Chapter 224: Perfect Lover Template: Loyal and Well-Behaved Ou Ou

Although The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng and The Return of the Condor Heroes both concluded their initial broadcasts, reruns and regional channel airings still dominated the April TV market with these two dramas.

After a period of buildup, the actors from both dramas kept appearing in public, with their fame and influence rising sharply.

Zhang Zhilin from The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng rose to become one of the most popular Hong Kong actors in today's TV market.

He was also lucky—Zhang Weijian, who had previously led Hong Kong actors on the mainland, suffered considerable setbacks due to his involvement in the "Xiao Yuer and Hua Wuxue" assault scandal.

Zhang Zhilin's breakout success with The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng perfectly filled this gap.

Although the two Zhangs have different acting styles, Zhang Zhilin has a better image, has played comedy before, and his portrayal of Lu Xiaofeng carried a touch of wit and humor—flexible between solemn and lighthearted—and quickly won favor from many TV stations and production teams.

As previously mentioned, Hong Kong people favor in-group loyalty; many Hong Kong directors and producers who came north particularly prefer hiring Hong Kong actors.

If the actor is also recognized by the market, TV stations, and investors, they are even more eager to hire them.

Thus, after Zhang Zhilin's rise, his acting offers far outnumbered endorsement deals.

At his peak, he received three or four scripts per day—all leading roles—with substantial pay.

Yi An, who held Zhang Zhilin's three-year mainland agency contract, originally wanted to help him secure more commercial endorsements.

But later, they realized filming dramas earned more than ads, and Zhang Zhilin himself was more passionate about acting.

After discussion, they adjusted their strategy: accept only short, quick-turnaround ads, freeing up time to directly assign Zhang Zhilin to new productions.

Yi An did not exploit him to exhaustion for profit; instead, she carefully selected high-paying roles with decent quality to maintain his popularity.

After all, Zhang Zhilin's potential is high—he's poised to succeed Zhang Weijian as the top Hong Kong actor on mainland television.

If their cooperation remains smooth, it's not impossible to renew the contract after three years; in fact, given current trends, the likelihood is very high.

Zhang Zhilin isn't foolish—he saw how quickly Yi An rose and how rich her mainland resources were; why would he stubbornly stick with Wang Mojing's meager offerings when he had a better option?

And as previously noted, Wang Mojing's Zedong Film gave him only modest resources.

Since Zhang Zhilin might become a long-term money tree, they couldn't overharvest him—they needed sustainability.

As for Ren Quan, the other star who rose from The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng, he didn't take advantage of this moment to accept more roles or endorsements.

Besides The White-Haired Witch, he only took one period drama, then got busy… opening a restaurant.

He had started investing in food service long before he became famous, later founding a Sichuan-style chain restaurant called Shu Di La Zi Yu.

Notably, Ren Quan's business partner is the father-in-law of his classmate Li Xue Tao.

Yes—the father of Li Lin from Happy Heaven Seven Fairies.

When they filmed The White-Haired Witch, there was some awkwardness, because Li's father and Ren Quan had a falling-out over business, eventually going their separate ways—though they still shared the same brand name.

Now, Li's father's business is struggling, while Ren Quan, thanks to his sharp management and celebrity appeal, sees his restaurant thriving.

So while other stars, after The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng's success, focused on filming more dramas and earning more money, Ren Quan thought only of using this opportunity to attract investment and expand operations.

He even researched whether he could combine his restaurant or dishes with the character Hua Manlou to ride the wave of popularity.

In contrast, the male and female leads of The Return of the Condor Heroes were more conventional—and even hotter.

Zhang Zhilin and Ren Quan are older—71 and 73 respectively—past 30, the former married, the latter "distracted."

Huang Xiaoming and Liu Tianxian, however, are both in their prime—one in his best years, the other in her youth—both publicly single and rooted in entertainment, naturally drawing more attention.

At the time, The Return of the Condor Heroes also stirred controversy, and both leads became embroiled in public opinion storms.

But since these weren't fatal negative scandals, the intense exposure actually boosted their fame to some extent.

Huang Xiaoming, already one of the mainland's new four young male stars, was clearly positioning himself to become the most popular mainland young male actor.

His fans from the Ming Jiao sect launched aggressive campaigns, making the title "Lord Huang" grow louder.

Liu Tianxian needed no introduction—she appealed to both genders; her "Goddess Sister" title now rivaled the Four Little Flowers, forcing every rising young actress to step aside.

With the leads shining brightly and reaping fame and fortune, supporting actors also gained considerable popularity.

Especially those previously obscure—after appearing in one hit drama, they suddenly emerged; if they performed well, they could even become minor stars.

For example, Yang Mi, who played Xiao Guo Xiang in The Return of the Condor Heroes, received widespread praise for her lively and elegant charm, successfully gaining visibility.

Also, Wang Ou from The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng has seen rapid growth in fame and gained considerable recognition.

However, Wang Ou's fame doesn't stem solely from The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng—it's the cumulative effect of several hot dramas aired in succession, including New Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio and Ling Jing Legend.

Although Wang Ou's screen time in these dramas wasn't extensive, her frequent appearances made many viewers remember her warm, sweet face with a hint of allure.

By late April, The Detective Di Renjie 2 premiered and achieved explosive ratings.

As the female lead, Wang Ou gained massive exposure, and with her prior buildup, she experienced a small breakout—her popularity climbed steadily.

Yi An's second sister was no longer just "Er"—she had truly become "Jie."

…

"Ru Yan, can you sign my autograph?"

"Ru Yan, I love your portrayal of Ouyang Qing."

"Ou Ou, I'm Ou La, keep it up!"

"…"

After attending a TV station interview with The Detective Di Renjie 2 cast, during the post-event fan signing and photo session, Wang Ou's popularity was evident.

Wang Ou took a special photo with two fans who called themselves "Ou La"—her fan name—smiling on the surface, secretly thrilled.

After finishing the signing, since another event followed, Wang Ou didn't join the gathering; after brief pleasantries, she left early.

Later, Wang Ou went with her executive agent to shoot a magazine feature, finally getting home.

As soon as she entered, she kicked off her high heels, opened her computer to check how many new followers her personal tieba and blog had gained, then called Yang Rong to brag.

"Rong Rong, look at my tieba follower count—I'm almost catching up to you!"

"Don't say that until you actually catch up."

Yang Rong was annoyed—this little troublemaker called daily to gloat, endlessly.

"This time it's really close—only 127 followers behind—I'm definitely winning."

Wang Ou ignored Yang Rong's complaints, repeating her certainty of victory; back in Hengdian, they had made a bet on this, and now it looked like she'd won.

Yang Rong tried to cheat: "We agreed on The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng—now you've added The Detective Di Renjie 2, that's cheating."

"I just ask you—is The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng still being rerun? Did my tieba followers surpass yours during that time?"

Wang Ou slammed the table: "If you deny it, I'll go to Shanghai and strip you naked."

"…"

Yang Rong sighed: "Fine, fine, I lose—I'll do whatever you want, but don't pull any stupid stunts."

"No more talk—you lost, so just obey."

Wang Ou didn't negotiate with Yang Rong; she routinely pressured her to come to Beijing and hang out.

Since wrapping up in Hengdian, they'd been apart for over half a month, neither had joined a new production, so they planned to meet up.

"I'm not going to Beijing—I'm afraid you'll sell me out. If you want to meet, come to Shanghai."

Yang Rong always suspected Wang Ou was setting a trap; once she was on Wang Ou's turf, she might not escape if something happened.

"I've got work here—even though I have time, I can't travel far. You've got nothing in Shanghai, just sitting at home bored—shouldn't you come to Beijing to see me?"

Wang Ou's reasoning was solid.

Yi An's artist agency still had clout, and with Wang Ou newly popular, though not overly busy, she had a steady stream of small gigs and couldn't take long leave.

"Don't you have Wu Jiani? Ask her to hang out with you."

Yang Rong kept making excuses, and Wang Ou snapped: "Are you seeing someone else? All you think about is your new lover in Shanghai—have you forgotten your old love from Hengdian?"

"If you ever talked to Yan Li like this, you wouldn't be obsessing over me every day."

Yang Rong's sharp retort left Wang Ou momentarily speechless: "Don't hit below the belt—that's too much."

"Hehe, fine, since you look so pitiful, I'll go to Beijing in a couple days to see you."

Yang Rong was also bored in Shanghai; spending a few days with Wang Ou sounded nice—and she could take advantage of this "rich woman."

While on the phone, Wang Ou also showed off her new car to Yang Rong.

Yang Rong couldn't help advising: "I know you're not short on money, but think ahead—you don't have much savings yet. A basic car is enough; no need to spend hundreds of thousands on a Jaguar."

She knew Wang Ou was firmly determined to be Yan Li's mistress, with no other ambitions.

Even if Wang Ou herself had none, what if one day she aged and was discarded by Yan Li? She still needed to develop good savings habits.

"I understand."

Wang Ou wasn't ungrateful: "But he said if I want a car, don't save—specifically wired me 200, 00, and introduced a friend who saved me tens of thousands more, so I barely spent anything myself."

Besides, Wang Ou had her own logic: if she hoarded money he gave her, she'd start worrying about her future, and Yan Li might suspect her motives.

So she didn't want to save too much—she handed her financial control to Yan Li, relying on him, so he'd feel secure.

She'd learned this from gossip on set—back in the day, wealthy Hong Kong men who kept mistresses or actresses liked this game.

Women could spend freely—clothes, bags, jewelry, cars—buy whatever they wanted—but they were never given much cash. Once they'd experienced luxury, they couldn't return to their old lives; with no money of their own, they were completely under his control.

Some even used credit card schemes—women spent lavishly on credit, the wealthy paid their bills, and if they disobeyed, he cut off credit immediately.

The women either begged for forgiveness or were crushed by debt.

Compared to those seasoned players, Yan Li—a newly rich "country bumpkin"—was clearly naive, preferring to just hand out cash directly.

Of course, this also stemmed from his indifference toward most women—he'd cut ties and walk away if there was a problem, money and person both cleared.

Yan Li had a system and wasn't worried about being tricked or deceived.

Wang Ou didn't know Yan Li had a divine eye, so she voluntarily handed him control of her finances and gave herself no safety net, to prove her loyalty.

Besides, she was already an artist under Yi An, so her personal finances and career were all under Yan Li's control.

This almost defenseless display of loyalty was effective—Yan Li treated Wang Ou generously.

Wang Ou had once tested Wu Jiani's treatment—their conditions weren't even in the same league.

To some extent, Wu Jiani was more like a one-time transaction, while Wang Ou was genuinely long-term kept—plus the price was completely different.

After hearing Wang Ou's slightly boastful description of her "brilliant strategy," Yang Rong didn't know how to describe her own feelings.

"Aren't you afraid he'll kick you out one day?"

"I'm obedient, never fight or compete—why would he kick me? Just look at that Dong woman—he's sentimental."

"Even if we split up later, his nature won't let him shortchange me. Besides, all the things I've saved over the years are worth something, and I have my own career and income too."

Wang Ou isn't a naive fool—she has her own calculations.

No matter what, she has a safety net, so she might as well go even further.

If everyone were like those women, wanting everything and scheming constantly, they wouldn't last long by Yan Li's side, nor earn his trust.

Yang Rong fell silent for nearly two minutes before sighing, "Your twisted logic always leaves me speechless—and yet I can't deny it's clever."

Wang Ou snorted proudly: "Twisted logic is still logic."

Just then, Wang Ou suddenly heard movement at the door. She jumped up to peek through the peephole—it was Yan Li, fumbling with his keys.

Why didn't he call ahead?!

Wang Ou quickly tidied her clothes and texted Yang Rong: "He's here—don't hang up, and don't record."

"I********"

Yang Rong was furious—what did he think she was? Who wanted to listen to this pair of lovers?

Still, her hand never pressed the end button. She comforted herself: she was just waiting for Wang Ou to speak first—hanging up before her would be impolite.

Because he had too many keys, Yan Li hadn't found the right one when Wang Ou opened the door.

Wang Ou didn't ask why he showed up unannounced; instead, Yan Li explained himself—he'd seen Wang Ou's executive agent returning to the company, knew she was home, and dropped by on his way.

Since returning from Hengdian, they'd only met at the office—this was their first private meeting, and he genuinely missed this little vixen.

Also, Wang Ou had sent him a MMS saying she'd bought new toys and wanted his advice.

"Shh."

Wang Ou noticed Yan Li glancing at her phone, showed him the screen—he rubbed his forehead.

Is that little bitch addicted to this?!

Yan Li took the phone and spoke to Yang Rong: "I don't mind you using me for fun, but you can't just make me do all the work for free."

Hearing Yan Li's voice, sharp with accusation, Yang Rong hastily hung up.

Wang Ou sighed regretfully: "See? The moment you speak, she hangs up—so shy."

Yan Li didn't quite get how those three words connected to Yang Rong's behavior, but he didn't care.

"No problem—we'll call again later. Don't hang up if she doesn't."

Yan Li knew Yang Rong better than Wang Ou did now—every time she called, her biggest torment wasn't just whether to hang up, but whether to record.

And she didn't record to catch them in a trap—she did it to pass the time when Wang Ou didn't call.

Sure enough, while Yan Li and Wang Ou were examining the toys, Wang Ou called Yang Rong—first call, hung up; second call, answered—and then she never hung up again.

Afterward, Yan Li picked up the phone and teased: "You'll have to reimburse me for the phone bill—over an hour's call from Beijing to Shanghai isn't cheap."

Yang Rong still didn't reply—she just hung up. Yan Li sent her a text.

【If you recorded it, delete it.】

What if she doesn't answer next time? He and Wang Ou needed that kind of stimulation too.

Worried Yan Li might push Yang Rong too far, Wang Ou snatched the phone to check—she sighed in relief.

"Don't worry, she won't record. Besides, I've got dirt on her too."

Wang Ou wasn't the type to chase thrills recklessly—she'd already made her arrangements.

Not only were they now inseparable best friends, but even if they ever fell out, they'd both have leverage—neither would risk total ruin.

The system had never triggered this, and Yan Li genuinely didn't know—curious, he asked what the leverage was, but Wang Ou refused to say.

After being scolded by Yan Li, Wang Ou only hinted it was photos—but refused outright to show them.

"If you want to see them, I have to ask her first. She won't agree, so I can't show you."

"Then why did you show him my photos without asking me?"

Yan Li couldn't help complaining about Wang Ou's double standards—Yang Rong had seen his photos, even watched him stream live several times—why couldn't he see hers?

Wang Ou froze: "How do you know that?"

"..."

Yan Li realized he'd slipped—he knew Wang Ou had his photos, but for her to show them to Yang Rong? Normally, only the two of them should know.

"Uh… you guess."

Yan Li's usual "you guess" tactic—Wang Ou frowned. She'd never told him this—so that meant…

"Have you two been seeing each other behind my back?"

Wang Ou bit her teeth in fury. She'd known it—how could that little bitch stay so passive while listening so eagerly? All that surface innocence, and she'd been sneaking around behind her back.

Yan Li neither admitted nor denied it—let the two best friends sort it out themselves.

Wang Ou didn't believe Yang Rong's story; Yang Rong probably suspected Wang Ou was hiding something new—and maybe Yan Li could exploit the chaos.

Speaking of which, Yan Li wrapped his arm around Wang Ou's waist: "You said you'd give me a surprise when we got back to Beijing—where's the surprise?"

"Almost there, just one step left."

Wang Ou was anxious about it too, but this wasn't something rushing could fix.

Yan Li rested his chin on her shoulder, ready to help her along.

"Have you considered starting a side business?"

"Side business?"

Wang Ou was confused—how did this turn into a side business? She had Yan Li supporting her, didn't lack money, and was still acting—why start a side business?

"I heard Jiani has a little dream—to open a dance studio. Between shoots, she teaches dance. You're her best friend—you could help set it up."

Wang Ou stared at Yan Li: "Really?"

That little brat called her "sister" every day—and never told her this? Yet she spilled everything to Yan Li.

Then Wang Ou understood Yan Li's intent: if Jiani had a dream, help her fulfill it—and the surprise would be right there.

"But isn't the investment too big?"

Wang Ou winced—a high-end dance studio wasn't cheap.

Jiani was clearly reaching her limit. If Wang Ou pushed hard enough, she could make this happen without spending a cent—worst case, Yan Li could arrange some resources.

Yan Li looked at Wang Ou: "You take a share. You two co-own it."

Then it was fine!

Wang Ou didn't care about a side business—but free assets? Why not take them? And she could finally play boss.

Lying in Yan Li's arms, Wang Ou was already planning how to use this card to win over Jiani, when Yan Li stroked her skin and added:

"Ask Yang Rong—if she's interested, bring her in too."

One fish, three eats?

Wang Ou studied Yan Li—how could he still claim nothing was going on between them? He looked perfectly calm.

"Running a business together gives you common ground and strengthens your sisterhood. Don't worry about how well it does—if it loses money, I cover it. Just treat it as fun."

Wang Ou couldn't yet read Yan Li's full plan, but she understood: the dance studio was his bait.

Jiani wouldn't resist. Yang Rong wouldn't say no either.

After all, Yang Rong had trained in dance too—she still had some sentiment, and her current income was low. With favorable conditions, plus Wang Ou and Jiani's influence, her participation was highly likely.

The fish had bitten the bait—could it still escape?

Wang Ou hesitated—Jiani was willing, and she'd only be nudging things along. But Yang Rong? She wasn't so sure. Their bond was good; Wang Ou didn't want to force her.

Still, remembering Yang Rong's usual behavior—and the suspicion she'd been secretly in contact with Yan Li—Wang Ou nodded.

"I'll talk to her later."

Yan Li kissed Wang Ou in approval—he was growing increasingly satisfied with this little vixen.

Obedient, sensible, no unnecessary drama—and she even secured him extra benefits.

In truth, whether it was Jiani or Yang Rong, Yan Li himself could have moved them far more easily than Wang Ou.

But Yan Li preferred to be passive—he had neither the time nor energy. With Wang Ou handling it, he avoided trouble and simply enjoyed the results.

The only pity was that people like Wang Ou—who willingly offered service—were rare.

Li Bingbing and Jiang Xin were lone wolves—purely using Yan Li for release and transaction, never willing or able to do this kind of thing.

Dong, Qin, Fan? Forget it. If Yan Li even hinted at it, those three would bite him to death. Even if they couldn't hurt him directly, they'd find ways to sabotage him.

Hu Siyan might've been a good candidate—but because Qin Lan stood between them, both were cautious and dared not act.

So Wang Ou's advantage became clear—and she grew ever more favored by Yan Li.

So much so that the next day, Yan Li didn't leave—he took Wang Ou to a small gathering.

The gathering was organized by Fat Yu, attended by mainland entrepreneurs, some Hong Kong and Taiwan film company bosses or directors, and a few stars or their companions.

Notable attendees included Huang Baiming, boss of Hong Kong's Oriental Film; a senior executive from Yindu Studios; and a senior executive from Media Asia.

Hong Kong directors Xu Laoguai, Er Dongsheng, Liu Weiqiang, and Ye Weixin.

Hong Kong actors Donnie Yen and Shu Qi were there too—and Liu Tianwang, whom Yan Li had met recently on the set of "Mo Gong."

Several of the female companions were also insiders—two of them Yan Li recognized vaguely, others were unfamiliar.

But Yan Li didn't care about them—he focused on chatting with the bosses, executives, directors, and big names.

Fat Yu was still very careful—he'd only invited people who were impressive or of interest to Yan Li.

Of course, it wasn't free—he had to "pay his dues" to these bosses and directors.

Everyone understood the unspoken deal. With Fat Yu as the intermediary, casual chatter turned into project pitches.

Liu Weiqiang's project was "Shang Cheng," backed by Bona, Yindu, and Media Asia, starring Liang Chaowei and Jin Chengwu—Shu Qi was also part of the cast.

The film is scheduled to start production next month; they claim they're short on funding, but Yan Li suspects they're trying to bring in partners to share the risk.

He isn't particularly interested in this project—the cast is already locked in, and Yi An can only invest passively.

Yewei Xin and Donnie Yen's project is *The Warlords*; it's still in pre-production, with only BoNan and Huang Baiming's Oriental Pictures currently investing, and no actors confirmed yet.

Yan Li finds this project moderately appealing—it has potential—but the returns remain uncertain.

Er Dongsheng and Liu Dehua's project is called *Drug War*, but it's still in early discussions; Liu Dehua hasn't confirmed his involvement, though he's leaning toward it, so he came over today to lend his support.

Many film crews seek stars first because stars attract investment.

Directors like Er Dongsheng or Yewei Xin, who don't have strong box-office pull, can talk all they want, but investors may not care.

But if you bring in Donnie Yen and Liu Dehua and say they'll star in the new film, the impact immediately improves.

Yan Li is most interested in *Drug War*.

Although he doesn't fully believe in Liu Dehua's box-office clout, he's currently at his peak and far more reliable than Liang Chaowei or Donnie Yen.

Still, Yan Li is most intrigued by Xu Laoguai, even though the latter's *Seven Swords* was a major flop and he's now widely criticized.

But Yan Li has a system—multiple intelligence sources across different channels hint that this man's fortunes will eventually turn around.

If the chance arises, Yan Li is willing to offer timely help.

But Xu Laoguai is just here to mingle; he has no project of his own, so Yan Li can only express admiration and cultivate a connection.

…

After the gathering and conversation, they moved to play golf, pairing off in small groups. Yu Pangzi took a moment to ask Yan Li about his preferences.

"So, which project caught your eye?"

Yan Li has played golf twice but isn't skilled—he doesn't care much for it; he's here purely for networking.

He swung and hit a ball, then smiled: "Give me a little time to think. Investing tens or even hundreds of millions isn't something you decide after two sentences."

"Naturally."

Yu Pangzi understood perfectly—he didn't pressure Yan Li to decide immediately—but he still wanted a hint.

Like which project he favored, or whether any stood out, or which ones were dead ends—he could adjust his arrangements accordingly.

"Forget *The Constable*. I'll think about the other two."

Yan Li gave a hint; Yu Pangzi nodded, satisfied as long as this wasn't a wasted effort.

But…

Yu Pangzi watched Yan Li swing alone: "You asked me to make the introductions—I did. Yet you're not showing any enthusiasm. Aren't these the very people you specifically asked me to connect you with?"

Yan Li smiled: "Brother Yu, I want to collaborate with some of them—but I need to know how."

"I have cinema chains, resources, and capital in the mainland. The film industry's center of gravity is here. When two sides cooperate, should I beg them—or should they beg me?"

Yu Pangzi fell silent, then raised his thumb: "You're impressive."

As previously mentioned, Yan Li's intelligence system has another powerful feature: it gives him vision and confidence far beyond his time.

At this stage, the mainland's economy hasn't fully exploded; many areas remain behind, and with a chorus of public intellectuals praising the West, many still believe the foreign moon is rounder.

The mainland film industry is no different—it still lacks confidence when facing Hollywood, or even Hong Kong and Taiwan peers.

A few years ago, that was understandable. But over the past two years, the mainland film market has surged rapidly; countless Hong Kong companies have moved north, yet many still cling to outdated mindsets despite their local advantages.

Of course, mindset is only part of the reason.

Many mainland studios rely on Hong Kong crews or lack capital, needing Hong Kong partners to invest—another major factor.

Take Yu Pangzi: BoNan has limited funds and must partner with Hong Kong firms; its distribution operations are deeply tied to several Hong Kong companies.

Bound by them, he can't afford to be assertive.

In contrast, Yan Li has his own money—he doesn't need Hong Kong capital. Hong Kong may help his business, but it can't balance or control him.

Worst case, Yan Li can simply abandon Hong Kong collaboration, slowly build his own mainland crew, exchange resources with mainland and Taiwan studios, pursue overseas channels through other routes, and lose little by cutting ties.

Meanwhile, Yan Li owns cinema chains and multiple channels in the mainland, and he has connections with key departments and agencies.

So forget being controlled—he can counterattack. Even if he can't drive them back to Hong Kong, he can make them suffer terribly.

Thus, Yan Li has real confidence and broad vision; his cooperation with Hong Kong will never be "self-degrading."

For directors like Xu Laoguai, he can even "lower himself" to court and win them over, making them earn for him.

But corporate business partnerships demand a different posture—always strive to seize the initiative.

As they spoke, Yan Li glanced at Huang Baiming walking toward them and chuckled softly to Yu Pangzi.

"Look, here he comes."

Huang Baiming approached with a warm smile: "Yu, Yan, what are you two chatting about so happily? Let me in."

Yan Li adjusted his club: "I was telling Brother Yu that golf is easy to learn but hard to play. Any tips, Brother Huang?"

"No problem."

In Hong Kong, few in business don't understand horse racing or golf. Huang Baiming may not be an expert, but compared to Yan Li, a complete novice, he's unquestionably skilled.

Yu Pangzi excused himself and left. Yan Li and Huang Baiming started with golf, then gradually shifted to other topics.

Cooperation comes in short-term and long-term forms. Short-term means discussing projects—exchanging pleasantries, then getting straight to the point.

Long-term cooperation is different: people are patient, first building personal rapport.

Then, over time, you help me, I help you; good projects naturally lead to collaboration, and if it works well, there's a second, even a third time.

Like Yan Li and Yu Pangzi—they lean toward this long-term model. Huang Baiming, who just joined them, also intends to follow this path.

For Yan Li, Huang Baiming is an excellent partner.

Giants like Media Asia or Emperor Entertainment have wide networks—he can't yet control them. Yinhua is a state-owned enterprise, even less so.

Smaller Hong Kong companies can't help much; even if they grovel and kiss up, Yan Li doesn't care.

Huang Baiming's Oriental Pictures is strong, among Hong Kong's top-tier studios just below the giants. His personal seniority and connections are sufficient—he can help Yan Li without ever turning the tables.

Besides Huang Baiming, Yan Li also spoke with senior figures from Yinhua, Xu Laoguai, Liu Dehua, and Yewei Xin—each conversation yielded some benefit.

Shu Qi didn't speak with him, but after the gathering ended, she came over voluntarily to exchange contact information.

Wang Ou stood nearby, her mood hard to read. She was willing to help Yan Li secure favors, but that didn't mean she didn't feel jealous—especially toward unfamiliar people, whose hostility she couldn't hide.

Normally, Yan Li ignored Wang Ou's behavior—or offered a few soothing words. But today, right before her eyes, he deleted the newly saved phone number for Shu Qi.

This one… he just couldn't bring himself to touch her!

Wang Ou was stunned. After all, Shu Qi was a major star in the industry.

Yan Li deleted her number for her—this moved Wang Ou, who had always been subservient, deeply. That night, she went to great lengths to satisfy Yan Li, even draining her phone battery while calling Yang Rong.

Shanghai, an apartment

Yang Rong held her disconnected phone, cheeks flushed as she recalled Wang Ou's frenzy, wondering if she'd taken drugs, then launched into a game of Gold Miner…

(End of Chapter)