Chapter 217: Experiencing Duan Yu: A Generation

At the end of March, The Legend of Xue Rengui officially wrapped filming.

This was Yan Li's first lead role in a drama centered entirely on him, and also the longest and most demanding role he had ever taken on.

He found many scenes enjoyable to shoot, though some were exhausting; now that filming was done, he reflected on it all and felt overall quite satisfied.

The crew arranged a wrap party, but Yan Li began gathering and packing the props he wanted to keep.

Two sets of Xue Rengui's armor.

One was the white robe of his early days as a young general—elegant and dashing; the other was the armor of his later years as Commander-in-Chief of the Western Campaign, still primarily silver-white but far more ornate and refined.

One Fangtian Huaji spear, one divine bow set—these were custom-made weapons specially crafted for the lead role by the production team.

The divine bow appeared only in later episodes with limited screen time; during filming, since it only required holding and gesturing, they made just one.

The production team, however, had two Fangtian Huaji spears.

One was the authentic version—crafted with superior quality, its spearhead made of metal and its shaft of solid wood, weighing nearly twenty catties, primarily used for close-ups and dialogue scenes.

The other was a replica, made mostly of rubber, wood, and a small amount of metal, significantly lighter, used mainly for wide shots and action sequences.

There was no choice: Yan Li could handle the nearly twenty-catty spear and swing it, but filming action scenes all day long was too exhausting.

More critically, it was too heavy to control properly—if he lost his grip during filming and the fifteen-catty metal spearhead struck another actor's head…

Yan Li had looked it up: involuntary manslaughter carries a sentence of three to seven years; if the circumstances are relatively minor, less than three years…

In addition, Yan Li kept several other nice little props from the crew.

The Legend of Xue Rengui spent heavily on costumes, makeup, and props, so the quality was excellent and held some collectible value.

Finally, there were two horses.

In the drama, Xue Rengui's early mount was played by Sai Long; later, after being gifted by Princess Zhaoyang, he rode only the white horse Bai Long.

Yan Li bought both horses and planned to contact a stable in Beijing before heading there.

But Yan Li felt these horses had performance experience—keeping them purely as pets felt wasteful; he intended to train them further as "horse actors," perhaps even launching two "celebrity horses."

Seeing Yan Li enthusiastically selecting props, several other actors also grew interested and wanted to keep mementos.

After filming ends, TV and film productions handle props and costumes in various ways: resale, auction, retention, donation, destruction, etc.

Lead actors keeping items as mementos is a common practice; sometimes they're sold at low prices, sometimes free, but quantities are always limited.

Today, Yan Li gave them permission to take whatever they wanted for free, but only items tied to their own roles—otherwise, male and female actors swapping gear would cause chaos.

Though Yan Li told them to take freely, the actors all had sense—they each took only one or two items.

Taking too much not only looked greedy and made them look bad, but also wouldn't fit in their luggage.

Yan Li, being a wealthy man, arranged for a truck to ship everything from Hengdian straight to Beijing; the other actors couldn't afford such luxury—their pay was barely enough.

After selecting props, everyone prepared for the wrap party; some, like Tong Dawei, already signaled they'd leave early.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Director Zhao Baogang's new drama is about to start shooting; I can't afford to take time off later. Hua Jie told me to finish up personal matters before filming begins."

Tong Dawei explained—he'd once worked with Wang Jinghua at Huayi, then moved to Orange Sky, but personally he was close to Hai Run and Zhao Baogang's Xinbao Yuan.

His breakthrough role, Jade Guanyin, was a Hai Run production.

The recently aired Days of Youth, produced by Ye Jing and Wang Shuo, also had indirect ties to Zhao Baogang and Wang Jinghua.

Zhao Baogang's new drama, Struggle, has drawn heavy attention; Zhao personally cast Tong as the male lead and locked him in the moment the project was greenlit.

"Alright, go ahead. Let's reunite after returning to Beijing."

Yan Li nodded. Tong Dawei, a rising star, came to The Legend of Xue Rengui just to play a supporting role—all because of Yan Li's favor; Dong Guan was a close friend, and the two were practically allies, so no need for excessive formality.

Tong Dawei could leave early, but Yan Li couldn't.

The producers and investors were one thing, but he was the lead actor—leaving the wrap party would be disgraceful.

Yan Li was used to it: every wrap party, he was inevitably toasted repeatedly, couldn't dodge it—he'd prepped anti-hangover pills and brought two drinking buddies along.

Just drink it all!

At the hotel, Yan Li and the director were pulled aside for toasts and speeches; Jiang Xin, seated separately from the crew due to special circumstances, clapped along mechanically while her mind wandered in turmoil.

Today's the wrap day—the final day. Should she do it or not?!

Not just today—Jiang Xin had been torn between doing it or not for weeks.

Personal moral pressure, betrayal of Dong Xuan's friendship, Yan Li's cold indifference—these factors all restrained her impulse.

But giving up entirely left her unwilling.

Jiang Xin admitted she had some affection for Yan Li.

He was young, handsome, and talented—aside from being a bit of a playboy, his qualities were outstanding; most women would feel some flutter upon meeting him.

Just like a man encountering a top-tier goddess—beautiful, rich, and kind—with whom he had a decent relationship.

Most people, even knowing she was a player, still fantasized about bedding her; the weak-willed would even settle for being a backup boyfriend.

But Jiang Xin's feelings for Yan Li, while real, were now driven more by practicality.

Though Heavenly Sword and Dragon Saber, The Seven Fairies, and the currently hot Legend of Lu Xiaofeng had boosted her fame, she was still far from stardom.

At least from the scripts her company offered, few were impressive, and her pay was mediocre.

Jiang Xin knew: with her current momentum from these hits, she had real potential to rise further.

But that required steady, continued resources—if they dried up, and she ended up in forgettable dramas, she'd vanish into obscurity.

There were too many such examples in the entertainment industry.

Within one or two years, whether by luck or talent, landing a few hit dramas could build fame—only to collapse again if the next projects failed, reverting to obscurity in a couple of years.

Why do actors in this industry fight so hard to become famous? Because unless you're famous enough, audiences and insiders won't remember you.

Even if you become famous enough to be remembered, if you're not consistently famous, you'll slowly fade—work, income, status all plummet.

Especially for actresses: time is critical. Once you grow older, trying to climb higher becomes exponentially harder.

Why is "late bloomer" such a celebrated term? Because there are so few of them.

Jiang Xin's recent growth has been strong, and her role as Mu Wanying in Heavenly Sword and Dragon Saber was crucial; also, she had a "sponsor."

Yes, she had a sponsor—at least some people thought so—and that sponsor was Yan Li.

Otherwise, how else to explain her consecutive roles in Yi An's dramas?

Friends?

A female actress linked to that bastard Yan? How could that possibly be friendship?

Jiang Xin hasn't sparked any major gossip with Yan Li yet—partly because her fame is still low, and partly because during those earlier shoots, Shuang Bing and Dong Xuan stood between them.

Even so, she still faced suspicion.

Jiang Xin didn't care about the rumors—sponsor? Fine. A big leg to cling to? Not grabbing it would be stupid.

With Yan Li, she might not land female leads, but she'd always get supporting roles in hot dramas—at the very least, she wouldn't fade or fall behind.

But Jiang Xin's willingness didn't guarantee outcomes.

Yan Li often cast Jiang Xin, Yang Xue, and the other Seven Fairies because they were familiar, had good rapport—better to use people you know.

But that was the past. As Yan Li's career expanded, his circle grew, and more actresses were eager to climb onto his coattails.

Moreover, Yi An had begun managing artists and would increasingly favor true "insiders."

The entertainment industry is brutally practical: if you don't sleep with him or help him make money…

Why should he promote you?

Even if Yan Li was sentimental, Jiang Xin only took and gave nothing—his goodwill would eventually run out.

Once her connection with Yan Li grew distant, her future resources would dry up, and her career would stall or regress.

So Jiang Xin had few options: accept defeat, find another powerful patron, or find a way to draw closer to Yan Li.

Accept defeat?

If luck didn't turn, and her career stayed lukewarm, she'd slog through a few more years, grow older, find a partner, marry, have kids—and if family tied her down, she might quit entirely.

Jiang Xin refused to waste her prime years like that.

Find another patron?

Yi An was among the industry's fastest-rising companies—abandoning a watermelon for a sesame seed? And who knew if the sesame seed would demand sexual favors?

Just imagining those bloated, old, ugly men leering at her made Jiang Xin feel genuine revulsion.

She glanced at Yan Li, surrounded by toasting guests, radiant and confident, then poured herself a small glass of wine and drank it down in one gulp.

There was only one choice left!

…

"Director Yan, thank you for all your support—I toast you."

Jiang Xin toasted Yan Li; he was used to it and took a sip.

"Take care after wrap. Let's get together again when you have time."

Jiang Xin nodded, chatted a bit more, and as she left, slipped a business card into his hand.

"It has my contact info and my agent's email—don't forget me if you have a role."

He already had her phone number and her agent's contact!

Yan Li unconsciously pressed the card, feeling its thickness and firm back—he tucked it into his pocket, planning to sneak a look later.

Hmm—the card's underside was a room key.

This woman was bold—slipping a room key? You'd do it quietly, in private. Doing it during a toast in front of everyone—what if someone saw?

He said nothing, kept drinking, but Jiang Xin, watching discreetly from the side, grew anxious.

Why no reaction?

And if Yan Li kept drinking, he'd be drunk—would he even remember the room?

Jiang Xin didn't know what to do—she couldn't just rush over and stop him from drinking. Who was she, anyway?

Thus, they helplessly watched Yan Li, completely drunk, being carried off by the driver and assistant; Jiang Xin even briefly wondered if Yan Li was trying to politely decline her this way.

But it didn't seem like it!

Although this was the first time she handed him the room key, it wasn't without buildup—they'd joked about colors before, and even brushed against each other a bit.

Based on what she knew of Yan Li, he was clearly not some coward who only talked dirty but never acted.

Just as she was puzzled, her phone vibrated—a text from Yan Li.

【I'm back at the hotel.】

Without hesitation, Jiang Xin grabbed her bag and left, hailing a cab straight back to the hotel—only to return to her own room and find no one there.

After a moment's thought, she slipped quietly to Yan Li's door, knocked a few times, and the door opened.

Yan Li, freshly showered, was wrapped in a towel around his waist, drying his hair with another towel; he let her in.

Jiang Xin didn't foolishly ask why he hadn't gone to her room; she glanced at his lean, sculpted muscles, pursed her lips, and reached for the towel in his hand.

"Let me dry you."

"Fine."

Yan Li handed her the towel, then sat on the sofa, enjoying Jiang Xin's service.

Jiang Xin dried him thoroughly; because he wore a shower cap, his hair wasn't long, so by the time she finished, it was already mostly dry—no blow dryer needed.

After drying his hair, Jiang Xin hesitated, then began wiping his body—he'd just bathed, and droplets still clung to his skin.

Yan Li let her move as she pleased: raised his arms when told, turned when asked, until her wiping covered his upper body; then he raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Still wiping?"

"Yes!"

Jiang Xin declared firmly—she'd come this far, what was there to hesitate about? She undid his towel—and froze, stunned.

Yan Li really was wasting his potential not playing Yang Guo; he'd brought his own props.

When Jiang Xin finally finished, Yan Li somehow held a piece of black silk—Jiang Xin was bewildered.

"What's this?"

Yan Li reached out, draped half the silk over her face, and fondled her cheeks with satisfaction.

"I like Qiao Feng, but playing Duan Yu once isn't bad."

Only then did Jiang Xin understand—she was both exasperated and amused by Yan Li's twisted sense of humor.

Just as she opened her mouth, Yan Li—now Duan Yu—unleashed the Six Meridians Sword, then activated the Northern Dark Divine Art; under its power, Jiang Xin was utterly shattered, defenseless.

Seven Fairies (5/7)

————

Jiang Xin woke the next day to her phone ringing; drowsy, she answered—it was her agent asking when she'd return to Beijing after wrapping.

"Yeah, the director wants reshoots—I'll be back tomorrow… the day after."

Jiang Xin glanced at the empty room, unsure where Yan Li had gone, but that didn't stop her from deciding to stay a few more days.

No special reason—mainly to solidify their bond; Yan Li hadn't promised her anything yet.

Wait—Yan Li hadn't promised her anything at all?!

Jiang Xin suddenly realized: last night, half-asleep, she'd been dragged into Dali's civil war and forgotten the real purpose.

Still, she soon calmed down—Yan Li had always taken care of his friends; now that their relationship had deepened, he'd surely not let her down.

Thinking this, Jiang Xin lay back on the bed and slept soundly again.

Jiang Xin didn't see Yan Li again until night—he'd gone to Yi'an Garden for work.

"The Legend of Xue Rengui" was nearing wrap, and "The Great Qing Harem" was close too; there were many follow-up tasks.

Meanwhile, the Feng-Diao battle raged outside, with distribution efforts in full swing; Yan Li had to oversee many key contracts—staying late was already a favor to Jiang Xin.

Though they'd become physically intimate, perhaps because of profit-first thinking or Dong Xuan's presence, Jiang Xin still felt slightly awkward around Yan Li.

Yan Li, however, was natural—he wrapped his arm around Jiang Xin's slightly fuller waist and laid out his plans for her directly.

This fall, Yi'an's project will begin filming "The Legend of Chu Liuxiang" and "The Legend of Yang Yuhuan"; Jiang Xin has suitable roles to consider.

Besides that, for any other dramas with fitting roles, he'd keep an eye out for her.

Jiang Xin was slightly dissatisfied—she wanted a clear, major role—but dared not speak up.

Her biggest chip was already on the table; she had no bargaining power left.

If she expressed discontent and angered Yan Li, the worst that could happen was a clean break—he didn't lack for women.

Jiang Xin wasn't good at hiding her thoughts; Yan Li quickly sensed her feelings.

A bit greedy—but understandable!

Women who partnered with Yan Li for profit—like Wang Ou, Wu Jiani, and Huang Shengyi—were once low-level actresses or students, easily satisfied with his resources and money, even overfed.

Take Shuang Bing: initially an exchange of interests, later a tightly bound or cooperative relationship; resources were fully supplied by Yan Li, so no complaints.

Hu Siyan's resource demands weren't high—she mainly wanted Yan Li as her protector.

Only Jiang Xin was different: she was already doing well and came seeking premium resources; Yan Li's casual arrangements might not be enough.

But that didn't mean if Jiang Xin complained, Yan Li should immediately give in—he needed to see her sincerity first.

In looks, Jiang Xin wasn't top-tier.

But in figure, she was full-figured, tall, and exuded charm.

Most importantly, she was durable—almost matching Fan Xiaopang's "Crimson Tiger."

As for Li Bingbing's "Beautiful She-Wolf," Yan Li thought she was just old and crazy, stubborn and unyielding; her actual stamina was inferior to Fan's and Jiang's.

Thinking of this, Yan Li felt a fresh itch.

Wang Ou was a little seductress with many tricks, excellent at lighting fires—but couldn't put them out; Yan Li had to turn to Jiang Xin.

Feeling Yan Li's hands change, Jiang Xin's face paled: "Again?"

She stayed to solidify their bond, but not every day—she'd slept half the day, still not recovered.

"You forgot—you kept feeding me to replenish my strength. Now that I'm restored, I need to move."

Yan Li lifted Jiang Xin in a bridal carry—yesterday was Dali's civil war; today was Jin Zha's campaign against the Four Fairies…

…

Jiang Xin stayed in Hengdian for three days before leaving, both relieved and reluctant.

Though Yan Li hadn't promised her a major role, he said he'd consider it.

He also, under the guise of compensating for clothes she ruined, transferred her 200, 00 yuan for new ones.

When Jiang Xin learned this, her emotions were complex.

At this stage, Jiang Xin's income wasn't bad—but not high; for "The Legend of Xue Rengui," with limited screen time and a guest role, her fee was only around 100, 00 yuan, half of which went to her company and taxes.

Yet Yan Li handed her 200, 00 yuan outright—extra, with no strings attached, beyond any promised resources.

From now on, she truly had a benefactor…

Two days after Jiang Xin left, Wang Ou wrapped "The Great Qing Harem" and openly stayed in Hengdian as Yan Li's personal assistant.

After wrapping "The Legend of Xue Rengui," Yang Rong stayed in Hengdian to keep Wang Ou company for a few days; only when Wang Ou went to see Yan Li did Yang Rong leave.

To be honest, if Yan Li didn't have his system, he'd suspect this little seductress was secretly arranging a romance between him and Yang Rong.

He couldn't figure out how Wang Ou did it—she made Yang Rong act like a meek little wife.

But Wang Ou insisted Yang Rong did it on her own, not because of her; yet she refused to reveal the real reason behind it.

Still, even without her telling, Yan Li's system could piece together most of it.

But Yan Li couldn't understand Yang Rong's logic—she did nothing, just listened and gathered gossip for amusement; even a pervert like him thought this girl was weird.

Meanwhile, during Yan Li's stay in Hengdian, "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" finally aired its season finale.

Compared to earlier episodes, controversy shifted from the male lead to the female lead.

Early on, Huang Xiaoming's forced youthfulness sparked backlash, but later, Yang Guo's mature, weathered depth entered Huang's comfort zone, and public opinion reversed.

Liu Tianxian, however, initially won praise for her stunning appearance and icy demeanor.

But as the plot progressed, Xiaolongnü underwent more emotional trials, transforming from "immortal" to human; Liu's immature acting flaws surfaced—she turned Xiaolongnü into "Little Wooden Girl," drawing heavy criticism.

Fortunately, Liu's face and costume design still held up, and Xiaolongnü's character was naturally quiet and reserved.

Most viewers didn't demand high acting—just enough to avoid breaking immersion; so Liu's overall reception remained far better than Huang's.

Beyond the leads, many plotlines and fight choreographies were heavily criticized, once labeled Zhang Dahu's worst work.

Zhang Dahu himself didn't care much.

Aside from "The Legend of the Condor Heroes," every new drama he launched was called his worst—by now, he was used to it.

Black-and-red, his Jin Yong adaptations always drew criticism and high ratings.

This time, "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" was even more extreme—riding the Feng-Diao battle wave, its reputation was black, but its viewership was purple-red.

A national average viewership of 6. 4%, surpassing "The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng," it briefly claimed the satellite TV viewership crown, higher than previous "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" and "The Legend of the Condor Heroes."

Local channels that followed suit reported viewership numbers that were even more shocking—10%+ wasn't even impressive.

"The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng" was the same—the two shows competed like rivals.

Today you're hot in Sichuan and Chongqing, tomorrow I'm popular in Northeast China, the day after that, Hubei and Hunan adore the Condor Hero, the day after that, Fujian and Zhejiang chant of Gu Long's martial world.

Even the popularity of these two dramas boosted sales of Jin Yong and Gu Long's original novels.

According to one publisher's statistics, sales of both books rose 190% compared to pre-broadcast levels.

Yan Li heard these news reports daily, but they never felt real to him.

Only when returning to Beijing from Hengdian and visiting his parents did he see a group of kids on the road, splitting into Ximen Chui Xue and Yang Guo, fighting with sticks—and only then did he vaguely realize these two dramas might become a generation's childhood memory.

Yan Li rolled down his window, smiling as he watched the children brawl—just as he himself had once passionately argued over who was strongest among the Saint Seiya warriors.

He'd even done "stupid" things like shouting "Pegasus Meteor Fist!" and swinging sticks at each other.

Looking back now, it was unforgettable...

"Oh shit, kid, don't stab the Eye of Spiritual Connection into the eyes—you'll blind him!"

————

PS: If I can't finish this ten-thousand-character chapter by eight, I'll post another one before midnight.

(End of chapter)