Chapter 337: Investing in TVB, Model Entanglements, the Crazy *Crazy*

In January, Hong Kong, Yan Li returned to his base to oversee the final phase of the financial crisis.

After several months, the outbreak phase of the financial crisis was about to end, leaving only cascading reactions and slow, insidious damage.

This also meant that, aside from a small amount of capital, Yan Li had begun considering how to exit safely.

While cashing out, Yan Li also consciously cultivated relationships with Hong Kong elites.

If Yi’an goes public, a U.S. listing is unlikely—it will be either A-share or HK-listed; the same goes for Weibo.

According to future intelligence, Weibo chose the U.S. market because Sina had already listed there; as a subsidiary, Weibo faced complications listing domestically, and internet companies at the time generally favored U.S. listings.

Now, as a brand-new company, Weibo has greater options, and Yan Li has not abandoned the possibility of a Hong Kong listing.

Under these circumstances, Yan Li cultivated ties with Hong Kong capital and local tycoons, gaining advantages and convenience for a potential HK listing.

At the very least, more friends mean more paths.

Hong Kong capital may decline in the future, but its foundations run deep; building more connections here could only benefit Yan Li.

Peninsula Hotel, a banquet.

Yan Li unexpectedly ran into Jiang, the boss of Anle, and struck up a conversation.

Among Hong Kong’s entertainment giants, Anle was the most low-key.

This also stemmed from Anle’s rare signing of artists; in Yan Li’s memory, Anle’s only mainland artist was Tang Wei, who rose to fame through * Lust, Caution*.

Without artist management, as a pure film and television company, its visibility was naturally lower.

Not to mention that Anle focused more on investment and distribution, producing fewer films itself—its fame was naturally even lower.

Low fame did not mean weak capability.

Put it this way: Anle was the financier behind Old Master’s films; for his recent works, Anle provided the funding while the new visuals were handled by others.

Old Master’s financial power was evident; as financier and overseas rights operator, Anle’s profits were obvious.

In terms of film collaboration, Yan Li had little to discuss with Anle.

Yan Li didn’t lack Anle’s money, and Yi’an, already partnered with Oriental and Emperor, didn’t lack Anle’s Hong Kong distribution channels.

But Yan Li wanted to learn about Anle’s overseas channels.

Although exporting films and turning a profit was difficult now, even a fly was still meat—what mattered was having a hook, a story.

Sometimes, making money wasn’t important; going global was.

Another matter: Anle was well-connected with numerous overseas studios, and Yan Li wanted to acquire Chinese rights to overseas films and TV to enrich his own rights library.

Leveraging the financial crisis, his cash flow was about to swell significantly; money shouldn’t just sit idle—it had to be spent.

Acquiring rights was one direction; regardless of preservation or appreciation, the key was making his rights library more complete and valuable, greatly aiding his ambition to control Tudou.com.

Yan Li was currently at the height of his influence; Jiang, the boss, also wanted to cultivate a good relationship, and the deal offered him profit too.

In a few words, they reached a tentative agreement to discuss details later.

Jiang was considerate—he knew Yan Li had few contacts in Hong Kong and took the initiative to introduce him, allowing Yan Li to meet Hong Kong’s media titan, Sir Run Run Shaw.

Yan Li was lucky: Sir Run Run Shaw, over a hundred years old, had grown increasingly reclusive in recent years.

Such banquets rarely occurred even once a year; for Yan Li to encounter him and exchange a few words was truly rare.

Yan Li had never met Sir Run Run Shaw before, but the woman beside him—he had met before.

Now that Sir Run Run Shaw was elderly and semi-retired, TVB was effectively under the control of Miss Fang, and Yi’an had multiple collaborations with TVB.

For instance, TVB broadcast Yi’an’s produced or distributed TV dramas such as *The Legend of Lu Xiaofeng*, *The Legend of Chu Liuxiang*, *The Return of the Condor Heroes*, *The Deer and the Cauldron*, and *Yanzhi Xue*.

Meanwhile, TVB’s premium Hong Kong dramas, entrusted to Yi’an for mainland distribution, fetched higher prices than TVB could achieve on its own.

By the way, Yan Li had acquired many premium TVB and Shaw Brothers film and TV streaming rights, earning Miss Fang a nice profit.

This meeting between Sir Run Run Shaw and Yan Li was likely related to this matter.

The conversation between Yan Li and Sir Run Run Shaw drew the attention of many.

One was a veteran Hong Kong media tycoon, the other a rising mainland entertainment magnate—an old man and a young man, ripe for speculation.

Even Jiang, upon Yan Li’s return, couldn’t resist teasing: “If there had been reporters here today, tomorrow’s headlines would be ‘Yi’an Acquires Stake in TVB.’”

Yan Li smiled: “No reporters, but if word leaks, they’ll still stir up a frenzy.”

Last year, three events shook Hong Kong’s entertainment circle: the sex tape scandal, the financial crisis, and the takeover of Shaw Brothers.

Though Shaw Brothers no longer held its former glory, its decades-long prestige and reputation in Hong Kong were no joke—it was, in some ways, the emblem and totem of Hong Kong cinema’s golden age.

Shaw Brothers’ acquisition by a mainland company, becoming Orange Sky Shaw Brothers, dealt a heavy blow to Hong Kong industry insiders.

Understandable: if Beijing Film Studio or Shanghai Film Studio were ever restructured and acquired by Hong Kong or Taiwan firms, it would be a major event in mainland cinema.

Coupled with large-scale northward migration of Hong Kong and Taiwan capital and artists, and Hong Kong’s current film industry crisis, Yan Li had seen numerous extreme pessimistic articles in print and TV media in Hong Kong.

Hong Kong cinema and entertainment are finished!

This statement was still premature, but signs indicated the day was not far off.

Under these circumstances, many Hong Kong media outlets were highly sensitive.

Another symbol of Hong Kong TV’s peak, TVB, was constantly speculated to be up for sale.

Like Shaw Brothers, which was in dire straits, TVB now suffered from numerous problems: its founder was elderly, core executives had left or aged, its creative teams and artists were in a generational gap, and profits kept declining.

Like Mr. Zou, selling TVB and retiring in peace might be a sensible choice.

Even potential buyers had been identified; recently active in Hong Kong, Yan Li himself was a hot candidate.

While outsiders buzzed endlessly, Yan Li had no such intentions.

Not to mention whether Sir Run Run Shaw would even sell—if he did, Yan Li could barely afford it; more importantly, TVB offered little that truly interested him now.

Rather than buying TVB, Yan Li would rather pour money into building Tudou.com; TVB’s advantages could be compensated by poaching talent or strategic cooperation.

Still, though he had no intention of buying TVB, Yan Li made no public denial.

Let TVB inflate its stock price; let Yan Li boost his visibility. In Hong Kong, where wealth and authority were revered, fame and financial strength made many things far easier for him.

Thus, on the third day of the banquet, Yan Li made a special visit to TVB to meet Miss Fang.

They discussed *The Legend of Chu Liuxiang 2*, which had been wildly popular on the mainland in December; TVB had acquired its Hong Kong rights and planned to air it as its New Year drama.

Another confirmed New Year drama for TVB was Zhang Dashu’s *The Deer and the Cauldron*, also distributed by Yi’an.

Currently, Hong Kong’s purchases of mainland dramas favored wuxia and ancient costume genres, as Hong Kong produced fewer such dramas and couldn’t match the mainland’s quality.

Thus, TVB’s local productions focused on family, urban, and professional dramas, while acquiring or investing in mainland ancient costume and wuxia series.

As the mainland’s largest TV drama distributor, Yi’an had sold over eight ancient costume dramas to TVB last year alone, and helped distribute four TVB dramas on the mainland.

In a sense, TVB was already an important Hong Kong partner for Yi’an—though the relationship was purely business.

Yan Li’s personal visit to TVB was taken seriously by Miss Fang, who personally accompanied him on a tour, accompanied by several TVB executives.

Yan Li took extra notice—whether by misunderstanding or deliberate gesture, all three major TVB factions were present.

Yes, TVB was divided into factions, and their conflicts were nearly public.

Even Yan Li, who had spent little time in Hong Kong, had heard whispers of the “Zeng-Le Conflict,” and how heated it was.

Yan Li exchanged a few words with all three factions, but the Le faction showed him the most enthusiasm.

The leader of the Le faction was TVB’s Talent Director, Le Yiling, commonly called Sister Le; her roster included strong young talents such as Wong Cho-bong, Lin Feng, Ng Cheuk-hei, Charmaine Sheh, Chung Ka-hei, and Hsu Tzu-shan.

Yan Li initially thought she had misjudged his intent to acquire TVB, but later realized the truth.

As a core TVB executive, Sister Le knew the inside story; her enthusiasm stemmed from wanting to connect with Yan Li—or rather, Yi’an—to send some TVB artists north to make money.

Her roster consisted of young, commercialized, idolized talents—TVB’s top-promoted stars; if they succeeded northward, it would benefit both TVB and her personally.

After understanding this, Yan Li responded coolly to the Le faction.

Come on—he barely had enough capacity to promote Yi’an’s own artists; why should he share them with TVB’s?

If these TVB young stars were genuinely popular and could bring benefits to Yi’an, fine—but in reality, their fame on the mainland was negligible.

Yan Li had no Hong Kong or Taiwan bias; under equal conditions, he naturally preferred promoting mainland talent.

After touring TVB, strengthening ties, and satisfying some publicity needs, Yan Li left.

Miss Fang returned first; the rival faction leader, Miss Zeng, sneered.

“She kissed a cold butt.”

Miss Zeng was head of TVB’s Drama Department, overseeing production; she also had a roster of actors, mostly serious performers and obedient types.

These artists found it hard to succeed northward; Miss Zeng had no desire to bother, and merely watched Sister Le’s antics.

“Idiot.”

Sister Le cursed and took her team back to her office, still not giving up—she planned to scheme.

Seduction!

Yan Boss’s preferences were well known; she had no shortage of female artists—pick two, make contact, and Yan Li would surely soften a little.

“Difficult.”

One of her deputies shook his head; Sister Le had wanted to connect with Yan Li for days, and had previously researched him.

“Many others share our idea—various opportunists trying to climb the ladder—but Yan Sheng has ignored them all. Rumor says it’s because of the yacht scandal; he doesn’t trust people from here.”

As a mainland tycoon and self-made young billionaire, in Hong Kong’s capital-worshipping environment, he was the ultimate prize.

Countless entertainment companies, agents, stars, and models wanted to connect with Yan Li.

After the yacht scandal, Yan Li had either become cautious or, as rumors claimed, mainland women were now stationed in Hong Kong—either way, he barely acknowledged these flirts.

“Just two days ago, tabloids reported that Emperor’s Xue Kaiqi nearly chased a man into the restroom—but no follow-up ever surfaced.”

Sister Le frowned: “Xue Kaiqi? Isn’t she Chow Yun-fat’s daughter-in-law?”

“They broke up, and reportedly the Xue family suffered losses during the financial crisis—she might be seeking Yan Sheng for that reason too.”

Sister Le didn’t care much about Xue Kaiqi; she cared only about how to connect with Yan Li.

“Try it anyway. Arrange a few people, keep them on standby—I’ll see if I can get Yan Sheng out.”

After a moment’s thought, Sister Le added: “Two-pronged approach—I remember those two models from the yacht scandal; they went to the mainland for Yan Sheng’s Weibo Night, right? Try to contact them.”

If you can’t connect yourself, find an existing connection.

Two rookie models—she lured them with TVB contracts and easily controlled them.

…

Many others shared similar thoughts as Sister Tongle, putting immense pressure on Kim, who feared losing her two treasures.

What added to her pressure was that Yan Li, after returning to Xiangjiang, had ignored Wen Yongshan and Baby entirely.

If this ends with no follow-up, they’ll merely be the female lead in a yacht scandal—offering them very little benefit.

Remember, both had previously pursued the rookie model path; back then, the term hadn’t been tainted—it meant young girl model, emphasizing youth, beauty, and boundless energy.

After the yacht scandal, their fame surged, but their pure image collapsed; walking the rookie model path again would now be extremely difficult.

With Yan Li’s help, they might enter the film and television industry and naturally become actresses and stars.

If Yan Li abandons them, and their luck turns bad, they’ll be stuck in the modeling circle—where competition is far fiercer and more brutal than for rookie models, and they might vanish into obscurity any day.

Kim was anxious; Baby and Wen Yongshan were anxious too.

Especially Baby—she’d tasted the sweetness of a shortcut and had no desire to suffer as a model anymore.

“Sis, can you find a way to take us to parties where Yan Sheng appears? Xue Kaiqi can ambush in the restroom—I can too.”

Kim rolled her eyes: “Who do you think I am? How would I know Yan Sheng’s schedule? Even if I did, there might be invitation requirements or entry barriers—you’d still never get in.”

Yan Li networks deliberately, so the gatherings and banquets he attends are always high-end; ordinary people simply can’t participate.

Xue Kaiqi was a special case—after all, she’s a known actress, and a fallen aristocrat with some connections.

Besides, this rumor is flying everywhere—it’s unclear if it’s true or false; it might just be pure publicity stunt or sabotage by Xue’s rivals.

“Relying on this is hopeless—you’ll have to find your own solutions.”

Wen Yongshan looked dejected: “We’ve asked twice, and Yan Sheng hasn’t responded. If we ask again, I’m afraid we’ll annoy him and get blocked.”

Yan Li’s status means they dare not harass him excessively—just send a greeting or two; if he replies, they chat; if he doesn’t, they wait.

Baby came up with another idea: “What if we ask Huang Shao for help?”

“Useless—I’ve already talked to him.”

Kim shook her head: “After the yacht scandal, things got ugly—he’s being extra cautious now. Besides, Yan Sheng’s girlfriend came last time and subtly warned him off; without Yan Sheng’s approval, he won’t dare interfere.”