Chapter 263: Reenacting King Zhou, Then Recruiting a Great General

The Fengshen Bang 2 production team

Since the story centers on Wu Wang's campaign against the Shang, and due to script revisions, the Shang Dynasty's screen time was significantly reduced.

Yan Li's role amounted to roughly 20 to 30 days of filming—short duration, not many scenes, but fragmented.

As the Shang's supreme ruler and main antagonist, whenever Jiang Ziya and the others breached a fortress, he had to appear, furious and stunned, then set up the next obstacle.

Thus, on his first day, Yan Li changed into six outfits, shot in three locations, and heard a string of bad news.

"Jiang Ziya has broken through Sishui Pass? What the hell was Han Rong doing?"

"Issue orders: Jiepai Pass and all surrounding fortresses must fully support the Jiejiao immortals' Immortal-Slaying Great Array."

"You fool! Didn't you tell me Zhang Kui and Gao Lanying were invincible, that even Huang Feihu fell to them? How did they lose Tong Pass?"

"What? Yuan Hong lost too?"

"..."

These scenes are scattered throughout the entire series, which isn't too bad—but if you play them all in one day, it's like a total rout, worse than being alive during Chiang Kai-shek's collapse.

The director still had some skill; though this arrangement was a bit messy, it was absolutely perfect for helping the actor sink into the role.

Just slightly stepping into character, Yan Li's blood pressure already rose.

There was no way around it—almost all the news was bad, watching his kingdom crumble before his eyes, the feeling was unimaginable, especially since Yan Li himself was a businessman who built his empire—he had deeper immersion than most actors.

From initial shock and annoyance, to mid-stage fury and agitation, to later subtle despair and hopelessness.

He absorbed the entire tone of King Zhou's arc in one go; the crew and actors now understood, and the rest could unfold naturally according to the script.

Yan Li savored it, and couldn't help remarking during a break to Fan Xiaopang: "This new director is a good hire."

The director of Fengshen Bang Part One, Jin Guozhao, was from Taiwan; due to poor collaboration with Yongle, they replaced him for Part Two.

The new director was picked by Yongle, but also approved by Yi An—Yan Li thought he'd seen his file before.

"Jiang..."

"Jiang Jiajun."

Fan Xiaopang named him; Yan Li nodded—he was from Xiangjiang, well-qualified, having directed Liu Tianwang's "Twelve Young Men of Miaojie" and numerous Xiangjiang crime dramas early in his career.

In the early 2000s, he moved north, primarily directing TV dramas; his signature work was Lin Xinru and Lu Yi's "Male Talent, Female Beauty."

He wasn't famous, but had a signature work, solid ability, and respectable experience.

Such Hong Kong and Taiwan directors are common in the industry—they're the backbone of TV production, with neither high nor low limits; they'll take big-budget projects if offered, but also accept low-budget or quantity-driven shows when idle.

"What's up? Are you interested in him?"

Fan Xiaopang knew Yan Li—he wouldn't mention someone or something randomly; this behavior meant Jiang's director had caught his eye.

"He's got some substance, but no rush—I'll watch more."

Yi An has grown rapidly, but its talent accumulation hasn't kept pace, especially in directors and producers who can stand alone—there truly aren't many.

Fortunately, in TV dramas, Yi An leans toward the producer-centered system: planning, script, costume, makeup, hair, and actors are all arranged by the company, greatly reducing and distributing the director's authority.

The advantage is stability—you get a reliably high floor.

The downside is also stability—it dampens and stifles creativity; Yi An's results these past two years have been good, but their hits are pure luck.

But then again, this is normal in the film and TV industry—how many hits can there be? Just ensuring a solid floor is already impressive.

Yan Li personally thinks this approach is correct, but during this time, it would be better to recruit capable talent.

Any business or project isn't static—adjust when the time comes, change when needed.

If someone has sufficient ability, Yan Li is willing to make exceptions and grant them authority.

Even if they're brilliant enough, Yan Li himself would gladly serve as their assistant.

Fan Xiaopang volunteered: "Shall I set up a ladder for you?"

If Yan Li directly recruits him, there's little room left for maneuver; better for Fan Xiaopang to act as intermediary—then it's flexible, win-win.

Of course, she had her own motives—if Jiang Jiajun climbs onto Yan Li's back through her, even if he doesn't become her person, he'll at least owe her a favor.

Fan Xiaopang may be arrogant, but she's no fool; Dong Qin has been recruiting people all over the company—she couldn't do nothing, she just didn't care about ordinary people.

Only a director like Jiang Jiajun, who might earn Yan Li's attention and someday stand alone, was worth Fan Xiaopang's effort.

"Do as you like."

Yan Li didn't care much; as always, he dealt with too many people to personally court each one.

The women around him acting on his behalf—on the surface, they form factions—but their roots all trace back to him; ultimately, they're still his people.

Anyone who's so foolish they can't tell the king from the pawn isn't worth Yan Li's attention.

Yan Li wasn't particularly focused on Jiang Jiajun.

Film directors aside, there really aren't many TV directors who are valuable or substantial.

Jiang Jiajun has some ability, but he's not extraordinary; given Yan Li's current status in the industry, there are plenty of directors at his level eager to cling to his coat-tails.

Fan Xiaopang cared more.

One reason: she saw it as a good opportunity to recruit talent; another: Yan Li had previously asked her if she'd consider moving behind the scenes.

"Behind the scenes" didn't mean switching careers—it meant elevating her status and voice.

As previously mentioned, actresses at the Four Dan and Two Bing level are becoming increasingly rare in TV dramas; Fan Xiaopang keeps making profitable dramas for Yi An, so her benefits must be properly rewarded, and her title must reflect it.

At the very least, she should carry the title of producer or supervisor.

From merely being a blood-donor earning money, she becomes involved behind the scenes and manages projects—from actress to executive—with real benefits secured; the media and fans won't think Yan Li is mistreating Fan, and she won't feel slighted.

Yan Li arranged this in advance—showing his attitude, while preventing others from stirring up rumors or sowing discord.

Fan Xiaopang was genuinely interested in behind-the-scenes work; she'd long had her own ambitions and wasn't satisfied being just an actress.

Yan Li offered her an opportunity and helped pave the way—she naturally wanted to try.

And to accomplish this, she needed her own team and personnel; she'd arrived at the Fengshen Bang 2 set even earlier than Yan Li, knew Jiang Jiajun better, and thought his ability was solid—he could be a potential collaborator.

Fan Xiaopang acted swiftly and decisively; within two days, she found an opportunity to probe Jiang Jiajun's depth.

"This director Jiang has admired you, Boss Yan, for a long time."

Fan Xiaopang smiled; Jiang Jiajun was quite eager to join Yi'an.

As previously mentioned, director Jiang Jiajun has some foundation and ability, but he's not yet a renowned director; sometimes landing projects depends on luck, so having a steady patron and boss is a very reliable option for them.

Yan Li has a decent reputation in the industry; though he's strict and demanding, he's generous with money.

Xiangjiang director Ju Jueliang followed Yi'an, directed several Gu Long dramas, earned a lot of money, and became the current representative director of Wu Xia series—truly reaping both fame and fortune.

"How about I arrange a meal?" Fan Xiaopang pressed eagerly. Yan Li told her to stay calm: "Chasing after someone isn't business—the initiative lies with me, not him. Why rush?"

"Stretch it out. The harder this connection is to make, the more it proves its value—later, he'll put in more effort, and your favor will carry greater weight."

Fan Xiaopang nodded: "You're shrewd, but aren't you afraid of overstretching it? Too much is as bad as too little."

"Then it means there's no connection. Yi'an doesn't lack a director."

Yan Li had full confidence in Yi'an; if Jiang Jiajun fell through, there were other Juns.

In this world, thousand-li horses are common, but boles—especially boles willing to nurture thousand-li horses—are rare.

The arrogance of big companies is often not a good thing, but it's not entirely bad either; often, the higher the threshold, the more people value it.

…

Although Yan Li told her to stretch it out, Fan Xiaopang, aiming to win him over, still laid some groundwork.

Yan Li clearly sensed Jiang Jiajun deliberately drawing closer and showing off in front of him.

This wasn't a bad thing; Yan Li could also use the opportunity to carefully assess his ability and consider how much authority and support to grant him.

The inner palace, the harem

Fan Xiaopang lay on the bed, pale-faced, breathing faintly; Yan Li sat beside her, dressed in black royal robes.

According to the plot, Daji suffered severe injuries in the previous installment; Su Daji's soul dispersed, the nine-tailed fox was gravely wounded and fled back to Chaoge, still unconscious. Had it not been for the protection of the two Xuan Yuan demons and Shen Gongbao, she might have revealed her true form.

"Grand Master, the Empress took the immortal medicine you requested, yet shows no improvement. I demand your explanation."

Yan Li stared darkly at the actor playing Shen Gongbao, who looked embarrassed and humiliated but dared not retaliate.

In the drama, Shen Gongbao needs King Zhou to defeat Jiang Ziya, so he treats King Zhou with relative respect.

Most importantly, he cannot control King Zhou.

The setting is that King Zhou's imperial destiny is not yet exhausted; he is protected by the Purple Microcosm True Origin. Yang Jian once attempted to assassinate King Zhou but could not harm him even slightly—instead, he was wounded in return. Even Daji could only gradually win King Zhou over through her innate charm and unparalleled beauty.

Thus, King Zhou is not afraid of capable individuals like Shen Gongbao; normally, he might show some respect, but with Daji gravely wounded, his heart is anxious and irritable, leaving Shen Gongbao only able to endure reprimands.

"Your Majesty, the Empress's injury is extraordinary…"

Shen Gongbao tilted his head in his signature way, then launched into an exhaustive account of Daji's condition.

In the drama, Daji's injury is concealed; Shen Gongbao falsely claims it was caused by Jiang Ziya's demonic arts.

But regardless of the cause, saving her is difficult; if other strategies fail, her life can be prolonged using the Shang dynasty's national fortune and King Zhou's own Purple Microcosm True Origin.

But this would significantly impact the nation's destiny and King Zhou himself.

"If I do not save her, what will happen to the Empress?"

"At best, she remains as she is; at worst…"

Shen Gongbao adopted a look of unbearable sorrow. Yan Li glanced at Fan Xiaopang, his eyes hesitant; he gently loosened her hand, then clenched it tight, then loosened again, then clenched once more.

In the original script, King Zhou, blinded by love, immediately decided to save her.

But during filming, Yan Li and Jiang Jiajun discussed it and decided to add a scene of King Zhou's inner turmoil.

Because this version of King Zhou is not a pure, mindless tyrant—he was merely seduced and corrupted, yet still possesses his own thoughts.

Saving her outright would feel too thin; adding this scene of deliberation not only enriches the character but also elevates the love between King Zhou and Daji.

Compared to an unhesitating choice, the more hesitation, the more careful deliberation, the greater the struggle—the more it demonstrates King Zhou's love for beauty over the kingdom.

"Director Jiang, how would you shoot this hesitation scene?"

Yan Li casually tested Jiang Jiajun—neither lowering his dignity nor failing to convey King Zhou's inner conflict and resolve.

Jiang Jiajun thought for a moment: "What if he sits alone in the grand hall for a full day and night? We could use weather, candles, and supporting characters' dialogue to convey it."

"Hmm, or he could sit beside Daji's bed, or alternate between two scenes to show King Zhou's inner turmoil."

Yan Li glanced at Fan Xiaopang: "What do you think?"

She nodded: "Good."

"Then that's how we shoot it."

Yan Li was reasonably satisfied with Jiang Jiajun's answer; filming techniques are limited, but what matters is having ideas—and being able to execute them.

Those in content creation sometimes need just a spark of inspiration; those who follow scripts blindly and drift through life will never rise, no matter how long they live.

Perhaps Jiang Jiajun vaguely sensed Yan Li was testing him; after filming this scene, he approached Yan Li again to suggest adding more scenes.

"What scenes?"

Yan Li gave no reply—he could have added scenes himself long ago; even The Investiture of the Gods could be turned into The Legend of King Zhou, without Jiang Jiajun doing him any favors.

Jiang Jiajun understood this: adding scenes in the wrong place only increases the boss's workload—it's like flattering a horse and hitting its leg.

But he wasn't adding them randomly; he had a plot-based intention.

In The Investiture of the Gods 2's plot, King Zhou and Daji become outright villains, bringing ruin to the state—but one thing remains true: they truly love each other.

Jiang Jiajun felt this aspect deserved expansion, but their schedules were tight, so any added scenes had to hit the critical points.

In the original script, King Zhou discovers Daji's true identity late in the story and tacitly accepts it, only revealing it at his deathbed.

Jiang Jiajun suggested moving it forward: when King Zhou saves Daji, he discovers her true form through the Purple Microcosm True Origin.

King Zhou hesitates and regrets it, but after saving her, Daji—who already had feelings for him—devotes herself entirely to him, only bringing ruin to the state due to various constraints. Seeing her sincerity, King Zhou gradually lets go of his reservations.

Just as King Zhou's prolonged hesitation in saving her makes his choice more precious, the earlier he learns Daji's true identity, the heavier their bond becomes, and the greater the shock when he finally reveals it.

Yan Li thought Jiang Jiajun's idea had potential, but he wasn't sure if it might be overdone.

Still, it was just one scene and a few added performance details—he could film it first and decide whether to keep it during editing.

Such situations in TV and film are countless.

Save one take, keep one take, perform normally one take, perform in some style one take — some insane directors make actors shoot dozens or even hundreds of takes, then pick one take, one segment, or sometimes pick nothing at all.

After a few inquiries, Yan Li gained some understanding of Jiang Jiajun.

He shows good respect for the original work; Yan Li spoke with him, and he had specifically read Fengshen Yanyi, and during filming he habitually preserved the original's structural framework as much as possible.

He has strong ability to shape characters, prefers to start from emotional arcs, emphasizes details, and makes characters three-dimensional.

He values practical locations, favors special effects for action scenes, gives good performance guidance, and is especially skilled at communicating with young actors.

But he is not without flaws: lacking innovation, easily swayed, susceptible to outside influence, his work attitude is slightly perfunctory, and he does not demand high quality from his works.

Overall, a typical and somewhat one-sided Xiangjiang director, with some value in recruiting; with a bit more coaxing, he can be approached.

————

ps: (0/49000)

(End of chapter)