Chapter 196

Yi'an Film & Television, conference room

Producer and director Ning Hao presented to Yan Li photos from location scouting in Chongqing and a preliminary budget outline for "Crazy Stone."

Although the investment was only three million yuan, as Yi'an Film & Television's first film, Yan Li still gave it considerable attention.

In addition to funding, the company would provide media promotion resources to build momentum; if certain actors proved unattainable, the company would step in to assist.

For a three-million-yuan low-budget film with modest actor fees, some performers might not care.

But a film backed by a rising, well-known company is about more than just pay.

Ning Hao didn't mention any specific actor requirements—he'd already found nearly everyone he needed, and they were cheap.

What he needed help with was media resources and certain local issues in Chongqing.

Especially the latter: if the crew couldn't settle local matters while shooting, trouble would arise.

Yan Li nodded: "I'll coordinate this for you. Don't worry."

Chongqing wasn't Beijing—he didn't have that many connections, but he knew a few people, given he'd worked with Chongqing TV multiple times already.

"Crazy Stone" was going to shoot, not storm a fortress; getting the TV station on board was mostly enough, and at worst, they could introduce a few others—no big deal.

"Then there's nothing else."

Ning Hao felt cooperating with Yi'an was pleasant—whether it was the boss Yan Li or the producer assigned, neither interfered much with the film itself.

The only thing they cared about was where the money went and why it was spent that way.

Everything else—promotion, local connections, distribution, and so on—was handled entirely by Yi'an; he just needed to focus on making a good film.

Just focus on shooting a solid film!

To a director, this sounded perfectly normal—but very few actually managed it.

Back when major studios dominated, it was fine; after the new century, capital's influence in mainland cinema grew ever larger, especially in commercial films, steadily eroding directors' authority.

Feng Xiaogang and Zhang Yimou were arguably the two most powerful commercial directors on the mainland, yet even they had to compromise with investors and other parties.

Beyond creative interference in filming, directors were forced to handle countless other tasks, making actual shooting secondary.

Some art-house directors sneered at commercial directors and their works for precisely this reason.

They believed film was an art form, not a project or commodity.

Ning Hao was just a young, inexperienced director, under thirty this year, still carrying a certain "naive" directorial idealism—he still very much liked this kind of collaboration.

"Director Ning."

After the meeting, Yan Li stood and walked over to Ning Hao, calling him "Director Ning." Ning Hao immediately rose, flattered and startled.

"Boss Yan, I can't let you call me that—just call me by my name."

"Haha, get used to it. Do a good job—this film's great. After it releases, you'll be Director Ning, and I'll help build your momentum—we'll make you a leader of the Sixth Generation."

Yan Li's persuasion skills had grown stronger—he struck right at the other's sweet spot.

Ning Hao kept saying "I can't," his face flushed red, teeth grinning wide.

A young director, especially one not yet successful, craved success and proof of himself most of all.

A few words of praise and expectation from Yan Li sent Ning Hao into overdrive, brimming with energy.

In a few years, when this young man became a seasoned veteran, this trick wouldn't work anymore—you'd have to hit him with real money and incentives, or find another angle.

Watching Ning Hao leave, full of determination, Yan Li sighed: "It's still good to be young."

Nearby, his secretary Hu Ya stared at her boss, unimpressed.

Ning Hao was born in 1977—Yan Li was even a few years younger.

But considering this man's abilities, few inside the company saw Yan Li as young.

It wasn't rare for Yan Li to scold middle-aged managers like they were children—and often, because his criticism was fair and targeted, they accepted it willingly, even growing more respectful of Boss Yan.

Hu Ya worked in the company daily; as for the marketing team, they looked at Yan Li like a god.

Even when projects failed or Yan Li made occasional mistakes, they blamed themselves for not executing his orders properly.

Other departments sometimes mocked marketing as a cult, a group brainwashed by Yan Li.

Yet, undeniably, marketing was one of the most envied departments in the company.

These bastards were making real money!

With "Bright Sword" as the lead, the eight series had now generated cumulative sales exceeding 200 million yuan, with some projects already broadcast or planned for broadcast.

According to Yi'an's distribution terms, the 200 million yuan in sales would yield over 30 million yuan in revenue share.

Marketing's commission varied by project contract and individual contribution.

But it never fell below 5% of distribution revenue—typically 5% to 10%, higher for major contributors, plus additional methods like bulk buyouts, profit splits, and guaranteed payments.

In short: more work, more pay; more profit, more take!

Salary, bonuses, performance pay, plus minor gray income—like falsifying leftover PR expenses—were standard practice, as long as it wasn't excessive, no one cared.

Altogether, from this 30-million-yuan windfall, the marketing team would pocket at least several million.

This was 2005—even in Beijing, a monthly salary of 5, 00 yuan was considered high.

These bastards in marketing—even the lowest earner made tens of thousands, matching many people's annual income.

And the company had more than just these eight series—other projects were coming, and as long as you weren't utterly incompetent, earning 100, 00 yuan a year wasn't hard.

Who in the company didn't envy them, except for a few managers and key staff in the film department who also had good bonuses?

If they switched to marketing, got a few or tens of thousands in commission, they'd treat the boss like their own father.

Hu Ya sometimes couldn't help but envy them.

Yet, though she probably didn't earn as much as the top marketing managers, Yan Li hadn't shortchanged her.

As Yan Li's secretary and one of his primary executors, Hu Ya was effectively the chief eunuch and head of the Imperial Court's ceremonial office—low rank, immense power; vice presidents and core executives all greeted her with smiles.

In front of Yan Li, she was Secretary Hu; behind closed doors, wielding his authority, calling herself Vice Director Hu wasn't an exaggeration.

"Snap out of it."

As she was lost in thought, Yan Li waved his hand before her eyes: "What's the status on 'Soldier's Assault'?"

"Uh."

Hu Ya snapped back: "Boss, the situation is a bit complicated."

Yan Li raised an eyebrow: "Go on."

"The project just started, and director Kang Honglei and his team prefer to collaborate with August 1st Film Studio."

"One, they previously worked together on 'Years of Passion'; two, military-themed stories can't avoid August 1st."

"Also, Kang Honglei is currently shooting 'One Shot, One Kill,' produced by Tianyi Film & Television. Boss Wu Yi has a close personal relationship with Kang, and 'Soldier's Assault' is a joint project they developed together."

"And this Wu Yi is said to be very close to Huayi—rumors claim Huayi plans to aggressively enter the TV drama market and is courting several TV producers, one of whom is Wu."

After hearing Hu Ya's report, Yan Li understood.

As for August 1st Film Studio—production studios were all struggling now; outside projects were mostly just lending their name or providing minimal funding.

"Soldier's Assault" would need outside investment regardless of August 1st.

But since Wu Yi was close to Huayi and preparing for deep cooperation, Huayi wouldn't fail to support his project—so there'd be no reason for him to come to Yan Li.

"Pity."

Yan Li felt regret—after all, it was a hit drama mentioned in monthly intelligence reports—but not enough to pound his chest in despair.

There were countless film and TV projects—Yan Li couldn't snatch them all.

If suitable, snatch it; if not, it wasn't meant to be—wait for the next one. Yi'an now didn't lack a single "Soldier's Assault."

More than "Soldier's Assault," what Yan Li truly cared about was Huayi's plan to aggressively enter the TV drama market.

Huayi had made TV dramas before, but focused mainly on films; since this year, they'd begun increasing investment in television.

Just from what Yan Li had heard, there was "The Legend of Jiaqing," a grand Qing dynasty historical epic; "Midnight Song," written and directed by Huang Sanshi, starring Da S and He Rundong; and Tang Ren's "Young Yang Family Generals" also seemed to have Huayi's investment.

Under these circumstances, could Wang brothers' capital possibly sustain so many projects?

It wasn't that Yan Li looked down on the Wang brothers—they simply weren't that rich.

Feng Xiaogang's "The Banquet" was hyped to the skies, but the main investor was Columbia.

The heavily funded "Moat" had a Hong Kong company as its primary producer.

The boss was Xu Xiaoming—the same man behind "Huo Yuanjia," a former executive at ATV and Emperor Entertainment, whose company backing "Moat" was a Hong Kong media conglomerate.

So while Huayi claimed to handle film investment, production, and distribution end-to-end, in reality, it leaned more toward the latter two—and even then, its share was smaller than what Yan Li had convinced the coal bosses to invest.

Thus, Huayi had big name recognition, abundant resources, and strong presence—but its profitability and available capital were questionable.

It simply couldn't sustain so many projects—it would likely resort to the old trick of pretending to sell mutton while actually selling dog meat.

Producers would go out using Huayi's name to attract investors, while leveraging Huayi's channels.

Huayi would provide its brand, resources, and minimal funding, take a cut of the profits, enhance its influence and hard power, and create a frenzy of "expansion."

Yan Li planned to use intelligence to probe deeper—if Huayi's model worked, Yi'an could imitate it too.

In fact, to some extent, Yan Li had far greater advantages in this area than Huayi.

Raising investment and selling distribution rights—these were his strengths!

At the last screening, the eight series sold together, concentrated distribution—showing the entire industry Yi'an's strength, and Yan Li had learned some advantages.

If Yi'an could unite multiple producers, directors, and film companies into an alliance centered on Yi'an's distribution, integrating all upcoming dramas and negotiating collectively with TV stations,

Internal premium dramas could stagger their air dates to avoid cannibalizing each other's audiences, even coordinate promotional campaigns.

Even more boldly, they could pressure TV stations into concessions: fixed final payment deadlines, higher prices, bundling good dramas with bad ones, transferring advertising revenue—or face blacklisting or collective boycotts.

"Cough."

Yan Li cleared his throat, calming down—no provincial station was easy to provoke; rousing collective anger, who knew who'd get blacklisted?

The law doesn't punish the many—so target the leader, and when the tree falls, the monkeys scatter.

But don't push too hard—some negotiation and pressure were acceptable; the timing and balance could be tested gradually.

Soldier's Assault, Market Ambitions, and Huayi's Connections

Yan Li had previously considered a similar idea: when a middleman grows large enough, it can squeeze both ends.

But back then, he was just starting out and only blowing smoke; now, with Yi'an's continuous growth, this bluff might actually come true—at least in part.

Beyond content distribution integration, Yan Li could also persuade those investors to establish a film and television investment company.

Then, using that company's capital, he could invest in film and television projects; after earning profits, besides distributing dividends to shareholders, he could reinvest the rest.

One hand holding ample investment capital, the other controlling powerful distribution, while uniting other resources.

At least in the TV drama sector, even Huayi would have to bow to Yan Li.

Meanwhile, Yi'an's frantic "expansion" in the film and television market, continuously increasing its influence, would still attract capital market favor and trust.

Yan Li knew exactly what Huayi intended to do; if timing and conditions allowed, he too wanted to take Yi'an for a spin on the stock market.

Yi'an was his wholly owned company—if its valuation turned into real, tradable shares, his net worth would skyrocket.

Of course, this required guaranteeing Yan Li's authority within the company and his profit share.

If going public brings more profit, then go public; if not, then stick to running the business steadily on his own.

Having started with stock trading, Yan Li understood stocks and financial markets far more thoroughly—he cared only for actual gains, never blindly going public for the sake of it.

Speaking of stock trading, Yan Li suddenly realized he'd been neglecting it these past few days.

He asked Hu Ya to organize the meeting minutes, handled some miscellaneous tasks, ate lunch, then rode to a small office in a building in Chaoyang.

This was the base for Yan Li's hired stock trading team.

When his stock market funds reached tens of millions, the scale and complexity of operations were no longer manageable by him alone.

Originally, he collaborated with securities firm teams; as his capital grew, he began assembling his own dedicated stock investment team.

The team consisted of nearly ten people, led by Investment Director Cai Shen, a seasoned veteran with extensive experience in mainland, Hong Kong, and U. . markets.

Besides Cai Shen, there were two analysts, two traders, one risk controller, one technician, one legal officer, and one logistics staff.

Yan Li chose Cai Shen precisely because he could build and lead the entire team.

Besides his auspicious name, it was because Cai Shen was experienced and cautious.

With his intelligence network, Yan Li didn't care about so-called investment insight, intuitive judgment, or bold decision-making—he needed a steady, thorough, meticulous executor and manager.

Which stocks to buy, how to adjust positions, when to enter or exit—Yan Li decided.

Cai Shen and his team only needed to professionally, accurately, and safely carry out his orders.

"Don't mind me, keep working."

Yan Li greeted the team members outside, then went to Cai Shen's office to hear updates from the past few days.

Since handing operations to the professional team, the number of accounts had multiplied; checking them all on his computer was cumbersome. Some data could be emailed, but face-to-face communication was still more convenient.

"Fine. No major adjustments needed for now—just sell off these two stocks entirely within a week, and consider adding to this one…"

Cai Shen nodded and took notes; Yan Li never explained why he bought or sold, and Cai Shen never asked.

Occasionally, he would offer professional suggestions—but whether Yan Li listened was another matter.

"..."

Yan Li glanced approvingly at the total value of his current stock holdings.

Since the bull market began in June, there had been a small surge; coincidentally, he'd correctly bet on a strong stock and made a hefty profit—his capital kept rolling up, now nearing 80 million.

Even if he did nothing else, just riding the bull market's rise—with some steady gains and minor losses—he could easily surpass 100 million within months.

His long-anticipated Yi'an Cinema Chain now had no shortage of startup capital—but how much more it would gain depended on future stock market performance and investor feedback.

Next year—next year was when Yi'an Cinema Chain would make its dazzling debut!

Yan Li looked forward to it: Huayi's two brothers were straining to squeeze into the TV drama market, only to turn around and find Yan Li already cutting off their rear supply lines.

What would their feelings be then?

————

By August, Wang Jinghua's conflict with Huayi intensified, leaving the Wang brothers overwhelmed.

Fortunately, "The Banquet" progressed smoothly; its hundred-million investment ensured Huayi's core film business remained stable, and the outside world still held a positive view.

Rumors even spread that Huayi intended to use "The Banquet" as momentum to recruit top talent.

Zhang Ziyi, Zhou Young Master, Huang Xiaoming, and others involved in "The Banquet" were potential targets.

Especially Zhou Young Master—his contract with Rongxinda was about to expire, and he would soon regain freedom; some speculated "The Banquet" was Huayi's invitation to him.

This rumor acted as a powerful morale booster for Huayi's beleaguered internal staff, but also stirred up chaos.

The most furious reaction came from Li Bing and her sister!

Good heavens—they'd just gotten rid of Fan Xiaopang, and now two of the Four Little Fairies were arriving; could Li Bing still sit comfortably as Huayi's top actress?

Negotiations between Huayi and Li Bing had been nearly finalized, but now new complications arose.

The Wang brothers were frustrated; Li Bing and her sister, sensing the opportunity and backed by hidden support, were unusually defiant.

Zhang Ziyi and Zhou Young Master weren't easy to poach—one had major international influence and wasn't short on film opportunities, the other was being desperately retained by Rongxinda, with other companies watching closely.

Even if they managed to lure one away, losing Li Bing—whom they had nurtured from the start—would still be a loss for Huayi.

There was no choice but to keep coddling them, even hinting at promises of Li Bing's top status and priority rights.

This wasn't good news—the Four Little Fairies were now more popular than Li Bing; forcing her to overshadow them would ignite fierce rivalry, and imbalance would lead to open conflict.

While Huayi's top executives and leading artists clashed fiercely, to fill the void left by Wang Jinghua's faction, Huayi recruited new artists.

Leading them was Huo Siyan, whose fame surged from "The Seven Fairies."

According to insiders, Huayi planned to position her as Fan Xiaopang's replacement, targeting second or third actress status.

Huo Siyan felt she was finally about to rise!

In "The Seven Fairies," she was the lead, yet her spotlight was stolen, she was isolated and excluded; everyone else bonded as sisters, while Yan Li's scenes were easy to film, and she was left alone like a wandering soul.

Now, she had clung to Huayi's big leg—her meteoric rise was imminent.

Then, she'd make those who bullied her—those little bitches—and that blind fool Yan Li suffer.

Make that bastard kneel down and call her "sister"—no, call her "Mom," begging on his knees…

While lost in these pleasant thoughts, her agent came over: "Siyan, tomorrow night there's a dinner with Young Master Wang—you're coming."

"Oh."

Huo Siyan was displeased; when she first joined Huayi, she'd gotten carried away and shown off her drinking capacity.

Now, Young Master Wang praised her drinking skills and always brought her to dinners.

Having a beautiful, well-behaved, high-drinking-capacity female star at business dinners had obvious advantages.

Huo Siyan had been with Huayi only a short time, hadn't filmed anything yet, had few official assignments—but she'd drunk plenty.

She didn't even know if she was an artist or Huayi's PR department head…

The next afternoon, Huo Siyan found Young Master Wang's assistant, ready to head to the dinner.

But the assistant glanced at her and objected: "Siyan, isn't your outfit a bit too conservative?"

"Isn't this enough?"

Huo Siyan looked at herself—she knew her role at these dinners, so she'd specifically changed into a tight T-shirt and tight jeans, already showing off her figure.

"This guest is… how to say it? A bit of a playboy, and young—he'd prefer something more bold and sexy."

Huo Siyan frowned. Being a companion was one thing; selling her body was another; going further than that was another matter entirely.

In the entertainment industry, most people were powerless; climbing up required sacrifices.

Huo Siyan had prepared mentally—but she had her own "bottom line." Flirting and light touching were fine; actual physical advances depended on who it was and how much they paid.

A courtesan was still a courtesan—the key was connection, the focus was charm; if she took anything and anyone, she'd become weeds—and weeds were worthless.

"Don't worry, you won't be shortchanged."

The assistant pushed Huo Siyan to change clothes, sighing inwardly—things were better now.

When Wang Jinghua was still around, getting Li Bing or Fan Xiaopang to attend a dinner was nearly impossible—she fiercely protected her girls.

Now that Wang Jinghua was gone, new artists—except a few big names—had to follow company orders; the company's control and artist compliance had skyrocketed.

A while later, Huo Siyan changed into a dark dress, her hair braided into a single plait, looking pure and sweet.

But the low neckline, the hem barely covering her hips, and her pale skin sharply contrasting the dress added undeniable allure to her innocence.

When she joined the assistant in the car, she realized not only Young Master Wang, but also Old Master Wang was present.

Normally, the Wang brothers, due to different roles, attended separate dinners; both being present meant either a gathering or a VIP guest.

"Master Wang, who's the guest?"

Huo Siyan couldn't help asking. Wang Zhonglei smiled: "You'll find out when we get there—it's someone you know well."

Someone I know?!

Huo Siyan dared not ask further, wondering who it could be. The trip was short, and they soon arrived.

The Wang brothers led her into a private room; within minutes, the guest arrived.

"Director Wang, Young Master Wang, sorry for keeping you waiting."

"Haha, we arrived early."

Watching the young man chatting with the Wang brothers, Huo Siyan widened her eyes.

How could it be him!

Yan Li also spotted Huo Siyan and couldn't help glancing at her chest.

Big and white!

He'd known about this advantage of hers long ago.

When filming "The Seven Fairies," he'd deliberately designed the heavenly prison costumes to highlight it—the skirts were cut low.

But "The Seven Fairies" was a pure image; too revealing wasn't appropriate, so he'd held back—never fully exploiting Huo's strengths.

So now, after joining Huayi, she's switching from pure goddess to sexy temptress?

"Come on, Siyan, you don't need me to introduce this one—Master Yan is your mentor."

Hu Siyan might pretend to be excited inside, comforting herself, but she knew full well how far she stood from Yan Li.

Even if she became Huayi's top actress, she still paled in comparison to a giant like Yan Li.

Seeing the Wang brothers treat Yan Li with such deference, she grew even more subdued, bowing politely to greet him.

"Master Yan, it's been a long time."

"Red energy nourishes the soul—Siyan, now that you're famous, you look much better than before."

Yan Li spoke truthfully: during "The Seven Fairies," Hu still had a rustic air, and with her exclusion, her eyes carried a hint of gloom.

Now that she was famous, she radiated more confidence, her demeanor improved, her fashion sense and skincare and makeup had all elevated—she was far more radiant than before.

But every advantage has its downside.

She had star quality now, but the lingering purity of a naive little white flower had faded; her eyes now betrayed unhidden ambition, even carrying a faint taint of worldliness.

Still, it was for the best—Hu Siyan's personality never suited purity anyway; an early transition spared her the humiliation of a collapsed persona.

But fully shifting to sexiness and glamour wasn't ideal—the market was too crowded, and her own advantages weren't clear-cut. She should blend her earlier pure image with a touch of seduction: pure yet alluring, crafting her own signature style.

Uh…

Yan Li realized he'd developed lingering side effects after plotting Li Bing's career path.

He kept wanting to give advice to female stars—just recently, he'd discussed with Qin Lan, suggesting she try an intellectual, elegant, gentle yet resilient style.

It matched her image and personality, extended her signature roles, and could expand into other traits—appealing, yet broadening her acting range.

In a way, designing and packaging a female star from scratch, making her beloved by countless people, carried a quiet, nurturing satisfaction.

And when the goddess everyone adored became utterly dependent on you, even revering you—that was even more intoxicating.

So Yan Li preferred to promote female stars.

Promoting male stars might bring some satisfaction, but only that—leave it to other big shots.

For instance, Little Wang Zong—he's said to enjoy being a mentor to male stars.

Thinking of this, Yan Li sat down deliberately beside Wang Zhongjun, placing Wang Zhonglei across from him, while Hu Siyan was seated right next to Yan Li.

One key topic of this meeting between the Wang brothers and Yan Li was Fan Xiaopang's contract.

As the longtime employer, Huayi generously let go, intending to "marry off" Fan Xiaopang to Yan Li in grand style.

Yan Li thanked him politely, but he didn't take it seriously at all.

He'd already lured the girl into his home—Huayi's approval didn't matter.

Plainly put, the Wang brothers wanted to do him a favor: first, to avoid offending Wang Jing, and second, to deter Yan Li from targeting Li Bing.

If they let Fan Xiaopang go, then if Yan Li tried to poach Li Bing next, it would be utterly unethical.

Third, turn an enemy into an ally, win Yan Li over, and prevent him from joining Chengtian and surrounding Huayi.

"Master Yan, this guy named Wu—doesn't he have Japanese backing, coming to China to snatch territory? A few decades ago, wouldn't he have been a traitor guiding the invaders?"

"..."

Yan Li nearly cracked—he knew Wu was backed by Japanese capital, but wasn't Huayi also cozying up to Columbia?

Columbia's largest shareholder was Japan's Sony Group.

This was like the collaborationist army fighting the peacekeeping committee—don't call one side traitors.

Still, among dwarfs, the tallest stands out—Huayi was still a domestic company, merely cooperating with Columbia, while Chengtian was undeniably Japanese-funded.

According to intelligence Yan Li had gathered, certain officials and industry insiders were wary of Chengtian.

China's largest entertainment company backed by Japanese capital?!

The implications were terrifying.

Regardless of others' thoughts, Yan Li refused to accept it—he'd rather cooperate with Huayi; no matter who won or lost later, at least the meat stayed in the pot.

So he plainly stated his position: the masters of Chinese-language cinema must be Chinese.

The backbone that the older generation fought and died to uphold must not bend again.

"Master Yan, you speak with great spirit."

Wang Zhongjun slammed the table—he was a big-shot kid from a powerful family, had served in the military, and though his original ideals had faded, he still knew right from wrong on certain matters.

Publicly and privately, Huayi or any other company could never let Chengtian tower over them.

After reaching consensus, the atmosphere warmed. Yan Li showed his sincerity and strength, pulling out a file folder.

"Rumor has it someone's targeting your company, Director Wang—you must raise your guard."

Wang Zhongjun took the folder, his face darkened instantly, then grew darker as he read, handing it to Wang Zhonglei, whose composure was far worse—his sweat broke out immediately, and he cried out to Yan Li.

"How did they find out?"

Yan Li calmly ate a sea cucumber: "That's for you to investigate—I'm just giving a heads-up."

Wang Zhonglei wanted to say more, but his brother stopped him, whispered a few words, and they hurriedly left.

After they departed, Wang Zhongjun raised a cup of wine and stood to sincerely thank Yan Li.

Whether Yan Li had genuinely heard rumors and warned them, or had discovered Huayi's vulnerability but chosen not to act, he'd saved Huayi from disaster—otherwise, Huayi would've lost skin or taken a major fall.

"Director Wang, you're too kind—we help each other."

Yan Li smiled and drank it down; Wang Zhongjun studied him deeply, relieved he'd held back—he was no innocent boy.

Thinking quickly, he motioned for Hu Siyan to pour wine for Yan Li, then spoke again.

"Let Xiao Fan play the female lead in 'Mo Gong'—I think she's still the best fit."

Hmph—was he stunned, or offering a goodwill gesture?

Quite a sacrifice.

Yan Li didn't immediately agree, but didn't refuse either—he'd discuss it with Fan Xiaopang later.

"Mo Gong" had a large budget; box office aside, it would boost Fan Xiaopang's status.

These days, if you hadn't been the female lead in a major production, you weren't even worthy to call yourself a top-tier leading lady.

But after playing it, even if the film flopped, your status would rise—only the impact might be less impressive.

Just look at Hu Siyan beside him—her eyes practically drooled at the thought of Fan Xiaopang landing the female lead in "Mo Gong," her gaze burning into Yan Li…

(End of Chapter)