017 Zhou Yi Corporation, The Scoundrel Villain, and the Monthly Intelligence Report

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Hengdian, outskirts

Yan Li, dressed in costume, found a shady spot and fanned himself with a large fan as he watched Nie Yuan and the others film the horseback charge scene.

Today’s shoot was an outdoor scene—Li Rongrong was being executed while Qin Qiong and his men came to rescue her from the execution ground.

Though the scene was brief, it involved both fighting and group action, making it quite complicated to shoot.

For example, the segment where Luo Cheng, Shan Xiongxin, and a few others charge on horseback toward the execution site took several takes back and forth.

Any slight issue—speed, formation disorder, incomplete movements, or inconsistent camera framing—meant reshooting.

All three actors playing Luo Cheng, Cheng Yaojin, and Shan Xiongxin could ride horses, but only Nie Yuan, who portrayed Luo Cheng, could charge at full speed wielding a weapon; the other two relied on stunt doubles.

Yan Li had always thought his horseback riding was mediocre, but during filming he realized he had a natural talent for it.

He learned quickly and rode well!

Currently, his riding skills ranked among the best in *Heroes of the Sui and Tang Dynasties*, making him one of the few actors performing their own horse stunts. Once, when the crew lacked stunt doubles, he even briefly masked up to play one of the Yanyun Eighteen Riders.

Finally, after finishing the charge sequences, the crew reset the set, allowing Nie Yuan and the others to rest.

Nie Yuan came over, grabbing the fan from Yan Li’s hand and fanning himself vigorously. His face was drenched in sweat, but he dared not wipe it off for fear of ruining his makeup.

“This damn weather, it’s unbearably hot.”

“It’s nearly July; how could it not be?” Yan Li replied indifferently, sipping from his water cup as Nie Yuan fanned himself until he felt a bit cooler, then took interest in starting a conversation.

“How did your talk with the folks from Zhou Yi go the day before yesterday?”

“How do you know?” Yan Li was taken aback. Previously, through Wang Decai, he had dinner with a producer from Zhou Yi Company.

This was supposed to be a private matter—how could Nie Yuan have gotten wind of it? Did he have an intelligence network too?

“Brother Haibing told me. He knows that producer and said they specifically asked about you.”

Yan Li suddenly remembered. Zhou Yi had produced *Martial World History*, starring Huang Haibing as the male lead Shen Lang. They certainly knew each other well.

“So, what did Zhou Yi say?”

Nie Yuan pressed, treating Yan Li like a friend and hoping he would advance further.

At this stage, Zhou Yi, known for *Martial World History* and *Love Across Time*, was a reputable company in the industry. If Yan Li could latch onto them, it would greatly benefit his career.

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“It’s complicated.”

Yan Li sighed. He had considered joining Zhou Yi, but although the dinner conversation went well, the intelligence he gathered afterward showed that it wouldn’t be so easy.

Zhou Yi had several signed artists: Yu Bo, Yang Junyi, and recently, a new signee named Zhang Jin.

These actors were either former military or trained in martial arts from childhood, and all had decent looks. They fit Zhou Yi’s style perfectly and were highly valued by the company’s top brass.

Yan Li happened to share a similar look and aura with them, which was why the producer had taken interest.

This company favored actors with a rugged, masculine presence and martial arts skills.

But that meant if Yan Li joined, internal competition would be fierce. He would have to contend for resources against these established names, and given their backing, office politics might get messy.

Yan Li wasn’t afraid of competition—he was confident in himself, especially with the advantage of his system—but he was tired of such scheming and power struggles.

With the system, he didn’t think he’d be without roles, so his enthusiasm for joining a company was lukewarm.

Especially one where internal competition bred tension and strained relationships—he had no desire to work in such an environment.

“You know, going freelance isn’t easy.”

Nie Yuan thought Yan Li was a bit naive. The film and TV world was tough; newcomers without connections or a company backing them struggled to make headway.

“Maybe someday I’ll start my own company. I don’t like being bossed around—I’d rather be my own boss.”

Yan Li joked, and Nie Yuan laughed, teasing him:

“Alright, if I can’t make it someday, I’ll be counting on Boss Yan to take me in.”

“Deal.”

———

Soon, Nie Yuan was called away for fight choreography rehearsal, while Yan Li was summoned by the director to film his scenes opposite Li Rongrong.

Tong Lei wore a white prison uniform stained with dirt, a wooden execution tag strapped to her back. Her cheeks and hair were slightly disheveled, and a white cloth gagged her mouth as she knelt on the execution platform.

Yan Li swaggered before her, wearing a regretful expression: “What a pity, you’re being executed before you even had your fun.”

Squatting down, he grabbed Tong Lei’s chin with a cruel look: “I’ll never forget your pitiful and heart-wrenching screams—they excite me just thinking about them.”

“If you beg me now, I might consider letting you play for a few more nights.”

Though reciting lines, Yan Li privately cursed the scriptwriter, wondering if they had considered the actor’s dignity when writing such words.

Tong Lei glared at him with hatred, spat out the cloth, and cursed:

“Beast.”

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Furious, Yan Li stood and swung a slap at her. Tong Lei cried out and fell, though Yan Li’s movement was exaggerated and didn’t actually connect.

Watching from the monitors, director Hu Mingkai frowned, holding the megaphone: “Rongrong’s emotion isn’t strong enough. Make Yuwen Chengdu even more vicious. One more take.”

Yan Li gave an OK sign, then discussed with Tong Lei: “Your energy is a bit too strong. Li Rongrong should look weak and desperate, so the contrast between villain and victim is more striking.”

After all, Li Rongrong had been queued up for days in the story and likely barely had the strength to speak.

Earlier, Tong Lei had been righteous and defiant, angrily cursing as if ready to fight Yuwen Chengdu, which felt out of place.

Tong Lei, a newcomer, was humble and listened closely to Yan Li, who had been helping her a lot lately—blocking drinks for her and demonstrating more mature acting with thoughtful insight.

“Okay, brother, I understand.”

They resumed filming, and Tong Lei’s performance became notably feeble and mournful, evoking pity and highlighting Yan Li’s character’s cruelty and malice.

The director was very pleased with the take, and Tong Lei was happy to be praised. Yan Li, however, felt both pleased and a little sorrowful.

A role like Yuwen Chengdu was tricky—if played poorly, it was forgettable; if played too well, it risked attracting hatred.

Yan Li already imagined how many viewers would be pointing at the screen, calling him a scoundrel when the show aired…

...

After wrapping for the day, Nie Yuan invited Yan Li to a large street stall in Hengdian to drink and watch the game—it was the World Cup final.

Yan Li was quite interested in the match, having bet on the lottery. The outcome determined whether his train ticket back to the capital would be a seat or a sleeper.

At seven sharp, the match began. Brazil, led by Ronaldo’s two goals, defeated Germany 2-0, winning the World Cup for the fifth time in history.

Yan Li was thrilled—he had bet correctly on both matches and could now sleep comfortably on the train.

He called Qin Lan to share the result. Qin Lan had bet even more and had enough for a plane ticket.

Qin Lan was happy, knowing Yan Li was out but still wanted to hang out, though Yan Li politely declined.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Qin Lan, but he had important business to attend to.

Today was June 30th. Besides being the World Cup final day, it was the end of the month, meaning the monthly intelligence report would be released at midnight…