Chapter 403

Jingcheng, Yangjiao Lantern Alley

After Yan Ershao’s full-moon celebration, Yan Li felt the weather was pleasant, so he arranged a family gathering; Qin Lan and Dong Xuan both brought their children to attend, and the two young masters of the Yan household experienced an epic meeting.

They placed the two babies on the bed, and everyone watched expectantly for their movements.

Yan Ershao wasn’t asleep, but kept his eyes shut, mumbling softly, completely ignoring his brother.

Yan Dashao, already three months old, glanced at his little brother for two seconds, then quietly studied his own hands, showing more interest in the changing color of the bed than in his brother.

Zhang Hong and his wife were slightly disappointed—they had hoped to see a heartwarming scene of the two grandsons bonding.

Yan Li, however, remained calm; he had already anticipated this before arriving.

The so-called epic meeting was merely an adult’s exaggeration—in reality, the one-month-old second son still barely recognized anyone.

The eldest could recognize faces, but he ignored everyone.

Since birth, this boy had been like this; Yan Li once suspected autism, but after a hospital checkup and system verification, he found no issues.

It was simply a personality trait—he preferred quietness, was introverted and steady, and slow to engage socially.

Yan Li had been speechless when he first learned this.

He himself was famously sociable and charming; Qin Lan was practically a chatterbox, loving conversation, gatherings, and noise—yet they had produced a cold, aloof young master.

But the child was still young; perhaps he would change as he grew.

Take Yan Li himself—he hadn’t always been a troublemaker; he’d once been a good child, and even since receiving the system, his personality had changed considerably, so gentle guidance for the child was enough.

In contrast, the one-month-old Yan Ershao seemed more like a normal child—he cried when he should, laughed when he should.

Because of this, after discussing their children, Qin Lan and Dong Xuan couldn’t help but envy each other.

Dong Xuan envied Qin Lan’s ease—aside from feeding and diaper changes, Yan Dashao hardly bothered anyone, content to play or sleep quietly alone.

Unlike Yan Ershao, who kept bothering her constantly; he was only just one month old, and worse was yet to come.

Qin Lan, meanwhile, envied Dong Xuan—she’d rather have Yan Dashao fussing over her; this child’s constant indifference, even knowing it wasn’t a medical issue, still made her anxious.

Yan Li listened to their mutual envy and did a quick mental calculation.

They each had one child; he was the father of two—he didn’t know whether to be happy or withdraw into himself.

But seeing them so harmonious, Yan Li felt reassured; Dong Xuan had just finished her postpartum month, and with more recovery, perhaps he could arrange a limited milk-and-flower gathering.

After a while, both babies fell asleep; Qin Lan and Dong Xuan chatted nearby, discussing not just the children, but also work.

Qin Lan’s drama, “The Beauty’s Scheme,” was about to air.

As the lead actress, Qin Lan couldn’t stay completely out of sight—she had to go to Xingcheng tomorrow to record a show; after more than a year away from work, she was already feeling out of practice.

She wasn’t the only one uncomfortable—Dong Xuan felt it too.

“Double Embroidery” was also scheduled for August release; she couldn’t let Tong Yaya carry it alone—she had to appear as well.

Qin Lan merely felt uneasy about returning to work; her physical condition was still good, having given birth over three months ago with ample recovery time.

Dong Xuan had just finished her postpartum month—her body and figure were still fluctuating, and she had to promote the “sister duo” with Tong Yaya, inevitably adding pressure.

“Don’t worry—you look better with a little extra weight.”

Qin Lan wasn’t mocking; she genuinely believed Dong Xuan’s oval face and fair skin made her more gentle, warm, and maternal when slightly plump—a comforting, homely charm.

Her own facial structure, however, didn’t suit weight gain—she’d look ugly if she gained weight, so she had to manage it carefully.

“Really?”

Dong Xuan thought about it and decided Qin Lan was right—Yan Li had recently loved hugging her, saying she smelled sweet and that holding her made him sleep soundly.

Feeling pleased, Dong Xuan returned the compliment: “I think you’re great too—you’ve become more mature and sensual, with a commanding elegance.”

There was beauty in age.

Qin Lan had always been attractive, but in her youth, she hadn’t stood out among other beautiful stars; now, with age, her aura had deepened, and her charm had only grown.

After exchanging compliments, their conversation somehow drifted to Fan Xiaopang, and the cheerful mood grew still.

Compared to them, Fan Xiaopang, nearing thirty, had truly exploded in beauty.

In her early years, Fan Xiaopang was beautiful, but still carried a hint of youthfulness—and even a touch of rusticness.

As she aged, she fully blossomed; her youthfulness transformed into maturity, her taste improved, her rusticness faded, and she became a fashion benchmark.

Most notably, her style and presence evolved—growing ever more confident and dominant, reaching its peak after becoming Fan Ye.

This gave her not only stunning looks but also a powerful inner core, making her beauty layered and uniquely recognizable.

Her success in entertainment and rising wealth added a halo of glamour around her.

In hardware, software, and supporting factors, she was top-tier—timing, location, and people all aligned; at this point, Fan Xiaopang had transcended the normal realm of female comparison, becoming an implicit standard of beauty and a cultural symbol.

Of course, this claim was somewhat exaggerated and controversial—there were still those who didn’t accept Fan Xiaopang.

But no matter what, Fan Xiaopang’s allure was beyond anything Qin Lan and Dong Xuan could compete with.

Fortunately, they’d both had children—if not, the two of them together might have been crushed by Fan Xiaopang at her peak.

“By the way, isn’t her movie ‘Du Lala’s Promotion’ out today?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Qin Lan nodded—Fan Xiaopang was away on promotional tours because of the film’s release, which was why she missed today’s gathering.

Or perhaps she used it as an excuse to avoid the gathering altogether.

After all, today’s gathering centered on the children—everyone present was either the child’s biological grandparent or parent; she had no direct relation to the children and couldn’t possibly make herself awkward.

“How much has it grossed?”

“How would I know? It just came out today—the figures aren’t even compiled yet.”

“...”

The two fell silent for a moment, then Qin Lan spoke: “Should we… ask?”

“We’ve got nothing better to do—asking won’t hurt.”

Dong Xuan pulled out her phone; Qin Lan quickly sent a message too. They might not match Fan Xiaopang in fame, but they weren’t just housewives waiting passively for news—more than enough to casually gather information.

“Around 9.6 million excluding presales; first-day gross expected to be between 18 and 20 million.”

Dong Xuan’s message arrived faster—she’d already gotten the figures.

Today’s Yian not only operated among the nation’s top cinema chains but also partnered with Weibo on online ticketing.

Online ticketing had existed before, but few had scaled it significantly; the most famous was Gewala Life Network.

Meanwhile, Tencent, Alibaba, and other internet platforms had similar services, but they were barely more than small apps—clearly not taken seriously.

Weibo’s version was the same at first—just a simple online ticketing program tied to its film rating and local information system, with a lazy name: “Weibo Movie Tickets.”

But once Weibo partnered with Yian’s cinema chain, combining online and offline operations, both sides reaped benefits.