Chapter 27: The Man Who Values Principle and His Ex-Girlfriend

Yan Li wanted to play Dapeng for a simple reason: his role had more scenes than Wu Tian.

Although he had only skimmed the script, Yan Li had already formed some judgments.

Wu Tian was more of a plot device—a character who died in the first episode, with later scenes consisting of flashbacks of his grudges with Liu Huaqiang and others, making the storyline fragmented and brief.

Dapeng was different—he stayed by Liu Huaqiang’s side throughout, appearing in every episode from start to finish.

Given that, Yan Li would naturally choose the role with more screen time, the one easier to be remembered.

Also, the character of Wu Tian was greedy, heartless, and unloyal—Yan Li didn’t like him.

He had no problem playing a villain, but he preferred one that suited his taste.

Take Dapeng as an example: he was filial to his mother and fiercely loyal; once he accepted Liu Huaqiang as his boss, he would do whatever his boss said without hesitation, never backing down in a fight. Though he had gone astray, in some ways he could still be called a man of loyalty and righteousness.

“Little Yan, you’re still too young.”

Gao Qunshu’s fat face twisted into a smile as he began to persuade: “Choosing a role isn’t just about screen time—what matters is whether the role stands out.”

Yan Li put on the look of a dutiful student: “I humbly ask for your guidance.”

“Look, Wu Tian has few scenes, but several are pivotal ones—key to the early plot, leaving a strong impression.”

“The character isn’t likable, but he’s vivid and distinctive. In this drama, there are many who value righteousness, and few who don’t—so the contrast is sharp.”

“Wu Tian’s scenes are relatively self-contained, centered entirely on him. Dapeng can’t match that—he’s always Liu Huaqiang’s subordinate, overshadowed by his boss, with limited presence, not to mention there’s also Jin Bao beside him.”

“...”

Gao Qunshu wasn’t afraid of the trouble—he went on at length, giving Yan Li a full analysis.

There was no shortage of actors in the “Conquest” crew who looked fierce and ruthless, but good actors who were handsome and cheap were rare.

Originally, Gao Qunshu hadn’t planned to cast someone particularly handsome, but after Yan Li’s audition, he kept thinking he was perfect.

In “Conquest,” Wu Tian was originally just an ordinary employee at a TV factory, later noticed by a colleague with connections, Li Li, who teamed up with him in business and gradually became his lover.

He had already cast Li Li—he’d hired Jiang Shan, a somewhat faded actress.

They were on good terms; Jiang had accepted a favor price, making her one of the few well-known actors in the “Conquest” crew.

After all, they still needed to sell the drama—having a famous actor on board would make distribution much smoother.

Jiang Shan had once been a famous beauty; no one could forget how many men were captivated by her in “Just Once.”

Now her looks and figure weren’t what they used to be, but she was still a graceful middle-aged woman. If the man she chose was ugly or unimpressive, it wouldn’t be believable.

After Gao Qunshu’s persuasion, Yan Li wavered.

What made Yan Li waver even more was when Gao Qunshu showed him the photo of his ideal actor for Dapeng.

Yan Li immediately felt outclassed—the man’s appearance was perfect, like he’d just walked out of prison.

Such men were born to play ruthless bandits and murderers; no matter how good another actor’s performance, they couldn’t match such innate talent.

Moreover, Gao Qunshu’s points were valid—and more importantly, Yan Li could tell the director favored him for Wu Tian.

For a newcomer actor, choice was a luxury.

The director had gone out of his way to explain, giving solid reasons—he’d already shown great respect. If there was a ladder, it was best to climb down.

“Alright, Director, you’re looking out for me—I’ll follow your advice.”

Yan Li put on the look of deep respect for Director Gao—as if he’d accept the role even if he disliked it—which made Gao Qunshu feel slightly embarrassed.

This kid was a decent fellow!

Softening, Gao Qunshu added 500 yuan to Wu Tian’s original 3,000-yuan salary.

Yan Li accepted the 500 yuan, but immediately invited Gao Qunshu and Liu Ge, the recommender, out for dinner.

Between meals, drinks, baths, and massages, not only did he spend back the extra 500 yuan, he even added nearly 200 yuan of his own.

But Yan Li didn’t mind—if “Conquest” became a hit, Gao Qunshu as director would rise with it, possibly becoming a famous director.

Building a good relationship now meant that when he had good scripts later, he’d think of Yan Li—and the few hundred yuan spent would be earned back many times over.

Indeed, after this outing, Gao Qunshu’s impression of Yan Li improved greatly.

The young man was honest, sweet-talking, and straightforward—there weren’t many newcomers in the industry so considerate.

Seeing the rapport was strong enough, Gao Qunshu was in good spirits, and Yan Li seized the moment to mention something.

“Director Gao, I have a classmate from Beijing Film Academy who acts even better than me and deeply admires you—could you consider giving him a role? The salary’s negotiable.”

Gao Qunshu relaxed under the massage and laughed: “You’re good at climbing on the snake—trying to get a buy-one-get-one-free deal.”

Seeing Gao Qunshu wasn’t offended, Yan Li relaxed and grinned.

“I’m just repaying your kindness to me—I wouldn’t dare ask anyone else.”

When dealing with people, don’t fear bothering them—occasionally making a simple request satisfies their need to be needed; handled well, it can strengthen the bond.

Yan Li had read this in a self-help book called the Franklin Effect.

He wasn’t sure if it worked for others, but Gao Qunshu was clearly flattered and responded well to it.

“Bring him over later, but I can’t guarantee the role or salary.”

Most of the roles in “Conquest” were already cast, so Yan Li’s options were limited.

Now that Yan Li had taken Wu Tian, the remaining roles were even fewer—mostly minor parts or extras.

Yan Li didn’t mind—he was asking for this role on behalf of Zhou Yiwei. No matter how small the part, it was still a proper drama set, better than the random gigs he’d been taking.

If Zhou Yiwei turned it down, Yan Li hadn’t named anyone anyway—there were plenty of classmates with no roles; someone would take it.

After the entertainment ended, seeing Gao Qunshu off in his car, Yan Li put his arm around Liu Ge, whose face was flushed from drinking, and slipped him a red envelope he’d prepared in advance.

Liu Ge hurriedly refused, but Yan Li insisted: “Rules must be followed—I’ll need your help again in the future.”

After some back-and-forth, Liu Ge reluctantly accepted, his smile genuine.

“You didn’t pick a bad name—you’re a man of principle. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for good projects for you.”

“Perfect—I’m counting on your good news.”

After seeing Liu Ge off, the gathering finally broke up. Yan Li did the math: the 3,500-yuan salary for “Conquest,” plus dinner and red envelopes, had cost him nearly half.

If he hadn’t known this drama might become a hit, he’d never have made such a losing deal.

He didn’t take a taxi—rode the bus back to his rented apartment in Jimenli. As soon as he walked in, he saw Guan Yue sitting at the dining table, happily gnawing on a braised pig’s trotter.

Guan Yue, a 2000-level undergraduate in the Acting Department of Beijing Film Academy, was Yan Li’s ex-girlfriend Dong Xuan’s roommate and best friend.

Zhou Yiwei knew her too, so Yan Li wasn’t surprised how she’d gotten in.

Seeing she didn’t even greet him upon his entrance, still chewing the trotter without stopping, Yan Li raised an eyebrow.

“Braised pig’s trotters are 25 yuan per jin—pay before you leave.”

“You’re robbing me!”

Guan Yue finally acknowledged him, still chewing: “Pork is only a few yuan a jin—how can you charge 25 for a trotter full of bones?”

“My braised meat is worth it.”

Yan Li believed in quality for price—premium ingredients, secret braising recipe, Beijing’s cost of living—he thought the price was fair. Even if he’d misjudged the market, he wouldn’t lower it much.

Good things must be priced high; selling cheaply disrespects the system and makes him feel uneasy.

Guan Yue wanted to argue, but the taste in her mouth told her Yan Li wasn’t entirely wrong.

The braised trotters were expensive, but otherwise perfect!

Her tone softened, but she quickly regained her confidence: “I did help you two communicate plenty—doesn’t that cover two trotters?”

Yan Li smiled without warmth: “Then tell me—who spread the rumor that I was seeing a junior, then pushed Dong Xuan to break up with me?”

Guan Yue gasped: “Dong Xuan betrayed me!”

(End of Chapter)