Chapter 379: Weed Puller in Entertainment: Layered Education, Ink-Splashing Gate

After the Weibo Night, the buzz over Lao Mouzi joining Yi’an surpassed the hype of Sun Honglei and Li Bingbing winning Weibo King and Weibo Queen.

The strongest evidence for this rumor was Lao Mouzi’s attendance at Weibo Night, where he conversed warmly with Yan Li and Han Sanping.

Lao Mouzi presented Han Sanping with an award; Han’s film The Founding of a Republic won Weibo’s “Movie of the Year.”

Yet many believed Fengshen was the best film of the year.

But The Founding of a Republic was the highest-grossing domestic film of the year, had greater influence, and most importantly, was an official tribute film—Weibo couldn’t afford to ignore it.

Earlier, Han Yan and Boss Zhang had a bitter falling-out; now, with Lao Mouzi “publicly taking sides,” combined with rumors of tension between the two Zhangs and the negative reception of Three Guns Shoot the Shock, people naturally began speculating.

Lao Mouzi gave no response; Yan Li spoke vaguely.

“Of course I welcome Director Zhang to Yi’an, but I can’t say specifics yet—let’s wait and see.”

Neither denying nor confirming, his words were full of implication; netizens mocked him as heartless, and it stung Boss Zhang deeply.

He again firmly stated in an interview that Lao Mouzi would not leave.

He then negotiated with Lao Mouzi, who was openly planning to go solo, and the talks ended in another bitter failure.

Not only would Boss Zhang never tolerate Lao Mouzi leaving, given his temperament—even if he could tolerate it—he no longer trusted Lao Mouzi at all. Boss Zhang even suspected Lao Mouzi had conspired with Yan Li to stab him in the back.

They met two more times; the more they talked, the more hostile things became, and Boss Zhang’s words grew increasingly harsh.

Eventually, Lao Mouzi stopped answering Boss Zhang’s calls altogether, and some of his assistants and team members also resigned from New Picture, preparing to join Lao Mouzi’s studio.

These people had followed Lao Mouzi for years—they went wherever he went.

Even some other New Picture employees wanted to defect to Lao Mouzi; either they’d joined New Picture because of him, or they didn’t believe in its future.

Boss Zhang was truly panicked now!

He realized Lao Mouzi wasn’t just throwing a tantrum—he was serious about leaving, and he understood that if Lao Mouzi left, New Picture would be in trouble.

Boss Zhang went to see Lao Mouzi, hoping to appeal to their past friendship, but Lao Mouzi anticipated this and refused to be dragged into emotional entanglements.

He didn’t answer calls, avoided meetings, and when Boss Zhang showed up at his door, his wife claimed ignorance of everything.

Boss Zhang lost his temper and issued a threat—only then did Lao Mouzi finally appear.

But this negotiation also went poorly.

Lao Mouzi was determined to leave, especially after Boss Zhang threatened him—he felt deeply wounded and resolved to depart.

Yet Boss Zhang still believed he held the upper hand, using both soft and hard tactics to coax Lao Mouzi back, but made no progress. Lao Mouzi, though not wanting to provoke him, maintained a calm demeanor and refused to return to New Picture.

Boss Zhang, desperate, finally dropped all pretense and snapped: “Lao Mou, think of yourself, think of your family—you’re at this age, don’t end your life ruined, your wife gone, your children scattered.”

Saying this, Boss Zhang stormed out; Lao Mouzi’s face turned ashen.

His wife, hiding nearby, worriedly asked: “What do we do? Should we go back?”

“Go back? If I go back, I’ll spend the rest of my life enslaved by him!”

Lao Mouzi thought they were brothers, partners—but the man never treated him as anything more than a tool.

“Let’s part amicably” was a joke; even a peaceful exit was denied him—he had to be completely betrayed.

“Then what do we do?”

His wife was anxious. Even setting aside any incriminating evidence, she feared Boss Zhang might do something reckless.

He’d been in the industry so long he knew people everywhere, and his methods weren’t clean. Even if Lao Mouzi himself wasn’t afraid, he couldn’t ignore the safety of his wife and children.

Lao Mouzi feared this too—he knew his own weaknesses, knew they carried some negative weight, but nothing life-threatening.

But if Boss Zhang resorted to underhanded tactics, that would be trouble.

No matter how great his title as “National Mentor,” he was still just a film director, with limited real resources and influence.

“I’ll make a few calls.”

At this point, Lao Mouzi could only seek help—his own network was one thing, but he also needed allies.

“…”

“Director Zhang, don’t worry—I’ve spoken with Third Master. That Zhang will never lay a finger on you or your family.”

Yan Li actually wanted to see what tactics Boss Zhang would use—he planned to catch the evidence and send him straight to prison.

But Lao Mouzi certainly didn’t want to take that risk, so Yan Li focused on deterrence instead.

Boss Zhang had spent years cultivating connections across all sectors; Yan Li had ties in both legal and illegal circles, even had dedicated personnel handling gray-area work.

Lao Mouzi had a wife and children; Boss Zhang had them too—even his overseas illegitimate son’s address was known to Yan Li.

Yan Li believed business warfare should focus on undermining the opponent—not going for total annihilation unless absolutely necessary.

Even gangsters knew not to harm wives and children; business should be no crueler.

So unless the opponent acted with extreme brutality or resorted to similarly dubious tactics, Yan Li would never easily use this method.

Boss Zhang bullied Lao Mouzi; Yan Li’s move was simply using his own weapon against him.

Yan Li didn’t show his face, but he called Boss Zhang to declare he was protecting Lao Mouzi—then Lao Mouzi used the address and documents Yan Li provided to go negotiate in person.

Facing threats to his family, Lao Mouzi stood firm for once—not just because of Yan Li, but because he’d mobilized other connections too.

After all, he was a renowned director; he still had influence. He didn’t need to fight Boss Zhang to the death, but lending moral support was no problem.

Feeling the pressure, Boss Zhang raged helplessly for a while, then finally conceded.

But he still insisted Lao Mouzi could operate independently, as long as New Picture participated in all future film projects.

Lao Mouzi feared leaving no room for compromise might trigger a mutual destruction—he nodded reluctantly.

Yan Li had previously instructed him to give Boss Zhang a face-saving exit, to stabilize him—for when real cooperation came, they’d hold the initiative and had plenty of ways to undermine New Picture.

Even if they didn’t sabotage him, New Picture had no money, no channels, no talent—they’d never secure any meaningful share.

In the past, New Picture thrived on Lao Mouzi’s box-office dominance; now they could only sip the broth and lick the bones—barely enough to stave off hunger.

In late December, Lao Mouzi Studio was officially established, opened its official Weibo account, and announced its next film would be The Love of the Hawthorn Tree.

Public opinion, already boiling, exploded again as everyone discussed the split between the two Zhangs.

Lao Mouzi remained silent, handling everything quietly.

Boss Zhang, bitter, muttered: “He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” and busied himself managing the fallout from Lao Mouzi’s departure and the disastrous reception of Three Guns Shoot the Shock.

Yan Li also stopped being active, yet his presence was anything but low.

From Boss Zhang’s outburst, to their feud, to the release of both films, less than a month had passed—Boss Zhang had shattered his decade-long partnership with Lao Mouzi.

How terrifying!

Many of Yan Li’s longtime fans declared this was just his usual move—he was famously a master at poaching talent.

Fan Xiaopang had been poached from Huayi; Yang Mi, now a star, was originally from Rongxinda; Deng Chao, Zhang Zhilin, Qiao Zhenyu, Yang Xue—all had previous employers.

Oh, and Wang Gaofei, Weibo’s number two, was formerly a senior executive at Sina—he helped Weibo crush Sina Blog and Weike entirely.

Li Bingbing was Huayi’s top actress, yet she appeared in Yi’an productions more often than Huayi’s; Tong Dawei was Orange Sky’s top actor, publicly known as Yan Li’s close friend; Hu Ge, Sun Li, Sun Honglei—all the top stars from various companies had signed split contracts with Yi’an.

Oh, and when Wang Jinhua left Orange Sky, it dealt a massive blow to Orange Sky, which had just acquired Shaw Brothers and was riding high—Yan Li’s shadow was behind it.

When you actually tally it up, you’re stunned—Yan Li is practically the “Weed Puller” incarnate, wielding his hoe better than anyone.

Yan Li rejected the title—poaching talent was dishonorable; he could do it, but preferred to stay low-key.

Soon after, a major Weibo influencer claimed Yan Li wasn’t impressive—he was merely a catalyst of conflict, the final straw that broke the camel’s back; without him, the two Zhangs would’ve split anyway.

Some agreed; others still believed Yan Li was truly the “Weed Puller.”

Compared to the outside world, this incident elevated Yan Li’s stature within the industry to a new level.

He held grudges—and he delivered real, terrifying revenge.

Boss Zhang might be nothing to Yan Li, but in the industry, he was a towering figure, someone many could only dream of reaching.

And yet this giant had been publicly humiliated by Yan Li, his reputation shattered, his film flopped, his director defected, and he was left in utter disgrace.

Of course, other factors played roles—but people didn’t care about nuance.

The simplest takeaway: Boss Zhang offended Yan Li—and Yan Li crushed him.

The title “Yan the Tyrant” grew louder in the industry; once a mocking jab, it was now becoming fact.

…

Wancheng Huafu

When Yan Li returned home, he found Guan Yue and Dong Xuan chattering excitedly.

“What’s going on?”

Dong Xuan waved a few sheets of paper: “Guan Yue is pregnant too.”

“Huh?”

Yan Li thought back—Tong Dawei and Guan Yue had married because of a pregnancy; they’d just had their first daughter last year, barely over a year ago—already pregnant again.

“Don’t you two watch TV at night?”

“This time it was an accident.”

Guan Yue explained: they’d wanted another son, but since their daughter had just been born and Tong Dawei was fully focused on his career, they hadn’t planned to conceive now.

But they hadn’t been careful—and she got pregnant. Her due date was even slightly earlier than Dong Xuan’s.

But unlike Dong Xuan, who tested daily, Guan Yue was careless and hadn’t realized she was pregnant—she thought she was just exhausted from caring for her daughter, until now, nearly two months in, pregnancy symptoms finally made her realize something was wrong.