Chapter 376: Shuangbing Trilogy: Saving Liu Tao

Fan Xiaopang went to Sichuan to film the final scenes, Li Bingbing also went to shoot "Detective Dee: The Mystery of the Phantom Flame," and Yan Li returned to Beijing with Huang Bao and others.

Shuangbing won the Golden Horse Award, and their popularity exploded; even though they’re currently filming, various endorsement and commercial deals are already being negotiated—they’ll be raking in cash once filming wraps.

It’s said many brands now most want to sign both Shuangbing outright and ride the Shuangbing wave.

But this card is hard to play—Shuangbing’s team isn’t foolish and has consistently controlled their joint appearances.

It’s simple: play the card too often and it loses value!

After "Painted Skin" and "The Message," Yi’an never launched a third Shuangbing project, partly due to this concern.

These past two years, Shuangbing’s two reunions in "Painted Skin" and "The Message" were both huge hits, but behind the frenzy, many viewers have grown somewhat tired of their collaborations.

After all, the gossip has been exhausted, the rivalry has been exhausted, even the lesbian pairing has been exhausted—now they’ve won awards together, and going further would be overkill; they must cool down.

In Yan Li’s plan, Shuangbing might only collaborate one more time, forming a Shuangbing Trilogy, then part ways permanently—never to cross paths again.

Everything should stop at the right point; Yan Li doesn’t want to ruin the Shuangbing card for money and provoke backlash.

Give everyone a beautiful ending—the company profits, audiences are happy, and Shuangbing’s careers advance further.

At the same time, this is also a lifeline: if Yi’an struggles years later, it can revive Shuangbing after a decade, evoke nostalgia, and turn crisis into safety.

Therefore, Yan Li is cautious about the final installment of the Shuangbing Trilogy.

The originally planned "Painted Skin 2" has been put on hold due to dissatisfaction with the script quality.

"The Message" achieved such high acclaim that it elevated Shuangbing; they dare not claim to surpass it, but they can’t make it too poor—they must at least meet the trilogy’s average standard.

Besides "Painted Skin 2," Yi’an has developed three new scripts, all tailored specifically for Shuangbing.

One is a historical fantasy epic, roughly about the Nine-Tailed Heavenly Fox (Fan Xiaopang) and the Yinglong Maiden (Li Bingbing) battling a giant boss, focusing on visual effects, with a mediocre story—and Fan Xiaopang has some trauma around fox spirits.

Su Daji plus Xiao Wei—two popular characters, plus her inherently alluring oval face and peach-blossom eyes, and her less-than-ideal romantic history—now “fox spirit” and “Fan Xiaopang” are practically inseparable.

Another is a historical epic, telling the story of Lady Shangguan Yan and Princess Taiping struggling within the whirlwind of history.

This time Li Bingbing objects—she already portrayed Shangguan Jing’er, modeled after Lady Shangguan Yan, in "Detective Dee: The Mystery of the Phantom Flame"; playing her again would be repetitive.

The last is an action film, with Hollywood overtones, a standard dual-strong-detective or spy setup, except both leads are women.

Li Bingbing is calm, reserved, and highly combat-capable; Fan Xiaopang is sharp, radiant, and endlessly inventive—they ultimately defeat their opponent and win.

The plot and setting are fairly conventional, but the commercial elements are solid; with good marketing and coordination, box office shouldn’t be low.

Both "The Message" and "Painted Skin" leaned toward tragedy; a lighter, more heartwarming third installment could bring freshness.

"Painted Skin 2" and these three scripts each have their strengths and flaws; overall quality doesn’t stand out, so Yi’an hasn’t decided yet, hoping to further refine them or wait for a better script.

With such caution in film projects, commercial deals demand even more.

Even for Shuangbing appearing together on screen, as long as the films are well-made, shooting a couple more is acceptable.

Commercial deals aim to maximize advertising impact—brands would prefer exclusive rights to Shuangbing to boost value and influence, so the number of times the Shuangbing card can be played is even fewer, ideally only one at a time.

Rarity breeds value—the fewer the appearances, the higher the price.

So far, Fan Xiaopang’s commercial endorsements are the highest among female stars, but only a handful have reached the ten-million level.

Li Bingbing only began tentatively negotiating ten-million deals after "The Message" exploded and she won the Golden Horse.

For female stars, commercial endorsements are another realm entirely.

It’s not just about fame and works—it also depends on brand alignment, personal image, fan commercial conversion, and many other factors.

Most female stars can’t even access commercial deals; those who can often, due to various reasons, are limited to certain niches or paths.

Fan Xiaopang’s inherent strengths are excellent, and after years of deep cultivation and marketing, she has achieved a cliff-like lead in commercial value—not only covering an extremely wide range but also delivering outstanding results.

Thus, her commercial deals are not only increasing but becoming increasingly sought-after.

In contrast, Li Bingbing is weaker in this area—even her current pricing benefits from the Shuangbing bond.

But Shuangbing together is an entirely different matter.

Fan Xiaopang can negotiate over ten million alone; Li Bingbing barely manages ten million—combined, they start at least thirty to forty million.

If a brand signs Shuangbing exclusively, it must pay at least fifty million.

Don’t think it’s expensive—even at fifty million, your brand must offer them other benefits and value.

If your brand’s tier and influence aren’t sufficient, just offering money won’t guarantee they’ll accept.

1+1>2

Fan Xiaopang and Li Bingbing’s teams have finally figured it out: hiring Shuangbing separately is one price; together, it doubles or triples.

Top-tier star + national-level duo brand + red-hot popularity—that’s the current strength and confidence of Shuangbing together.

Even for Yi’an’s planned final Shuangbing Trilogy installment, if they bring Shuangbing back, even without box office profit-sharing, just a “friendship discount” would still mean an enormous salary.

…

After returning to Beijing, Yi’an held a small celebration.

Shuangbing didn’t attend—they only sent a video message; the star was Huang Bao.

Compared to Shuangbing’s meteoric rise to queen status, Huang Bao may have lost some spotlight, but he still shone brightly.

Huang Bao started in comedy, his iconic roles are all ordinary people, and with his appearance, though his fanbase is smaller, his public goodwill is extremely strong.

Yi’an has positioned him as a powerhouse actor—inspirational, humorous, and approachable.

Even this Best Actor win earned him the title of “Dark Horse Best Actor.”

This “dark horse” doesn’t mean he won by surprise—it refers to his life story: this award is his personal comeback, his dark horse triumph.

For Huang Bao, "Crazy Stone" catapulted him into stardom, and this Golden Horse Best Actor award has firmly placed him among mainland China’s rising film stars at the fastest pace possible.

Even Weibo Entertainment quietly watched, believing Huang Bao, boosted by the Golden Horse, would become Deng Chao’s biggest challenge as Yi’an’s top male star.

Yet Deng Chao and Huang Bao still seem harmonious—even attending Huang Bao’s celebration to congratulate him.

Yan Li even joked he might consider pairing Deng Chao and Huang Bao for a “Chao-Bao” duo.

The “duo” was a joke, but having Huang Bao and Deng Chao act together isn’t—Yan Li knows Yi’an already has producers searching for scripts.

Yi’an’s project approval standards aren’t uniform.

Sometimes, a good script comes first, gets company approval, then producers and directors are assigned to push it forward.

Sometimes, it’s director-driven—like Ning Hao, who initiates a project, then finds screenwriters and producers to gradually shape it.

Sometimes, producers identify rising actors or find suitable scripts, then submit them to the company for approval and development.

And for talents like Fan Xiaopang and Deng Chao, they can also approach directors and producers to collaborate, find suitable scripts—or even commission custom ones—then pitch for company funding and support.

Yan Li strongly encourages his team to proactively develop projects, especially since Yi’an’s IPO is imminent and another major funding round is likely—there must be big moves.

If his team stays busy, he doesn’t have to worry.

But hoping for proactive projects doesn’t mean approving them casually—in fact, the approval process is extremely strict.

Almost every month, Yi’an rejects ten or even dozens of projects; the approval rate is under 10%, with films having an even lower rate than TV dramas.

A producer wanting Deng Chao and Huang Bao to collaborate must first get the project approved by Yi’an.

After the celebration, Yan Li casually gathered some male artists, directors, and screenwriters for a small gathering.

To be honest, Yan Li cares far less about Yi’an’s male artists than his female ones.

At rival Huayi, they treat Huang Xiaoming and others with great care—especially Little Wang, who reportedly personally oversees male artists’ daily lives.

Da Gou from Ma’s Pictures doesn’t go as far as Little Wang, but he frequently invites friends to clubs, drinks, and parties, sometimes playing for days.

Ning Hao has been a few times; Da Gou greatly admires him and even treated him to meals and movie talks.

And Qin Zong from Star Beauty is also a genuine, emotional man, regularly arranging lavish outings.

In comparison, Yan Li rarely does this—he mostly interacts with the female artists.

Yan Li reflected and thought he might occasionally gather more in the future—but only that.

He still prefers to hang out with delicate female artists.

Even darkly, Yan Li wonders: do many bosses enjoy drinking and partying because they truly love the atmosphere—or because they’re too old to do anything else?

From the bosses Yan Li usually sees, it’s just a superficial thrill.

With the IPO imminent, if any Yi’an artist or executive gets embroiled in scandal, it’ll be trouble.

So the gathering was simple: dinner, a bath, some drinks, and casual chat.

When the gathering wound down and people began to leave, Yan Li went to the restroom—and when he came out, he saw a man and woman entangled nearby.

Yan Li frowned, assuming it was some drunk man harassing a woman, and signaled his bodyguard to intervene.

He wasn’t a good man, but he wouldn’t just stand by when he saw this.

Before the bodyguard moved, the man spotted Yan Li and called out.

“Director Yan.”

As both turned to look at him, Yan Li recognized them—his eyes flickered, lips twitched slightly.

“It’s you two?”

Wang Ke, reeking of alcohol, came over to shake hands: “Director Yan, long time no see.”

“Long time no see.”

Yan Li exchanged pleasantries, then nodded to Liu Tao, who looked embarrassed: “What’s going on between you two?”

“We’re meeting a friend.”

Wang Ke added an explanation for the earlier scene: “Liu Tao’s upset—I drank too much.”

A couple going out, husband drunk, wife annoyed—it’s normal. But the earlier scene didn’t look like that.

But Yan Li had no intention to meddle; if it were a stranger’s injustice, he’d step in—but this is their private matter, outsiders shouldn’t interfere.