Chapter 95: Yan Li: What

“Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four…”

Bare-chested, Yan Li did push-ups in the living room while Qin Lan sat beside him counting.

When he reached one hundred, Yan Li stopped, relaxed his arms and shoulders, and took the towel Qin Lan handed him to wipe away his sweat.

Stuck at home every day with nowhere to go, he could only do indoor exercises.

Qin Lan lacked stamina and often begged to quit, so Yan Li had to train alone afterward.

To be honest, Yan Li didn’t know whether it was due to the system or because becoming an actor had trained him to maintain long-term discipline, but his physical fitness and energy had definitely improved since before.

Doing one hundred standard push-ups in one go left him feeling no more strained than usual.

Back when he was at the martial arts school, he trained daily during his rapid growth phase, ate a lot, recovered quickly, and was full of energy like a young calf—this level of exertion meant nothing.

After leaving the school and stopping training, spending a few years in school gradually made him slack off and decline.

Over the past year, Yan Li felt he had regained some of his old martial arts school condition, even more stable and enduring, with greater vigor.

Qin Lan, who had only recently started dating him, didn’t fully grasp this; the one who felt it most deeply was Dong Xuan, who had been with Yan Li the longest.

She was increasingly unable to keep up with Yan Li, sometimes deliberately making excuses to stay at her dormitory to avoid him, and even now often indulged his new antics—partly to deflect his intensity.

Even with Huang Shengyi, merely understanding her feelings and giving her pocket money wasn’t enough to keep her obedient.

Her ex-boyfriend Jia Nailiang had spoiled her, never stinting on her living expenses, yet she still broke up with him.

So it was Yan Li who understood communication—he calmed her resentment each time they met through physical affection, making her drop her grievances and obey quietly.

…

He was about to rest a bit, then do sit-ups, squats, and planks.

These were the training methods triggered by the intelligence system, said to be especially beneficial for men.

Although Yan Li was confident and satisfied with himself, he had no objection to chasing higher peaks—since he had nothing better to do anyway.

“Drink some water.”

Qin Lan handed him a cup; whenever he trained, she usually sat nearby, enjoying watching him.

It kept him from overwhelming her with his boundless energy, and more importantly, the sight of his muscles and physique was visually pleasing—far more captivating than any TV drama.

As he drank, Yan Li noticed a text message from a company employee.

The premiere viewership data for “Conquest” on Jinmen TV had been compiled and sent to his email.

Earlier, due to the substantial income from “Conquest” and rising business volume, the original staff had become insufficient, so Yi’an Film & Television expanded accordingly.

The office moved from a single storefront to two, and the number of employees surpassed ten.

New hires included Yan Li’s secretary Hu Ya, a full-time accountant, a deputy general manager responsible for daily operations, and the rest were mainly sales and PR personnel.

After all, the main business for “Conquest” going forward was selling the drama rights.

Yan Li personally handled major contracts; smaller contracts with lower amounts were delegated to the team.

Although their sales efficiency and negotiation skills were nowhere near Yan Li’s.

But what could he do? He couldn’t be everywhere at once, so he had to focus on the big deals and let go of the small ones.

Fortunately, “Conquest” had gained fame, drastically lowering sales difficulty; though the team wasn’t as strong as Yan Li, they still brought in revenue.

With people under him, he no longer needed to personally oversee minor tasks.

For example, premiere data and market feedback were collected by staff and sent to him.

“Being the boss is comfortable.”

Yan Li recalled how, before the system triggered, he had to camp out at TV stations waiting for updates, calling every station daily until his phone battery overheated.

Now he only needed to wait at home, open his email at the right time, and see everything at a glance.

Compared to before, no wonder everyone scrambled to climb upward!

Opening the email, it didn’t just list “Conquest”’s specific data—it included competitors’ figures too, giving Yan Li a clearer picture of the landscape.

“Conquest”’s premiere averaged a national viewership rate of 3.75%, with a market share of roughly 6.1%, ranking fourth in its time slot.

“Whoa.”

Yan Li’s eyes lit up—sure enough, this was a system-certified drama, its strength truly extraordinary.

He had expected “Conquest” to perform well, but as a debut drama facing top-tier shows from national and first-tier satellite channels, he’d been cautious.

Plus, CCTV and major satellite channels had platform advantages and their own loyal audiences.

And with the SARS outbreak forcing people to stay home, competition intensified and uncertainty rose.

So Yan Li had set modest expectations for “Conquest”’s premiere: as long as it ranked in the top ten, it was a win.

After all, premiere ratings mattered, but replay frequency mattered even more.

A significant number of dramas had modest premiere numbers, then surged through repeated broadcasts to become annual hits.

Some dramas with dazzling premiere ratings were merely fleeting—briefly brilliant, then forgotten in the corner.

Yan Li had personally seen “Conquest” gain modest popularity in Jinmen before exploding in Jinling.

So he understood: don’t fight for short-term glory, fight for long-term dominance.

From the start, Yan Li hadn’t aimed for an instant smash—he planned to build momentum gradually.

Use the premiere to establish a reputation, creating favorable conditions for replays, generating ripples that built upon each other, accumulating force until the waves surged to the crest.

But he hadn’t expected “Conquest” to be this powerful—it didn’t need to build waves; one gust of wind sent it straight into a giant surge.

As long as it held top five in its time slot, let alone top three, the first-run broadcast rights for “Conquest” would make Yan Li rich.

“Haha, I’m rich.”

Yan Li pulled Qin Lan over and kissed her hard; she was initially confused, but when she learned his company’s drama had become a hit, she understood.

Qin Lan didn’t know the inner workings of “Conquest” and asked curiously: “Can you make a million?”

A million?

Yan Li couldn’t help shaking his head—if the replay performance was good, failing to secure a contract worth over five million from a single TV station would make him a useless fool.

If it was an exclusive broadcast, he’d dare ask for eight digits!

Seeing Yan Li shake his head, Qin Lan misunderstood and kissed him, offering encouragement.

“Tens of thousands is already amazing—it’s way more than I make acting. You’re just starting out, take it slow.”

Yan Li laughed, about to explain, when Qin Lan suddenly added:

“Hey, now that you’ve got money, why don’t we buy a house?”

Yan Li froze: “Huh?”

“Listen.”

Qin Lan counted on her fingers: “I’ve saved some from acting, you chip in, and we’ll have enough for a down payment.”

“We’re always traveling for shoots—renting leaves the place empty, feels like a waste. Buying is more cost-effective.”

“Besides, experts say housing prices will keep rising—buy early, profit early.”

Watching Qin Lan analyze so logically, already dreaming of decorating their future home, Yan Li swallowed his explanation.

“Cough, experts aren’t always right. The company’s just starting, cash flow is tight—let’s delay buying a house.”

“You’re right.”

Qin Lan nodded, agreeing his logic made sense—they were young, should focus on building their careers first; buying a house wasn’t urgent.

“By the way, your company needs money? I’ve got some—want to borrow it?”

“….”

Yan Li felt rare embarrassment and waved his hand quickly: “No, I’ve got enough for now.”

But Qin Lan thought he was being shy, wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes full of tender affection, softly saying:

“Why be formal with me? Take it first. When ‘My Fair Princess 3’ airs, my fee will rise—I’ll earn more then.”

“Cough, let’s talk about it later—I need to reply to an email.”

Yan Li couldn’t even meet Qin Lan’s gaze, desperately changing the subject.

Seeing this, Qin Lan chuckled and pinched his nose playfully, but didn’t press further.

She knew Yan Li had a touch of machismo.

Since their relationship turned ambiguous, he always paid for outings and purchases; sometimes she paid and he got annoyed.

With his personality, he’d never ask his woman for money, no matter how hard things got.

Fine—she’d just transfer her money to his account later, make it a done deal, and he’d have to accept it.

Qin Lan didn’t disturb Yan Li’s work; she took a magazine to the bedroom to read.

After she left, Yan Li pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sighed deeply.

Before, Dong Xuan refused his money; now Qin Lan gave him hers.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

————

In the following days, Yan Li was both frustrated and happy.

Frustrated because the system revealed Qin Lan genuinely intended to give him money—even secretly calling home to ask for more.

He wanted to clarify he had money, but feared she’d insist on buying a house and settling down, triggering a smooth sequence: cohabitation, public announcement, marriage pressure.

What would he do then—accept or not?

Yan Li realized if things continued like this, he risked being trapped by Qin Lan; stepping away now was still possible, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

In the end, he dropped the inner turmoil and decided to take it one step at a time—deal with it later.

As for happiness, it came from “Conquest”’s outstanding performance.

National average viewership stabilized around 5%, peak viewership nearly broke 10%, consistently ranking top three in its time slot, even reaching second place.

Unfortunately, the number one spot was held by CCTV-8’s “The Family of Gold,” with a steady average viewership above 7%, too hard to surpass.

But this result is already outstanding!

Among Tongqi productions, only “Golden Powder Family” and Su Youpeng’s steady, highly successful version of “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber” rivaled “Conquest” in popularity.

Sun Honglei, who portrayed Liu Huaqiang—the pivotal role in the entire series—has now become a massive star.

Due to SARS, print media coverage was restricted, but online reports and public buzz about Sun Honglei kept rising steadily.

Moreover, through his intelligence network, Yan Li learned that Sun Honglei’s per-episode fee had skyrocketed dozens of times.

When he filmed “Conquest,” his fee was only 1,000 yuan per episode; now, production teams are offering him 20,000 yuan per episode.

The key is, “Conquest” has only just premiered; as the drama’s influence continues to grow, Sun’s future fees will likely rise further.

One drama made him famous!

But this isn’t unusual right now—not just Sun Honglei; in this May slot alone, several actors have become overnight sensations.

For example, Gao Yuanyuan from “The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber”—she had some name recognition before, but wasn’t truly popular; her portrayal of Zhou Zhiruo made her unforgettable to countless viewers.

Also, the male and female leads of “Golden Powder Family,” Chen Kun and Dong Jie.

The former successfully entered the ranks of top young leading men, hailed alongside his old classmates Xiao Yanzi and Huang Xiaoming as the “Three Greats of Beijing Film Academy.”

The latter is equally scorching hot; as a “Mou Zetong discovery,” she is expected to become the next Gong Li or Zhang Ziyi.

Additionally, “Jade Guanyin,” currently airing on Beijing’s local channel, has also drawn considerable attention as a Hai Yan drama.

Tong Dawei has finally entered the mainstream spotlight, and the female lead Sun Li is also highly regarded by industry insiders.

Watching these rising stars—especially the young actors—Yan Li still felt a tinge of envy.

Wu Tian’s role in “Conquest” was too small; even with nationwide broadcast, the fame it brought him would be extremely limited—at best, some viewers might recognize him, but he’s still far from becoming famous.

“Sigh.”

Yan Li sighed helplessly, then resigned himself to work mode.

“Director Zhang, the total price of 6.5 million yuan is non-negotiable.”

“Exclusive? That price for exclusive rights is impossible—add at least five million more.”

“Out of respect for you, I’ll give you my lowest offer: six million. Really—I wouldn’t even entertain this deal with anyone else.”

“We’re not discounting the advertising contract—I’m sorry, but we have no plans in that area right now. Maybe next time we collaborate.”

“Xiao Zheng, those two houses you showed me before were too low-end. Any better options? Yes, I’m not considering anything under a million. A sihe courtyard is fine too.”

“Jiachuan, search online for cars. Keep the Santana for Xiao Liu and the others for business trips—we need a new car. Price range: 300,000 to 500,000 yuan for now; if something better comes up, raise the limit.”

“…”

Yan Li hung up the phone, his expression still listless.

The spotlight never falls on him—he’s stuck dealing with these behind-the-scenes messes.

At least there’s some payoff: since he can’t gain the actor’s sense of accomplishment, he must compensate for his inner emptiness with millions in profit, hundreds of thousands in property, and dozens of thousands in luxury cars.

…

Opening the bedroom door, Yan Li, dejected, hugged Qin Lan—who was watching TV—and remained silent.

Qin Lan knew that over the past two days, Yan Li had been feeling down because “Conquest” made others famous while he remained obscure; she gently held him and patiently comforted him.

“I believe, with your talent, you’ll become famous eventually.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But I still can’t cheer up.”

Seeing this, Qin Lan bit her lip and whispered two things into Yan Li’s ear; his eyes lit up, and he raised a hand to make a gesture.

“Five times.”

Qin Lan refused: “Don’t get too carried away.”

Yan Li turned his head, his tone mournful: “Fine. I’ll just be alone. I’ll be fine.”

Qin Lan knew Yan Li was being childish, but she couldn’t bring herself to refuse; she softly began to negotiate.

After several rounds of back-and-forth and even a game of rock-paper-scissors, Yan Li finally got what he wanted—he sprawled lazily on the sofa, and Qin Lan hesitated a moment before slowly lowering her head…

(End of Chapter)