Chapter 365: Business Agency Company, Trainee, This Is Your Yan Shu

After thinking it over, Yan Li decided not to mention equity investment for now, but as for cooperation, there was no need to elaborate.

Not to mention their longstanding friendship, even Li Bingbing herself is currently a huge star who can bring all kinds of benefits to Yi’an.

If Li Bingbing’s company succeeds, or if the evolving situation requires deeper collaboration between both parties, it’s never too late to formalize the partnership then.

Worst case, Yi’an pays a bit more or Li Bingbing and her sister ask for less—so long as the cooperation goes smoothly, they’ll recoup everything later.

As for whether Li Bingbing might seek other partners because of this… as long as the two sisters haven’t lost their minds, they wouldn’t be so foolish.

After finishing dinner, Yan Li wiped his mouth, plopped down on the sofa like an old boss, while Li Bingbing and her sister cleaned up the dishes, then began discussing ideas and direction for the new company.

Li Xue, the actual manager of the company, set the tone: “First and foremost, we’ll center everything around my sister.”

Li Bingbing herself is the sisters’ biggest asset; in the early stages, operations will naturally revolve around her, functioning like a larger-scale artist studio.

But Li Xue also understood that for the company to grow, it couldn’t rely solely on Li Bingbing—it needed to develop related subsidiary businesses.

Yan Li’s interest was piqued: “Are you thinking about investing in film and television?”

The Li sisters exchanged glances, then shook their heads. Li Bingbing said, “This industry is too murky; we’re small players and dare not get involved lightly.”

Yan Li praised them: “Smart.”

Many celebrities starting businesses, especially those from the film and TV industry, immediately think of investing in movies and dramas.

That’s an extremely unwise choice—having acted in a drama doesn’t mean you can successfully produce one; they’re completely different things.

Especially in today’s era, celebrities have little influence; success depends entirely on teams, channels, distribution, and other resources, all of which are severely limited.

Many celebrities confidently dive in, but few even manage to make a modest profit, let alone break through.

The most famous example in mainland China is Li Yapeng—he previously launched a film company and lost money like a fool.

Even earlier Hong Kong stars are even less worth mentioning.

Back when Liu Dehua was at his peak, he started his own company and nearly went bankrupt; since then, he’s become extremely cautious about investments, sticking mostly to low-budget or personal projects, with the bulk of his income still coming from acting and concerts.

So right now, without sufficient resources and connections, believing a celebrity’s fame alone can dominate the film industry is a recipe for disaster—you won’t even know how you died.

Li Bingbing and her sister have worked hard to earn their money, and Yan Li wants them to be cautious.

If there’s no solid project, don’t invest recklessly—Yi’an can help them, but won’t guarantee their losses.

Fortunately, the Li sisters understand this well; their strategy is conservative, shaped by their background, personality, and experiences.

They grew up in poverty, endured hardship from childhood; when they had nothing, they might gamble everything, but now that they have something, they won’t risk it all.

Li Bingbing is resilient, Li Xue is shrewd and thorough; together, they overcame countless difficulties to help the relatively average Li Bingbing rise to where she is today, and because they know how hard-won every step has been, they cherish it all the more.

In contrast, Fan Xiaopang, the other member of “Shuang Bing,” has a far more aggressive personality and investment strategy.

She favors bold moves, is highly proactive, and possesses extraordinary courage—if she started her own business, she’d 100% invest heavily as the primary backer.

From a business perspective, Fan Xiaopang’s approach is more likely to scale up, but also more likely to collapse.

The Li sisters prefer stability; though their scale may be smaller and profits modest, their risks are lower, making their path more sustainable and secure.

Right now, Fan Xiaopang doesn’t need to worry about starting her own venture—she’s tethered to Yan Li, so she’s much more stable.

But the Li sisters could afford to take a bit more risk.

“Caution is good, but in business, being overly cautious can cause you to miss opportunities.”

After hearing Li Xue’s ideas, Yan Li couldn’t help but offer advice.

According to Li Xue’s plan, their new company, besides handling Li Bingbing’s agency business, could also take on minor tasks related to film projects.

A film involves many stages; even giants like Yi’an don’t handle everything themselves—they outsource certain tasks or partner with related companies.

Li Xue felt that as Li Bingbing’s long-time agent, she had developed skills and connections in publicity and brand engagement.

Therefore, the new company can take on film promotion and marketing, brand placements, or similar collaborations, earning money while building connections and gaining experience.

The thinking was sound, the approach correct, but perhaps too conservative.

If the sisters were going it alone, this entry point made sense—but with Yan Li on their side, they were being overly cautious.

The next few years are a period of rapid growth for the entertainment industry; if the Li sisters play small and miss the industry’s momentum and Li Bingbing’s golden era, they’ll have no one to blame but themselves.

“How much money can you make from film marketing and brand deals? Instead of wasting effort on that, start with artist agency right away.”

“Your sister’s this popular—pick two promising newcomers and push them hard; you could easily launch a second-tier star.”

“Even if good prospects are hard to find, you can directly collaborate with established artists. You know Yi’an’s split-contract model, right? Your sister’s connections mean nothing to Yi’an, but they’re still very valuable to ordinary stars.”

Li Xue pondered: “You mean, imitate Hua Jie?”

“Hua Jie’s approach wasn’t wrong, but her mindset is outdated.”

Yan Li had no reservations with the Li sisters: “What era are we in? The internet age. The economy has grown, entertainment has flourished, and a celebrity’s influence now generates far greater returns. Holding onto film and TV alone is hopeless—monetizing celebrity influence through commercial partnerships and other channels is the new model.”

“Do you know how much advertising revenue Weibo generated this year? So far, it’s surpassed 190 million RMB—this is even after Weibo has consciously restrained ad placements to nurture its ecosystem.”

“Next year, with further mobile development, Weibo will aggressively pursue commercialization; advertising revenue is projected to reach 350 million to 500 million RMB.”

“A significant portion of these ads and brand partnerships involve celebrities; Yi’an and artists closely tied to Weibo have already started reaping the benefits.”

“You might not grasp this, so let me be clearer: this year, Bingbing—not your sister, Fan Bingbing—earned about 40 million RMB from advertising and commercial deals.”

“Note: that’s not her total income—it’s her personal earnings, and we at Yi’an took a cut.”

After founding her studio, Fan Xiaopang’s revenue split with the company was 70-30, plus stock options, project dividends, and priority access to resources.

That means, including Yi’an’s 30%, Fan Xiaopang’s annual advertising and commercial income approaches 60 million RMB.

And this is just advertising and commercial revenue—film and project dividends are separate.

Li Bingbing and Li Xue exchanged glances, both wincing.

They were both part of the “Four Dan and Two Bing” group, yet Li Bingbing’s advertising revenue was less than half of Fan Xiaopang’s—actually, barely a third.

But Li Xue now understood Yan Li’s point.

Their new company should enter artist agency and, while other companies and agents haven’t shifted their mindset, focus squarely on monetizing artist commercial and advertising resources.

Leveraging Li Bingbing’s influence and network, combined with Yan Li’s resources and the Weibo platform, they should aggressively build a network around celebrity commercialization to gain a first-mover advantage.

This way, they can leverage it to negotiate for film resources and continuously create stars, or, if needed, partner with established artists to establish a unique edge and solidify their position in the industry.

Both the potential returns and prospects are far broader than their original plan of film promotion and brand negotiations.

They’d also gain greater independence—no longer needing to kowtow to film giants, and even being able to negotiate with them using their own resources.

But the competition would be fiercer, and instead of bowing to film giants, they’d now have to answer to internet giants.

After all, advertising and commercial deals require internet platforms for dissemination, and many operations hinge entirely on Weibo.

Li Bingbing quickly caught on: “So you’re saying we’ll go from eating at Yi’an’s table to eating at Weibo’s table?”

Yan Li calmly sipped his hot water: “What’s the difference?”

The Li sisters exchanged glances and smiled—both Weibo and Yi’an belonged to Yan Li; whether they ate at one table or the other, they were still eating at Yan Li’s table.

Even focusing on commercial ventures didn’t mean abandoning film—it meant they could fish in both ponds, gaining more advantages.

Li Xue continued mentally calculating, while Li Bingbing noticed something else.

“You’re pushing us toward commercial work—aren’t you trying to get us away from Fan?”

Yi’an is Fan Xiaopang’s territory; if Li Bingbing relies on Yi’an, friction is inevitable—but if they rely on Weibo, Fan Xiaopang can’t reach there.

“You’re reading too much into this.”

Yan Li scoffed—he was offering good advice, and Li Bingbing twisted it into jealousy.

Even if he had thought that way, wasn’t this arrangement still for the sisters’ own benefit?

Li Bingbing realized he was right—even if Yan Li favored Fan, he was still giving advice and promising Weibo’s support; she was being unreasonable to dwell on Fan.

While her sister wasn’t looking, she leaned close to Yan Li and whispered a few words.

Yan Li raised an eyebrow, held up two fingers; Li Bingbing glared at him but nodded.

Li Xue, more level-headed than her sister, had already weighed the plan and found it promising; she began asking Yan Li more questions.

Yan Li answered for a while, then, seeing she wouldn’t stop, said: “I don’t know all the specifics—later, I’ll introduce you to Yi’an’s advertising director and Weibo’s relevant managers; talk with them, and you’ll pick up the ropes.”

Li Xue still wanted more, but Yan Li was yawning; he grabbed Li Bingbing and headed upstairs.

“Go to bed early. Good night.”

Li Bingbing was caught off guard—she’d hoped to at least pretend to be discreet, but this bastard didn’t even bother pretending; she could only awkwardly say:

“I’m just chatting privately with Yan Li.”

Li Xue: “...”

You two have had way too many private conversations behind my back!

Upstairs, Li Bingbing complained: “Didn’t we agree? I’ll distract her—you’re in such a hurry?”

“We all know what’s going on—why pretend? If you two keep dawdling, it’ll be morning.”

Yan Li lounged on the bed, patted the mattress: “Hurry up—it’s time for you to keep your promise.”

Li Bingbing rolled her eyes, unbuttoned her shirt, and walked over.

…

The next day, thunder rumbled and rain poured heavily.

Seeing the weather, Yan Li called his driver and said he wouldn’t come to work this morning—wait until the rain stopped.

Then he went downstairs to the living room for some light stretching and suggested to Li Xue, who had woken up:

“Your house is pretty big—you should buy a treadmill or something for regular exercise; I’ll use it too when I come over.”

Li Xue snorted: “When winter comes, my parents will move in—then you’ll dare to come?”

“I won’t.”

Yan Li replied bluntly, earning a glare from Li Xue; just as she turned to go upstairs, he called out:

“Your sister hasn’t woken up yet—she was exhausted last night; let her sleep longer.”

Li Xue glared at him: “Can’t you be a little gentler?”

She’d caught him several times—each time, her sister looked like she’d been through hell; at first, she even thought she was being abused.

Yan Li felt wronged: “This isn’t my fault—really… never mind, ask your sister if you don’t believe me. If I’d mistreated her, would she trust me like this?”

“…”

Li Xue had no reply, because she’d already asked—otherwise, given her sister’s demeanor, she’d have fought Yan Li long ago.

But she was still upset, and couldn’t take it out on her sister, so Yan Li bore the brunt of her misplaced anger.

Yan Li didn’t mind; Li Xue was practically his junior sister-in-law. A brother-in-law should be generous.

He continued his workout while chatting with Li Xue: “How’s your boyfriend doing?”

“It’s over.”

“I mean the new one—the one in publishing.”

“That one’s over too.”

Yan Li: “...”

Since Li Xue gave up on Yan Li, Li Bingbing had been desperate to marry off her sister, especially since she was already over thirty.

Yet, even just the two boyfriends Yan Li knew about—never mind the others—had both fallen through, and now she was still single.

“Two middle-aged singles? I’m worried sick for your parents.”

Yan Li sighed, and Li Xue shot him a scornful look—yesterday they’d slept together, and today, as soon as he pulled up his pants, her sister became single.

“Don’t look at me like that. Your sister herself said we’re just friends.”

Among the many women connected to Yan Li, two claimed they were only casual lovers: Li Xiaolu and Li Bingbing.

Li Bingbing not only arranged dates for her sister, but didn’t reject introductions from others either—she just didn’t like any of them.

Even Li Bingbing herself complained that Yan Li had ruined her standards, raising them too high; now, Li Xue’s inability to marry was partly his fault.

Li Bingbing was easy to handle—at least Yan Li could spare time to meet her emotional and physical needs. Li Xue had to rely on herself.

After teasing her a bit, Yan Li saw the rain hadn’t stopped, took a shower, and prepared to eat.

The fridge had food—he boiled some frozen dumplings, made soy milk. Li Xue went upstairs to call her sister, but Li Bingbing still wouldn’t get up, telling them to eat without her.

Seeing Li Bingbing’s state, Li Xue came downstairs with even heavier resentment; Yan Li dared not provoke her.

After eating, without his laptop, Yan Li turned on the TV. One channel was broadcasting an entertainment news program.

【Liu the King announces romance, rumored to have a teenage daughter】

【Michael Jackson’s cause of death remains mysterious, suspected homicide】

【Singer Chen Chusheng sues Tianyu for contract termination, to pay former employer 6.5 million】

【...】

Yan Li watched the news while checking Weibo’s trending list, unable to shake his head.

No wonder TV news is constantly criticized—it’s just too slow.

The rumor about Liu the King’s daughter had already been debunked on Weibo’s trending list two days ago; the other two stories had been circulating on Weibo since yesterday, with far more comprehensive information—and even Chen Chusheng’s own official statement.

Compared to that, these TV news reports weren’t just behind Weibo—they were miles behind Sina and Sohu too.

One of the most essential elements of news is timeliness—that’s the “new” in news. Once the internet shattered that, the power of discourse began shifting.

As he was enjoying the news, he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder—he realized Li Xue had leaned against him without him noticing.

“Little sister-in-law, don’t play around. If your sister sees this, she’ll kill me.”

The more he said it, the more she clung—she switched from leaning to hugging, gripping his arm tightly.

“She’ll eat you, not me.”

“Alright, you’re really bold.”

Yan Li grumbled, hesitating whether to pull away, when Li Xue said: “I’m cold. Just let me hold on for a bit. Even if she sees, it’s fine—she can be heartless, but can’t I lean on someone?”

No wonder Li Bingbing kept avoiding Li Xue—this girl, if she saw it, would lose her balance and something bad might happen.

Yan Li was soft-hearted; seeing Li Xue’s emotions were clearly unstable, he offered comfort.

Fortunately, Li Xue, for various reasons, didn’t go too far. After a while, she returned to her room, and didn’t show herself again until the rain stopped and Yan Li left.

After Yan Li left, Li Xue silently returned to her room. Li Bingbing hesitated, then followed her in.

“Xue’er, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Li Bingbing sighed, eyes red. How could she be fine? She sat on the bed and hugged her.

“If you really can’t accept it, I’ll break it off with him.”

Yan Li had a place in Li Bingbing’s heart—but nowhere near as deep as the sister she’d raised since birth.

To resolve the rift between them, she was willing to cut him loose—pull out this thorn.

“No need.”

Li Xue sat up, wiped her eyes, her voice calm: “We can’t break it off—not for now. Our startup needs Yan Li. Pure business ties aren’t enough. Your relationship with him brings huge advantages.”

“Then you...”

Li Bingbing hesitated. Li Xue smiled: “I’m really fine. Just a momentary emotional stumble—I’ll get over it.”

“It’s my fault, Xue’er.”

Li Bingbing hugged her sister guiltily. Li Xue comforted her: “We’re sisters—we’re one. It’s just some guy. Not a big deal.”

After sharing heartfelt words, Li Bingbing left the room, head aching.

She could see Li Xue still thought of Yan Li—almost like a mental obsession.

Part of it was her fault. If they’d simply been incompatible, fine. Li Xue wasn’t the type to brood—but with her own sister’s betrayal, plus Yan Li occasionally showing off their closeness, even someone without a heartache would develop one.

So now it was stuck.

Break it off? She couldn’t bear to. And as Li Xue said, the new company couldn’t function without Yan Li.

But if she didn’t break it off, Li Bingbing feared Li Xue would dig deeper into her obsession, and something terrible might happen.

Maybe... try a sneaky trick?

————

Yan Li didn’t know Li Bingbing’s thoughts. With the rain, he didn’t feel like going to work, so he invited a few friends to hang out.

A certain sports club

Yan Li held his badminton racket, watching the panting Liu from Jingdong, and couldn’t help mocking him.

“Old Liu, your stamina’s terrible. At thirty-something, you’re already this weak?”

Boss Liu retorted: “I stayed up too late last night networking. Not feeling well.”

“Tsk.”

Yan Li rolled his eyes, stopped teasing him, and switched to another friend to play.

Badminton was a sport Yan Li had recently taken up—simple rules, easy to find a court, and it played to his strengths: good stamina, great strength, quick reflexes.