Chapter 46: To Play the Game, You Must Plan Ahead

In Jingcheng, Jimen Li Xiaoqu

Guan Yue helped Dong Xuan carry her packed suitcase to Yan Li’s rented apartment, where he planned to stay until leaving Jingcheng.

Yan Li emerged from the bedroom at the noise and poured water for both of them, then spoke to Guan Yue.

“Take a rest, don’t rush off—later, help her pack my things too.”

“Do I owe you two something?”

Guan Yue nearly flung the water in Yan Li’s face, furious—helping Dong Xuan was one thing, they were good friends, but why should she help that bastard?

“I’ll feed you. I’ve just perfected a new dish.”

Thinking of Yan Li’s cooking, Guan Yue’s anger faded, and she unconsciously swallowed.

“I… I’m only doing this for Dong’s sake.”

Yan Li ignored her and continued instructing Dong Xuan: “Don’t pack too many clothes—just remember to bring your coat. It’s almost October; the set will likely get cold.”

Guan Yue, listening nearby, stared at Yan Li in surprise: “You’re going too?”

“Of course.”

Yan Li looked at her strangely: “It’s her first time on a set—she knows nothing, all alone. Don’t you think I should go watch over her?”

Mostly, Yan Li had learned from the system that Dong Xuan was scared and desperately wanted him to accompany her, so he decided to go along.

He couldn’t stay with her forever!

But ten or fifteen days would be enough for her to adapt to the set and steady her nerves—then he’d return.

Dong Xuan hugged Yan Li happily, yet felt a pang of regret.

She’d been so focused on being angry at that yellow fox, she’d forgotten to show off.

But it wasn’t too late—let Guan Yue spread the news back home too.

So Dong Xuan added: “Yan Li turned down a male second lead role to make time for me—he only took a minor supporting part.”

Yan Li corrected sharply: “I turned it down because I didn’t like the male second lead—it has nothing to do with you.”

“Fine, fine.”

Dong Xuan gave him that look: “I know men care about face—I’ll let you have your way.”

Yan Li sighed. It wasn’t entirely true that the role had nothing to do with Dong Xuan—but the real reason was simply that he disliked the character.

The production team they referred to was the historical drama “Jubao Pen,” being produced by Cheng Lidong, whom Yan Li had once helped.

Cheng Lidong kept his word and sent over the “Jubao Pen” script afterward, saying Yan Li could pick any role except the male lead.

But after reading the “Jubao Pen” script, Yan Li realized:

Aside from the male lead, Shen Wansan, every other substantial male role was a villain, there solely to highlight the protagonist.

The roles with the most screen time were Zhu Yuanzhang and Su Bancheng.

One was a sworn brother who grew jealous and turned against the protagonist; the other was a lifelong rival, utterly despicable.

But Cheng Lidong hinted that Su Bancheng needed an older actor, leaving only Zhu Yuanzhang.

Yet Yan Li had no interest in this character’s plot or portrayal.

Zhu Yuanzhang was the founding emperor of a dynasty, yet in “Jubao Pen,” he was written as a petty, greedy, narrow-minded man with zero imperial dignity—less charismatic than the thug from “Conquest.”

Earlier, on the “Sui Tang Heroes” set, the scene where Yuwen Chengdu queued for plot had already disgusted Yan Li.

That left him with psychological aversion—he strongly resisted roles that grotesquely distorted historical figures.

After confirming the “Jubao Pen” team wouldn’t revise the script, and realizing his schedule conflicted with accompanying Dong Xuan, Yan Li skipped Zhu Yuanzhang entirely and chose the minor supporting role of Song Dian.

He too was a villain, with equally unappealing plot and design—but he was an original character.

This was Yan Li’s stance: he didn’t mind playing villains, even with terrible plots—he feared nothing—but never at the cost of utterly desecrating the original figure.

He couldn’t stop some things, but he could refuse to become an accomplice.

Of course, Yan Li had to admit:

“Jubao Pen” triggered no future information, the script was crude, and the production team mediocre—making Yan Li believe it wouldn’t flop, but it wouldn’t succeed either.

So he wasn’t enthusiastic; accepting the role was purely to maintain goodwill with Cheng Lidong.

With “Sui Tang Heroes” and “Conquest” under his belt, and Dong Xuan successfully cast as the female lead in “Snow Goddess Dragon,” plus steady progress in the stock market, he could now support himself—giving Yan Li growing confidence.

So he no longer took every role like he had during “Sui Tang Heroes,” indiscriminately accepting anything—he began “choosing roles.”

As always: one hit drama could outshine several, even ten or more ordinary ones.

Ordinary actors had no choice—they didn’t know which drama would succeed, so they acted in everything, hoping for luck. Yan Li had a system—he could target his choices strategically, naturally pursuing value-for-effort.

But to Dong Xuan, all this was just Yan Li’s “lame excuses”—it was all for her.

He loves me so much!

Even Guan Yue, misled by her, now thought Yan Li was stubborn-hearted but soft inside, and even began, unprecedentedly, to envy her friend.

Though this dog of a man had made mistakes before, he’d since corrected himself, grown much more mature—he claimed they wouldn’t reconcile, yet went out of his way to plan for Dong Xuan, surpassing most of her friends’ boyfriends.

Just then, Yan Li thought of something and delivered another crushing blow to Guan Yue’s heart.

“How’s it going with Tong Dawei?”

Guan Yue: “...”

Dong Xuan couldn’t help secretly pinching Yan Li, telling him not to bring up the wrong topic.

This month, Tong Dawei’s benefactor, Boss Shi, was formally arrested by authorities.

When the wall falls, everyone pushes—once he was inside, rumors about him spread like wildfire, and Tong Dawei got dragged in too.

Though Tong currently had little fame and hadn’t yet drawn media attention, gossip circulated widely that Boss Shi favored young male artists and had intimate relationships with them—how could Guan Yue not think the worst? Their relationship, already on the verge of crossing a threshold, had stalled.

“Ahem, young artists in this industry have it hard—they’re often powerless. That guy’s decent—I advise you to think carefully.”

Yan Li still spoke up for Tong Dawei—no matter what, he’d genuinely cared for Guan Yue.

This wasn’t just what Yan Li saw—he’d also confirmed it through system intelligence: Tong truly loved Guan Yue.

Now that Boss Shi was in, if Tong had minimal involvement, he could break free entirely—and with his promising future, letting him go would be a waste.

Most importantly, if he helped him now, in his darkest hour, he’d earn a massive favor.

Later, if he and Dong Xuan ran into trouble, he could use Tong to persuade Guan Yue to mediate and smooth things over.

As the saying goes: those who plan well prepare in advance. It’s always better to think ahead than to panic at the last minute.

Yan Li advised, and Dong Xuan stood by him, urging her too.

She liked Tong Dawei—thought he was honest and kind to Guan Yue; breaking up seemed a pity.

Even Dong Xuan thought of herself: if she and Yan Li had broken up in anger back then, some fox might have taken his place—she’d never have this sweet life now.

“I’ll think about it.”

Guan Yue muttered. When Yan Li and Huang Shengyi had kissed, she’d urged Dong Xuan to break up—now the same situation was on her, and she couldn’t just brush it off.

Just thinking of it made Guan Yue furious—some things were unbearable to compare.

Yan Li, at least, cheated with a woman—a top beauty from Beijing Film Academy—somehow proving this man was desirable.

But Tong Dawei… she simply didn’t know how to describe her feelings…

(End of Chapter)