Chapter 254

The gathering ended.

Some who were interested or had good relations made plans for the next round; others prepared to leave.

Yan Li didn't much care for second gatherings—either people bragged or ran wild, and he found it boring.

If a few big shots he knew went together, he couldn't easily refuse and would tag along for the fun; if few went, he'd make an excuse to decline and head home early.

At the parking lot, Yan Li ran into Wang Ke again—the same man he'd met before—whether by chance or because the man had waited deliberately.

Perhaps because Yan Li had asked about the luxury car club earlier, Wang Ke brought it up again, saying their club would have a related event in a few days and inviting Yan Li to join if he was interested.

He also said some off-topic things, expressing admiration and respect for Yan Li, and mentioned he wanted to invest in entertainment and hoped Yan Li would guide and mentor him.

Yan Li politely chatted on the surface, but his eyes flickered slightly—he always felt this fellow townsman had an unusual interest in the entertainment circle.

But he could understand it.

He'd heard Wang Ke was about the same age as him; at that age, with some wealth, who wouldn't want to stand out, who wouldn't covet those beautiful, famous female stars?

To be honest, Yan Li had been asked more than once to connect female stars with men—just never once did he take it seriously.

If you've got the guts, chase them yourself; if you don't know them, spend a few million to hire them for a drama or ad—you'll know them then.

Worst case, go to the Wang brothers—they're the ones who handle this kind of mess, not him.

And given Wang Ke's business, it probably wasn't just about chasing women or showing off—he likely had business plans too.

Like the luxury car club, his investment consulting and management services required meeting quality clients and demonstrating real strength to earn their trust.

If he got a star as a girlfriend or wife, it would greatly help his career.

It was like having a long-term advertisement: mention Wang Ke, and people wouldn't know him; mention "XX's boyfriend or husband," and they'd immediately recognize him.

To most people, could a female star's man be an ordinary person?

Then, with media and writers steering the narrative, subtly hinting that Wang Ke's background and wealth were "unfathomable," those quality clients without discernment or connections would think they'd met a true god and be willing to cooperate, believing in his abilities and strength.

In short, it was still the celebrity effect.

This tactic had long existed; Hollywood and Hong Kong-Taiwan had countless similar examples.

The mainland had plenty too, and Yan Li himself was a master—he owed much of his early fame to his rumors with Shuang Bing.

To some extent, Yan Li was the one who truly brought the 【Business-Entertainment Integration】 model to its peak in the mainland.

Before him, others' efforts lacked his influence, practical results, and personal achievements.

Because Yan Li succeeded, many wanted to imitate him, and as a result, female stars' value rose to some degree.

Previously, female stars seeking to marry into wealthy families faced class discrimination; now, by demonstrating commercial value and leverage, they greatly reduced the resistance of some "wealthy families."

Especially young entrepreneurs, who were even more enthusiastic about female stars—satisfying their vanity while helping their startups, all dreaming of becoming the next Yan Li.

From this perspective, Yan Li felt every female star in the entertainment circle owed him a favor.

Yan Li didn't mind others learning and copying the celebrity effect and Business-Entertainment Integration tactics, nor did he fear being overshadowed or having his plans disrupted.

The tactic was good—but it depended on who used it.

He didn't deny that fame had brought him benefits and importance, but that didn't mean it was his only advantage.

If just dating a female star made you Yan Li, then the entire entertainment circle would be full of "business geniuses."

Yan Li had little interest in Wang Ke—he already had his own investment and finance team and didn't need outsiders managing his investments.

But Wang Ke desperately wanted to get close to Yan Li.

Entertainment resources were only part of it; more importantly, Yan Li himself had helped him significantly.

In terms of fame and strength, Yan Li had broad influence among the public and industry insiders.

Even if Yan Li didn't give him any business, just being seen in Yan Li's circle would make others look at him differently; and with Yan Li's connections, even a simple introduction could land him many deals.

Without exaggeration, if timing had been right, Wang Ke truly wanted to kneel and bow his head in homage.

Out of respect for their hometown ties and because Wang Ke was still reasonably sensible, Yan Li gave him a business card.

Though Yan Li was famous and powerful in business, due to his age, while he might be well-liked, few actually followed him closely.

How to put it? Those in Yan Li's social circle were all major figures; those in their thirties or forties were fine, but those in their fifties or sixties fawning over a young man like Yan Li couldn't easily afford to lose face.

Even if someone could, Yan Li didn't much enjoy hanging out with people much older than him.

Someone older than his father? Praise him too much and it felt inappropriate; don't praise him enough and it looked like Yan Li was being rude.

With similar ages, there was no such concern—whoever was stronger became the leader.

In any circle, if you wanted influence, you needed followers and yes-men—you didn't need close relationships, just people who could handle certain tasks and speak for you.

Giving a business card didn't mean Yan Li would take Wang Ke along—he'd watch his performance.

If they clicked, they'd hang out together; if not, it'd just be one card and a few meals.

"Alright, talk next time."

After a few more words, they parted; Yan Li sat in his car and watched Wang Ke get into a Rolls-Royce.

Damn, no wonder he played luxury cars!

In China today, a brand-new Rolls-Royce cost at least 4 million yuan; better models and configurations easily hit 6 million.

Yan Li had once considered a Rolls-Royce too, but later thought it too expensive and poor value.

Six million yuan? Add a bit more, and he could build a cinema outright!

So over the past two years, though he'd bought new cars, they were mostly around a million yuan; the most expensive was the Mercedes S600 he was sitting in now—a car he got through a friend, priced at 2.6 million yuan after all fees.

Its main use was for business gatherings—after all, no commoners came around, so he couldn't drive a cheap car, and something like a G-Wagon felt out of place.

The Mercedes S600 was a luxurious business vehicle—not overly flashy, but never beneath him.

Yan Li had previously felt quite satisfied with his choice, but seeing Wang Ke, he couldn't help wondering if he'd been too stingy.

Look at how young billionaires lived; look at himself—he'd be mistaken for Wang Ke's sidekick if they went out together.

But then he thought of his cinemas, video websites, and Weibo—and he let go of the thought.

This was the stage of building a kingdom—not yet time for lavish indulgence…

————

Haidian, Wancheng Huafu

Two years ago, Yan Li and Qin Lan bought a house, and to keep things fair, he also bought one for Dong Xuan.

Qin Lan's house was in Shuangjing Fuli City, in Chaoyang, on the eastern side of Jingcheng, while Dong Xuan's was in Haidian, on the western side of Jingcheng.

On one hand, they wouldn't run into each other; on the other, it was convenient for Dong Xuan's commute.

Wancheng Huafu is in the Wanliu area of Haidian, less than twenty minutes by car from North Electric.

But because of convenience for work, Dong Xuan preferred living in Beiying Community, right next to North Electric, and only stayed at Wancheng Huafu on weekends or during school breaks.

Now, during winter break, Dong Xuan had moved back from Beiying Community to Wancheng Huafu, and Yan Li had also shifted his sleeping spot.

Compared to the aging Beiying Community, Wancheng Huafu was one of Jingcheng's top luxury residential complexes, with clearly superior facilities.

Dong Xuan wasn't some masochist who endured hardship for no reason—she was growing more comfortable by the day, and since it wasn't too far from school, she was already considering moving her home here permanently after the Spring Festival.

Yan Li had warned her beforehand, and when he returned, Dong Xuan hadn't slept yet; she was wearing an apron, cooking soup for him.

After social drinking, Yan Li liked to drink soup, noodles, or congee—sometimes as a midnight snack, sometimes to soothe his stomach and sober up.

Originally, Yan Li made it himself, but at some point, it switched to Dong Xuan and Qin Lan.

Cooking soup or congee was much easier than cooking dishes; with a little effort, it might not be delicious, but at least Yan Li didn't have to lift a finger.

Yan Li hadn't drunk much tonight and wasn't very hungry, but since Dong Xuan made it, he didn't waste it.

Each had a bowl, sipping soup while chatting, listening as Dong Xuan recounted the latest updates about Guan Yue and Tong Dawei.

This had become their recent daily topic.

Dong Xuan wanted to vent and share—holding it in was unbearable—but since it was her best friend's matter, she couldn't tell anyone else, so she could only complain to her man.

Yan Li was purely there to watch the drama, while subtly putting down Tong Dawei to make himself look better.

"Guan Yue went back to her hometown for the New Year and invited him to come along, but that guy Tong ignored her—he'd promised, then went back on his word, what a piece of trash."

Dong Xuan was indignant; she used to call him Dawei, but now she just said "that guy Tong"—clearly, she held a deep grudge against him.

Yan Li sipped his soup with a spoon: "Maybe he had something to do."

"Bullshit, even if he had something to do, if he wasn't going with her, couldn't he spare a day or two to visit Guan Yue?"

"I think he just changed his mind, or that fox woman contacted him again."

Since the last cheating incident, over the past few months, Guan Yue and Tong Dawei had broken up and gotten back together repeatedly, their relationship unstable.

Both were at fault.

Guan Yue was overly sensitive, seeing threats everywhere, so her temper was bad and she controlled him too much.

Tong Dawei never made up his mind, kept changing his words, and was suspected of flirting with Jiang Yiyan.

If things continued like this, they'd head toward breaking up—until Tong's mother, who still liked Guan Yue, stepped in to reconcile the couple.

She pushed Tong Dawei to visit Guan Yue's parents for the New Year—in plain terms, to move toward marriage.

To give Guan Yue peace of mind, to make Tong Dawei drop some of his ideas, and even to discourage him from Jiang Yiyan.

As boyfriend and girlfriend, it's easier to move up, with little downside; but once married, who knows?

She was willing to gamble; Tong Dawei had to consider his career and family.

Tong Dawei had agreed; Guan Yue had bought gifts and tickets, waiting for him to find time to return home together—then he backed out at the last minute.

"Old Guan is truly heartbroken; she used to cry, but now when I listen to her, her voice sounds dead inside."

"She says Tong Dawei isn't just cheating or playing around—he's completely changed his heart."

"Old Guan has already booked her ticket to go home alone—I get the feeling this might be real breakup territory."

Yan Li stopped sipping his soup: "Really this far?"

Didn't last month's intelligence report say they were getting married this year? How did it get to breaking up? Could this be my butterfly effect?

Dong Xuan stirred the soup with her spoon: "Old Guan gave him more than one chance—even offered to marry him and let it go—but he hurt her heart again and again. She said herself: better to walk away cleanly than be dumped."

Yan Li thought about it—he couldn't marry her or cut off the other side.

Was he trying to have it both ways, or weighing options?

Guan Yue wasn't stupid; she couldn't take this anymore, and after repeated disappointments, she no longer believed Tong Dawei—so she decided to end it.

"Hot temper."

Yan Li commented neutrally, deciding he should learn from Tong Dawei's mistake.

Don't think you can jump recklessly just because you're better off and she's got high sunk costs—if you push her too far, she'll just say she's done, and then the initiative flips.

Thinking of this, Yan Li took Dong Xuan's hand: "You can't copy her—if you're ever unhappy, we'll talk it out slowly."

Dong Xuan rolled her eyes: "Talking to you helps? Look at Qin and Fan—they're annoying, can you kick them out?"

"You're just saying things to provoke me."

Yan Li switched topics immediately: "Have you prepared gifts for Mom and Dad? Don't be stingy—buy the expensive ones."

"Don't say 'our'—they're my mom and dad."

Dong Xuan sniffed, complaining aloud, but her expression clearly liked Yan Li's phrasing—he knew it well and pushed harder.

"It's inevitable—I'm just getting used to it. If you're not happy, you can call them 'the kid's grandpa' and 'the kid's grandma' too."

"You're just good with words."

Dong Xuan muttered, then listed the New Year gifts she'd bought—not just for her parents, but also for Yan Li's parents, his grandmother, and several relatives.

Yan Li calculated: Dong Xuan's gift, Qin Lan's gift, Fan Xiaopang's gift—that's three already.

If Wang Ou and others hadn't been vetoed, there'd have been more.

Yan Li considered reminding the women to coordinate, to avoid duplicate gifts and waste.

But he quickly dropped the idea—duplicate gifts? Fine. Better not to stir up trouble.

As they talked, Dong Xuan's phone rang; she answered, spoke a few words, then hung up.

"Who is it?"

"Tong Yaya—the one who played the Kucha Princess in 'Chu Liuxiang Legend.' We get along well; she came by to pay New Year's respects before heading home for the holiday."

"To the house?" Yan Li was surprised—Dong Xuan never brought people home.

Aside from a few close friends and those students, only Yang Mi had ever been invited inside; even Yuan Shanshan, whom Dong Xuan had brought into 'Chu Liuxiang Legend,' hadn't received this honor. This Tong Yaya really did click with Dong Xuan.

Dong Xuan hadn't realized this herself until Yan Li asked.

She and Tong Yaya had grown quite close lately.

One reason was their natural affinity—they looked alike, got along well—and another was that Guan Yue, recently preoccupied with her romance with Tong Dawei, had "neglected" Dong Xuan.

As previously mentioned, Yan Li was busy and had limited time to spend with her.

So besides Fan Xiaopang, who was equally busy, several women sought friendships to compensate for the emotional absence left by Yan Li.

Qin Lan formed the Teddy Bear Sisterhood; Wang Ou and others banded together as the Phoenix Sisters; Dong Xuan had plenty of friends too, but her closest was Guan Yue.

But now Guan Yue was overwhelmed, and just as she met the lively Tong Yaya, the timing aligned perfectly with this emotional gap—her bond with Dong Xuan surged, and Tong Yaya had already been deemed a "family member" worthy of being invited home.

"Seems a bit fast. Maybe meet outside or have her come to the Beijing Film Academy compound instead?"

Dong Xuan asked. Yan Li didn't care—he was merely curious by instinct; whether she came home or not meant little to him, and he'd likely never see her anyway.

He'd checked Tong Yaya's background—no red flags, her personality seemed fine—he had no objection to Dong Xuan befriending her.

Yan Li claimed he wouldn't interfere with his women's friendships, but in truth, if someone close to them held influence, he'd still look into them.

One reason was fear of traps set by bad people; the other was fear of "good people" trying to pull them away from their "suffering."

The former needed no explanation—drive them out and punish them; the latter he didn't know how to judge, so he'd just find a way to make them leave quickly.

Tong Yaya's intentions were simple—no malice, no desire to meddle in Dong Xuan and Yan Li's private affairs—just pure friendship and a bit of opportunistic clinging.

Friends like this—who didn't cause trouble and could sometimes be useful—Yan Li could accept, even welcome.

…

By February, as the Spring Festival drew nearer, Qin Lan, Dong Xuan, Wang Ou, and others returned to their hometowns for the holiday.

Fan Xiaopang remained steadily in Jingcheng, preparing for Spring Festival Gala rehearsals and researching her major film and television projects for 2007.

Last year, Fan Xiaopang released films and dramas including 'Mo Gong,' 'Tokyo Trial,' 'Fengshen Bang,' 'Lu Xiaofeng Legend,' and 'White-Haired Witch,' all performing well.

This year, she must keep up—their popularity was fueled by her works; without them, she'd be a rootless weed, unsustainable.

Currently, the only drama awaiting broadcast in Fan Xiaopang's hands was 'Yang Yuhuan Legend.'

After the New Year, 'Fengshen Bang 2' would begin filming, and Fan Xiaopang would appear—but her role would be drastically reduced.

The second season focused on Wu Wang's campaign against King Zhou; the plot centered on Jiang Ziya, with limited screen time for King Zhou and Su Daji.

The production team considered adding scenes, but both Fan Xiaopang and Yan Li were busy; after discussion, their roles were cut, and they were listed as special guests.

Except for the final decisive battle where Wu Wang overthrew King Zhou, their earlier scenes mostly involved subtle guidance and strategic planning.

In the first season, there was a plot point where Su Daji was severely wounded, causing her soul to dissipate.

The screenwriter had left a loophole—if Fan Xiaopang didn't return for season two, they could simply revive Su Daji with a new actress.

But now, with Yan Li's investment, Fan Xiaopang would still appear, so this plot point remained useful.

The script was revised: Su Daji, severely injured, remained in Chaoge recovering, unable to appear in public—she could only manipulate events from behind the scenes, delegating evil deeds to Shen Gongbao and the two transformed demons of Xuanyuan.

This way, they avoided recasting, minimized Fan Xiaopang's workload and filming demands, and gave Wang Ou and Wu Jiani more opportunities.

Even Yan Li's role as King Zhou adopted this setup.

To save Su Daji, he used the Shang royal aura, damaging his foundation—he too needed rest and reduced exposure.

The atrocities committed against the people were also tied to this event.

Facing the overwhelming army rising against him, King Zhou's situation grew dire; under Su Daji's seduction, he grew increasingly mad, resorting to dark magic to restore and strengthen himself against the Western Zhou.

This adaptation was necessary because in the first season, King Zhou, though cruel, still had boundaries—he wasn't as utterly monstrous as in the original.

Su Daji also had genuine feelings for King Zhou; if she recklessly sabotaged him to ensure his downfall, it would defy logic.

Combined with the injury and survival crisis, their descent into desperation became plausible—they resorted to poison to quench their thirst, justifying King Zhou's fall and Su Daji's cruelty.

Though there was still a hint of whitewashing, in the second season, King Zhou and Su Daji became outright villains—what made them admirable was their lingering affection and their dignified deaths.

Besides these two dramas, the only project confirmed for Fan Xiaopang was 'Painted Skin,' currently in pre-production.

Other projects were still under review.

In the conference room, Fan Xiaopang sat beside Yan Li wearing a baseball cap, while the Film & TV Department and Artist Management Department fiercely debated her new drama.

As Yi'an's top actress, Fan Xiaopang was currently the studio's most bankable star.

Thus, most of Yi'an's projects involving her were custom-built to suit her—boosting her profile while maximizing profits.

But this often sparked conflict between the Film & TV Department and Artist Management Department over interests and authority.

Was the drama more important, requiring the actress to adapt to it?

Or was the actress more important, requiring the drama to adapt to her?!

As both deputy directors slammed their desks, Jia Qian and Wang Decai, the department heads, stirred, ready to join the fray.

Yan Li cleared his throat, tapped the table, and silenced the room before speaking slowly.

"We're all colleagues, all working for the company's sake. Don't let emotions get in the way. Discuss issues calmly."

Fan Xiaopang chimed in: "Exactly. Since I came here, there's been nothing but arguing. Just tell me what projects are on the table—I'll think them over, and let Yan Zong help me evaluate."

Seeing this, the Artist Management Department exchanged glances and spoke first: "Because her previous dramas were mostly historical costume pieces—including 'Fengshen Bang 2' and 'Painted Skin'—"

"From the artist's development perspective, too many costume dramas are homogenized. It risks trapping Bingbing's career path and causing audience and fan fatigue."

"So after discussion, we propose shifting her next drama away from historical costume to modern or Republican-era themes."

Yan Li couldn't help nodding—he'd noticed this too.

Not just Fan Xiaopang leaned heavily toward costume dramas; Yi'an's overall output was dominated by historical costume series.

Aside from a few exceptions like 'Conquest,' 'Bright Sword,' and 'Crazy Stone,' Yi'an's signature works were almost entirely historical costume dramas.

For a film and television company, this limping development path may not be fatal, but it's certainly an unhealthy model.

Just as Hai Run previously focused on modern and Republican-era dramas, always trying to break into costume dramas, Yi'an must also timely increase investment in non-costume projects.

Regarding Fan Xiaopang's new drama direction, personnel from the Film & TV Department came forward to introduce specific projects.

Currently, modern dramas are either realistic-themed, idol dramas, or family dramas.

Yi'an doesn't lack similar scripts, but none feature a prominent female lead, making them unsuitable for Fan Xiaopang.

Republican-era dramas, however, have no shortage of scripts with the female lead as the central character—scripts that can leverage Fan Xiaopang's beauty advantage and, due to their plot and subject matter, stand a chance at awards.

Upon hearing there was a chance at awards, Fan Xiaopang instantly perked up: "Which one can win awards?"

Among the current "Four Dan and Two Bing," commercial appeal is Fan Xiaopang's strength; her popularity is strong, and her data figures are impressive, but her biggest shortcoming is awards.

The "Four Dan" have many Best Actress and Best TV Actress awards; Li Bingbing even won the Hundred Flowers Award for her role in "Cell Phone," and her new work "Clouds and Water Melody" is also highly favored for awards.

Only Fan Xiaopang, despite having won some minor awards, still has zero significant awards to her name.

The Best Actress competition is fierce, with low odds of winning; it can be set aside for now, but landing a Best TV Actress award would be fine—better than zero.

Yan Li kicked Fan Xiaopang lightly under the table, urging her to show some ambition, then signaled for the Film & TV Department to continue.

As the boss, he was aware of these projects, but apart from a few, he wasn't familiar with the rest—he still needed to listen carefully and compare them.

There were four scripts in total; two were in Yi'an's possession, the other two—one could be bought outright, the other was held by someone else but open to collaboration.

The first was "Love in a Fallen City," adapted from Eileen Chang's novel of the same name, a Republican-era tragic romance.

The second was "Paper, Money, and Gold," adapted from Zhang Henshui's novel, centered on ordinary people struggling during the Republican era, leaning toward an ensemble cast.

The third was "Madam Jin," a script sourced by Fan Xiaopang's team, adapted from the Taiwan novel "The Last Page of Madam Jin," previously filmed in Taiwan and staged as a play on the mainland, with Liu Xiaoqing as the lead.

Compared to the first two, this script had some idol drama qualities.

But precisely because of that, it was less heavy than the first two, potentially benefiting its ratings.

Fan Xiaopang had been listening throughout, but after the introduction of this drama, she couldn't help but complain.

"Why are all these roles either mistresses, courtesans, or dancers?"

Yan Li couldn't help laughing: "What do you think?"

Fan Xiaopang glared at him; in front of everyone, she didn't retort, but privately she stomped hard on his foot.

Everyone else, whether they noticed or not, pretended not to see; the head of the Artist Management Department, who was also Fan Xiaopang's agent, explained to her.

For Republican-era themes, unless it's a patriotic anti-Japanese spy drama, the tone tends to be tragic; if viewed from a female perspective, scenes of family decline, falling into prostitution, and being swindled for money and affection are inevitable.

Due to Fan Xiaopang's personal attributes, Yan Li and the team all demanded emphasizing her beauty.

Under these circumstances, roles like mistress, dancer, and courtesan—roles that showcase Fan Xiaopang's physical advantages—naturally became popular choices.

Although the background and identity were somewhat problematic, the plot and character design were fine—belonging to the type that remains pure despite being born in mud.

Hearing this, Fan Xiaopang felt somewhat depressed; everything has its pros and cons.

Because of her beauty, she gained massive popularity and exposure, constantly outshining other actresses.

But because of her beauty, many overlooked her acting skills, somewhat limiting her range of roles.

She could accept the latter; previously, Yan Li had already discussed with her the need to emphasize beauty for packaging and marketing.

No actor is suited to every role; dominating one's comfort zone and sphere of influence can still make one a top-tier actor.

But Fan Xiaopang felt she was now veering off course.

Perhaps due to her increasingly glamorous and radiant style, Su Daji's deep-rooted image, and her rumors with Yan Li, people now perceived her as the "National Fox Spirit."

But Fan Xiaopang felt she could play dignified, elegant roles.

Empress, noble lady, socialite, female industry elite—she could play them all, yet now they were pushing her toward dancer, concubine, and female demon roles.

When "Painted Skin" was first proposed, and the female lead was described as a female demon or beautiful ghost, everyone's first thought was her; when the script was changed to a fox spirit, they all declared she was the only one who could play it.

This is too much!

Seeing Fan Xiaopang's low mood, the person from the Film & TV Department hesitated; Yan Li waved him on to continue, and he presented the final script.

"Crimson Snow"

A script by Yi'an's screenwriter and producer Yu Zheng; the exact genre was unclear, but the drama blended romance, feudalism, suspense, inspiration, tragedy, and household intrigue.

In terms of plot, it was the most recognized among the four scripts by the Film & TV Department.

Too perfect!

Catering to every kind of viewer, the plot carried a touch of melodrama; its ceiling was uncertain, but it could at least guarantee a minimum performance level.

Upon hearing the introduction of this drama, Fan Xiaopang didn't know what to say.

The character's identity was acceptable—a young mistress of a family—but in the end, she broke free from feudal constraints and pursued true love with the male steward.

Yan Li looked at Fan Xiaopang: "Which one interests you more?"

Whether the actor suits the role or the role suits the actor, Fan Xiaopang had to be willing to play it; if the female lead refused, the project would struggle to succeed.

Therefore, Fan Xiaopang's personal preference still needed to be respected.

Fan Xiaopang complained, but didn't delay the matter: "I don't like the first one; I think the second, third, and fourth are all fine."

The second is slightly more tragic and oppressive; it can aim for awards. The third and fourth highlight the female lead, can elevate her, and have more mainstream plots, friendlier to ratings.

Yan Li nodded; having narrowed the range but without a clear preference, they could slowly compare the scripts—there was still time.

They now had a direction for Republican-era dramas, but only one; filming two Republican-era projects might feel too similar. Yan Li suggested adding one modern drama.

"If we can't find good scripts on the mainland, we can source them from Hong Kong and Taiwan, or even adapt scripts from Japan and Korea."

As mentioned earlier, mainland modern dramas still focus mainly on realistic and family themes; their exploration and creativity in urban dramas are insufficient.

Yan Li had previously wanted to source scripts from Hong Kong and Taiwan, but several attempts yielded nothing good.

This time, he planned to broaden the scope; according to intelligence, Korean dramas show promising future trends, and Yi'an might ride that wave…

————

ps: For the past two days, I've had sharp pain from behind my ear to my jaw to my neck—don't know if it's a precursor to facial paralysis neuritis or occipital neuralgia

Taking medicine isn't very effective; I plan to go to the hospital, so I'll delay the makeup update for a few days—I'll definitely make it up.

(End of Chapter)