Chapter 244

"Yan Er, are you investing in 'The Sun Also Rises'?"

After seeing off Han Sanye and Jiang Wen, Yan Li chatted with the teahouse manager about next steps, then headed home—only to receive a call from Yu Pangzi halfway.

Lately, Yan Li and Yu Pangzi had grown closer; once their relationship solidified, their forms of address changed too.

Yu Pangzi called Yan Li "Lao Yan" or "Yan Er," the latter a single syllable with a soft -r ending; Yan Li called him "Yu Ge" or "Lao Yu."

They were less than ten years apart in age, barely peers, and held similar status—changing how they addressed each other made things feel warmer.

In Beijing, this sort of informal address was trendy—calling each other "Ge" or "Di"—Yan Li had even been called "Yan Ye" before.

But Yan Li wasn't fond of it; if he wasn't close to someone or didn't respect them, he preferred formal titles.

"You've got good ears."

Yan Li raised an eyebrow: "You've been watching this for a while, haven't you? So you want in too?"

Yu Pangzi didn't confirm—instead, he probed Yan Li's opinion of 'The Sun Also Rises.'

Yan Li knew Yu Pangzi well enough: given the ties between China Film and Bona, if Han Sanye needed someone to help Jiang Wen secure funding, Yu Pangzi would've been ranked ahead of Yan Li.

But since no connection had been made, Yu Pangzi must have had reservations.

Still, Jiang Wen's name carried weight, and Yan Li himself, who had helmed 'Crazy Stone'—last year's surprise box-office hit—also carried some clout.

When the two joined forces, Yu Pangzi grew restless and called Yan Li to scout the situation.

"Yu Ge, between us, I won't lie: this film carries real risk, but I believe in Jiang Wen—I'm willing to gamble on him."

"If we win, everyone's happy; if we lose, I'll just count it as making a new friend."

Yan Li spoke truthfully, though he omitted key details he couldn't reveal—enough for Yu Pangzi, who took it at face value.

These days, investing in films was nothing but one gamble after another; if you weren't willing to bet, quit now.

Jiang Wen's project had buzz, but due to various reasons, everyone hesitated—so if someone stepped forward, others would follow.

"Don't rush to find others—I'll convene a meeting and think it over."

Yu Pangzi hung up quickly; Yan Li stood there lost in thought, then called Li Xue.

"Spread a rumor at Huayi—I'm extremely confident in Jiang Wen's 'The Sun Also Rises' and have convinced Bona to invest heavily."

Li Xue had done this before; after discussing details with Yan Li, she guaranteed Wang Jia's brothers would hear the rumor by day's end.

She had the clout to do it—she was now one of Huayi's lead talent agents; spreading a rumor was effortless.

Yan Li hung up and called another acquaintance; Li Xiaolu's surprised voice came through.

"What's the occasion, Boss Yan? Why call me?"

"Are you free to talk?"

Li Xiaolu glanced at her boyfriend Li Chen watching TV, hesitated, then turned and walked into the bedroom.

"Now I am."

"I remember you're under Chengtian. Do you have anyone in the company who can spread a message without exposing you—ideally so your boss hears it?"

Yan Li laid out his request; Li Xiaolu frowned: "Why come to me?"

Yan Li had more than one contact at Chengtian—not to mention Hua Jie, and now Tong Dawei and Yang Xue were both there; their ties with him were far stronger than hers.

"They don't have your guts or your ability."

Yan Li didn't pick Li Xiaolu randomly; though Wang Jinghua and others were close, they might not dare help him scheme against Chengtian—Li Xiaolu had a taste for chaos and was more likely to say yes.

Plus, she was socially skilled, held some status and connections, and was far more useful than Yang Xue or Tong Dawei.

More importantly, Yang Xue and Tong Dawei were on good terms with Yan Li—he didn't want to put them in a bind, and if things blew up, they'd get dragged down too.

Li Xiaolu didn't care—worst case, Yan Li could reward her.

Li Xiaolu didn't know any of this; she still wondered: "How do you know I'll agree—or won't betray you?"

"I trust my judgment."

Yan Li's words were pure bluff—if she refused, he'd find someone else; even if she betrayed him, it was just bait—no fish caught, no loss.

Still, Li Xiaolu was flattered—she felt valued, treated as someone important, and wouldn't let him down.

"No problem—I'll get it done for you."

Yan Li praised her again, then explained the plan and promised a reward.

"If you pull it off, I'll get you a role with good pay and lots of screen time."

Li Xiaolu didn't care about acting gigs—she had little ambition, came from wealth, didn't need money, and loved to play; she had no strong desire to join a shoot.

"You owe me—help get my Li Chen a role."

Li Xiaolu didn't act herself, but she was happy to push her boyfriend Li Chen into acting—it meant money, and fame made her look good.

"That guy from the barbecue place last time? Easy."

Arranging for Li Xiaolu might take a bit more effort—she was a rising star; ordinary offers wouldn't cut it.

Li Chen's fame paled next to hers; with Yan Li's current resources and connections, landing him a lead role wouldn't be hard.

After hanging up, Li Xiaolu felt great.

She didn't know why Yan Li wanted her to spread the rumor, but it couldn't be good.

Was she getting dragged into a corporate war?

For Li Xiaolu, who loved mischief, this was thrillingly fresh.

Add to that the chance to get closer to a big shot like Yan Li and secure benefits for her boyfriend—her mood soared; she hummed a tune as she stepped out of the bedroom.

Li Chen, curious, asked: "Who called?"

"No one. A friend."

Li Xiaolu had promised Yan Li secrecy, so she brushed him off, ate an apple, fiddled with her phone, and plotted who to contact—completely missing the faint flicker in Li Chen's gaze.

Her boyfriend had seen her sneak off to the bedroom for a mysterious call, then emerge glowing with satisfaction, now texting on her phone and hiding it from him.

Who wouldn't suspect something?

Li Chen, overshadowed by Li Xiaolu's fame and burdened by the imbalance in their relationship, harbored quiet insecurities.

Even without wind, ripples form—how much more so when you throw a stone into the water?

While Li Xiaolu was away using the restroom, Li Chen couldn't resist checking her phone—her phone had no password lock; he easily saw the recent call log.

【Yan Li】

A name carries weight; everyone knew Yan Lao's reputation. Seeing those two characters in the contact label, Li Chen's blood ran cold.

He recalled Li Xiaolu's recent behavior, her frequent "Taidi sister gatherings," the sharp rise in her outings, her repeated praise of Yan Li.

"..."

The more he thought, the more he feared he'd been betrayed—but he clung to hope, lacking proof, all just his imagination.

Maybe he'd misunderstood?

Li Chen wanted to ask Li Xiaolu, but feared her temper—if he pushed too hard, she'd scratch his face off.

It must be a misunderstanding!

Finally, he convinced himself—then Li Xiaolu returned from the restroom, and soon after, slipped into the bedroom to make another call, refusing to let him listen.

Li Chen: "..."

…

Li Xue moved fast; Wang Zhongjun soon heard the news—and grew conflicted.

Wang Zhongjun had known about Jiang Wen's film long before Yu Pangzi or Yan Li—he'd been one of the investors in 'Devils on the Doorstep'; Jiang Wen naturally turned to old contacts first.

But 'Devils on the Doorstep' had left Wang Zhongjun with a bitter taste, so he'd declined to invest.

Still, like Yu Pangzi, he couldn't ignore Jiang Wen's talent and reputation—his mind remained torn.

Earlier, when the project stalled, Wang Zhongjun had felt clever for avoiding the trap, even smug.

But now, hearing Yan Li and Yu Pangzi planned to invest, his smugness vanished.

Yan Li was well-known; Yu Pangzi wasn't far behind—especially in today's film industry, where Bona was the top distributor, its credibility even greater than Yan Li's.

Their alliance, backed by Han Sanye's connections, made Wang Zhongjun uneasy.

Had he avoided a trap—or missed a golden opportunity?

Wang Zhongjun wrestled with doubt, called multiple contacts, and dug for information.

When he confirmed Yan Li was personally investing 10 million and actively recruiting investors, and that Bona truly intended to invest—even to secure distribution rights—he hesitated, then called Jiang Wen to meet.

Jiang Wen was a man of his word; once agreed, he wouldn't change plans—especially since he knew exactly how Huayi had treated him versus how Yan Li had.

Plus, Yan Li had already warned him, so Jiang Wen told Wang Zhongjun to speak with Yan Li—he was now the producer of 'The Sun Also Rises.'

Wang Zhongjun played it safe, called Yu Pangzi, and asked his opinion.

Unlike Yan Li, Yu Pangzi genuinely believed in the project and was bold enough to bet—so his tone was confident.

After hearing Yu Pangzi, Wang Zhongjun directly contacted Yan Li—but Yan Li seemed reluctant.

"Manager Wang, we do have a funding gap—if you want to invest, I welcome you."

"But I'll be blunt: this film carries risk. Think carefully—don't come crying later that I didn't warn you."

Given his ties to Huayi, if Yan Li had welcomed him eagerly, Wang Zhongjun might have suspected something.

But Yan Li's cautious warnings—like he was trying to protect him from being scammed—only made Wang Zhongjun more determined to join.

After all, Yan Li had personally invested 10 million; if this were a trap, it was too obvious.

Even if it lost, the risk would be split among Yan Li, Bona, and Huayi—no one would lose much.

But if it won—and won big—Huayi would regret missing out, and Wang Zhongjun would be furious.

So, despite Yan Li's repeated warnings, Huayi still invested in 'The Sun Also Rises' under "pressure."

Huayi's participation strengthened Bona's resolve—Yu Pangzi didn't just want to invest; he wanted distribution rights.

Hua Yi's involvement strengthened Bo Na's confidence; Yu Fatty not only intended to invest but also aimed to secure the distribution rights.

After the news spread, other companies also began to stir.

For instance, Orange Sky, which Yan Li was eyeing, was genuinely considering participation—but its current funds were earmarked for investing in *Red Cliff*, and it planned to acquire Shaw Brothers, leaving it with virtually no cash to spare; it could only regretfully pass.

The swiftest mover was Hong Kong's Emperor Films, whose boss Yang admired Jiang Wen.

Upon hearing of this potential collaboration, with several mainland heavyweights vouching for it, Yang personally reached out to Yan Li, hoping to join as an investor.

Yan Li stuck to his usual line: the risk was high, proceed with caution.

This warning didn't deter Fatty Yu, let alone the seasoned veteran Yang.

Which Hong Kong film giant hasn't lost money? Often, they lose more than they earn—but they still invest.

Yang didn't just invest—he invested heavily, throwing down ten million at once; he had no interest in petty sums.

This created a problem: the shares weren't enough to go around.

The projected funding was twenty-five million: Emperor Films would put in ten million, Yan Li ten million, and even if Huayi and Bona contributed the bare minimum, neither would put in just two and a half million.

So Yan Li reviewed the situation and admitted he'd always emphasized the film's high risk purely to help a friend.

Since so many had shown such generous support for the film, he couldn't hold back anymore.

Emperor Films' ten million was a gesture of goodwill to their Hong Kong peers; he carved out five million from his own share, allocating five million each to Huayi, Bona, and Yi'an.

If we profit, we all profit; if we lose, we all lose.

Huayi and Bona, seeing this, thought Yan Li's move was quite admirable.

Investing too much made them uneasy; investing too little felt pointless. Five million was just right—equal shares among three, no one gained more, no one lost more, everyone felt balanced.

With Emperor Films, Yi'an, Huayi, and Bona all investing, the buzz was substantial.

Even Han Sanye hesitated, wondering if China Film Group might join—having these four companies on board could silence many critics.

But Yan Li refused now; shares were already stretched too thin. Too late to join—next time.

Yan Li didn't just push Han Sanye—he also promoted several other companies, including Starlight, Xiao Ma Benteng, and Guangxian.

Later, at a gathering with Wang Zhongjun, Fatty Yu, and a senior executive from Emperor Films, Yan Li couldn't help but joke that he'd offended quite a few people this time.

All the bosses were delighted—things you fight for are the most desirable.

Outside companies scrambled to invest, but Yan Li turned them all down—this only proved their own choices were right. Thanks to their good relations and early action, they'd secured their shares at all.

Yet Wang Zhongjun, having been burned by Jiang Wen before, specifically warned Yan Li: don't let Jiang Wen run wild.

That old bastard acts on whims—he'd burn through any amount of money. He needs to be watched, or this twenty-five million budget will blow past its limit.

By then, we might not lack investors, but our shares and profits would definitely suffer.

Yan Li took this to heart and assigned someone specifically to monitor the funds.

Besides, Jiang Wen himself also put in a lot—he waived all his acting and directing fees, effectively working for free, and invested his own money along with his wife's and his younger brother Jiang Wu's.

Spending investors' money doesn't sting—but when you're also putting in your own savings, your wife's, and your brother's, you've got to have some sense of responsibility.

After securing the funding, Jiang Wen made a special trip back to Beijing to thank Yan Li. Yan Li was the first investor who believed in him when he'd hit walls everywhere else; the subsequent funding was also arranged by Yan Li. No matter how much others contributed, Jiang Wen owed his gratitude to Yan Li.

Han Sanye too—Yan Li had shown him face, delivered outstanding results, took on the task, and executed it flawlessly.

As for rejecting China Film Group's investment, it was trivial—it was just a probe, an inquiry. They didn't invest at first, and now they want to jump on late? Don't expect miracles.

Happy with the outcome, Han Sanye added another company to his list of private enterprises recommended for state support.

Of course, Han Sanye didn't have that much authority—Yi'an was already eligible.

But being eligible is one thing; having someone push you forward is another.

Sometimes, just one name can directly determine a company's future.

Yan Li reviewed the whole affair: a small investment, gained Jiang Wen's favor, laid groundwork for entering *Let the Bullets Fly*, and earned face with Han Sanye.

He didn't trick Fatty Yu or Emperor Films—they came to him on their own, and he'd told them everything upfront.

Huayi was lured into his trap with a bit of clever maneuvering—but he felt zero guilt about it.

And it wasn't even necessarily a trick: *The Sun Also Rises* was risky, but not guaranteed to lose—if it won an award or even got an Oscar nomination, it might actually turn a profit.

Fatty Yu, Wang Zhongjun, and Yang weren't fools—they'd thought of this too.

Jiang Wen had always performed well in Europe; if he won a major prize, with joint marketing efforts, a domestic box office of several hundred million—or even over a billion—plus overseas rights sales, a double win of fame and fortune was possible.

Emperor Films even slipped in an actor: Cheng Long's son.

Yan Li had originally considered letting Fan Xiaopang gain some prestige—but the latter had no availability, so it was dropped.

————

Yan Li didn't take *The Sun Also Rises* too seriously.

But many observant people saw in this incident Yan Li's connections and influence.

They didn't know the details—only that Yan Li said he'd help Jiang Wen, and within days had gathered twenty-five million from Bona, Huayi, and Emperor Films, turning away many eager investors.

Perhaps Yan Li himself took it for granted—leveraging his reputation, aura, and intelligence network to raise capital was truly no challenge for him.

But for filmmakers and crews who'd spent years begging and hitting dead ends, Yan Li's feat was nothing short of miraculous.

Soon, Yan Li found his popularity in the film industry soared—many now sought him out to invest or help raise funds.

For instance, *Nanjing! Nanjing! , which had struggled for years to secure funding.

The film had been in development for a long time; director Lu Chuan had been trying to raise capital, but with little success.

Reasons were numerous—overall, it was not well regarded.

After hearing Jiang Wen's story, Lu Chuan reached out through connections, asking Yan Li for help.

Yan Li, having triggered Qin Lan's dossier, held a very lukewarm impression of Lu.

But out of respect for the intermediary, he took the script home to read, then replied in four words: "Seek another expert."

Later, someone asked Yan Li for his opinion on the film.

Normally, Yan Li wouldn't kick someone when they were down—but after considering Lu Chuan and the film's plot, he gave his assessment.

"The screenwriter might be Japanese."

The comment spread, and Lu Chuan, as both director and screenwriter, knew exactly how it landed.

But as Yan Li, who had just secured funding for *The Sun Also Rises*, his words carried weight; *Nanjing! Nanjing! , already struggling to attract investors, became even more invisible.

Besides this film, Yan Li turned down many others seeking his backing—but regardless of his personal opinion, he no longer made public comments.

Most films were politely declined, but a few caught his eye.

For instance, a low-budget film called *Love Is a Moving Target*.

The plot was intriguing: the male lead, like a string of candied haws, charms twelve women, interweaving major events of 2006 into a year-in-review, designed as a New Year's release.

Produced by China Film Group, they'd originally wanted to bring in Orange Sky—but Han Sanye thought Yan Li reliable, and the film needed many female stars, an area where Yan Li excelled.

Yan Li thought this film had potential.

The cost was low; it was an urban film, and many elements could easily incorporate product placements, saving substantial expenses.

Meanwhile, with its New Year's and romance themes, it could leverage Yi'an's ground promotion strategy, aiding distribution.

Yan Li spoke with China Film Group and the crew, putting in no money himself—he secured 50% of the shares and distribution rights by guaranteeing at least three million in product placements and securing female stars at low or guest rates.

China Film Group had even considered whether Yan Li should play the male lead—twelve women in one film would be highly talkable.

But Yan Li declined.

The film leaned comedic; the protagonist was a middle-aged man who could only seduce women through supernatural luck.

Neither Yan Li's personal image nor public perception matched this "pathetic" middle-aged archetype—forcing him into the role would feel jarring.

The role suited Xu Zheng perfectly—he could play the "angel" helping him find women.

In truth, China Film Group could easily find several actresses on their own.

Yan Li just needed to ask the Teddy Sisters, the Seven Fairies, and Wang Ou—who had time—and he could assemble the cast, mostly well-known names.

Another film left an impression on Yan Li: *Apple*.

The director was a woman named Li Yu; Yan Li had previously triggered intelligence on this film.

Li Yu approached Yan Li for two reasons: to raise investment and to ask for Fan Xiaopang to play the female lead.

Yan Li had initially been intrigued by the film due to the intelligence—but after reading the script, he told her to go cool off somewhere.

Li Yu didn't give up; she took the script to Fan Xiaopang and got the same rejection.

Fan Xiaopang lived comfortably, lacking neither money nor resources—why would she risk doing a nudity-heavy film? She almost suspected Li Yu was being paid by Dong Qin to sabotage her.

Still, though she didn't take the role in *Apple*, after talking with Li Yu, Fan Xiaopang admired the director and personally invested one million, becoming a backer.

Having worked with Yan Li for a long time, Fan Xiaopang's mindset had shifted—beyond acting, she now consciously considered behind-the-scenes roles.

But since Yi'an had many projects requiring her, and Yan Li already oversaw the behind-the-scenes side, her inclination to transition was low—investing in *Apple* was merely a small trial.

As for acting, Fan Xiaopang wasn't in a hurry—before Li Yu approached her, Yan Li had already told her.

He'd found a promising script, was now refining and restructuring it, and was in early planning.

The film's title: *Painted Skin*.

…

Since entering the film market, Yan Li had always prioritized theaters and distribution, emphasizing low- to mid-budget productions.

But frankly, to survive in today's film market—and especially to break into the top tier—investing only in small-budget films wasn't enough.

Low budget meant no stars, poor promotional resources, weak audience appeal—making high box office inherently difficult.

The few black horses that emerged weren't projects Yan Li could just pick at will, since many were already backed by other studios.

Other film companies weren't idle—they had solid scripts, low costs, and many were willing to invest.

Yan Li casting a wide net might not catch fish; even if he got a slice, small-budget films offered little profit.

So, after all the twists and turns, they were back to square one.

For Yi'an to establish itself and grow strong in the film industry, it still needed to produce its own major, large-scale films.

Yan Li had long considered this, and had always been searching for a good script.

Perhaps because what is long remembered eventually echoes, or perhaps because film crews had been approaching him frequently lately, the latest monthly intelligence triggered Yu Yanli's future intelligence related to "Painted Skin."

In fact, Yu Yanli had seen references to this film in earlier intelligence.

But it was only a name and fragmented details—he had no idea how to proceed.

This time, the intelligence was far more detailed, opening Yu Yanli's thinking and revealing the core creative team, the film's strengths and weaknesses, and behind-the-scenes information.

Then Yu Yanli decided this film would suit Yi An well.

First, the investment, though substantial—likely tens of millions—was still within his capacity.

Moreover, the projected box office prospects in the intelligence gave him confidence; even if it flopped, he wouldn't lose too badly.

Second, this film greatly elevated its leads: the male lead and both female leads all gained immense benefits.

Yu Yanli placed special value on a film's "added value."

This was the film's greatest advantage: the returns from its added value far exceeded the box office earnings.

A film with merely high box office numbers wasn't truly a successful blockbuster.

Third, Yu Yanli had some confidence in replicating—and even enhancing—the film's selling points.

It wasn't that if intelligence said a film earned high box office, he could just copy the title and make it succeed.

Many films succeeded only when timing, location, and human factors all aligned—actors, crew, promotion, release date—all crucial.

Take "Crazy Stone" as an example.

He made no changes to the film itself, instead increasing the budget for optimization and focusing heavily on promotion to fix its weaknesses—hence its massive box office success.

If he had foolishly altered the plot or replaced the director or lead actors, "Crazy Stone" might have flopped.

For "Painted Skin," he had no intention of changing the screenwriter or director, only offering reminders based on the intelligence's revealed strengths and weaknesses.

The actors would definitely be replaced, but not randomly—he'd ensure acting quality and promotional appeal.

"Painted Skin" was marketed as a fantasy spectacle, but in truth leaned heavily on emotion, precisely targeting its audience with themes of human love, Eastern aesthetics, and visual effects to harvest box office returns.

Another key point worth mentioning: it featured multiple high-popularity stars to attract casual viewers.

Zhou Young Master guaranteed acting quality, Xiao Yanzi provided national recognition, Chen Kun was a current heartthrob, and added to that, Jet Li drew action movie fans—this lead lineup was undeniably carefully chosen.

For various reasons, Yu Yanli couldn't use this cast, but he had his own trump card—

The Bond Between Shuang Bing!

In terms of national recognition and acting ability, Shuang Bing might not surpass Zhou and Yanzi, but both were well above average.

Moreover, their complex history of grudges and affection made their joint appearance in "Painted Skin"—as rivals for love—especially eye-catching, creating a chemical effect greater than the sum of its parts.

Since "The Seven Fairies," Shuang Bing had grown increasingly popular, their bond deepening further.

Many had wanted to pair them together for profit, but Yu Yanli had always held them back—now, he felt the time had come to let Shuang Bing reunite.

As for the male lead, there were currently three candidates.

One was Chen Kun: since he succeeded in the original, he had undeniable value.

Another was Deng Chao: his own future top star; promoting him would bring profit to the company.

The last was Yu Yanli himself.

To be honest, casting Yu Yanli in this role was slightly wasteful—he was already famous and couldn't chase box office gains like Deng Chao—but Yu Yanli had one advantage: he could maximize the Shuang Bing bond effect.

Shuang Bing alone were already magnetic; adding Yu Yanli meant on- and off-screen rivalry between Shuang Bing for Yu Yanli.

The plot might be clichéd, but there were plenty who loved it!

With all three working together, they could save enormous promotion costs and attract countless viewers, further deepening their bond and generating endless future topics and benefits.

Also, the male lead was written as a military general—tough yet tender.

Yu Yanli might not excel in other roles, but a military general was his comfort zone—he had no worries about acting or image.

Besides, Shuang Bing's bond was deep, and so was their conflict; if they ever clashed on set, it wouldn't be surprising.

Other male actors might not be able to control them, but if Yu Yanli was there, he might catalyze tension—yet he could also hold the set together, at least preventing outright brawls.

The more Yu Yanli thought about it, the more he felt he was the best fit—but the project was still in development, so nothing was certain yet.

For now, among domestic blockbusters, it was rare indeed to find one that didn't rely on big-name actors from Hong Kong or Taiwan.

"Painted Skin" needed investment; Yu Yanli had to test the market and investors' receptiveness to this idea.

As for Fan Xiaopang, that was manageable—he had a good relationship with Li Bing, but she wasn't someone who could be summoned on a whim.

Many details needed careful discussion: Li Bing had to understand this move benefited everyone, and she had to be treated with full respect.

Otherwise, if he forced her in out of obligation, the relationship would sour after filming, making it hard to reunite Shuang Bing again.

Playing the Shuang Bing card well wouldn't just mean profiting from one "Painted Skin."

While giving Li Bing benefits and respect, he couldn't shortchange Fan Xiaopang.

Not only because of her relationship with Yu Yanli, but also because she was his own top actress—she couldn't be overshadowed in Shuang Bing.

As always: Shuang Bing means equal power—only then is it compelling; if one dominates, it loses its meaning.

So, securing Shuang Bing might not be hard for Yu Yanli—but making them cooperate happily, shine equally, and remain willing to work together afterward—this was the true test.

Yu Yanli still had confidence, and he also felt "Painted Skin" might become a milestone for Shuang Bing.

If their joint performance in "Painted Skin" succeeded massively, it would further solidify the Shuang Bing brand.

And because it was a commercial success, Shuang Bing's stature would surge, truly placing them on par with the Four Dan, joining the ranks of top leading ladies together…

(End of Chapter)