Chapter 233: The Beauty Who Uses Her Looks, Fans Lurk, the Mass Line

It wasn't just Dong Xuan who thought Qin Lan performed well.

Many viewers who watched the TV series felt the same, and the media spontaneously published articles praising her.

However, because the character itself was not particularly likable and her screen time was limited, although Qin Lan's acting received recognition, her personal popularity grew only slightly.

Since the broadcast of "The Investiture of the Gods," the most popular and fan-favorite character and actress, without doubt, is Fan Xiaopang, who portrayed Daji.

Because Fan Xiaopang played two roles: Daji and the Nine-Tailed Fox.

The two characters, one good and one evil, somewhat diluted the audience's aversion to her villainous actions in the drama.

Meanwhile, these opposing roles demonstrated Fan Xiaopang's fairly solid acting, and her occasional standout performances earned considerable praise.

Combined with excellent costume, makeup, and set design, and Fan Xiaopang's naturally exceptional looks, the visual experience for viewers was undeniably extraordinary.

Her chemistry with Yan Li's domineering, heroic portrayal of King Zhou also fed back significant popularity to her.

All these factors made Fan Xiaopang the most prominent presence in the early stages of "The Investiture of the Gods," not to mention Yi An's active marketing and promotion on her behalf.

"The Most Beautiful Daji" was already a planned promotional angle; accustomed to overshadowing others, Fan Xiaopang began belittling Wen Bixia and Fu Yiwai, who had previously received better critical reception as Daji.

So it's not without reason that Fan Xiaopang sometimes has poor interpersonal relations—suddenly stepping on someone's toes, who wouldn't be angry?

But Fan Xiaopang didn't care; in the entertainment industry, deceit and scheming are the norm, and being nice won't get you anywhere.

Unless she brought down Wen and Fu's influence and reputation, how could her Daji quickly rise to the top and become the most recognized version, her new signature role?

Besides, Wen Bixia and Fu Yiwai weren't entirely innocent either; over the years, both had vied for the title of "Most Beautiful Daji."

Almost every related news article and press release included those words, openly or covertly stepping on each other—and even other versions of Daji—wasn't uncommon.

Just search online: "Most Beautiful Daji" or their names are almost always linked together.

While some media reporters may have written these independently, to claim there were no press releases would only fool outsiders.

Nowadays, internet netizens' voices haven't fully broken through to the mainstream; media still dominates.

An artist's image and reputation rely heavily on journalistic support; even top stars buy press releases to promote themselves.

Most ordinary people lack sufficient discernment and tend to follow the crowd, believing whatever others say.

Especially now, with media credibility still relatively strong, press releases are even more effective.

Could the words in newspapers and magazines be false?

Not to mention that those who wield the pen inevitably use literary techniques to stir emotions and shape perceptions; ordinary people can't tell the difference, so naturally, if newspapers and magazines say someone is good, they are good; if they say someone is bad, they are bad.

That's why journalists are called the "uncrowned kings"—stars without real power or backing truly can't afford to offend them.

Last month, rock singer Dou Wei was relentlessly harassed by paparazzo Zhuo Wei, who showed up to burn his car, sparking a huge uproar.

So even if some stars don't have high marketing needs, they still have to spend money on PR—not to be praised, but to avoid being criticized.

It wasn't just Fu and Wen who competed; Luo Haiqiong, who once played Daji, had also done similar things.

But due to her appearance, Luo's claim to the title "Most Beautiful Daji" lacked persuasiveness, so she leaned toward promoting herself as the Daji with the best acting, subtly undermining others' acting skills.

The reason for the constant barrage of promotional press releases is mainly that they lack other representative works and can only rely on this role to attract and retain fans, so they care deeply.

If they had another high-popularity signature role, they might not bother competing at all.

For example, Liang Li, who also played Daji, rarely mentions this role; partly because its recognition is low, but also because she has popular roles like Sun Erniang in "Water Margin" and Madame in "The Legendary Doctor Xi Laile," so she doesn't care about a mediocre Daji.

Similarly, if Fan Xiaopang lands another popular role later, she might no longer care about the "Most Beautiful Daji" title.

But now, she's in her ascent phase with a new work, so of course it demands attention.

As a top rising star and Yi An's leading actress, Fan Xiaopang's fanbase, promotional resources, and budget are incomparable to Fu and Wen, whose fame has drastically declined—or one could even say they're past their prime.

After the marketing campaign rolled out, Fan Xiaopang's exposure surged and her reputation for beauty grew stronger.

Speaking of it, Fan Xiaopang's previous roles weren't many that were purely defined by beauty; she tended more toward pure, sweet, cute, or tomboyish styles.

Partly because she hadn't fully matured and her beauty wasn't yet powerful enough to overshadow other stars, and partly due to her agency's strategic positioning.

Back then, mainland China's atmosphere was more conservative; Fan Xiaopang was young and had little fame, so playing a glamorous girl or pure young maiden was the safest route.

As for "using beauty to bully," only Li Jiaxin had successfully walked this path over the years, and everyone familiar with her reputation in Hong Kong knows why—her personality was the main factor, but many actresses she overshadowed didn't like her either.

Before Fan Xiaopang met Yan Li, Wang Jing saw Fan Xiaopang growing more beautiful and her popularity rising, and considered shifting her style.

Originally, "The Mobile Phone" was meant to be Fan Xiaopang's key transition into serious acting and sensual beauty, but Li Bingbing and Yan Li stole the project.

Later, after Yan Li and Fan Xiaopang became close and their relationship deepened, her career path began to change.

On one hand, the rivalry with Shuang Bing boosted her profile and added emotional depth through their connection; on the other, she continuously emphasized her "beauty" as a key advantage.

In "The Seven Fairies of Joy and Happiness," the Fifth Fairy was the most beautiful woman in Heaven; in "The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng," Xue Bing was a renowned beauty in the martial world; Daji in "The Investiture of the Gods" was, of course, the most beautiful demoness.

Even non-Yi An roles, like Jinmao Shu in "The Lucky Pig Bajie," were marketed with claims of "most beautiful demoness" and so on.

The roles highlighted beauty, the promotions highlighted beauty, and the makeup and costumes were fully upgraded.

Not only was Fan Xiaopang assigned a dedicated styling and makeup team, but she also established long-term collaborations with top styling teams from Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea to meet her various cosmetic needs.

Thus, over the past couple of years, Fan Xiaopang has continuously reinforced the concept of "she is the most beautiful" through film and television roles, promotional campaigns, and countless public appearances.

Her success in commercial endorsements and topic exposure also owes much to this advantage.

Female stars each have their own style, but Fan Xiaopang's "using beauty to bully" is the most blunt, most widely accepted by the public, and most suitable for commercial endorsements.

From jewelry, clothing, and cosmetics, to cars, accessories, and games, down to pots, pans, rice, oil, and salt.

No matter the brand or category, hiring a beautiful woman as a spokesperson or for advertising is never wrong.

You hire her, I hire her, the more who hire her, the more in-demand she becomes.

The massive promotional exposure, inevitable comparisons with other female stars, and connections with Yan Li, Shuang Bing, and others have generated endless buzz.

According to Baidu's data, since January this year, Fan Xiaopang's monthly ranking in entertainment personality searches has consistently been within the top twenty, with several months breaking into the top ten.

This search ranking includes top-tier stars from mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, the four rising female leads of the mainland, popular male and female stars, Hong Kong and Taiwan pop idols, and even overseas celebrities and internet influencers.

Since the hot broadcast of "The Investiture of the Gods," Fan Xiaopang has topped the charts for several consecutive days.

Not only that, but on major portal websites' trending topics and even in print media reports, Fan Xiaopang consistently ranks among the top.

In terms of heat and fame, Fan Xiaopang can easily rival or even surpass many top-tier stars.

In 2005, Forbes' Celebrity Ranking saw Fan Xiaopang's position rise sharply.

This year, her career has further exploded, and her ranking is expected to climb even higher.

Fan Xiaopang's own goal is to break into the top ten.

"The Investiture of the Gods" and the earlier "The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng" were just appetizers; she still has the commercial blockbuster "Mo Gong," and "The White-Haired Witch" is highly likely to air in the second half of the year.

Coupled with her constantly rising exposure and income, Fan Xiaopang still has modest confidence in reaching her top-ten goal.

…

Besides Fan Xiaopang reaping massive benefits, Yan Li's portrayal of King Zhou also gave him significant visibility.

From Huo Qubing and Jin Zha in early 2005, to Sun Desheng and Gong Jiu, and now King Zhou.

Although Yan Li hasn't acted in many dramas and mostly plays supporting roles, the fact that these series all performed exceptionally well—including several annual blockbusters—with astonishing reach and influence, makes up for it.

Moreover, the characters Yan Li portrayed in these dramas are mostly likable or distinctive.

Combined with his flawless on-screen image and various halo effects, these factors have further accelerated the popularity he gained from these hit dramas and beloved roles.

Meanwhile, internet jokes and memes—such as "a businessman who was a great actor wasted," "bankrupt and forced to become a big star," "can't act well so he became a billionaire," "the most talented actor among entrepreneurs" or "the richest young actor," "earning money just to play roles he loves"—have made Yan Li's image more down-to-earth and highly popular.

In terms of overall fame and popularity, Yan Li can now rival some top male leads; the only difference might be slightly fewer fans.

Mainly because he has too many romantic scandals, and since he doesn't follow the conventional star path, he rarely appears publicly and doesn't actively cultivate fans, so his fanbase doesn't match that of the current top male stars.

However, among the general public, Yan Li's perception is stronger.

Just being a self-made billionaire in today's culture that idolizes success is enough to earn widespread approval and recognition.

These people may not be his fans or followers, but they still hold some goodwill toward him.

Among Yan Li's fans, due to different reasons for liking him, various subgroups have emerged.

There are traditional fans who admire his dramas and his person.

There are career fans who admire and respect his business achievements and support his dominance in the corporate world.

These two categories are the main ones; there are also smaller subgroups.

For example, body fans who only care about his face or physique; romance fans who idolize his dating prowess—Qi Bing Lian Lian Chang was created by this group.

There are also fans who ship him with a certain actress or female character—Fan, Dong, and Li are all included; Gong Jiu and Sha Man, Jin Zha and the Third Fairy, King Zhou and Daji, and so on.

The most extreme are the harem fans who daily "manage his harem," analyzing the "rankings" and "favor levels" of all his rumored lovers.

For example, Fan Xiaopang is the Empress, Dong Xuan is the Virtuous Consort or the Forgotten Palace, Li Bingbing is the Noble Consort, Wang Ou is the Ou Consort, and the Seven Fairies like Hu Siyan are Noble Ladies.

Notably, one person's consort rank was personally fought for by them using a fake account on Tieba; they originally aimed to be made a Consort, but were strongly opposed by other harem fans.

Another person, whose name remains undisclosed, created a fake account to campaign to replace Fan Xiaopang as Empress.

But harem fans questioned, "Who is Qin Lan?" and "What rank is she?"—so infuriated, they reported and got the post deleted.

Truly, when people gather in hundreds, strange things emerge.

All kinds of quirks and fetishes exist; sometimes even Yan Li himself, upon reading some fans' posts on Tieba, couldn't help but type a 【?】.

It's not just Yan Li's fans; Fan Xiaopang's, Dong Xuan's, Wang Ou's, and others' fans are also highly "divided."

Many praise him, but many also curse him.

Yan Li thinks that if he ever officially announces a relationship or breakup with Fan Xiaopang, these fans might erupt into fierce infighting—one side rejoicing, the other devastated, possibly even quitting fandom.

Besides Fan Xiaopang and Yan Li, other supporting characters in "The Investiture of the Gods" also gained some benefits.

For example, Wang Ou and Wu Jiani, who portrayed the Three Demons of Xuanyuan; the former, due to limited screen time, hasn't gained much visibility yet.

The latter, however, received considerable attention thanks to her excellent costume and character design.

Before this, Wu Jiani had already gained some recognition through her role as Beef Soup in "The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng"; now, with her lively and beautiful portrayal of the Pipa Spirit in "The Investiture of the Gods," the two roles combined have made her somewhat popular.

And this is just the beginning; she's lucky, because Yi An wants Fan Xiaopang to mentor Wang Ou, and more promotion for the Three Demons of Xuanyuan is planned.

Even if the main promotional focus is Fan Xiaopang, followed by Wang Ou, and she's just a supporting player, the Three Demons of Xuanyuan can't be discussed without her.

If she seizes this opportunity, Wu Jiani can gain considerable exposure; combined with the popularity of "The Investiture of the Gods," her career will definitely rise.

Wang Ou needs no further mention—his existing popularity base was already solid.

After all, the residual benefits from hit dramas like *The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng*, *Detective Di Renjie 2*, and *New Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio* haven't been fully exhausted yet.

With the momentum from *The Investiture of the Gods* and various advertising deals, after some time to digest and cultivate it, he can rightly be called a rising star.

A small model from Beijing who became a rising star in just a few years, Wang Ou's journey is nothing short of "inspirational," and has become a living advertisement for Yi'an's artist management business.

Fan Xiaopang may have exploded in fame only after encountering Yan Li and Yi'an, but he was already well-known beforehand.

Wang Ou, by contrast, was a complete outsider with almost no acting experience—he was cultivated and supported entirely by Yi'an.

For the vast majority of newcomers and minor actors, if joining Yi'an could make them the next Wang Ou, they would flock to it, willing to pay any price.

Meanwhile, Wang Ou's rise, Fan Xiaopang's explosion, plus the earlier success of the Seven Fairies—including actresses like Wu Jiani and Qin Lan who saw varying degrees of career boosts from appearing in Yi'an dramas—has led the outside world to begin circulating the term "Yan Girls."

This is standard practice in the industry: "Mo Girls," "Xing Girls," "Jing Girls," "Qiong Yao Girls," "Yan Girls."

All refer to a key figure who systematically promotes a batch of actresses, builds influence, and attaches a label to them.

Besides "girls," there are also "boys"—the most famous being "Yan Boys"; to some extent, Shi X's Eight Beauties carry the same meaning.

Actually, the term "Yan Girls" had already emerged during the Seven Fairies era, but it wasn't widely known yet.

Now, with Yan Li's rising fame and the significant career boosts of many actresses, the term "Yan Girls" is increasingly accepted.

Because "Yan Girls" sounds identical to Haiyan's "Yan Girls," it's sometimes hard to distinguish them; some netizens now call "Yan Girls" "Crimson Girls."

The term "Crimson Girls" is a homophone for "Yan."

Yan Li likes naming his companies using the pinyin of "Yan," so people jokingly refer to his companies as the "Yan System," a homophone for "Crimson System"; since these actresses star in Yi'an productions, "Crimson Girls" is more fitting than simply "Yan Girls."

Moreover, in classical poetry, "crimson" is often used as a metaphor for beauty, so "Crimson Girls" also signifies that these actresses are beautiful.

Additionally, there's a derogatory, satirical undertone: *Dream of the Red Chamber* says kissing is "eating crimson," so "Crimson Girls" subtly implies these actresses have ambiguous relationships with Yan Li.

Regardless of the meaning, "Crimson Girls" sounds better and is more distinctive, so it's gradually replacing "Yan Girls."

The emergence of "Crimson Girls" also proves Yan Li and Yi'an's ability to promote talent, and has somewhat boosted Yi'an's artist management business.

Even before *The Investiture of the Gods* finished airing, Yan Li received a plan from Jia Qian regarding new artist recruitment for the artist management department.

…

Yi'an Film & Television, CEO's Office

After reading the document, Yan Li drank some water: "Most of our current artists are in their ascent phase—do we really need so many new recruits?"

"Boss Yan, low demand for newcomers doesn't mean we shouldn't recruit them."

Jia Qian and another senior executive from the artist management department began explaining to Yan Li the necessity and benefits of recruiting new talent.

First, top stars earn money, but once the number of mid- and lower-tier artists grows, the cumulative revenue becomes substantial.

From a company operations standpoint, you must eat delicacies, but you shouldn't overlook simple soups and vegetables.

Even a fly is meat.

Second, Yi'an is producing more and more dramas; giving supporting roles to artists from other companies is just giving free advantages to outsiders—wasteful.

If Yi'an has enough of its own artists, they can fill those roles, lowering production costs by reducing pay, while also earning back some revenue through artist profit-sharing.

It's a win-win: cost reduction and increased income.

At the same time, establishing a mature, stable artist hierarchy is the foundation of any entertainment company.

If one day the top male or female stars encounter trouble, switch companies, or their contracts expire, backup talent can quickly step in and prevent the company from being held hostage.

Yan Li listened to their explanations, then tapped the table: "If we recruit artists on a large scale, what if we don't have enough resources?"

Jia Qian and the other executive exchanged glances: "This is common—we can't guarantee every artist will become a star, can we?"

Yan Li smiled—he knew they'd say exactly that.

This is the standard tactic of many entertainment companies: recruit large numbers of artists, then selectively cultivate the best.

No company can meet every artist's needs; if you're popular and make money for the company, resources naturally go to you; if you're not, you're left to luck—or endure.

Many artists join a company with no resources, narrow upward mobility, and merely waste their years—either wait until contract ends, or pay breach fees to leave.

Signing a contract and hiring an assistant costs little; the artist's earnings all go to the company.

If you make a star, you make huge profits; if you don't, you still don't lose.

This is why many entertainment companies in the industry are called vampires—they're monstrous: make the donkey pull the mill without giving it grass, then slaughter it after the work's done.

Yan Li may not be a good man, but he hasn't sunk to inhuman levels.

He's fine with artists working for him to earn money, but he truly doesn't want to squeeze oil from a bunch of minor actors.

If he wants to make money, he has plenty of better ways—no need to be so heartless and damage his reputation.

"A bunch of minor supporting actors—how much cost can you really cut, how much income can you really gain?"

"With that energy, why not promote one star? One star's earnings can equal ten or even dozens of minor actors."

"I know you're eager to expand the influence of the artist management department, but you must think long-term—you can't drink poison to quench your thirst."

Yan Li rejected Jia Qian's plan and proposed artist refinement: sign fewer artists, sign only the best, win with quality.

This would avoid excessive signings, resource shortages, fierce internal competition, artist exploitation, and damage to company cohesion.

Jia Qian and the others still objected: large-scale signings are like breeding monsters—only the strongest survive, and those are the premium newcomers worth intensive cultivation.

If you don't use this survival-of-the-fittest method and rely solely on personal discovery, uncertainty is inevitable—many think they've found a gem, only to discover a waste.

Many companies sign dozens of newcomers, then still go raid other companies for talent, because so many just can't be raised—they simply lack the fate to become stars.

Yan Li nodded—this was indeed a problem—but he could cheat.

Others gamble on raw stones; he could trigger "X-ray vision."

His basic intelligence system could screen talent; monthly intelligence reports occasionally triggered future information.

So Yan Li told Jia Qian and the others to gather data on newcomers and drama school students and send it to him.

Later, when he had free time, he'd browse through it—find one, sign one; no need for many, just a few per year, and over several years, Yi'an could build a solid roster of stars.

With the boss's decision, Jia Qian and the others could only comply.

Besides, Yan Li's eye for talent was truly impressive—he had personally discovered and promoted many, including the Seven Fairies, Wang Ou, Zhang Zhilin, Qin Lan, Wu Jiani, Zhou Yiwei, Qiao Zhenyu, Pan Yueming, and others, all from minor actors or newcomers.

Yan Li personally oversaw every selection—perhaps he really could unearth many gems for the artist management department.

…

After Jia Qian left, Yan Li wrote down the jade stone gamble that had briefly crossed his mind.

He'd only just learned about the trade the day before, after reading an online post; someone had replied, "If you could see through, you'd get rich."

Yan Li hadn't paid much attention before—he'd just thought it was interesting—but now, using it as an example, he suddenly realized his system was perfect for this: all those intelligence triggers might be even more convenient than X-ray vision.

Most importantly, jade stone gambling is highly secretive—unless you cut open the raw stone, no one knows what's inside.

Yan Li could buy the raw stones, then, away from everyone's sight, quietly extract the jade inside, disguise it, and cash in silently.

Top-grade jade and emerald are extremely valuable—easily convertible to cash, or usable as collateral or gifts.

Yan Li's old "Golden Heart" strategy was outdated.

Several women had become famous and earned a lot; a single "Golden Heart" was only worth tens of thousands—its surprise value had plummeted.

Since the "Golden Heart" no longer worked, he could try a "Glass-Seed Emerald Heart."

Buying gold requires real money—each extra gram costs more; but with jade stone gambling, raw stone prices vary widely—it might even be cheaper than buying gold.

Spend less, get better results—perfect!

He filed the idea away, planning to visit Yunnan and Guangdong when free, buy a few raw stones, and bring them back to Beijing to cut.

At lunchtime, Yan Li didn't ask Hu Ya to order him a meal—he called Wu Maowen and Lin Jiachuan from the company and went out for a stroll to find something good to eat.

But as soon as they stepped out of the office building, they were surrounded by over a dozen people.

Yan Li was startled; Wu Maowen and Lin Jiachuan instinctively stepped forward to shield him.

Only because most of the crowd were women did they hold off from calling building security.

"What are you doing? What's going on?"

Wu Maowen barked sharply, assuming a defensive stance—he'd have to protect Yan Li's retreat if anything went wrong.

The group was also startled by their reaction; after regaining composure, several nearby people spoke at once.

"Don't misunderstand—we mean no harm."

"We're all Yan Li's fans—we just wanted to come here and see him."

"Yes, look, these are the gifts we brought."

They held up their gifts—various odd items, many bearing Yan Li's imagery; some even carried his posters or magazines.

"Uh…"

Realizing they were fans and that a misunderstanding had occurred, Yan Li patted Wu Maowen and Lin Jiachuan, then stepped forward.

"How long have you been waiting?"

Being stalked by fans wasn't new to Yan Li—he'd encountered it several times before.

Not only did they block him, but employees from other companies in the building, and nearby businesses, once they learned Yi'an was here, would casually wander around hoping to bump into a star.

Funny enough, Yan Li rarely attended public events or released his schedule, unlike some stars who interact with fans through activities.

But there's a flip side: those stars are overworked, unpredictable, and elusive—unless they announce public appearances, fans rarely catch them.

Yan Li, due to his work, isn't always in the office, but he appears far more often than those artists.

Now, they'd just started waiting for him to "respawn."

As long as they had patience and watched all day, unless Yan Li was out of town, they'd catch him within one or two weeks.

Yan Li found it frustrating—most fans who waited at the office were diehards; they didn't disturb him, didn't even ask for autographs or photos.

They just wanted to see him, say hello, or leave a gift.

Oh, and some came to apply for jobs at the company.

Neither persuasion nor blocking worked well, so in the end, he just let it be.

And to be honest, Yan Li secretly enjoyed the feeling of being adored by fans.

But Yan Li set three rules: waiting to meet him was fine, and signing autographs or taking photos was acceptable too.

But if anyone secretly followed him, disturbed the company's work, or leaked his personal privacy, he would have to say no.

Yan Li respected his fans, but he wasn't a star who lived off them—he wouldn't compromise endlessly.

He also hoped such stakeouts wouldn't be widely publicized, to avoid drawing crowds.

Beijing had a huge population; even with few fans, there were still plenty of idle people chasing stars.

Following Yan Li's instructions, this little trick wasn't leaked—he'd usually encountered only two or three fans together.

This group of over ten people stakeout was his first time seeing such a thing; he was startled—their presence was too grand, almost like a kidnapping.

"We've been waiting for two days."

A round-faced, chubby girl, young in age, stepped forward, excited to explain.

These people were from a fan group; a new member, a self-proclaimed genius, came up with the idea and gathered those with free time to take turns stakeout.

They were just lucky—few fans had ever successfully caught Yan Li before.

Yan Li's arrival at the company wasn't fixed, his work hours varied, sometimes he'd go straight to the parking lot and drive off, and the office building had more than one exit.

So anyone who caught him was either lucky or resourceful.

For example, one fan once managed to sneak into the building and waited right outside Yi'an Company's entrance.

This group clearly lacked intelligence or coordination—if they split into two or three teams and set up a "net of heaven and earth," their success rate would rise dramatically.

Yan Li cooperated with these fans, signing autographs, taking photos, and accepting gifts.

After asking about their general residences and identities, he learned many were students; he pulled out cash from his bag and gave each one a red hundred-yuan note.

"It's too hot—take taxis home. Don't come here to wait again; I might not be here, and sometimes I'm too busy. Watching the drama is support enough."

He persuaded them to leave, then reminded them to keep it secret and not lure other fans—or the beggars—to him.

Afterward, Yan Li, Lin Jiachuan, and Wu Maowen went to eat; Lin Jiachuan flipped through the fan-made poster frames for Yan Li and sighed with a touch of envy.

"Bro, you're really famous now. Look how passionate these fans are."

Yan Li felt a quiet pride—online buzz couldn't match the visceral impact of real-life fan adoration.

Being liked and admired was always a joyful thing.

But Wu Maowen, ever mindful of his duty, thought deeper: "Bro, you need to be careful from now on—try not to go out alone."

If fans can stake you out, what if someone with ill intent shows up?

"I'll be careful."

Yan Li nodded—he'd always been cautious; after being caught before, he'd already considered this and acted even more carefully.

But no need to panic—these stakeouts weren't crimes of passion; if premeditated, his system could trigger a warning.

Though he'd never encountered it often, Yan Li vaguely sensed his system had some alert mechanism.

When someone's personal safety was threatened, the relevant intelligence system would prioritize activation.

Besides that, Yan Li's fame was also an important shield.

Unless someone was insane or a sociopath plotting a sensational crime, ordinary thieves wouldn't target Yan Li.

It wasn't that he lacked money—it was that his fame was too great; being kidnapped, captured, or killed would cause massive public outrage and force police to launch the most intensive manhunt possible.

There were plenty of wealthy people—he didn't need to deliberately target the top of the public security bureau's most-wanted list and give himself unnecessary thrills.

The mainland wasn't Hong Kong—getting caught meant execution.

…

After lunch, Yan Li returned to the company, took a short nap, then resumed meetings.

The data for "The Investiture of the Gods" was strong, steadily rising; since it was an exclusive broadcast, its potential remained untapped—prices for second and third rounds and terrestrial channels could be raised appropriately.

Meanwhile, the second season of "The Investiture of the Gods" could be planned; they needed to negotiate with Yongle.

In film, Ning Hao had already begun leading teams to universities for preview screenings and roadshows.

The distribution team had been building buzz online—forums like Tianya, Douban, and Tieba had already generated noticeable momentum, attracting potential viewers.

With the release date just days away, copies had begun being distributed to theaters.

One major topic Yan Li discussed was cracking down on piracy.

In this era, screening schedules and showtimes were secondary—there were few cinema releases, and unless it was a peak season like Lunar New Year, competition among films released at the same time wasn't fierce.

What movie companies, distributors, and even theater chains hated most were the pirates.

Renowned directors like Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige, Feng Xiaogang, and countless film company bosses always spoke most about fighting piracy during a film's peak run.

Two years ago, when "Kung Fu Hustle" premiered, Zhou Xingchi recorded a special intro to play before screenings, pleading with pirates to show mercy; he even recorded another version for DVD, urging support for legitimate copies.

Films like "Crazy Stone," which relied on word-of-mouth and sparked group discussions, weren't big-budget visual spectacles.

Watching on a big screen or small screen was nearly identical; audience desire was high, but few were willing to pay to see it only once in theaters.

Buying a DVD was cheaper, allowed multiple viewings, and could be shared with friends—more cost-effective in their eyes.

Naturally, such films were prime targets for pirates.

If "Crazy Stone" suffered massive piracy, it would severely damage box office revenue.

So for "Crazy Stone," promotion was important—but the most critical task was stopping piracy.

If this failed, no matter how good the promotion, it would only enrich the pirates.

But piracy had thrived for so long, tormenting every major film company—it clearly wasn't easy to tackle.

Producing and selling pirated audiovisual products was a criminal act.

If the illegal amount reached a certain scale, punishment was up to three years' imprisonment or detention, plus a fine; if the sum was enormous or circumstances severe, punishment was three to seven years' imprisonment, plus a fine.

So those in the trade knew getting caught meant disaster—they were cautious, slippery, and hid deeply.

Also, since the crime wasn't severe, some had ties with local power structures that offered protection.

Film companies, as cultural enterprises, had limited influence—they had no effective way to deal with pirates so deeply hidden and locally protected.

Worse, these pirates loved tricks like repackaging or selling and distributing goods in other regions.

Goods from Henan would be sold in Shandong, distributed across multiple areas, each with small quantities to avoid notice, packaged with nothing but folk tunes and minor melodies.

With these tactics, even police couldn't easily trace them—let alone film companies.

Even if they eventually pieced together clues, the profit window had passed; for film companies, punishing pirates wouldn't recover lost revenue.

But Yan Li was different—he had a system.

For film distribution, which directly targeted audiences, his intelligence system had limited effectiveness—it wasn't as advantageous as TV distribution.

But cracking down on piracy? That was right in his wheelhouse.

Repackaging, regional sales, distribution—all these tricks meant nothing to Yan Li; no matter how deeply or carefully they hid, his system could pinpoint the source directly.

What followed was simple: just report the source.

Even if they had local connections, it was a gray industry with modest profits—it couldn't control everything; there were always people eager to earn merit.

If they had ties in the county, he'd go to the city; if they had ties in the city, he'd go to the province; if all else failed, he'd leak it to the media to apply pressure.

In short, the audiovisual piracy industry was just a rat hiding in a sewer—hard to deal with not because it was powerful, but because it was hard to catch.

For Yan Li, cracking down on piracy was easy—the real challenge was how to do it effectively and efficiently.

Especially, quiet profit wouldn't scare these rats.

If one was caught, another would take its place; Yan Li couldn't fight these rats forever, especially when they came from all over the country.

So he needed to make an example—to publicly strike down a few well-known pirates and scare the rest.

Make them dare not challenge Yan Li's authority—at least not to mass-distribute and draw his attention.

If he could intimidate these pirates, it would benefit "Crazy Stone" and draw attention and favor from industry peers toward Yi'an.

Piracy was the main obstacle to film releases; if Yan Li could crush it, he could protect box office revenue—and protecting box office meant profit, and profit meant partnerships.

Yan Li felt that if this piracy war was won well, it might become the turning point for Yi'an's film distribution business.

After careful thought, Yan Li contacted the media and released the news—

"Crazy Stone" is about to premiere; Yan Li offers a 1 million yuan reward for information on piracy—any tip leading to verified piracy will be rewarded in cash.

Yes, Yan Li planned to use the "mass line."

Pirates hid well—but they couldn't escape the ocean of the masses.

Hundreds or thousands of phone tips would flood in; no one could tell which were true or false.

Which ones were real? Yan Li decided.

When a pirate was caught, he'd insist it was someone else who tipped him off.

And if money was paid, the informants would all insist it was their own tip that did it.

Plus, to avoid retaliation, they'd agree not to reveal who gave the tip—no way to investigate.

Don't believe it? Then how did Yan Li know? Surely not because he had an intelligence system?

Even if someone still dared to question it.

Yan Li could explain it away with sharp instincts and strong analytical skills.

The ability to pick out true, critical information from a flood of noise.

He'd already laid groundwork and demonstrated this ability in his TV distribution and stock market ventures.

Though exaggerated, such geniuses existed—some even more extraordinary.

Can't you allow Yan Li to be gifted?

Self-made billionaires often had one or two extraordinary traits—it was only natural.

————

ps: Ten-thousand-word update, so delayed—apologies (2000/6000)

(End of chapter)