Chapter 390: If You Tune It Well, Who Cares Who Tunes It?

The celebration banquet for "The New Three Kingdoms" had a simple agenda.

The producer and director took the stage to speak, review the achievements, thank the chairman, then Yu Hewei took the stage to express his thoughts and represent all actors in thanking the crew and Boss Yan.

Then they cut a large cake, took a group photo with relevant personnel, followed by dinner and toasts, with occasional actors or invited performers coming up to entertain.

Yan Li was unquestionably the center of attention; the director, actors, and several guests all came over to toast him.

When others drained their glasses, Yan Li merely sipped a little—he had a good tolerance and wasn’t worried about getting drunk, but there was no need to drink so foolishly.

When the food was mostly finished, Yan Li took the stage to deliver a closing speech, also serving as a motivational rally before the IPO.

“Today, quite a few people from the company showed up—it’s almost like the annual meeting.”

Yan Li spoke conservatively; today’s gathering was likely even livelier than Yi’an’s annual meeting.

Because of the upcoming IPO, the previous Yi’an annual meeting had been low-key, with no real performances—just dinner and award presentations.

Holding the microphone, Yan Li looked out at the audience, his voice relaxed.

“Before coming here, the board office gave me a prepared speech. I memorized it, but it felt hollow. Since this is an internal gathering, there’s no need for empty formalities—let’s just speak plainly.”

He paused, then smiled: “Yi’an is going public. The company has succeeded. Most of you here will become wealthy.”

“Here, I congratulate each of you—the future millionaires, billionaires, even trillionaires.”

Applause, applause~

One sentence instantly ignited the room; cheers and applause erupted. Most of the senior executives and core staff present had received original shares.

With Yi’an’s IPO, some would make hundreds of millions, others at least a million, and tens of millions were common.

Earlier, so many people flattered Yan Li—not just out of respect and flattery, but also genuine gratitude.

Who wouldn’t love and support a boss who made them rich?

Yan Li waited nearly a minute before the applause finally died down, then spoke again.

“Besides congratulating you, I also want to thank you all for your hard work.”

“Yi’an’s success wouldn’t have been possible without every colleague’s effort and dedication. These original shares are my personal and the company’s recognition and reward for your hard work.”

Applause rose again; Yan Li waited a long while before speaking once more.

“I remember when Yi’an was first founded, we didn’t even have an office. The business license was kept in the apartment I shared with Jiacuan. Later, we rented a small storefront and squeezed together to work.”

“Jiacuan asked me, ‘Is this even a company? It’s even shoddier than a makeshift troupe.’”

“Yet this very makeshift troupe, in less than eight years, grew to over a thousand employees, produced dozens of films and TV dramas, owns dozens of cinemas, launched one star after another, leads the industry in profits, leads in valuation, and is about to become the industry’s top in market capitalization.”

“The industry is watching. The whole country knows. Yi’an is now the most powerful private film and television company in China. Countless records in China’s film and television industry will be written by us.”

Thunderous applause erupted again. All Yi’an employees felt proud; Lin Jiacuan, named explicitly, held his head high.

Some non-Yi’an attendees couldn’t hide their envy, offering Yi’an’s people immense emotional value.

After celebration, gratitude, and inspiring pride, it was time for the final forward-looking summary.

I understand your excitement and joy, but I also want to pour a little cold water on you—to keep us alert at this critical moment and ensure a smooth IPO.

“I also want to tell you: the IPO isn’t an end, but a beginning. The capital market is a longer, more grueling marathon testing endurance and resolve. Our future stage is bigger, our standards higher.”

“Yi’an won’t stop. Yi’an is still moving forward. The original shares in your hands will grow more valuable as the company expands—millions will become tens of millions, tens of millions will become hundreds of millions.”

“Greed isn’t a good word—but I like it.”

“Only greedy people have endless ambition and drive. I sincerely hope you all stay hungry, stay greedy, and keep moving forward with me and the company toward success.”

“…”

Yan Li waved goodbye and stepped down; applause continued. Though some was flattery, much was genuine enthusiasm he had ignited.

What Yan Li said sounded like empty promises—but the key was everyone had already eaten the cake. Naturally, they now craved the next, even sweeter one.

Yan Li was satisfied with the effect. Since his goal was to rally morale, it wasn’t about going through the motions—he had to encourage, affirm, and yes, paint the picture.

As he’d just said, the IPO was a major victory for Yi’an—and a new beginning.

Yan Li pushed Yi’an Public not to harvest a quick crop of retail investors and leave; he wanted to turn Yi’an into a money tree, endlessly harvesting profits.

At this critical juncture of explosive cultural development, Yi’an’s future is vast.

So he hoped Yi’an’s people would maintain passion and confidence, unlike those at Huayi, who clung to their original shares and waited only to dump them the moment lock-up ended.

That approach isn’t wrong—but it’s short-sighted, a double loss for both individuals and the company.

Yan Li wanted to use these shares as a bond to retain and motivate more core staff, grow the company together, and let everyone earn more.

Of course, some would inevitably want to cash out small gains and settle for comfort; after the lock-up period, many, like Huayi’s crew, would likely plan to lock in profits.

Yan Li wouldn’t stop them—but if he sensed their complacency, their fate would be neglect, even departure, making room for more ambitious people.

It’s predictable that after Yi’an’s IPO, some senior staff and core members will be replaced, and artist resources will shift anew.

At that time, even veteran founders won’t be spared.

After all, original shares have already been given, and daily treatment has been generous. He prided himself on never having wronged his old ministers—and he wouldn’t tolerate slackers hindering the company’s progress.

Of course, all this can wait until after the IPO. For now, Yan Li still wanted everyone to celebrate together and share the glory.

…

Before the celebration ended, Yan Li left first—otherwise, most people wouldn’t dare to leave.

As soon as Yan Li left, Wang Ou slipped away too.

She made no effort to hide it; everyone around pretended not to notice. Among Yi’an’s senior staff and core members, who didn’t know Wang Ou’s identity?

If Fan Xiaopang were here, Wang Ou would have to stand aside—but since Fan Xiaopang wasn’t present, she was effectively one-third of the boss’s wife. Even vice presidents had to give her some face.

After Wang Ou left, Bai Bing grew restless, constantly checking her phone.

Nearby, Zhang Meng silently observed her.

As a newcomer, Bai Bing had been cast in major hits right from her debut—appearing in “Painted Skin,” “Myth,” “The New Dream of the Red Chamber,” “Shinjuku Incident,” and other popular dramas and films, even as a lead actress, her background had always carried a hint of mystery.

In truth, among those who paid attention, Bai Bing’s background wasn’t complicated.

Either Yan Li or Yinghuang was backing her. Combined with her access to resources and closeness to Wang Ou, it wasn’t hard to guess.

But in this era, information wasn’t that widespread. A few press releases, vague leaks, and a crowd would believe anything—so real rumors were few, while confusion and fabrication were rampant.

Although rumors circulated in the industry, they were all hard to verify; without reaching a certain level or having connections, it was difficult to distinguish truth from fiction.

So creating a mysterious background and obscuring her relationship made it more advantageous for Bai Bing’s career.

Thanks to Yinghuang’s and Bai Bing’s team’s cover—and Yi’an’s quiet assistance—Bai Bing was widely rumored to have powerful connections.

Previously, Bai Bing had been paired with Han Xue as the two most mysterious rising stars.

Now, Jing Tian, who landed the female lead in the billion-yuan blockbuster “The Warring States,” and Gan Wei, who hadn’t acted much but was close to the Teddy Sisters, joined them.

Riding the wave of the “Four Young Lords of Beijing,” many netizens dubbed these four—pure-looking, beautiful, and resource-rich—“The Four Beauties of Beijing,” or combined their names as “Bing Xue Wei Tian.”

Zhang Meng had known Bai Bing only a short time, but always felt she didn’t seem to have powerful connections.

During the filming of “Myth,” Bai Bing’s mother visited the set. Zhang Meng took the chance to learn—she discovered Bai Bing wasn’t from a wealthy family.

A female actress with inexplicably strong resources—unless it came from family, it came from a man.

Zhang Meng suspected Bai Bing had a sugar daddy, and Hu Ge’s occasional avoidance of her subtly confirmed this.

But Zhang Meng wasn’t sure whether Bai Bing’s benefactor was Yan Li of Yi’an or Yang of Yinghuang—nor whether it was a simple quid pro quo or a long-term arrangement.

As a minor nobody in the industry, she was lucky just to have connected with Bai Bing, a rising star—how could she dare probe her secrets?

Still, Zhang Meng leaned toward Yan Li, because from rare details, Bai Bing clearly depended on and liked her benefactor.

Given Yang’s age, unless Bai Bing had a daddy complex, the most likely benefactor was the charismatic Boss Yan himself.

And Bai Bing’s behavior today further confirmed Zhang Meng’s guess: Bai Bing’s benefactor was Yan Li.

This filled Zhang Meng with uncontrollable envy—even resentment toward Bai Bing.

Why could she cling to Yan Li, while Zhang Meng only dared to fantasize about his “yes-man”?

Then she thought of Yan Li’s commanding presence and triumphant energy earlier—and a bold idea formed in her mind.

Take the gamble!

If you want to cling to a leg, cling to the thickest one. Worst case? The plan fails, and she breaks with Bai Bing.

Zhang Meng made up her mind and kept her eyes fixed on Bai Bing. The latter’s behavior was clearly off—she was likely about to act. Zhang Meng had few chances to meet Yan Li—she had to seize this one.

Sure enough, two minutes later, Bai Bing’s phone flashed. She glanced at it, a flash of joy crossed her face, then she grabbed her bag, said goodbye, and prepared to leave.

“Mengmeng, I’ve got something to do. I’m leaving first.”

Zhang Meng grabbed her bag too: “Let’s go together. I’m bored sitting here alone.”

She’d driven, so she could naturally follow Bai Bing. The latter didn’t think much of it—Zhang Meng, in her eyes, was a quiet, honest girl.

They headed to the parking lot. Bai Bing made a call, then looked at Zhang Meng.

“You go ahead. I’m waiting for someone to pick me up.”

Zhang Meng shook her head: “I’m not in a hurry. I’ll wait with you until you leave.”

Bai Bing was stunned—didn’t she hear the clear dismissal?

She repeated it. Zhang Meng still pretended not to understand. So Bai Bing cut straight to the point.

“I have urgent private business. It’s inconvenient. You go ahead.”

Zhang Meng was determined to stick: “It’s fine. I’ll wait with you.”

At this point, even if Bai Bing were dense, she realized something was wrong. She turned to leave. Zhang Meng stepped after her, still urging her to slow down—making Bai Bing laugh bitterly.

“Fine. You don’t want to leave? Then stay.”

Bai Bing pulled out her phone and spoke plainly in front of Zhang Meng: “Oujie, I’ve got a sticky note I can’t shake off. You go ahead without me.”