both hands the number of times they'd wrapped on time or early.

"Call two restaurants tonight—order extra meals for the crew, I'm paying."

"Thank you, Boss Yan."

The assistant director was overjoyed; usually, when investors showed up, they only took the director and a few leads out to dinner.

Just now, Yan Li had shown up at mealtime and eaten a box meal like everyone else—he'd assumed Yan Li was playing the frugal type, but turns out the man was generous, treating the entire crew.

The assistant director was a big mouth—or he deliberately wanted to spread Yan Li's name and cement this moment.

Soon, the whole crew was elated; The Survival of Migrant Workers had a tight budget, so the meal quality was predictable.

The leads earned high pay and occasionally went out to treat themselves.

Ordinary crew members, trying to save money, mostly just endured the set meals; rare treats like this naturally brought joy.

Yan Li stayed on set in the afternoon watching the shoot; several actors performed exceptionally well, trading lines like a micro-play—he found it thoroughly satisfying.

During actor breaks, Yan Li went over specifically to hand out cigarettes and chat.

Though The Survival of Migrant Workers had modest funding, it featured many powerhouse actors.

Tao Zeru, who starred in Black Hole; Ma Shaohua, the type-cast actor for Mr. Sun; Sun Song, who portrayed Wang Husheng in Longing; and veteran actor Sha Jingchang (Old Man from Sihe Academy).

Yan Li had seen all their performances; there were also unfamiliar actors.

For instance, that long-haired ugly man—if Yan Li hadn't read the script and known he played Xue Liu, a key role, he'd have assumed the man was just a real-life migrant extra.

After chatting a bit, Yan Li was even more surprised: this actor named Huang Bo was actually his junior from Beijing Film Academy.

No way—has the school's admissions become so… wildly diverse?!

"I'm from the 2002 class, Voice Acting, vocational program."

Perhaps sensing Yan Li's shock, Huang Bo added an explanation.

He'd grown used to it: whenever someone heard he was from Beijing Film Academy, their first reaction was always, "Has the school's bar dropped this low?"

"Then we've got no luck—I'm vocational too. You entered the year I graduated; otherwise, you'd have had to call me senior."

Yan Li realized he'd judged by appearance and tried to make amends, using their alma mater to bridge the gap.

Huang Bo was quick-witted and seized the chance: "Even after graduation, you're still my senior. Besides, meeting outside campus? That's even more fate."

Yan Li smiled—he disliked calling seniors or senior sisters, but loved calling juniors or junior sisters.

Still, he'd never met a junior older than himself before.

After chatting a while, Yan Li got a call, said goodbye, and walked off.

Huang Bo, smoking the Yuxi cigarette Yan Li had just handed out, had an actor tease him: "You just called him senior—don't you want his number?"

"Who am I to ask a big boss for his number?"

Huang Bo knew his place: a nobody, a minor actor. He'd only pretended to claim seniority to get noticed—enough to be familiar, nothing more. To treat him as a real senior? That'd be asking for humiliation.

As they spoke, an actor suddenly sat up excitedly: "Jiahui's here!"

At once, many resting actors leaned over, staring at the slender figure in a shirt and jeans.

The Survival of Migrant Workers was a classic male-dominated drama—dozens of male actors, female actors you could count on one hand.

That made every female actor a prized asset on set.

Wang Ou, who played the female lead Wang Jiahui, was the most beautiful and had scenes on the construction site—naturally leaving a deep impression on the male actors.

But Wang Ou rarely came to set; besides shooting her own scenes, she stayed in the hotel, accompanied only by other female actors and assistants.

Even when she appeared, she rarely spoke to the male actors—her attitude was cool.

It wasn't just Wang Ou; the other two female actors with construction-site scenes acted the same.

One reason was the male actors' disheveled appearances; another was sheer numbers—dozens of grown men staring at one woman? Anyone would feel creeped out.

But that didn't dampen the men's admiration for Wang Ou.

The colder she was, the more noble and pure she seemed—a rare white lotus, admired from afar but never dared to touch.

Yet under everyone's gaze, today that white lotus lost its usual aloofness—instead, like a blooming peony, she ran toward Yan Li with a dazzling smile.

Even more heartbreaking: Yan Li, still on the phone, merely pointed at his phone.

Wang Ou stood obediently beside him, her smile unchanged, eyes locked on Yan Li, radiating a gentleness no one on set had ever seen.

…

Huang Bo tossed his crushed cigarette butt on the ground and ground it underfoot—along with it, crushed were countless hearts.

…

Finally off the phone, Yan Li noticed sweat on Wang Ou's forehead and gestured for her to wipe it.

Wang Ou took tissues from her bag, wiped her sweat, then saw dust on Yan Li's clothes—she took fresh tissues and stepped forward to clean him.

She'd served as his personal assistant for a while, attending to him day and night—habits had formed.

Yan Li was calmer; he felt the stares too strongly—like thorns pricking his back.

"Ah, I'm on set."

"Oh."

Wang Ou felt a pang of disappointment; she didn't care what others thought—she'd relish pretending to be the boss's wife.

The feeling of being the female lead was too sweet; once tasted, she grew even warmer and more submissive toward Yan Li.

Though they never acted intimately, Wang Ou followed Yan Li obediently—carrying his bag, handing him water—like a secretary, like a little wife—drawing envy and resentment from many.

Yan Li also couldn't hold out much longer, so he left the main group with Wang Ou to visit another small team.

This was also Wang Ou's primary filming location—a small hair-washing shop with an unimpressive facade.

To be honest, Yan Li found it genuinely odd to see such a low-end hair-washing shop, then look at Wang Ou.

They were simply not on the same level!

Wang Ou said the director had revised the script to make the plot more plausible.

The female lead didn't just work at this small shop—she had another venue, taking on big jobs and small ones alike to earn money to raise her child.

The shop owner treated her kindly, so the female lead was willing to work there and quickly became the top girl, sometimes earning the "hair-washing" fee even if she only washed hair.

When Yan Li arrived, he happened to catch the scene where Huang Boshi played Xue Liu's older brother, Xue Wu, coming in for a "hair wash."

The actor portraying Xue Wu was Song Wan, the Cloud-Going Golden Giant from the CCTV version of *Water Margin*—tall, muscular, with a fierce yet somewhat simple face.

Standing before the shop's entrance, he rubbed his bald head and grinned foolishly at the girl standing at the door.

"Sis, want a hair wash?"

The girl snorted and teased: "Got long hair yet? Then wash it."

Xue Wu awkwardly rubbed his head, turned to leave—but the girl called him back and flashed him a sultry glance.

"Come in."

Xue Wu's eyes flickered with delight, then a hint of shyness and nervousness; he glanced around, then stepped inside.

"..."

Yan Li watched with keen interest—this scene was shot with extraordinary flair; the screenwriter or the actor, one of them must be morally dubious.

Wang Ou noticed Yan Li watching intently and leaned close to whisper something in his ear; Yan Li looked surprised.

"You really took them to observe?"

Wang Ou nodded—the production team pursued authenticity, so they wouldn't overlook such a crucial location as the hair-washing shop.

It was said the owner originally wanted to hire a real madam to play the role, but the woman changed her mind and refused to come, so they replaced her with a professional actress.

Yan Li was quite curious about these hair-washing shops—he'd been to KTVs and nightclubs, but never to a place like this.

After filming wrapped, he specifically went inside to take a look; outside, it looked no different from a normal hair salon, but inside there were extra rooms and beds. Still, since it was a set, the environment was actually very clean.

Wang Ou followed behind him, watching Yan Li's enthusiastic expression, and suddenly had an idea.

Seeing no one nearby, she stepped forward, hooked her finger around Yan Li's belt, and whispered seductively.

"Bro, want a hair wash?"

Yan Li: "......"

This little vixen was getting increasingly brazen—there were still people around outside the set, and she dared to flirt with him.

"Fine."

But he definitely wouldn't get a hair wash here—he took Wang Ou to a high-end hotel in the city.

Though the atmosphere wasn't as authentic as the hair-washing shop, it was cleaner and safer.

Wang Ou kept her word and actually washed Yan Li's hair.

Yan Li lay in the bathtub while she used the showerhead to rinse and massage his scalp.

Not only did she use her hands, but also her fingers—though her technique was average, she was diligent and meticulous, and Yan Li found it quite comfortable.

After washing his hair and bathing, Wang Ou mentioned she could also do foot massages.

Yan Li lay on the bed watching Wang Ou massage his feet; as she went on, he grew impatient.

"Your technique's terrible—I'll teach you."

Yan Li got up from the bed, switched places with Wang Ou, grabbed her feet, and demonstrated each movement slowly and personally.

That night, Wang Ou mastered Yan's massage technique and improved dramatically...

Yan Li stayed in Song City for two days, then headed to Harbin in Heilongjiang Province.

The system triggered a message: Heilongjiang TV was interested in *Huan Tian Xi Di Qi Nüxian*.

Yan Li hadn't held out much hope—in his mind, TV stations in the three northeastern provinces favored period dramas, war resistance, crime-thrillers, historical series, and those with strong Northeastern regional flavor.

For example, Zhao Ben Shan's *Liu Laogen* and *Ma Dashuai* series, after their CCTV premiere, were almost entirely rebroadcast by the three northeastern provincial stations.

But after actual contact, he realized he'd held some stereotypical views.

Just as many people didn't know, some more stylistically innovative TV dramas premiered first on Qilu TV in Shandong Province.

The three northeastern TV stations did have the traits he mentioned, but they also weren't lacking in the ambition to cater to younger audiences.

Although Yan Li joined late, he quickly caught up.

Progress moved swiftly—he became the first satellite TV station to reach a joint-broadcast agreement with Shandong TV and *Huan Tian Xi Di Qi Nüxian*.

If Shanghai and Tianjin hadn't already made prior commitments and couldn't break their contracts, Yan Li, having tasted the sweetness, would have gone to Shen Yang and Changchun...

————

PS: Ten-thousand-character update, begging for monthly votes

(End of Chapter)