Chapter 211: A Remarkable Young Man Has Arrived in the Film Circle

On the second day of the Lunar New Year, major film sets in Hengdian resumed work; Qin Lan and Fan Xiaopang both appeared at their respective productions.

But Yan Li never showed up.

Combined with the dispute on New Year's Eve, the sets spread plenty of rumors, but all were baseless speculation.

Yan Li left Hengdian not over any emotional issue, but to sign a contract.

The cinema chain has been secured!

In Beijing, Yan Li and the original chain's director jointly signed their names and affixed the official seal.

Yi'an Cinema Chain acquired the chain for 42 million yuan, becoming its actual owner.

After completing subsequent procedures, name changes, and related formalities, Yi'an will become one of China's thirty-six cinema chains.

"Congratulations, Director Yan."

"Thanks to the help of Director Zhang and Director Wang."

Yan Li exchanged pleasantries with the officials from relevant departments who came to witness and assist; securing the chain and ensuring its smooth operation depended heavily on these connections.

After dinner, Yan Li arranged for his driver to take the guests home and gifted them some New Year's treats from his hometown as thanks for their efforts.

For the next two days, Yan Li remained in Beijing to pay New Year's visits.

Although cinema chains are closely tied to the film and television industry, Yan Li had previously focused on TV drama production and distribution, which differed significantly; many relationships needed gradual cultivation.

Yan Li had already prepared extensively; now that he had secured the chain, he could further solidify and expand it.

Beijing, a certain residential community

College student Han Jia_nv opened her front door; though accustomed to visitors, she was momentarily stunned by the young man before her.

Compared to the other bosses who came to her home, this one was far too young.

"Hello, I'm Yan Li. We arranged to visit Chairman Han."

"Please come in."

Han Jia_nv let him in; hearing the noise, Han Sanping stepped forward, glanced at the box in Yan Li's hands, frowned slightly, and spoke with a Sichuan accent.

"I told everyone not to bring gifts."

"Chairman Han, it's nothing valuable—just local specialties from my hometown. I brought them so you could taste something new. On such a festive day, showing up empty-handed would be rude."

Yan Li had already researched Han's personality; since they weren't yet familiar, he avoided being too forward and used the local gifts as a buffer.

Once they knew each other better, he could keep sending him food—he liked eating, after all…

Han Sanping inspected the items closely; seeing they were genuine local produce, his expression softened. He told his daughter to serve tea and invited Yan Li to his study.

In the study, Han Jia_nv brought tea and left. Han Sanping offered Yan Li a cigarette and regarded him with keen interest.

"Young Yan, you've kept this well hidden. I just heard rumors, and you've already sealed the deal—caught me completely off guard."

"You're blaming me?"

Yan Li smiled wryly: "I didn't hide it from you intentionally. The acquisition was meant to be confidential. Several parties were competing, and we planned a surprise move. If word leaked, competitors would prepare, and complications would arise."

It was an excuse, with some truth to it, but the main reason was to prevent others from interfering.

Nobody's stupid.

Yi'an is doing well; adding Yi'an Cinema Chain would create a powerful synergy. Many would grow restless.

Someone might show up to smear him or drag his feet. Yan Li wasn't afraid, but avoiding trouble was better than inviting it.

Even Han Sanping wouldn't move against Yan Li.

But his company had too many ties across too many areas, so everyone kept quiet together.

"Regardless, I was wrong. I should've consulted you, Chairman Han, for guidance. I'm still young—acting without enough thought."

Yan Li was skilled at using the label "young man."

When seeking advantages, he was the young man with high potential, drive, and flexible thinking—an unlimited future.

When shifting blame, he was the young man who acted impulsively, failed to consider things thoroughly, and needed room to grow and learn—next time, he'd do better.

He was just a twenty-something, self-made, with no mentors or support—mistakes were inevitable.

Now he lowered himself so humbly, sincerely admitting fault. How could anyone reasonably hold it against him?

Even if Han Sanping hadn't intended anything, at most he'd give a light warning; even if annoyed, his status made it improper to press hard against Yan Li.

"Tsk…"

Han Sanping looked at Yan Li with appreciation. No wonder such a young man had achieved so much—many old friends spoke highly of him.

The film circle has welcomed a remarkable young man!

Yan Li didn't know what Han Sanping was thinking, but being invited to his home was a good opportunity to build rapport.

He wanted to cultivate a strong relationship with this legendary figure in the industry.

Though Yan Li had invested hundreds of millions and planned even more, before China Film Group, he was still a junior.

In some ways, he even depended on China Film Group for his livelihood.

Many knew China Film Group owned cinema chains, controlling or investing in chains that made up 10% or more of the market, heavily funding films and wielding strong distribution power—many commercial films bore its shadow.

But China Film Group's true strength lay in its official status.

A significant portion of film-related policies and standards were formulated and enforced through China Film Group, granting it authority over review, approval, and recommendations.

Cinema chains were powerful—every film company had to court them—but they still had to bow to China Film Group's will.

For example, China Film Group held considerable influence over the screening licenses of most domestic and imported films.

Both "The Promise" and "Harry Potter" were profitable films; a cinema chain wanted both, but China Film Group found an excuse to deny them—so the chain could only watch helplessly.

In countless other areas, China Film Group wielded considerable influence.

And Yan Li didn't just have Yi'an Cinema Chain.

Cinema chains were relatively independent, less affected by China Film Group, but Yi'an's future film production and distribution would inevitably be entangled with China Film Group.

Currently, Han Sanping was vice chairman of China Film Group, but already the de facto decision-maker; rumors said he would likely assume the top position next year, officially taking charge.

Previously, Yan Li had researched this future head of China Film Group through his system and various channels.

How to put it? He had some flaws, and Yan Li didn't fully agree with his views on the film market.

But overall, Han was fairly public-spirited, genuinely pushing for the development of Chinese cinema.

Under Hollywood's relentless assault, China's domestic film market hadn't collapsed like some nations', and domestic commercial films continued steady growth—Han had made outstanding contributions.

He was also famously fond of mentoring newcomers and enterprises.

Yan Li dealt with all kinds of people in business; compared to them, Han Sanping was relatively refined and principled.

…

"Chairman Han, Yi'an plans to invest approximately 300 million to 500 million yuan over the next two to three years, building four to six large high-end cinemas, eight to fifteen standard cinemas, and around 120 to 150 screens—all premium venues…"

Yan Li shared Yi'an's future plans with Han Sanping—essentially the same public statement he'd soon release.

The plan was fundamentally sound, though the figures had some discrepancies.

After all, it was a public statement—some promotional exaggeration was inevitable.

But Yan Li hadn't exaggerated much; cinemas were public-facing, so overblown claims would backfire and damage investor and official perceptions, so he kept it relatively pragmatic.

Even so, Han Sanping was somewhat surprised.

He knew Yan Li wouldn't launch a cinema chain without backing—he wasn't playing small—but to invest hundreds of millions and bring in China Resources still exceeded his expectations.

Don't think Yi'an's ten-plus cinemas and hundred-plus screens are insignificant.

Remember, in 2005, the entire mainland added only 55 new cinemas and fewer than 300 screens all year.

Yi'an's scale alone approached one-third of the entire year's new cinemas and screens.

More crucially, apart from the original chain's older cinemas, all of Yi'an's venues were standardized modern cinemas—even those older ones would be renovated.

Most were located in first- and second-tier cities, many of them key box-office hubs.

This was rare in today's mainland cinema market.

Though the mainland now had roughly 2, 00 cinema screens, many were outdated venues from the last century, with poor facilities, equipment, and service.

A significant portion were in third- and fourth-tier cities, generating limited box office.

According to last year's official report from the Film Bureau, only forty cinemas surpassed 1 million yuan in box office, twenty-seven exceeded 10 million yuan, and only four surpassed 30 million yuan.

So even though official statistics list cinema and screen numbers as simply "1,"

the box office gap between a first-tier premium cinema and a small-town old theater could be dozens—or even hundreds—of times greater.

Thus, Yi'an's cinema and screen numbers may seem modest, but its profitability and market share absolutely cannot be judged by screen counts alone.

Han Sanping was a professional; after hearing Yan Li's explanation, he immediately formed a rough assessment of Yi'an Cinema Chain's scale and potential.

If this chain truly succeeded, even if it couldn't rival the top-tier chains, it would be firmly in the upper-middle tier—unignorable.

"A remarkable young man."

Han Sanping spoke these words; earlier, "remarkable young man" had been mere admiration—now it was a precise description.

His ability was obvious, but his vision and boldness were beyond ordinary people.

In recent years, the film market had grown increasingly strong; many film companies and incoming capital had increased investment.

But everyone preferred investing in films themselves—chasing stars and famous directors, focusing on the spotlight, while ignoring the cinema chain, the downstream terminal that determined the entire market's foundation.

Well, perhaps not ignored—just limited by capability, capital, or concerns over high investment and slow returns.

But if no one invests, and all money goes into film production, the cinema infrastructure can't keep up, and the market won't rise.

Yan Li, so young, in an industry where most private film companies focused on upstream production and rarely touched midstream distribution, boldly invested heavily in cinema chains—this was truly rare.

Han Sanping, moved, shared some honest thoughts with Yan Li: "At this stage, we do lack good films—but we lack cinema chains even more."

The rise of the film market certainly depends on good films to cultivate the market and break through—but slow cinema chain development will delay and hinder the market's growth.

Only when upstream and downstream develop together, when software and hardware advance in tandem, will the film market flourish.

Now, many companies and capital are willing to invest in films, but few are willing to invest in cinema chains.

Almost all of the major cinema chains in mainland China are state-owned or have significant state involvement; privately owned chains with scale and influence are extremely rare.

Deep down, Han Sanping supported Yan Li's Yi'an Cinema Chain growing stronger, as it would benefit the entire film market.

"I recall there were some preferential policies for private cinema chains?"

"That's right—local governments offer subsidies, special funding support, and tax breaks, but they're hard to secure. I've been begging everyone I know."

Yan Li naturally knew all this—he'd already secured some of those benefits—but he understood Han Sanping bringing it up now had a purpose, so he immediately feigned hardship.

Sure enough, Han Sanping slammed the table: "I'll handle this for you. I can't promise much, but some benefits from China Film Group are definitely within reach."

"Oh my, thank you so much, Director Han."

Yan Li was delighted. The policy benefits themselves weren't that important—the key was Han Sanping's friendly, warm attitude.

This showed he held Yan Li and Yi'an in high regard. Today's visit was worth it—he'd established a connection with China Film Group.

"..."

As they were chatting enthusiastically, Han's daughter knocked on the door to ask about dinner; only then did they realize night was falling.

"Xiao Yan, eat at home today."

In good spirits, Han Sanping invited Yan Li to stay for dinner, who gladly accepted, then sent a text message.

Over half an hour later, just before dinner, Yan Li received a phone call, stepped out, and returned with two bottles of unmarked liquor.

"A friend gave me these. I don't know much about wine, but it tastes good—I brought some for Director Han to try."

Han Sanping gave Yan Li a long look but didn't refuse. During dinner, he took a sip of the wine Yan Li brought, and his eyes lit up.

"This wine… isn't it aged quite a while?"

Yan Li smiled: "As long as you like it."

As they exchanged cups and conversation, they began discussing films expected to release this year.

Leading the list were Feng Xiaogang's "The Banquet" and Zhang Yimou's "House of Flying Daggers," along with Liu Dehua's "The Message."

Although China Film Group had stumbled with "Curse of the Golden Flower," Han Sanping still held high hopes for these major films.

Especially Zhang Yimou's "House of Flying Daggers."

Though his previous film, "House of Flying Daggers," drew criticism, the project turned a profit—Zhang Yimou remains the only director in mainland China consistently profitable with big-budget films.

For "House of Flying Daggers," he not only brought in Zhou Runfa but also called back Zhang's ex-girlfriend Gong Li, and even recruited Taiwan's king Zhou Jielun—its star-studded cast drew industry-wide attention.

Han's daughter, eating with them, couldn't resist gossiping: "Director Yan, I saw the news—Zhou Jielun's role was originally offered to you."

"I'm a few years older than you—just call me Brother Li if you don't mind."

Yan Li smiled warmly; Han's daughter immediately switched to "Brother Li." Han Sanping, who had raised his cup, set it down halfway.

"Director Zhang did call me, but later they asked me to audition. I was too busy at the time and couldn't make it, so it fell through."

"They asked you to audition?"

Upon hearing Yan Li's words, Han's daughter's expression turned complicated.

To be fair, Yan Li wasn't particularly famous as an actor, but his status and position demanded special respect—he didn't rely on acting for a living.

She didn't know whether there was some misunderstanding or if Yan Li had misstated things.

Either way, it sounded like "House of Flying Daggers" hadn't taken Yan Li seriously at all.

Han Sanping offered one remark: "That's not like Yimou's style—probably his boss's doing."

Yan Li paused. From this tone, Han Sanping clearly had a poor impression of Zhang Weiping.

But Han Sanping wasn't wrong—this was indeed Zhang Weiping's doing.

Yan Li later learned through his intelligence network that Zhang Yimou had held Yan Li in high regard due to his roles in "Emperor Wu of Han," which was why he personally called him.

He genuinely considered Yan Li for the role, even offering to let Yan Li choose the time and personally reach out.

Officially, it wasn't an audition—it was merely an invitation to meet, have dinner, and get acquainted, so even if no collaboration happened, neither side would lose face.

But later, Zhang Weiping, drawn to Zhou Jielun's popularity, forcefully convinced Zhang Yimou to abandon Yan Li and several other potential candidates.

Since Yan Li had spoken directly with Zhang Yimou and wasn't some minor actor, Zhang Weiping couldn't just ignore him outright—so he devised a sneaky tactic: he sent a cold, dismissive audition notice.

Any man with a bit of pride would never bow down to such disrespect.

As for whether this would offend Yan Li, Zhang Weiping didn't care much—a TV director's upstart, what did it matter if he was offended?

"Director Zhang is indeed a… straightforward man. I've been grateful for his consideration and have always wanted to repay him somehow."

Sensing Han Sanping's displeasure toward Zhang Weiping, Yan Li—who'd also noted this on his mental ledger—immediately voiced his stance.

I've got one to settle with him!

Han Sanping clinked his cup with Yan Li's, then added: "Good dishes aren't rushed. Right now, the Olympics matter most."

Yan Li understood: Zhang Weiping and Zhang Yimou were too tightly bound. Zhang Yimou was now immersed in the Olympic opening ceremony, untouchable—better to wait until after the Games.

Zhang Weiping's greatest leverage was Zhang Yimou himself—he wasn't a real threat.

Had Yan Li not had other plans, he'd have already leaked two scandals to make Zhang Weiping's life miserable.

Compared to "House of Flying Daggers," which had little to do with China Film Group, Han Sanping and Yan Li discussed more the films China Film Group deeply invested in: "The Promise" and "Red Cliff."

Especially "Red Cliff"—the project was still in preparation, with funding and cast not yet fully secured.

Han Sanping hinted that Yi'an could also participate.

Yan Li didn't refuse outright, only said he'd study it upon returning—but internally, he wasn't interested.

Han Sanping was a die-hard believer in big-budget films, convinced only massive investments could activate the film market, championing high risk and high return.

This wasn't wrong—China's film market's rise in recent years owed much to those controversial blockbusters.

Beyond box office returns, they helped train behind-the-scenes teams, strengthened film's societal influence, and advanced the entire industry chain.

But China Film Group, as a state-owned giant, could afford to pour money into the market—even at a loss—if other goals were met.

But Yan Li was spending his own and his investors' money.

He earned every penny with difficulty; investor trust was hard-won.

"Red Cliff," a project far beyond the mainland market's capacity, aiming to compete internationally, carried too much risk—it violated Yan Li's business and investment principles.

Besides, he'd already triggered several intelligence reports on "Red Cliff"—the project was extremely complex.

Since 2004, they'd claimed it was about to start shooting, yet the crew was still in preparation. The lead producer had shifted from Poly China Entertainment to China Film Group, and rumors said they were negotiating with Orange Sky—over a dozen smaller investors had come and gone.

Those who knew the truth were fine; outsiders simply assumed the film had been scrapped.

Besides this, Han Sanping also discussed "Crazy Stone" and Ning Hao with Yan Li.

I know this kid—I once thought of helping him, but unexpectedly you snatched him away.

"If even Director Han thinks highly of talent and projects, I must have struck gold."

Yan Li flattered Han Sanping, then expanded the conversation around "Crazy Stone."

Yi'an Cinema Chain still had a long construction period ahead; even after completion, it wouldn't yet shake the entire market.

So for "Crazy Stone"'s release, they'd still rely heavily on major chains led by China Film Group.

"..."

After dinner, the two talked in the study for another half-hour before Yan Li took his leave.

Han's daughter, still awake, heard the commotion and stepped out of her room curiously.

"Dad, you really value this Yan Li."

At Han Sanping's status, many sought to flatter him—but few were invited to his home; even fewer were invited for long private talks and dinner.

In Han's daughter's mind, only Han's old friends, close relatives, or top industry figures received such treatment.

"Talent—and crucially, he's young."

Han Sanping sighed. Youth mattered immensely; in a few years, the older generation would be gone or retired, and he'd be at his prime.

As the saying goes: never bully the young, only the old. Han Sanping himself might not care—but he had a daughter.

For the sake of his descendants, he preferred cultivating relationships with such young elites—they might one day pull him or his family up.

But…

Han Sanping glanced at his daughter: "Don't get too close to him."

"Why? Didn't you just say we should build a relationship with him in case we need him later?"

Han's daughter was puzzled. Han Sanping snorted: "I said don't—so don't. I'll handle the favors; you don't need to worry."

Yan Li was good in every way—except his conduct.

Of course, similar types were common in the circle; Han Sanping was used to them. But Yan Li was handsome, charming, talented, and young—most young girls would easily be charmed by him.

He knew his daughter well—she wouldn't be able to hold him back. Better to keep distance from the start than end up in a messy situation.

————

The next day, Beiying Compound bathroom

【Daily Intelligence x: Han Sanping fears his daughter Han Jia'nv will be emotionally deceived by Yan Li…】

Yan Li was speechless. Old Han saw his daughter through rose-tinted glasses. Han Jia'nv… no matter how close their relationship, he'd only ever see her as a little sister—never anything else.

After reading the intelligence, finishing his business, Yan Li returned to the bedroom, crawled into bed, and hugged Dong Xuan for warmth.

Dong Xuan didn't mind—Yan Li was strong and healthy, his body a furnace. After being outside, his skin was slightly cool, but a few rubs warmed her right up.

"Do you have any appointments today?"

Winter break hadn't ended yet, but knowing Yan Li had returned to Beijing for business, Dong Xuan, who'd been spending the New Year at home, came back early and had been accompanying him these days.

"I do, but not urgent."

It was still the bitter cold of the lunar New Year, and light snow had fallen. Holding the warm, soft, fragrant beauty in his arms, Yan Li indulged in rare laziness.

Dong Xuan, nestled in Yan Li's arms, was enjoying the quiet warmth when her phone rang.

"It's so early—what now?"

Dong Xuan was annoyed. Though Yan Li was in Beijing, his social obligations kept him busy—usually leaving early and returning late. Rare moments of privacy were being interrupted again.

It's not early anymore; it's almost nine.

Yan Li reached out and took the phone, slightly surprised: "Yang Mi?"

"My student. I mentioned her to you before."

Dong Xuan assumed Yan Li had forgotten and explained again, unaware that Yan Li knew this name far better than she imagined.

The monthly intelligence alert had triggered—she was one of the future Four Little Goddesses. At the time, Yan Li had looked up her profile, and later learned she'd become Dong Xuan's student, marveling at how small the world was.

The phone connected, and a sweet, Beijing-accented voice came through: "Teacher Dong, I saw on your blog that you're back in Beijing. The filming of 'Wang Zhaojun' has paused for a break, and I'm home for a few days. I'll return to the set tomorrow, but before I go, I wanted to pay you a New Year's visit. Are you free?"

"Oh, I see."

Dong Xuan glanced at Yan Li, silently mouthing, Should I say yes? Yan Li shrugged indifferently, signaling she could do as she liked.

He was leaving soon anyway and wouldn't be home—whether she came or not was up to Dong Xuan.

"I'm home at noon. Call me before you come—I'll send you the address."

Dong Xuan had known Yang Mi for half a year and had communicated with her frequently; their relationship was good.

Since Yang Mi joined the cast of "Wang Zhaojun," they hadn't seen each other in a while. Now that the girl was home for a few days and had taken the time to come pay New Year's respects, Dong Xuan couldn't very well refuse.

"Alright, Teacher Dong, we won't miss each other."

Dong Xuan hung up and showed off to Yan Li, claiming Yang Mi's role in "Wang Zhaojun" was thanks to her help.

The girl was truly grateful—she even publicly thanked Dong Xuan in media interviews.

Yan Li was sharp—he sensed something off after just a few words: "Are you sure she's grateful, or did she find out about us and is trying to cling to you?"

"Of course she's grateful! You've only shown up a few times in six months—I'm more of an ex than your ex. How would she even know?"

Dong Xuan's tone carried a hint of resentment. Yan Li gave up on worrying about Yang Mi and kissed her.

"Look, I'm busy. Besides, I dropped everything to come back and celebrate our birthday with you last time."

Last year, when he returned to Beijing to celebrate Dong Xuan's birthday, Qin Lan and Fan Xiaopang had been jealous as hell. He'd use this to hold her over for a year.

"You're always right."

Dong Xuan bit Yan Li a few times in frustration. He grinned and pushed her deeper into the covers.

"You've got a gift too—a gift bigger than any reason. Come on, show me your gift."

There was none of the old "last time" or "no exceptions" drama. After a half-hearted struggle, Dong Xuan obediently gave her gift.

"..."

At noon, Yang Mi arrived at the address Dong Xuan texted, carrying two boxes, and knocked on her door.

Seeing a guest, Dong Xuan—changed into fresh clothes—let her in.

After the usual pleasantries and polite refusal of gifts, Yang Mi, now in slippers, sat on the sofa and asked, feigning curiosity.

"Teacher, do you live here alone?"

"Mm."

Dong Xuan gave a vague reply. Yang Mi pursed her lips, speechless.

Never mind the men's leather shoes and slippers in the closet—this coffee table had a clearly visible ashtray, still holding cigarette butts. You didn't smoke those, did you?

Dong Xuan noticed the ashtray hadn't been put away, but said nothing. She smoked them—so what?

The teacher and student Moqi ly skipped the details and began chatting about Yang Mi's role in "Wang Zhaojun" and amusing stories from Beijing Film Academy.

They started off happily, but as evening approached, Yang Mi showed no sign of leaving. Dong Xuan grew anxious.

"It's getting late. It's snowing—unsafe to travel. Go home."

Yang Mi didn't want to leave. She sensed Yan Li might be home and wanted to see if she could meet him.

If she did, she could make an impression on Yan Li, clarify her position, become Dong Xuan's true insider, and later, naturally, seek help from "Teacher Yan."

"Teacher, living alone is too lonely. I've got nothing to do tonight—why not stay and keep you company?"

"No need. I'm used to living alone. It's rare to have a holiday—go home and spend time with your parents."

Dong Xuan had no intention of keeping Yang Mi. She made an excuse to send her off. Yang Mi dared not insist and left reluctantly, planning to find another chance later.

But as they stepped downstairs, they found the snow—stopped at noon—had started again, heavily.

Each step sank into a snowdrift. Snowflakes fell thickly; far ahead, the road was barely visible.

Dong Xuan's first thought: Yan Li won't be able to get back. Her second: How will Yang Mi get home?

Yang Mi had taken a taxi at noon, but now, with this weather, cabs were impossible to find.

Dong Xuan went back to fetch an umbrella and walked Yang Mi to the compound gate. Sure enough, no taxis.

Dong Xuan's car was parked in the compound, but with this weather and road condition, neither she nor Yang Mi dared drive.

"Call your dad. See if he can come pick you up."

Dong Xuan thought of another idea. Yang Mi shook her head: "My parents went visiting relatives today. With this snow, they might not even make it home, let alone come get me."

With no other choice, Dong Xuan brought Yang Mi back inside, hoping the snow would stop, then figure something out.

But by nightfall, the snow showed no sign of letting up.

Dong Xuan no longer cared whether Yang Mi stayed or left—she was now worried about Yan Li's safety on the road.

She considered: if things got worse, she'd tell Yan Li to book a hotel—both to avoid accidents and to solve Yang Mi's problem.

Dong Xuan called Yan Li. He was in a banquet, said two words telling her not to worry, then hung up.

No choice—Dong Xuan sent him a text and waited with Yang Mi for the snow to ease.

Two hours later, the snow had lessened, but it was dark and slippery. Local TV reported multiple traffic collisions and roadblocks—transportation was severely disrupted.

"Call home. Don't go out tonight."

Seeing the conditions, Dong Xuan no longer trusted Yang Mi to risk the journey. She went to prepare the guest room for her.

Until past ten at night, Dong Xuan called Yan Li again—he still hadn't finished.

"You rest. I'm waiting for a call."

Dong Xuan told Yang Mi to go to sleep. As for herself, she wouldn't rest until she knew Yan Li had finished his banquet and arrived safely at his hotel.

"I'm not sleepy. I'll keep you company."

Yang Mi wasn't stupid. She wouldn't leave the anxious, worried Dong Xuan alone to sleep—she stayed by her side, offering comforting words.

Another half-hour passed. Dong Xuan hadn't received a call, but heard the front door open. She rose, peered through the peephole—it was Yan Li.

She hurried to open it. Yan Li stepped in, rubbed his hands, and exhaled a puff of white vapor.

"This snow is really something."

"How did you get back? I told you to book a hotel. It's dangerous in this snow."

Dong Xuan was puzzled. Yan Li explained: "The banquet was close to home. There weren't any decent hotels nearby, and the roads were blocked. Better to come back."

"Do we still have a key to Jimen Li? Give it to Mao Wen—he can't get home safely. I'll have him stay there."

Yan Li had been drinking at the banquet and couldn't drive. His driver, Wu Maowen, was with him.

Normally, Wu Maowen could just sleep over at home. But today Yang Mi was here, occupying the guest room, and the living room was too cold—so he'd stay at Jimen Li, nearby.

Though Yan Li no longer lived in that apartment, Lin Jia's crew had all kept him keys. Arranging a temporary stay was no problem.

After sorting out Wu Maowen, Yan Li and Dong Xuan finally turned to Yang Mi. At this point, Dong Xuan had no reason to hide anything.

"This is Yan Li. You probably know him—he's my boyfriend. Call him Teacher Yan."

Yang Mi had imagined meeting Yan Li many times—even practiced lines in private—but seeing him in person, she couldn't hide her nervousness and stiffness.

"I… I'm sorry, Teacher Yan… I've troubled you and Teacher Dong."

Yan Li gave her a quick once-over. He'd seen her photos and files, but this was his first time seeing her in person.

Hmm, her face is a bit square!

Her hairstyle's ugly too—thick, heavy bangs. So old-fashioned.

But overall, she's quite attractive—fresh, natural, lively and sweet. No wonder Hu Zihao picked her to play Guo Xiang in "The Return of the Condor Heroes."

"No problem. Just settle in. You two chat. I'm going to change—smell like alcohol and snow. Uncomfortable."

Yan Li didn't know Yang Mi well and had no intention of chatting. He said a few polite words and headed to the bathroom.

Dong Xuan suggested: "I'll make you some ginger soup to warm you up."

"Just get the ginger and pot ready. I'll make it myself."

Dong Xuan was used to Yan Li not trusting her cooking. She went to find the ginger. Yang Mi eagerly helped—and slipped in the question she'd long wanted to ask.

"Teacher Dong, you and Teacher Yan haven't broken up, have you?"

Dong Xuan nodded: "Mm. It's just for the media—part of the promotion."

"I see."

Yang Mi understood, but still had many questions—like whether Fan Xiaopang and Yan Li were really together.

But she'd never dare ask that. Instead, she kept showering them with flattery.

"That's wonderful! I saw news about your campus romance and felt so sorry for you. I always thought you two were made for each other—so talented, so perfect together. I knew you'd end up together anyway..."

Even though she knew Yang Mi was buttering them up, Dong Xuan was delighted—and added a reminder.

"We're not planning to go public yet. Keep this quiet."

"No problem."

Yang Mi made a zipping motion across her lips: "I'm the tightest-lipped person you'll ever meet."

Whether she was truly tight-lipped was debatable—but if this gave her an advantage, she'd bury it deep.

Soon, Yan Li emerged in pajamas, made the ginger soup, then prepared himself a bowl of noodles.

Banquets often restricted eating and drinking. Yan Li's strong physique meant he had a big appetite, so he often had late-night snacks after events.

Yang Mi wanted to chat more with Yan Li, but after eating, he said he was tired, exchanged a few polite words, and went to his room.

Shortly after Yan Li retired, Dong Xuan said it was late and told Yang Mi to wash up and rest.

Since the guest must follow the host's lead, Yang Mi could only return to the guest room; perhaps Yan Li's cold attitude left her troubled, and she couldn't sleep at all.

Lying in bed, she recalled the layout of the entire house: the guest room faced the master bedroom, not directly opposite, but not far off either.

She slipped out of bed quietly, opened the door, and peeked—the master bedroom's light was still on; Yan Li and the others probably hadn't slept yet.

She didn't dare step into the hallway, so she pressed herself against the guest room door, trying to hear any sound from the master bedroom.

She figured Yan Li and Dong Xuan must be talking about her, and she wanted to know what Yan Li thought of her.

But whether due to good soundproofing or the distance between the rooms, Yang Mi heard no clear conversation—yet she could faintly sense slight movements.

After much hesitation, she quietly opened the door, feigning the posture of someone heading to the bathroom, then crept closer to the master bedroom door.

Now she could hear!

Though unclear, fragments of words came through now and then.

She didn't hear her own name—just random talk about theater chains, the Film Bureau, Hengdian, and such.

Huh?

Dong Xuan's voice suddenly rose—she sounded angry—and Yang Mi thought she heard her say the words "Qin Lan."

Qin Lan?

Yang Mi recognized the name, but wasn't sure if it was *that* one.

Could this person also be connected to Yan Li?

Ugh, what a mess!

Yang Mi had once envied Dong Xuan for landing a diamond-studded old bachelor, but now she saw that every family had its own hard-to-recite scripture—Dong Xuan had her own troubles too.

Wait, why did the noise stop?

Moments ago, Dong Xuan had been angrily questioning, mixed with Yan Li's soothing and excuses—but for some reason, the voices abruptly cut off.

Yang Mi broke into a cold sweat, thinking she'd been caught; she hurried back to the bathroom, but after waiting several minutes and emerging, she found no one had left the master bedroom.

Gathering courage, she crept closer to the door again—and moments later, her cheeks flushed red.

Drawing on her own knowledge, she imagined: the sudden silence must mean Dong Xuan had been silenced.

There'd be no more meaningful talk now, so Yang Mi prepared to return to bed.

But though her mind told her to go, her feet stayed rooted—she rationalized: maybe they'll talk about me soon; I can't miss it.

And so she stood there for over an hour.

Yang Mi's expression shifted from initial excited gossip, to surprised curiosity, then to longing admiration, then to disbelief, and finally to quiet fear and awe.

The object of her awe wasn't Yan Li—it was Dong Xuan.

She'd been standing outside so long her legs ached, yet Dong Xuan still held on.

After a while, the room finally fell quiet; Yang Mi heard Dong Xuan scolding Yan Li, and him muttering something about alcohol.

Afraid they might come out to clean up, she didn't dare linger and hurried back to the guest room.

Lying in bed, Yang Mi couldn't sleep at all.

The haunting sounds kept replaying in her mind; she bit her lip, opened her phone, and launched a little game called "Gold Miner" to distract herself…

————

PS: Ten thousand characters written; debt owed (2000/8000)

(End of Chapter)