Chapter 54: Fan Xiaopang: This Guy

Daily Info X: Fan Bingbing was deeply dissatisfied with Yan Li’s cold treatment in the makeup room and teamed up with her assistant to launch a fierce critique, specifically saying: That bastard thinks he’s so great, treats people differently, changes his face like flipping a book…

Tsk tsk, Yan Li counted roughly—no less than several thousand words’ worth—wondering how long they’d been whispering behind his back.

Typical petty mind!

As part of his daily running routine, Yan Li detoured on his way to the makeup room to buy a good amount of pastries.

Zhouzhuang’s specialty is the famous Suzhou dish, Wansan Pig’s Trotter—essentially braised pork knuckle, overly sweet—and various pastries.

Suzhou-style pastries are already renowned; as a famed town of Suzhou, Zhouzhuang naturally boasts its share of delicacies: Wansan Cake, Haitang Cake, Waist-Supporting Cake, Green Dumplings, Osmanthus Cake… everything you could want.

But with so many pastries available, knowing which ones are truly delicious is an art.

In such pastry shops, any that have been around for a decent stretch rarely serve anything truly bad—each has at least one or two signature items.

This makes it easy for newcomers to mix good with bad, especially since Suzhou-style pastries are exquisitely crafted and visually deceptive.

But this posed no difficulty for Yan Li.

His intelligence system had already given him a clear list, detailing exactly which shop and which pastry were authentic and delicious.

Not even ordinary locals of Zhouzhuang, nor even professionals in the pastry trade, could match his knowledge or standards.

Arriving at the makeup room, Yan Li shared the pastries with everyone, thoughtfully noting which were sweet or savory and whether they contained lard.

Eating someone’s food softens their heart—especially when it’s this delicious—food soothes the soul, and everyone’s opinion of Yan Li improved slightly.

For instance, Liang Guanhua was both surprised and delighted, greatly admiring Yan Li.

As a food lover who’d been in Zhouzhuang this long, how could he not have bought pastries before? But the overall quality and taste were far inferior to Yan Li’s.

Now Liang Guanhua truly believed: when it came to finding delicious food, Yan Li had a dog’s nose.

Fan Xiaopang arrived late to makeup today; upon entering, he saw everyone praising Yan Li.

After asking around, he understood why and couldn’t help muttering.

“Buying favor.”

Yan Li noticed Fan Xiaopang too, smiling even more warmly than yesterday.

“Little Fan, you’re here—I just bought some pastries, try some.”

“No thanks.”

Fan Xiaopang didn’t want to accept Yan Li’s petty favors, but Liang Guanhua kept pushing beside her.

“Bingbing, try it—Yan Li specifically asked locals who know their stuff, and these pastries are all especially delicious.”

With others urging her and everyone watching, Fan Xiaopang couldn’t refuse indefinitely; she was also slightly tempted, so she reluctantly came over to take some.

Yan Li enthusiastically recommended: “Do you prefer sweet or savory?”

Fan Xiaopang didn’t hesitate: “Sweet.”

Yan Li wrapped several in special pastry paper he’d specifically requested; Fan Xiaopang accepted, and her impression of him improved slightly.

He’s not entirely useless!

Sitting at her seat, Fan Xiaopang stared at the delicate, beautiful pastries and felt her appetite stir; she picked one up, placed it in her mouth, and took a small bite.

Huh? Savory?

Fan Xiaopang couldn’t help glancing back at Yan Li; he noticed and smiled at her.

His friendly demeanor eased her suspicion—perhaps he’d grabbed the wrong one by accident, understandable.

She swallowed the pastry in a few bites, then picked another that looked clean and plain, assuming it must be sweet; she parted her lips slightly and bit in.

Still savory?

That bastard is deliberately playing tricks on her?!

Fan Xiaopang turned to glare at Yan Li; he looked confused, gazing at her innocently.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s delicious.”

Fan Xiaopang forced a smile and complimented him, but internally doubted—could he have misheard her earlier?

After all, they had no open conflict; he wouldn’t go out of his way to mock her.

She could only fume inwardly, adding another mark against Yan Li: speaks without thinking, ears are bad too.

Yan Li calmly took a bite of pastry—yes, fragrant, sweet, soft, and chewy.

Fan Xiaopang has a petty mind; he’s no magnanimous man either—she’d written thousands of words behind his back, so his little notebook had her name on it too…

————

Yan Li had significantly more scenes today.

They were filming the scene where his character, Song Dian, competes with Shen Wansan (Zhang Weijian) and Su Bancheng (Liang Guanhua) for one woman—Fan Xiaopang’s character, Zhao Xuee.

The plot: Zhao Xuee’s mother, greedy for money, accepted three dowries and married one daughter to three husbands; each man refused to yield, so they took the matter to court.

In the end, the magistrate, cleverly pretending to condemn Zhao Xuee for corrupting morals, ordered the three husbands to pay for her burial.

Naturally, the two villains wouldn’t want a dead woman, while the hero, deeply devoted, would ultimately win her heart.

Yan Li had no opinion on the plot—it wasn’t clichéd, but neither was it fresh.

From a character standpoint, Su Bancheng was a cunning, crafty merchant, and Song Dian was a brilliant scholar who rose to become Suzhou’s chief administrator—how could either fail to see through such a crude trick?

But the screenwriter wrote it, the director filmed it, so the actors had to perform it.

Not even Yan Li, nor Liang Guanhua—who’d performed countless masterpieces at the People’s Art Theatre—could avoid turning into a loud, ridiculous villain once filming began.

Actors are paid to perform; they do their best to portray their roles well, and beyond that, they can’t control much.

Actually, this scene was quite interesting.

Both Liang Guanhua and Yan Li leaned toward the academic school—disciplined, precise; even when playing ridiculous villains, they infused their performances with technique and design.

Zhang Weijian was different—he began as a singer, then climbed through the ranks of TVB and the Hong Kong film industry, a self-taught path.

Early on, his performances showed real skill; later, as he took on more comedies and his roles became increasingly homogenized, he gradually developed his own acting formula.

Clever, quirky, slightly exaggerated, with a touch of cartoonish, absurd humor.

Often, when he sensed a character was similar, he’d just lazily reuse this formula.

Polite term: distinctive personal style.

Harsh term: monotonous performance style, no ambition, content to stay in his comfort zone.

Of course, most actors are like this; it’s unfair to judge too harshly—Zhang’s financial situation is unique, so he chose to earn money first.

Besides, Zhang’s style, though tiring after repeated exposure, is exceptionally eye-catching and gripping.

Added to the fact that he’s the lead with the most screen time, he dominated this scene absolutely.

But Liang Guanhua and Yan Li weren’t passive—they each delivered, one portraying cunning, the other malice, both capturing the villains’ despicable faces; the magistrate and Zhao’s mother, veteran actors, also performed well.

The least noteworthy was Fan Xiaopang—aside from her tearful, delicate crying, everything else was dull.

Later, in two scenes, she forgot her lines multiple times, making Yan Li shake his head in disbelief.

Poor acting can be blamed on lack of talent or youth and inexperience.

Forgetting lines? That’s pure, unadulterated lack of professionalism.

Fan Xiaopang’s forgotten lines caused multiple retakes; already nervous and embarrassed, she feared others would gossip—then she saw Yan Li shaking his head, bit her lip, and felt a surge of grievance.

She’d taken this role as a last-minute favor; she’d originally been waiting to join the wuxia drama “Pingsheng Xia Ying.”

Tight schedule, heavy workload, and her mind still on “Pingsheng Xia Ying”—she’d had insufficient private preparation time, so mistakes were inevitable.

Perhaps unwilling to be looked down upon by someone she disliked, Fan Xiaopang sought out Yan Li after wrap to explain: she had legitimate reasons.

“I see.”

Yan Li nodded, looking as if he’d just understood.

So it’s overlapping shoots—then yes, that’s a problem with attitude; her acting was mediocre to begin with, and now she’s distracted—how could she possibly portray the role well?

Fan Xiaopang sensed Yan Li’s insincerity; her eyes flickered slightly, and she cut straight to the point.

“I feel like you’re somehow… resistant to me—is there some misunderstanding between us?”

“Huh?”

Yan Li looked bewildered, then replied sincerely: “No, I really liked your performance as Jin Suo—even though she’s just a maid, your acting is average and your looks are still youthful, but you had real spirit…”

Fan Xiaopang: “…”

Whether there was a misunderstanding aside, this guy’s mouth is truly annoying!

(End of Chapter)