Chapter 254: All Female Stars Owe Yan Li a Favor, the Nation

The gathering ended.

Some who were in high spirits or had close ties made plans for the next round, while others prepared to leave.

Yan Li didn't much care for second gatherings—either people were bragging or letting loose, and he found it boring.

If a few senior figures he knew well went, he couldn't easily refuse and would tag along for the fun; if few were going, he'd make an excuse 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 for him.

Perhaps because Yan Li had asked about the luxury car club earlier, Wang Ke seized the topic this time, mentioning that their club would soon host a related event and inviting Yan Li to join if he was interested.

He also made some small talk, expressing admiration and respect for Yan Li, and said he wanted to invest in entertainment and hoped Yan Li would guide and mentor him.

Yan Li responded politely on the surface, but his eyes flickered slightly—he couldn't shake the feeling that this fellow townsman was unusually interested in the entertainment circle.

Still, 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 hook up female stars with clients—he'd never taken 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 not his problem.

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

Like the luxury car club, his investment consulting and management services required him to meet quality clients and demonstrate real capability to earn their trust.

Having a star as a girlfriend or wife would greatly help his career.

It was like having a long-term advertisement—if people didn't know Wang Ke, they'd recognize him as "XX's boyfriend or husband."

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

Then, with media and writers nudging the narrative, subtly implying Wang Ke's background and wealth were "beyond measure," those quality clients without discernment or connections would think they'd met a real god and be willing to cooperate, believing in his abilities.

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 his rise in fame partly 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 on the mainland.

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

Because Yan Li succeeded, many tried to imitate him, and female stars' value rose accordingly.

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

Especially young entrepreneurs, who were more eager than ever—satisfying vanity while aiding their ventures, all dreaming of becoming the next Yan Li.

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

Yan Li didn't mind others learning and copying the celebrity effect and business-entertainment model, nor did he fear being overshadowed or having his strategy 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 bedding a female star made you Yan Li, then the entertainment circle would be full of "business geniuses."

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

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

Entertainment resources were just one part; 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 direct business, just being seen in Yan Li's circle would make others look at him differently; with Yan Li's connections, even a casual introduction could land him many opportunities.

Without hesitation, if timing had been right, Wang Ke would have knelt down and bowed his head in reverence.

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

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

To put it plainly, anyone in Yan Li's social circle was at least someone of note; 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 they could, Yan Li didn't much enjoy hanging out with people much older than him.

Someone older than his father? Praise him and it felt inappropriate; don't praise him and it looked like he was being rude.

With similar ages, there was no such concern—whoever was stronger took the lead.

In any circle, if you wanted influence, you needed followers and sidekicks—you didn't need deep bonds, 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; if not, it'd be just the card and a few meals together.

"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, even a new Rolls-Royce cost at least 4 million; better models and configurations easily hit 6 million.

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

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

So over the past two years, though he'd bought new cars, they'd mostly been around a million; the most expensive was the Mercedes S600 he sat in now—bought through a friend, delivered for just 2. million.

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 luxury business vehicle—not flashy, but never low-class.

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—when they went out together, people would think he was tagging along with Wang Ke.

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

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

————

Haidian, Wancheng Huafu

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

Qin Lan lived in Shuangjing Fuli City, Chaoyang, in eastern Beijing; Dong Xuan lived in Haidian, in western Beijing.

One reason was to avoid them meeting; another was for Dong Xuan's convenience to work.

Wancheng Huafu was in the Wanliu area of Haidian, less than a 20-minute drive from Beijing Film Academy.

But for work convenience, Dong Xuan preferred living in the nearby Beiying Xiaqu, only staying at Wancheng Huafu on weekends or during school breaks.

Now, during winter break, Dong Xuan had moved back from Beiying Xiaqu to Wancheng Huafu, and Yan Li had shifted his nighttime stay as well.

Compared to the aging Beiying Xiaqu, Wancheng Huafu was among Beijing's top luxury residential complexes, with clearly superior facilities.

Dong Xuan wasn't a 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 there permanently after the Spring Festival.

Yan Li had warned her he'd be back; when he arrived, Dong Xuan hadn't slept yet, wearing an apron and cooking soup for him.

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

Originally he cooked it himself, but at some point, it had switched to Dong Xuan and Qin Lan.

Making soup or porridge was far easier than cooking dishes; with a little effort, it might not be gourmet, but at least he 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; they sipped soup and chatted, as Dong Xuan recounted the latest updates on Guan Yue and Tong Dawei.

This had become their regular topic lately.

Dong Xuan shared to vent—holding it in was painful, but since it was her best friend's matter, she couldn't tell others, so she only talked to her man.

Yan Li simply enjoyed the gossip and subtly contrasted himself with the underperforming Tong Dawei.

"Guan Yue went back to her hometown for the holiday and invited him to come along, but Tong just ignored it—he'd promised, then broke his word, what a piece of trash."

Dong Xuan was indignant—she'd once called him Dawei, now she just said "that Tong guy"; clearly, her resentment ran deep.

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

"Bullshit—he had something to do? Even if he did, if he wouldn't go back with her, couldn't he spare a day or two to visit her?"

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

Since the adultery incident months ago, Guan Yue and Tong Dawei had been on and off, their relationship unstable.

Both were to blame.

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

Tong Dawei never made a firm decision, kept changing his words, and was suspected of lingering with Jiang Yiyan.

If things continued like this, they'd head toward breakup—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 holiday—plainly, to move toward marriage.

It was meant to reassure Guan Yue, calm Tong Dawei's wandering thoughts, and also deter Jiang Yiyan.

For a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, moving up is easy, with little downside; once married, everything changes.

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

Tong Dawei agreed—he even got the gifts and tickets ready, waiting for him to find time to return together—but at the last moment, he backed out.

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

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

"Old Guan already booked her ticket to go back alone—I think she's serious about breaking up."

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

Hadn't the monthly intelligence report shown they'd marry this year? How did it get to breakup? Was this his butterfly effect's fault?

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 kept hurting her, and she herself said: better to leave cleanly than be dumped."

Yan Li thought about it this way: Tong Dawei neither married nor cut ties with her.

Is he trying to have it both ways, or just weighing his options?

Guan Yue wasn't stupid; she couldn't swallow this insult, and after one disappointment after another, she no longer believed Tong Dawei, so she decided to break it off.

"Hot temper."

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

Don't think you can jump recklessly just because you're well-off and the woman has high sunk costs—push someone too far, and they'll walk away, and then the initiative shifts.

Thinking of this, Yan Li took Dong Xuan's hand: "You can't copy that. If anything feels off, we'll talk it out slowly."

Dong Xuan rolled her eyes: "Talking to you helps? Look at Qin Lan and Fan Xiao—can you kick them out?"

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

Yan Li switched topics abruptly: "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 huffed, complaining aloud, but her expression clearly liked Yan Li's phrasing—he knew it well, so he 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.'"

"All talk, nothing else."

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 in his head: one for Dong Xuan, one for Qin Lan, one for Fan Xiao—three already.

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

Yan Li wondered whether to remind them to coordinate, to avoid duplicate gifts and waste.

But he quickly dismissed the idea—duplicates were 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 was that?"

"Tong Yaya—the actress who played the Princess of Kucha in 'The Legend of Chu Liu Xiang.' We're good friends. She's going home for the New Year and came by to pay her respects."

"To our house?" Yan Li was surprised—Dong Xuan never invited people over.

Aside from a few close friends and her students, only Yang Mi had ever been to her home. Even Yuan Shanshan, who starred with her in 'The Legend of Chu Liu Xiang,' hadn't gotten that honor—Tong Yaya really clicked with Dong Xuan.

Dong Xuan hadn't realized this herself until Yan Li pointed it out.

Lately, she and Tong Yaya had grown quite close.

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

As previously mentioned, Yan Li was busy and had limited time to spare.

So besides Fan Xiao, who was also busy, the women all sought friendships to fill the emotional void left by Yan Li.

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

Now Guan Yue was tied up with her own drama, and Tong Yaya—newly met and already sparking—stepped right into this gap, deepening her bond with Dong Xuan, who now saw her as someone worthy of bringing home.

"Seems a bit fast. Maybe meet outside or have her come to Beiying Village?"

Dong Xuan asked. Yan Li didn't care—he was just casually curious; whether she came home or not meant little to him, and he'd probably never meet her anyway.

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

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

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

The former needed to be expelled—and punished. The latter—he didn't know how to judge, so he'd just find a way to make them leave quickly.

Tong Yaya's motives were simple: no ill will, no desire to meddle in Dong Xuan and Yan Li's private affairs—just pure friendship and a bit of wanting to cling to a powerful person.

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

…

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

Fan Xiao stayed steadily in Beijing, preparing for the Spring Festival Gala rehearsals and researching her major film and TV projects for 2007.

Last year, Fan Xiao released films and series including 'Mo Gong,' 'The Tokyo Trial,' 'The Legend of the Condor Heroes,' 'The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng,' and 'The White-Haired Witch,' all performing well.

This year, she had to keep up—the popularity was backed by her works; otherwise, she'd be a rootless weed, unsustainable.

Currently, Fan Xiao had only one upcoming drama in hand: 'The Legend of Yang Yuhuan.'

After the New Year, 'The Legend of the Gods 2' would begin filming, and Fan Xiao would appear—but her role was drastically reduced.

The second season focused on King Wu's campaign against King Zhou; the main plot revolved around Jiang Ziya, with little screen time for King Zhou or Su Daji.

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

Except for the final battle of King Wu's conquest, their earlier scenes mostly involved subtle guidance and strategic planning.

In the first season, Su Daji had been severely wounded, causing her soul to dissipate.

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

But now, with Yan Li's investment, Fan Xiao would return, so the scene remained useful.

The script was revised: Daji was gravely injured, confined to Changge to recuperate, 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.

This way, they kept Fan Xiao without needing more screen time or complex sets, and it also elevated Wang Ou and Wu Jiani.

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

To save Daji, he used the Shang royal qi, damaging his own foundation—so he too needed to rest and reduce his public appearances.

All the atrocities against the people were tied to this event.

Facing the overwhelming army against him, King Zhou's situation grew desperate; under Daji's influence, he grew more insane, using 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 limits—he wasn't as monstrous as in the original.

Daji had genuine feelings for him; if she blindly sabotaged him to destroy his empire, it would defy logic.

With the injury and survival crisis, they were forced into a poison-drinking solution—King Zhou's fall and Daji's cruelty became plausible.

Though there was still a hint of whitewashing, in season two, King Zhou and Daji became outright villains; the only redeeming quality was their genuine bond—and they died with dignity.

Besides these two series, the only other project confirmed for Fan Xiao was 'Painted Skin,' currently in development.

Other projects were still under review.

In the conference room, Fan Xiao 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 and its most bankable star, Fan Xiao's projects drove the company's success.

So most of Yi'an's dramas involving her were custom-built—to elevate her and maximize profits.

But this inevitably sparked conflict between the two departments over interests and influence.

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

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 jump in themselves.

Yan Li cleared his throat, tapped the table, silenced the room, then spoke slowly.

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

Fan Xiao 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 spoke first: "Past dramas have mostly been costume dramas, including the upcoming 'The Legend of the Gods 2' and 'Painted Skin.'"

"From the artist's development perspective, too many costume roles are homogenized—they trap Bingbing's range and cause audience fatigue."

"So we've decided to shift away from costume dramas and focus on modern or Republican-era dramas."

Yan Li nodded unconsciously—he'd noticed this too.

Not just Fan Xiao leaned toward costume dramas; Yi'an's overall output was heavily costume-based.

Aside from a few exceptions like 'Conquest,' 'Sword of Honor,' and 'Crazy Stone,' Yi'an's signature works were almost all costume dramas.

For a film and TV company, this imbalance wasn't fatal, but it was unhealthy.

Just as Hai Run had long focused on modern and Republican-era dramas while trying to break into costume, Yi'an needed to increase non-costume projects.

With Fan Xiao's new direction discussed, the Film & TV Department presented specific projects.

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

Yi'an had no shortage of such scripts, but none centered strongly on the female lead—unsuitable for Fan Xiao.

Republican-era dramas, however, had many scripts with female protagonists—perfect to showcase Fan Xiao's beauty and, due to their depth, potentially award-worthy.

Hearing "award-worthy," Fan Xiao perked up instantly: "Which one can win?"

Among the Four Dan and Two Bing, Fan Xiao excelled in commercial appeal and popularity, with solid ratings—but her biggest weakness was awards.

The Four Dan had multiple Best Actress awards; Li Bingbing won the Hundred Flowers Award for 'Cell Phone,' and her new film 'Clouds and Water' was also a strong contender.

Only Fan Xiao had won minor awards—but zero major ones.

Best Actress competition was fierce, with low odds; for now, forget it. But if she could win Best Actress on TV, that'd be better than nothing.

Yan Li kicked Fan Xiao under the table—tell her to aim higher—then signaled the Film & TV Department to continue.

As boss, he knew these projects, but except for two, he wasn't familiar with the rest—he needed to listen carefully and compare.

There were four scripts total: two owned by Yi'an, one purchasable, and one held by another party but open to collaboration.

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

The second was 'Paper, Gold, and Pleasure,' adapted from Zhang Henshui's novel, centered on ordinary people struggling during the Republican era—more of an ensemble piece.

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

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

But precisely because of that, it was lighter—possibly better for ratings.

Fan Xiao listened intently until the end, then couldn't help complaining.

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

Yu Yanli couldn't help laughing: "What do you think?"

Fan Xiaopang glared at him, holding back in front of everyone, but secretly stepped hard on his foot.

Everyone else, whether they noticed or not, pretended not to see; the head of the talent agency explained it to her.

For Republican-era dramas, unless they're patriotic resistance spy stories, the tone tends to be melancholic; if told from a female perspective, scenes of family decline, descent into prostitution, and being swindled for money and affection are inevitable.

Due to Fan Xiaopang's personal attributes, Yu Yanli and the team all insisted on highlighting her beauty.

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

Although the background and identity are somewhat problematic, the plot and character design are fine; they belong to the type that remains pure despite being born in mud.

Fan Xiaopang felt somewhat frustrated upon hearing this—everything has its pros and cons.

Because of her beauty, she gains massive popularity and exposure, outshining every other leading actress in dazzling ways.

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

She accepts the latter; previously, when Yu Yanli discussed emphasizing her beauty for packaging and marketing, he had already mentioned this point.

No actor is suited for every role; dominating within one's comfort zone and area of strength can still make one a top-tier performer.

But Fan Xiaopang felt things were now veering off track.

Perhaps due to her increasingly glamorous and radiant style, the deep-rooted image of Daji, and her rumors with Yu Yanli, people now perceive her as the "National Fox Spirit."

But Fan Xiaopang believes she can play dignified, elegant roles.

Empress, noble lady, socialite, female industry elite—she can portray them all, yet now they only think of her as dancer, concubine, or female demon.

When "Painted Skin" was first proposed, and the female lead was described as a demon or beautiful ghost, everyone immediately assumed it would be her; when the script changed to fox spirit, they all declared she was the only choice.

This is too much!

Seeing Fan Xiaopang's low mood, the film department's representative hesitated; Yu Yanli waved him on, and he presented the final script.

"Crimson Snow"

A script by screenwriter and producer Yu Zheng, the exact genre is unclear—it blends romance, feudalism, suspense, inspiration, tragedy, and household intrigue.

In terms of plot, it's the most favored among the four scripts by the film department.

Perfect!

Catering to all kinds of audiences, the plot carries a touch of melodrama; its ceiling is uncertain, but it can at least guarantee a solid bottom-line performance.

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

The identity is acceptable—a young mistress of the family—but in the end, she breaks free from feudal constraints and pursues true love with the male steward.

Yu Yanli looked at Fan Xiaopang: "Which one interests you more?"

Whether the actor shapes the role or the role shapes the actor, Fan Xiaopang must be willing to play it; if the female lead refuses, the project will struggle to succeed.

Therefore, Fan Xiaopang's personal preference must be taken seriously.

Fan Xiaopang complained, but didn't let it interfere with the task: "I don't like the first one, but I think the second, third, and fourth are all fine."

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

Yu Yanli nodded; since Fan Xiaopang had narrowed the range but hadn't shown a clear preference, they could compare the several dramas gradually—there was still time.

The Republican-era dramas now had direction, but there were too few; shooting two Republican-era projects might feel repetitive; Yu Yanli suggested adding one modern drama.

"If we can't find good scripts on the mainland, we can look to 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 remain insufficient.

Yu Yanli had previously wanted to acquire 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 this wave…

————

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

Medicine isn't helping much; I'm planning to see a doctor, so updates will be delayed a few days, but I'll make them up.

(End of chapter)