Chapter 349: Mr. Huang, Mr. Yan? *The New Dream of the Red Chamber*, Drunk on Wine

Huairou, checkpoint

Yan Li, rifle slung over his shoulder, helmet loosely perched on his head, lazily took a cigarette from Chen Daoming and drew a puff.

“Where are you headed?”

Chen Daoming lounged casually, his voice lowering: “Official business—public and private matters handled together. The old man’s in the car too.”

“Oh.”

Yan Li stepped forward, peering into the car; Chen Daoming retreated slightly: “Ahua, don’t make it hard—check if you need to.”

He took another drag, exhaled smoke, paused deliberately to match the tension, then said: “No need.”

“Oh?”

Chen Daoming feigned surprise, then waved casually and got in, starting the engine.

Yan Li waved his hand: “Guys, let them through.”

“Clear.”

The assistant director called “Cut!” Yan Li removed his helmet; a crew member automatically spoke.

“Director Yan, you’ve worked hard.”

“Hard? This is the easiest role I’ve ever played since I debuted.”

Yan Li looked at Chen Daoming getting out of the car: “Teacher Chen, I’ve wrapped. I’m leaving first.”

Chen Daoming still had a few scenes left; he shook Yan Li’s hand and exchanged polite farewells.

It was their first collaboration, but not their first meeting—whether at industry events or private gatherings, they’d crossed paths several times.

Among mainland China’s veteran celebrities, he and Zhang Guoli were the most widely connected.

Zhang Guoli still had some ties to Huayi; Chen belonged to the Beijing circle—on good terms with all factions and capital, and crucially, respected by officials, media, and audiences alike.

Yi’an had minimal interaction with him, but had invested in one of his films, and with Wang Jinghua’s connections, their relationship remained decent.

After bidding farewell to Chen Daoming, Yan Li didn’t leave the set immediately—he went to another filming location.

This set was shooting Zhang Guoli’s film; to be honest, Han Sanye was quite the showman—he’d actually cast him as Chiang Kai-shek.

Zhang Guoli’s range was broad—he could portray emperors and generals, common folk, intellectuals, and elites with equal ease.

But Yan Li personally felt his most compelling performances were villains—his Cheng Kun in *The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber* was stunning, bringing to life the hypocritical, ruthless ambition of the original character.

Yet, for various reasons, Zhang Guoli rarely played villains.

In memory, besides Cheng Kun, he’d only played a villain once alongside his son, and then Chiang Kai-shek in *The Founding of a Republic*.

In recent years, Chiang had been portrayed more conservatively, but Zhang’s portrayal was dark, cunning, and unrelentingly ruthless—highly striking.

But Yan Li wasn’t here for Zhang—he was heading for a burly man in a PLA lieutenant general’s uniform behind the monitor—Jiang Wen.

“Good, cut! Take a break.”

Jiang Wen, who routinely stole the director’s chair, called out, noticed the sudden quiet, turned instinctively—and flushed.

“Director… Director Yan.”

Yan Li smiled, sitting behind him: “Old Jiang, not cool—you’re avoiding me?”

He’d arrived in Huairou yesterday; between costume trials and filming, he’d visited Jiang Wen twice—both times “unluckily” missed—and had to come to the set himself to catch him.

“How could I avoid you? Pure coincidence.”

Jiang Wen explained; Yan Li shook his head: “I don’t care. You’re treating me to lunch today.”

Zhang Guoli, hearing the commotion, ambled over and grinned, joining in:

“Jiang Wen paying? Count me in.”

Zhang and Jiang had collaborated little, but both were in the industry, both operated in Beijing, and their private rapport was fine.

Jiang Wen was notoriously difficult—usually seen bullying others; rare to see him get the short end. Zhang Guoli was already imagining bringing a stool to watch.

Caught red-handed, what could Jiang Wen do? He called to order food, then paused, and dialed another number.

“Let me introduce you to a new friend.”

Zhang Guoli looked puzzled; Yan Li understood—he’d heard Jiang Wen had taken on a new partner after *The Sun Also Rises*. This must be him.

The shoot wasn’t finished yet, so they’d eat afterward; meanwhile, Han Sanye, somehow hearing the news, showed up too.

In the end, the four of them found a restaurant in Huairou. After sitting down and chatting briefly, Jiang Wen received a call and ushered in a bespectacled man carrying a crate of liquor.

“Ma Ke, my brother, and producer of my new film.”

He introduced Ma Ke to Yan Li and the others—but no introduction was needed: anyone in this circle knew Han Sanye; Yan Li and Zhang Guoli were household names nationwide.

After pleasantries, everyone sat, ate, drank, and conversation flowed. Yan Li began scolding Jiang Wen.

“Old Jiang, are you being fair?”

“Sanye told me you were making a new film—I waited. Waited and waited—no word. Fine, I came to find you—and you’re avoiding me?”

“Forget our friendship—what have I ever done to you, Jiang Wen? Why do you look down on me so?”

Jiang Wen was left flustered, finally standing up to pour Yan Li a drink himself, protesting:

“That’s not true—I never meant it that way.”

Ma Ke stepped in: “Director Yan, I’ve been working with Old Jiang this whole time—I know his mind. He’s not avoiding you—he’s avoiding you because he feels guilty…”

Jiang Wen’s reason for avoiding Yan Li was simple: Yan Li had helped him greatly on *The Sun Also Rises*, but the film lost money and reputation, leaving Jiang Wen deeply embarrassed.

Now, with his new film *Let’s Shoot the Bullet*, the investment was large, and he thought of Yan Li again.

Their relationship was good, and Jiang Wen believed this time he could make money.

But back then, with *The Sun Also Rises*, he’d thought the same—so he was still tense, afraid he’d drag Yan Li down again.

Jiang Wen was already anxious; then Yi’an’s executives announced profits, and he learned *The Sun Also Rises* was Yi’an’s only loss.

Now Jiang Wen was both broken and terrified—afraid *Let’s Shoot the Bullet* would lose money and hurt Yan Li again.

Yan Li had done nothing wrong to him—if he hurt Yan Li twice, Jiang Wen would never dare face him again.

And if Yi’an lost money twice because of him, he’d be utterly humiliated.

“This is so fake—it’s nothing like Jiang Wen.”

Yan Li frowned: “I’ve said this dozens of times—business has wins and losses. I didn’t care. Why are you still obsessing?”

Jiang Wen replied seriously: “You don’t care—I do.”

“Fine. Then let’s take it seriously.”

Yan Li nodded, not arguing, but fixed his gaze on Jiang Wen: “Forget friendship, forget everything—I’ve lost money on you before. I want you to make it back for me.”

“I provide the money, you provide the effort. We don’t just make money—we reclaim our dignity.”

Jiang Wen fell silent; Ma Ke nudged him: “Say something!”

“It fits.”

Jiang Wen uttered one word, leaving everyone confused—but he grew animated.

“Yes! The two great families won’t give him money—he wants Huang Silang’s money. Money isn’t important—it’s the money I earn! Haha, perfect match!”

Yan Li was slightly alarmed—what the hell was going on?

He knew *Let’s Shoot the Bullet* would make money, but didn’t know the plot or dialogue. Hearing Jiang Wen’s rambling, he wondered if he’d somehow triggered him.

But that seemed unlikely—he felt his words were uplifting; others seemed energized.

Fortunately, Jiang Wen soon snapped back, turning to Yan Li: “You’re right. Where we fall, we rise. Let them laugh—we’ll slap their faces, earn money standing tall.”

“Before you earn money, shouldn’t you check into a mental hospital?”

Yan Li joked. Jiang Wen laughed loudly, then began recounting scenes from *Let’s Shoot the Bullet*—only then did they understand.

“This Zhang Mahz is interesting, Old Jiang—you should learn from him. Open your mind.”

Yan Li teased; Jiang Wen replied: “I’m playing Zhang Mahz. You, my younger brother, are the real Zhang Mahz—courage, skill, vision—unmatched.”

Who said Jiang Wen couldn’t flatter? This old bastard had a sweet tongue.

Yan Li was in good spirits and smiled: “If you think I’m like Zhang Mahz, then let me play him—I might do better than you.”

“Sure, I—”

Jiang Wen went along, then froze, staring at Yan Li—making Yan Li uneasy.

He truly thought Jiang Wen needed a doctor—so erratic, mentally unstable.

But Jiang Wen ignored it, asking directly: “Are you available in September?”

Yan Li was startled: “You really want me to play Zhang Mahz?”

“Not Zhang Mahz. Huang Silang.”

“Huh?”

…

On the way back, Yan Li recalled Jiang Wen’s desperate pleading—his expression dazed.

Jiang Wen was famously fond of using acquaintances.

Both *The Sun Also Rises* and *Let’s Shoot the Bullet* featured his wife; rumor had it he’d even bring his brother Jiang Wu onto the crew.

The film’s three core roles: Jiang Wen would direct and play the lead; the advisor was meant for Ge Daye; Huang Silang was suggested by Ma Ke to be played by Fagie.

The reason for Fagie and Ge Daye was simple: they were excellent actors with massive fame.

From a promotional or box office standpoint, both were top-tier in the current Chinese-language market.

Previously, Jiang Wen’s films either used newcomers or carried him alone. This time, *Let’s Shoot the Bullet* had heavier commercial elements—so Ma Ke believed they needed big names to attract audiences with a star-studded cast.

Fagie’s acting was flawless, but Jiang Wen didn’t know him well—feared poor collaboration—and he was too expensive.

Among current Chinese-language stars, Cheng Long earned the most—but he rarely took outside roles, usually forming his own projects and taking profit shares. Then came Li Lianjie, who commanded a billion-yuan salary in *The Warlords*, then Fagie.

Rumor had it Fagie’s salary for *House of Flying Daggers* and *Confucius* was 40 million each.

And under Hollywood rules: overtime pay after eight hours, extravagant perks—presidential suites, luxury buses, gourmet meals—accumulating into massive costs.

The crew of "Let's Shoot the Bullet" calculated that hiring Fa Ge would cost nearly 50 million yuan in salary and other expenses.

That’s almost half the entire project’s budget!

So "Let's Shoot the Bullet" considered other actors, but no ordinary performer had enough weight to form a "Three Kings Standing Together" dynamic with Jiang Wen and Ge Daye.

The Old Man Huang must be strong!

Only if he’s strong can he force Jiang Wen’s Zhang Mahzi to exhaust his wits and suffer heavy losses, and make Ge Daye shift unpredictably back and forth.

This isn’t just about plot and character—it’s also about the actor’s presence; without it, audience immersion drops.

Only now did Jiang Wen suddenly realize that Yan Li was also a suitable candidate.

In terms of aura and status, Yan Li is a towering figure, with sufficient fame and even box-office pull, demonstrated by his hit "Painted Skin."

Although "Painted Skin" largely relied on the rivalry between the two Bing for the beauty, Yan Li himself might draw slightly less—but "Let's Shoot the Bullet" still has Jiang Wen and Ge Daye.

Besides, Yan Li’s acting isn’t bad.

Among these roles in "Let's Shoot the Bullet," the Old Man Huang is actually the easiest to play: a classic villain, key is having presence, able to withstand the pressure from Jiang Wen and Ge Daye.

Yan Li has no shortage of presence, and he doesn’t need to worry about being overwhelmed by Jiang and Ge—just now, Jiang was scolded by him.

At most, his age could be slightly adjusted, but it’s no big deal—a thirty-year-old Master is still a Master.

More importantly, Yan Li’s fee is far more cost-effective than Fa Ge’s.

Yan Li himself doesn’t even know his exact fee, because no one dares hire him—his previous works like "Painted Skin" and "Three Kingdoms" were all done at friend rates.

There’s no way—he runs his own projects and can’t set himself too high a fee.

Besides, even if his fee were capped, it still wouldn’t match those top stars, and he wouldn’t earn much anyway; it’d look greedy. Better to take a friend rate and use it as leverage in equity negotiations.

So although Yan Li’s exact fee is uncertain, it’s definitely lower than Fa Ge’s.

Moreover, Yan Li is bringing capital into the project—he can be negotiated down, or even converted into profit-sharing, saving funds for production.

Thus, Jiang Wen grew more convinced Yan Li was right, and later Ma Ke joined in urging him too.

The two were truly a perfect pair—they thought alike, and as producer, Ma Ke saw even more angles.

Bringing in Fa Ge means promoting him as a superstar; bringing in Yan Li opens up far more possibilities.

For starters, teaming up to wash away the “shame” of "The Sun Also Rises" could spark a media frenzy.

And with Yan Li’s reputation, it helps not just with promotion, but also with investment, sponsorship, distribution, and even censorship—many advantages.

Jiang and Ma pushed hard, and even Han Sanye and Zhang Guoli chimed in, but Yan Li only said he’d consider—he didn’t commit.

Since "Three Kingdoms," Yi An had dozens of projects wanting him, and Yan Li turned them all down.

One reason: he’s busy—Weibo, Yi An’s growth, and preparing for IPO—he’s got a pile of things on his plate.

Another reason: he has reservations. Before, it didn’t matter—he could act in whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

But now, with his company preparing for IPO, Yan Li as a core figure is inseparable from the enterprise.

His personal lifestyle doesn’t matter—he’s already built a solid reputation, a wasteland where everyone knows exactly what he’s like, so no scandal can be made.

But if he takes on a bad film or a terrible role, it could trigger public backlash—might not hurt the company, but Yan Li can’t ignore the risk.

Don’t think it’s exaggerated—part of Yan Li’s current popularity, reputation, and halo comes from the characters he’s portrayed.

If these roles bring benefits, they can just as easily cause him to crash.

“Let’s see.”

"Let's Shoot the Bullet" doesn’t start shooting until September; Yan Li plans to go back, read the script, check his schedule, then decide.

Besides "Let's Shoot the Bullet," Fan Xiaopang’s idol drama "My Love from the Star" has been pressing him too.

Yan Li was exhausted—he used to have no good offers as an actor, so he turned to business.

Now that his company’s grown big, he’s become a hot commodity again. So these days, you’ve got to cross over—exporting and then re-importing is even more valuable.

————

Back on Weibo, he met an investor, left after twenty minutes on a pretext—the guy had zero sincerity, treating him like a sucker.

On the way to Yi An, he’d just entered his office when the Head of Distribution knocked.

“Boss Yan, I’m reporting on the status of 'Three Kingdoms.'”

"Three Kingdoms" had just wrapped filming, signaling its entry into post-production and distribution.

With so many episodes, it’s already March—definitely too late for this year’s summer slot; it’ll have to be either the New Year slot or next summer.

These two slots are the year’s best, the only ones capable of fully carrying "Three Kingdoms."

After all, this drama must sell for a sky-high price—TV stations paid big money and must recoup their investment.

Thus, the distribution cycle will be long, requiring extensive negotiations and preparation; the Distribution Department has already begun mobilizing.

“Do you have confidence in the company’s target of 2 million yuan per episode?”

Yan Li listened to the report, then smiled and asked; the Head of Distribution chuckled.

“If it were just me, I’d have no confidence—but with you steering us, honestly, the whole team is already counting their bonuses.”

“Your flattery’s improved.”

Yan Li joked, then turned serious: “Don’t get complacent. My original target of 2 million per episode was based on two things: our drama is genuinely in demand, and we wanted to bundle it with the Four Great Classical Novels for joint distribution.”

“You’re a veteran in distribution—you know how much negotiating power we’d gain if we held all these dramas.”

“But fate didn’t cooperate: the Yongle version of 'Journey to the West' partnered with Zhejiang TV, making its distribution negligible; Zhang Dahu’s side moved too slowly to create synergy; 'New Dream of the Red Chamber' was abandoned due to complications—so the Four Great Novels bundle fell apart. We’re left with just 'Three Kingdoms' plus half of 'New Water Margin.'”

“That makes this bone much harder to chew. TV station folks aren’t easy to deal with—preparation must be thorough.”

“...”

The Head of Distribution nodded, his earlier overconfidence fading; he prepared to do more groundwork.

Yan Li felt quietly satisfied—over the past two years, Yi An had grown rapidly, and its already strong Distribution Department, riding the company’s momentum, had become unstoppable.

This had made the entire department a bit arrogant.

Not necessarily bad—negotiations sometimes hinge on presence and psychology; if the Distribution team has confidence, their work flows smoother.

Yan Li personally believed only a spirited team could get real work done—mechanical, lifeless teams couldn’t fight hard battles.