Chapter 55: The Sequel to

Words unaligned, not a single sentence more; after a few brief exchanges, Yan Li parted ways with Fan Xiaopang and joined Liang Guanhua, who had been waiting for him, heading toward the makeup room.

“Hey, what did she want to talk to you about?”

Liang Guanhua, ever curious, Yan Li answered honestly: “She explained why she forgot her lines earlier.”

“Huh?”

Liang Guanhua looked puzzled: “Why tell you? Shouldn’t she explain to the director?”

“I don’t know what she was thinking.”

Speaking of this, Yan Li was also baffled—forgetting lines? Go back and memorize them. What’s it to me? Own your mistake, don’t blame others for shaking their heads.

“I think this girl has something special for you.”

Liang Guanhua adopted the air of a seasoned veteran, his fat face squinting and winking: “Shall I set you two up?”

It’s different!

Probably thousands of words of gossip slandering him tonight—maybe even more.

Yan Li’s expression was simple and earnest: “Forget it. She’s a rising star. I’m nobody. I wouldn’t dare climb so high.”

“You’re just too honest.”

Liang Guanhua sighed in frustration—Yan Li was good in every way: articulate, savvy, skilled—but shy around girls. No wonder such a handsome man was still single.

As they chatted, Yan Li received a call—Cheng Lidong invited him to dinner.

Yan Li understood: Cheng Lidong had hinted before that a friend of his had a project stuck, and wanted to quietly inquire through Yan Li’s “relative.”

Though Cheng hadn’t spelled out details, Yan Li already knew most of it through his system and felt the issue was manageable—he could do a favor.

“Sure, wait a bit—I’ll take off my makeup and come.”

Yan Li confirmed with Cheng Lidong, then removed his makeup, changed clothes, and got into Cheng’s car, heading toward the city center.

Observant eyes saw this and further confirmed the rumor that Yan Li had close personal ties with producer Cheng Lidong.

Fan Xiaopang heard the news too; he grumbled about sycophants, but his anger had cooled considerably.

What else could he do? The guy had the boss of the set protecting him—he couldn’t touch him…

————

Suzhou, a restaurant

In the private room, Cheng Lidong introduced both sides: “Xiao Yan, this is Director Meng Ji—he directed ‘Spring Light Shines on Zhu Bajie’ and ‘The Wulin Outer History.’”

Yan Li clasped his hands tightly: “Director Meng, it’s an honor.”

“Old Meng, this is the young brother I told you about—Yan Li. A truly good guy, excellent actor.”

Meng Ji wore glasses and rarely smiled; his attitude toward Yan Li was neither cold nor warm.

Cheng Lidong’s words left Meng Ji skeptical—he’d come to Suzhou only to catch up with Cheng, and hadn’t taken much notice of the recommendation.

Meng Ji wasn’t Cheng Lidong, who mainly operated in Zhejiang with low status and limited connections in Beijing.

He’d been directing since the 90s, knew plenty of people inside and outside Beijing’s system; the production company behind this project wasn’t some small fry—they couldn’t fix it, so how could some green kid possibly help?

Yan Li?

Ha—he’d checked: no senior official in the bureau had the surname Yan; even his friend working there had never heard the name.

Still, given Cheng Lidong’s prior example, Meng Ji didn’t think Yan Li was a fraud.

Too many people worked in the bureau—who could keep track of every relative? Besides, some kept a low profile, so it was normal that his friend didn’t know him.

But Yan Li’s evasive manner didn’t seem confident at all—he strongly suspected Yan Li had just stumbled by accident last time.

Yan Li sensed Meng Ji’s coolness and didn’t care.

He wasn’t the one in a hurry!

Yan Li wanted to build connections, but he didn’t grovel to every successful person—he wasn’t dependent on anyone. Why should he be so humble?

So if Meng Ji didn’t speak up, fine—no connection. At least he got a good meal today, not a wasted trip.

Yan Li remained calm, ate and drank normally, chatted politely, and kept the posture of a respectful junior.

But don’t expect him to intuitively offer to help—no chance.

As the meal neared its end and still no business had been raised, the intermediary Cheng Lidong couldn’t hold back any longer and broke the silence.

“Xiao Yan, here’s the thing—Director Meng has a crime drama stuck in review. You’re well-connected—could you look into it?”

Cheng Lidong spoke, so Meng Ji couldn’t pretend ignorance—he’d try anything, even if it was a long shot.

Finally, Meng Ji spoke, explained the situation, then added:

“Xiao Yan, rest assured—I’m known for my word, Old Cheng knows. If this gets done, I won’t let you down.”

Since Meng Ji had pledged, Yan Li didn’t put on airs—he also praised Cheng Lidong.

“Brother Cheng asked, I have to help.”

“But Director Meng, I’ll be upfront—I have limited ability. I can only ask around, and I can’t guarantee anything will help.”

Such matters could be assisted, but never promised outright.

Use only three-tenths of your strength, speak only three-tenths of your capability—always leave room.

Meng Ji understood. Yan Li then took out his phone, said he’d step out to make a call and check the situation.

He was gone nearly twenty minutes. When he returned, he met Cheng Lidong and Meng Ji’s expectant gazes and nodded.

“There’s some progress.”

“What do you mean?”

Meng Ji hadn’t expected Yan Li to actually find anything—he was pleasantly surprised and stood up to pour him a glass of water.

Yan Li didn’t drag it out: “The situation isn’t fully clear yet, but it’s likely tied to the bureau’s recent XX campaign…”

As Meng Ji listened, he realized most of what Yan Li said was known to him—but one key detail was new.

Damn—he’d missed the real deal!

“That’s all I know for now. I’ve asked my relative to look further—I’ll update you, Director Meng.”

Yan Li didn’t reveal everything at once—too soon, and it would seem excessive.

Also, recalling Cheng Lidong’s experience, Yan Li thought stretching the timeline made the effort seem more arduous—and the favor more valuable.

Plus, he wouldn’t give direct advice anymore, only a general direction and vague hints—to avoid trouble.

Though Yan Li constantly downplayed his “intelligence access,” outsiders found his credibility rising.

His main system was too overpowered, but by downplaying, he now fit perfectly within normal reality’s logic.

Take Meng Ji—he now truly believed Yan Li was well-connected; his attitude had warmed tenfold. Even before the matter was resolved, he’d already extended an olive branch.

“I’m currently preparing a new drama—‘Spring Light Shines on Zhu Bajie’ sequel. Xiao Yan, if you’re interested, I’ll reserve a role for you.”

‘Spring Light Shines on Zhu Bajie’ sequel?

Yan Li perked up—the original’s popularity meant likely strong ratings.

But he knew he wouldn’t land the lead role of Zhu Bajie—maybe he could snag a standout supporting part.

(End of Chapter)