Chapter 32: I Have a Relative and The Treasure Basin

It wasn’t until near dusk that Cheng Lidong wearily stepped out of the General Bureau compound.

He hadn’t expected that the new production’s funding had all been secured and pre-production was already in full swing, yet the review materials had been rejected.

After two rounds of revisions still failed to pass, even Cheng Lidong, if he were foolish, would know something was amiss.

So he came to Beijing himself, asking contacts for information while personally investigating the situation—but neither approach yielded much.

Cheng Lidong was at his wit’s end.

He started as a host for Zhejiang TV, later joined Zhejiang TV’s Production Center as a director or producer; though now semi-independent, he never officially resigned, and many projects still relied on his old unit.

Thus, his network remained mostly in Zhejiang—how much influence he could exert in Beijing was uncertain.

Still, it was better than sitting here helplessly alone.

Cheng Lidong pulled out his phone, pondering which friend or former superior to ask for help, when suddenly his phone rang.

Unknown number?

Cheng Lidong frowned, but in his line of work, knowing many people meant unfamiliar calls were common—he pressed answer.

“Hello.”

“Director Cheng? This is Yan Li. We just met at lunch.”

Cheng Lidong’s frown deepened—he wasn’t surprised Yan Li had his number; if they’d eaten together, of course he could get it.

He’d assumed Yan Li wanted to flatter him, invite him to social events—fine under normal circumstances, but right now, Cheng Lidong had no patience.

He was about to give a brief reply and hang up when Yan Li’s next words made his pupils dilate.

“...I noticed you seemed troubled, so I took the liberty of inquiring a bit—I’ve got some information. Not sure if it’s useful to you?”

In a private room at a restaurant near West Second Ring Road

Cheng Lidong stood up to pour wine for Yan Li, who refused to accept it—he was here to offer a favor, not to show off; putting on airs did more harm than good.

After some back-and-forth, Yan Li couldn’t resist Cheng Lidong’s insistence, but he rose and held the cup with both hands, showing proper respect.

After several rounds of toasts, the atmosphere grew warm, and they were already calling each other brothers—Cheng Lidong finally brought up the matter at hand.

“Brother Yan mentioned earlier you knew something about our production. Could you tell me the source?”

Yan Li put down his chopsticks, his expression sincere: “Big Brother Cheng, I’m not hiding anything from you—bureaucratic channels are complicated. Someone helped me; I can’t betray them.”

“If you insist on knowing, all I can say is I have a relative inside. Beyond that, I can’t tell you anything. Take the info if you believe it; if not, I can’t help.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the way it is.”

Cheng Lidong nodded understandingly—he’d worked in institutions too. Some things you do but don’t speak of; since they weren’t close, caution was wise.

Besides, the source didn’t matter—what mattered was solving the problem!

Yan Li didn’t drag it out—he laid out the information he’d compiled from his system.

In truth, Cheng Lidong’s situation wasn’t complicated, and no one was targeting him—he was just unlucky.

So fixing it wasn’t hard; the key was finding the right person and applying the right pressure, and it would be easily resolved.

Easy to say, but without inside knowledge, you’d hit walls, take detours, and still might fail.

That’s why some intelligence is valuable—it’s precisely here.

What Cheng Lidong had struggled desperately to accomplish, Yan Li clarified in two sentences; as long as Cheng Lidong wasn’t stupid, the rest would follow naturally.

“Good brother, thanks to you.”

Cheng Lidong was overjoyed—he didn’t think Yan Li was fooling him.

As a man from the system, Cheng Lidong knew the score: Yan Li’s account—the cause, sequence, logic—all fit. The people involved and the solutions were precise, clearly insider knowledge, some even obscure.

Cheng Lidong raised another toast to Yan Li and asked quietly: “Brother, may I ask—what rank is your relative?”

Yan Li smiled: “Big Brother Cheng, you’re overthinking it. If I had a powerful relative, would I still be scrambling for roles? He’s just a runner in there—his only real asset is being well-informed.”

Before this, Yan Li had considered using a big-name relative as leverage, but felt it was too sensitive and suppressed the thought.

You can subtly elevate yourself—but too much is dangerous.

Even if no agency noticed, if others came asking favors, you’d get caught out—and Yan Li had no desire to get tangled in such things; the risks were too high.

This way is better: just helping to gather information, leaving the rest to them. If anything goes wrong, they can’t blame him.

“Brother, you’re too modest.”

Yan Li spoke cautiously, but Cheng Lidong didn’t fully believe him—how could someone so ordinary uncover the situation and offer solutions so quickly?

Even if he were just a runner, a [bureau informant] in such a department was worth cultivating and taking seriously.

Of course, he couldn’t reach the main person yet—but wasn’t there still a relative?

More friends mean more paths; he might need this connection later.

Cheng Lidong’s warmth grew even stronger; Yan Li saw it clearly but didn’t press for clarification.

Too vague invited misunderstanding; too clear invited scrutiny.

A mix of truth and falsehood, maintaining a little mystery, avoiding major entanglements but seizing small opportunities when fitting—that was the safest, most appropriate way for his current status.

During the meal, Cheng Lidong excused himself briefly; when he returned, he’d settled the bill and slipped Yan Li a thick envelope.

“Brother, thanks for your help this time. I can’t let you work for free. I don’t have much cash on hand—take this. When things are settled, I’ll make up any difference.”

Yan Li estimated the envelope’s thickness and pushed it back.

“Big Brother Cheng, I’m truly trying to be your friend—you’re being too formal.”

If he took the money, the nature of things would change—he didn’t want to become an information broker.

Cheng Lidong initially thought Yan Li wanted more, so he offered more—but Yan Li still refused. After several exchanges, he realized Yan Li genuinely didn’t want it.

“Good brother, I Cheng Lidong claim you as a friend.”

Cheng Lidong was deeply moved. Yan Li raised his cup: “The first time I met you, Big Brother Cheng, I had a strong impression of you. I’ve always wanted to get closer. This time, being able to help is a real honor for me.”

They chatted back and forth, arms slung over shoulders, like true sworn brothers.

After several more rounds of toasts, Cheng Lidong casually asked if Yan Li had any upcoming schedules.

Clearly, Cheng Lidong wasn’t foolish enough to let Yan Li help for free—no money, so there’d be other compensation.

Yan Li perked up—he’d been working hard all day for exactly this.

“I just took a role, preparing now—filming starts in August, should wrap in a month or so. After that, nothing lined up.”

“Perfect.”

Cheng Lidong clapped his hands: “Join my production! We start filming around September to October—perfect timing.”

Then Cheng Lidong introduced his production: their drama was called The Treasure Basin, about the Ming Dynasty merchant Shen Wansan.

Cheng Lidong wasn’t the director—he was the producer, with more authority than the director.

But he explained: the male lead was already set—Zhang Weijian from Hong Kong.

He couldn’t change that—the investors only funded the project because of Zhang Weijian, and the production relied on him for distribution and sales.

But he assured Yan Li: besides the lead role of Shen Wansan, he could choose any other male role, and the pay would satisfy him.

As the meal ended happily and they parted, Yan Li didn’t take a taxi—he walked in the cool evening breeze, reflecting on the gains and losses of the dinner.

Landing a role in The Treasure Basin was welcome, but what Yan Li valued more was forging a connection with Cheng Lidong.

Cheng Lidong’s own future prospects were promising, and through him, Yan Li could expand his network further within the film and TV industry.

In today’s society, success requires information, connections, money, and background.

Yan Li had his intelligence system—information was already his strength—so he focused on cultivating connections, to better aid his wealth accumulation.

Once these three elements gained momentum, background would naturally follow—indeed, one could say Yan Li himself was the background...

(End of Chapter)