Chapter 24: The Four Brothers: Daily Life Back in Beijing

Beijing, train station

July’s weather was scorching hot, but by the time Yan Li got off the train, it was already night, and the temperature was relatively cooler.

Carrying his suitcase, he avoided the taxi and black-car solicitors, glanced around, found no one, and was just about to call when he heard a shout.

“Li Ge, over here.”

A slender, handsome guy in flared pants waved at him—it was his college roommate, Zhou Yiwei.

Yan Li had returned from Hengdian and naturally informed his close brothers; Zhang Songwen and Lin Jiachuan were shooting elsewhere, so only Zhou Yiwei remained in Beijing and volunteered to pick him up at the station.

“Whoa, you even brought your dad’s car.”

Yan Li hugged his brother, then patted the black Passat beside him.

Of their four brothers, Lin Jiachuan and Zhou Yiwei came from the best-off families.

Lin Jiachuan’s father, Lin Heping, was a professional writer and screenwriter who had created several film and TV works and was somewhat known in the industry.

Zhou Yiwei was even more impressive—both his parents worked in the military arts troupe, and his mother was even a regimental officer with some influence in the dance world; Zhou Yiwei had moved to Beijing as a child with his parents, and though their family wasn’t rich, they were comfortably well-off.

Yan Li, by comparison, was far more ordinary.

His hometown, Zao City, was a small city in southern Shandong Province, and his family ran a small restaurant that barely scraped together a few ten thousand yuan a year—neither rich nor poor.

Their other roommate, Zhang Songwen, his father also worked for the government.

But due to living in a small city and his mother’s early death, his situation was slightly miserable, placing him on par with Yan Li.

My dad is on a goodwill visit, so I borrowed his car.

Zhou Yiwei chuckled, gestured for Yan Li to get in, but the latter felt uneasy.

“Can you drive?”

Among the four brothers, Zhou Yiwei was the youngest, born in August 1982, still a month shy of turning twenty; he’d only just gotten his license last summer and had limited driving experience—Yan Li genuinely worried.

“Relax, I’ve been practicing every day since graduation.”

Zhou Yiwei was confident; Yan Li, having come all this way to be picked up, didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm, so he got in, heart pounding.

After driving for a while and seeing Zhou Yiwei’s driving was steady, Yan Li gradually relaxed and began chatting.

“How are Jiachuan and the others doing in Dalian?”

Long-distance calls were expensive, so the brothers usually just briefly checked in before hanging up.

Perhaps because they were far away, the system hadn’t triggered much intel, so Yan Li only knew the two had joined a film crew in Dalian—but not the details.

“What else can they do? Just scrape by.”

Zhou Yiwei’s tone was melancholy; back when they’d just graduated, they’d been full of ambition, ready to make a big splash.

But ideals were plump, reality was bony!

Only Yan Li himself had managed to land a role right after graduation and headed straight to Hengdian to shoot.

The other three had spent half a month sending out hundreds of resumes and photos, visiting over a dozen crews, yet found no roles.

They’d graduated now; they couldn’t keep asking home for money, and just sitting around wasting away wasn’t an option.

Zhang Songwen and Lin Jiachuan discussed it and joined a crew—not to act, but to work behind the scenes.

One became assistant director, the other became script supervisor.

The title “assistant director” sounded good, but in reality, it held no real power—just helping out with shouts and chores on set, with little upward mobility and no pay.

Still, at least those two had steady jobs; Zhou Yiwei fared worse, only picking up odd jobs.

Not long ago, he’d gone with an older student to do voice work—for extras—and the pay barely covered meals.

Of course, Zhou Yiwei’s family lived in Beijing, had a home, didn’t lack for cars, and even if he didn’t ask, his parents occasionally helped out, so life wasn’t hard.

That was his confidence in staying in Beijing, taking odd jobs, and waiting for opportunities—if not for family support, he would likely have followed Zhang and Lin to run errands for crews.

But this wasn’t a long-term solution; even if his parents didn’t mind, Zhou Yiwei’s proud nature couldn’t accept living off them.

If he couldn’t land more roles, he might have to lower his pride and take on odd jobs just to make ends meet.

Yan Li listened silently as Zhou Yiwei described his recent struggles, saying nothing.

This industry was brutal—only a tiny fraction became famous and rich; most were ordinary people struggling hard.

Among the graduates of the Beijing Film Academy’s undergraduate class, many had switched careers; those of their lower-tier vocational class faced even greater hardship.

If he hadn’t had the system, Yan Li guessed he’d be just like Zhou, Lin, and Zhang—bumping into walls everywhere.

Eking out a meager living, waiting years for a breakthrough that never came, then, in despair, choosing to switch careers or return home to inherit the family restaurant, vanishing completely from the industry.

But now it was different—he had a chance to break the mold and change his fate; when he succeeded, he wouldn’t forget his brothers.

But these thoughts, Yan Li kept to himself, never spoken aloud.

Actions speak louder than words—he hadn’t made it yet; talking big was just bluffing. Better to save his strength and rise sooner…

Zhou Yiwei drove to a small neighborhood called Jimenli near Jimen Bridge.

It was an old neighborhood, dating back to the 1980s, very close to Beijing Film Academy—almost directly opposite, just a ten-minute walk away.

Arriving at a building, they climbed to the third floor; Yan Li unlocked the door, turned on the light, and saw a living room that was plainly and coldly furnished.

He dropped his suitcase on the floor, sat on the sofa, and stretched out comfortably.

“Finally home.”

When Yan Li had left Beijing, he’d just graduated and hadn’t yet moved out of the dorm—but it was only a matter of time.

To have a place to stay upon returning, Yan Li, along with Zhang Songwen and Lin Jiachuan who were still in Beijing, rented this apartment together.

Zhou Yiwei lived in Beijing with his family and didn’t share the apartment, but often came over to hang out with the brothers, especially when Yan Li and the other two were away shooting—Zhou had taken care of the place.

The apartment had three bedrooms and a living room, with kitchen and bathroom; rent was only 1,200 yuan per month, so each paid a few hundred.

This rent was rare for this part of Beijing; the reason it was so cheap? Naturally, Yan Li had used the system to snag a bargain.

He’d been constantly talking about renting, but secretly wanted to find a good, cheap place—so naturally, the system triggered a few related intel points.

Had Yan Li not been rushing off to Hengdian to shoot, given a few more days, he might have found an even better, cheaper place.

So now, every time he came here, he’d think: even if acting didn’t work out, he could become a top real estate agent.

After a short rest, Yan Li went to check his bedroom.

The apartment’s low rent had its reasons—besides the toilet and stove, the only furniture was one sofa, one dining table, and a few beds; his bedroom didn’t even have a closet.

Luckily, his dorm belongings were still complete—sheets, blankets, basin, thermos—all there; otherwise, sleeping would’ve been a problem.

“You’re efficient—Songwen even made up my bed.”

Yan Li sat on the bed, tested it, and was very satisfied; Lin Jiachuan was careless, Zhou Yiwei wasn’t the type to serve others—only Zhang Songwen could be this thoughtful.

Zhou Yiwei leaned against the door, his expression odd: “Not Old Ghost made it.”

In the dorm, Zhang Songwen and Zhou Yiwei were closest; sometimes their closeness bordered on exceeding normal brotherly bounds; since Zhang was older, Zhou had nicknamed him “Old Ghost.”

“Old” meant older, “Ghost” meant Zhang was clever and skilled at handling people—a crafty one.

Yan Li’s mind clicked: “Dong Xuan came?”

“Mm.”

Zhou Yiwei nodded, then immediately sold out Lin Jiachuan: “Jiachuan couldn’t keep it secret—Xuan Jie came twice, took your sheets to wash, brought them back and made the bed, even bought you a floor fan, which she put in Jiachuan’s room.”

“Oh.”

Yan Li fell silent for a moment: “Did she know when I’d be back?”

“I didn’t tell her.”

Zhou Yiwei first cleared himself, then added: “But whether Jiachuan let it slip—I don’t know. You know he likes Xuan’s classmate.”

Yan Li winced—he had his system, sure, but someone had planted a spy right beside him.

When this big Sichuan guy comes back, he’ll learn what it means to betray a brother—three cuts, six holes…

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PS: Thanks to the patron 【Bai Tiao Le Mao Mao】 for the alliance reward—I’ll add an extra chapter these two days; during the ranking push, please support with monthly votes.

(End of chapter)