002 The Artful Use of Intelligence—Seeking Gain and Avoiding Harm

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Hengdian, Bun Shop

Yan Li tactfully paid for both their breakfasts before Kou Zhanwen could.

The amount was small; considering the prices at the turn of the century, the total for two didn’t exceed ten yuan.

Of course, Kou Zhanwen wasn’t short of money, but he appreciated Yan Li’s thoughtfulness and quick wit.

Moreover, during their earlier conversation, Yan Li addressed him respectfully as “Teacher Kou,” which pleased him greatly. His attitude toward Yan Li had clearly become friendlier, and he offered a few tips.

“Director Hu has a decent temper. The producer rarely comes to the set; the executive director and production manager mainly handle on-site and logistical matters. The crew’s overall environment is relatively peaceful, just keep your distance from those actors from Hong Kong and Taiwan—they tend to cause trouble.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Teacher Kou.”

Perhaps due to having the daily intelligence system and constant practice, Yan Li had become more sensitive in gathering, analyzing, and judging information.

Even without system intelligence, he could extract useful information from snippets of conversations.

Kou Zhanwen didn’t say much, but Yan Li felt there was a wealth of information in his words.

Firstly, he clarified who held the real power in the “Heroes of the Sui and Tang Dynasties” crew. Having worked on various crews in the capital, Yan Li knew that each one operated differently.

Take the production manager position, for example. In some crews, they wielded great authority—directors had to watch their mood, and no money could be spent without their approval. In others, they were just logistics personnel in charge of meals and transportation, barely commanding any respect.

For a newcomer like Yan Li, learning about the upper echelons of the crew right away was undoubtedly advantageous.

Additionally, Kou’s latter remark hinted that the “Heroes of the Sui and Tang Dynasties” crew was not entirely peaceful.

It seemed likely that there was some tension between the Hong Kong-Taiwan faction and the mainland faction among the actors and staff.

As a minor character, Yan Li dared not involve himself in these disputes and resolved to be extra cautious, steering clear whenever things seemed tense.

Upon arriving at the set, Yan Li and Kou Zhanwen parted ways—the latter went to makeup, while Yan Li went to report to the assistant director Wang Decai.

Wang Decai, assistant director on “Heroes of the Sui and Tang Dynasties,” had played a crucial role in casting. It was thanks to him that Yan Li had landed a spot on this crew.

At the agreed meeting spot, Wang Decai had yet to arrive, so Yan Li took the initiative to help with some odd jobs, subtly probing for information about the crew.

Extracting intelligence on his own was best; if not, perhaps the system would trigger and provide useful info.

With nothing better to do, he figured it was worth a shot.

Just as they were chatting cheerfully, Yan Li felt a pat on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw a short, stocky man looking up at him with a smile.

“Brother Wang, you’re here.”

“Cough, cough, around here he’s called Director Wang.”

Wang Decai was in his early thirties, a bit stout, about 1.6 meters tall. His appearance was honest and simple, but his sharp, beady eyes betrayed a cleverness beneath the surface.

“Getting used to the set?”

Wang Decai liked Yan Li, thinking the young man suited him well; otherwise, he wouldn’t have helped him join the crew.

Yan Li was grateful. “Thank you for taking care of me and even arranging a single room.”

“Oh, that’s nothing.”

After some small talk, just as Wang Decai was about to take Yan Li to meet the director, his phone rang. Some equipment issue required his attention.

Yan Li understood immediately. “You go ahead, no rush for me.”

According to earlier intel, Director Hu Mingkai had been in a bad mood due to feeling unwell the day before. Yan Li had been worried about meeting him now and possibly incurring his wrath.

This was perfect then—he could stall a bit, hoping the director’s mood might improve by the time they met.

“Alright.”

Perhaps the situation was urgent, for Wang Decai didn’t hesitate, but after a moment, he reminded Yan Li, “Don’t just stand around—go to the makeup room and get ready. That way, the director will have a better impression of your appearance. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

“Got it, you go ahead.”

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Since it would help his meeting with the director, Yan Li readily agreed.

They parted ways, and Yan Li asked around before heading to the makeup room, which wasn’t far. He arrived quickly and found only a few people inside.

This was normal; the morning rush for makeup had started as early as four or five o’clock, so the current occupants were mostly actors with call times after ten in the morning or in the afternoon.

Scanning the room, Yan Li noticed several idle makeup artists eating or reading magazines.

Recalling the earlier intelligence about two makeup artists who had quarreled over a man, perhaps even coming to blows, he wisely decided to steer clear.

Being new, Yan Li didn’t want to be too bold asking for names, unsure who was Sasha or Wang Xiu. To be safe, he approached the only idle male makeup artist and explained his situation.

Upon hearing Wang Decai’s name, the man sized Yan Li up.

“Alright, take a seat.”

Yan Li found an empty seat. The makeup artist was professional, not rushing to start but instead asking about previous makeup styles Yan Li had liked, wanting to highlight his strengths.

As they chatted, a female makeup artist passed by deliberately bumping into them.

Yan Li, facing the mirror, clearly saw the woman’s intentional collision. Before his makeup artist could respond, she accused him first.

“Are you blind? Didn’t you see I was walking here?”

The male makeup artist was stunned but quickly retorted, “You’re not only blind but also lame—walking into me for no reason, looking for trouble.”

“You bastard, who are you calling that?”

“You stinky witch, that’s you.”

They exchanged insults, then began shoving each other. Yan Li hurried to intervene, baffled.

Is the makeup team really that turbulent? Do they fight every day?

Soon the makeup team leader arrived and took the two troublemakers away. Yan Li switched to a different makeup artist.

Unable to resist, Yan Li asked the new artist, “Do you have someone named Wang Xiu in your team?”

The artist looked at him oddly. “The one who did your makeup earlier was Wang Xiu.”

Yan Li was speechless.

The system was flawed—it only showed names, no photos or gender indicators.

How was he supposed to know that the Wang Xiu who had quarreled with Sasha over a man was actually a man himself?

The kicker was, the guy had a beard—small sideburns—looking even more manly than Yan Li himself...

About an hour later, with makeup and costume done, Yan Li got in touch with Wang Decai and prepared to meet at the agreed spot.

Just stepping out of the makeup room, he ran into Wang Xiu, who had just settled the earlier problem and still seemed chatty.

“Looking sharp, handsome. Sorry about earlier—next time I’ll do your makeup.”

“No worries, thanks, sis... bro.”

Yan Li was still young and inexperienced, so he didn’t dare linger in conversation. He laughed awkwardly and hurried off.

…

About ten minutes later, through Wang Decai’s introduction, Yan Li finally met Director Hu Mingkai.

Hu was a respected name in the industry, known especially for the hit “Young Bao Qingtian” two years prior.

Yan Li’s strategy to avoid trouble had been right on target.

Wang Decai told him that Hu had earlier scolded the stage crew harshly when he first arrived. Had Yan Li’s group come then, they might have been caught in the crossfire.

Now, perhaps having vented and feeling somewhat better, Hu’s mood was not great but acceptable—otherwise, Wang Decai wouldn’t have dared bring Yan Li over.

“Director, this is Yan Li, playing Yuwen Chengdu in our production.”

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Wang Decai stepped forward with a broad smile to introduce him. Hu Mingkai wore thick-rimmed glasses, unremarkable in appearance.

The young man looked good!

Thick eyebrows, large eyes, well-defined features, a rugged face, and a masculine aura—he exuded a strong, manly presence.

More impressively, not only was he handsome, but also tall—at least 1.8 meters—with a fit physique: broad shoulders, narrow waist, slender legs, muscular yet agile, a perfect clothes rack.

In his role as an ancient warrior, the makeup artist had added a bit of stubble to offset Yan Li’s youthful, smooth face, making him appear sharp, capable, brave, and clearly not an ordinary character.

Hu Mingkai felt a twinge of regret, having met this actor too late. Casting Yan Li as Yuwen Chengdu, a villainous role, seemed a waste.

But there was no choice; other significant roles were already cast, and it was too late to replace anyone.

Smaller roles still had openings, so playing Yuwen Chengdu was better than nothing.

Flipping through Yan Li’s résumé, Hu looked up with mild surprise.

“From Beijing Film Academy, and you’ve trained in martial arts?”

Yan Li explained, “I attended a martial arts school back home for a few years before entering the vocational program at Beijing Film Academy.”

“What styles do you know?”

Hu’s interest peaked. As a director from Hong Kong who had worked on the “Wong Fei-hung” series, he favored actors with martial arts skills.

He didn’t care much whether Yan Li’s academy background was vocational or degree-level.

“Basic routines, mostly Sanda, wrestling is fine too. I’m better with weapons like the spear and broadsword.”

Yan Li didn’t exaggerate. Although embellishing his résumé a bit might help, the role of Yuwen Chengdu involved fight scenes.

If he overstated his skills and then botched the action sequences, it would be embarrassing and could cost him the role.

Besides, Wang Decai had warned him that Hu Mingkai was old-fashioned and disliked flashy or cunning behavior. It was best to be modest and low-key around him.

So Yan Li had been humble and reserved from the start, keeping his words measured.

To be honest, Yan Li didn’t consider himself a true martial artist.

His old martial arts school was a small local place without famous instructors or particularly high standards. Plus, he hadn’t studied there long.

He wouldn’t have mentioned his martial arts background if it weren’t for the résumé boost.

Fortunately, Hu Mingkai didn’t care much about the level of skill.

“No problem with filming fight scenes, right?”

“None at all.”

Yan Li was confident. During his time at Beijing Film Academy, his teachers encouraged him to revive his martial arts training as an advantage. He had been practicing these past two years.

While working in the capital, he had witnessed many fight scenes and even served as a stunt double occasionally. Realistic fight choreography was well within his ability.

“Alright, then stay and give it a try. For details, ask Old Wang.”

Hu Mingkai didn’t make him audition or demonstrate martial arts; after a few questions, he cast him outright.

Don’t underestimate this—at the turn of the century, the film industry was still in a wild-growth phase, with few rules or formalities.

If the director liked you and thought you were capable, that was enough!

There were plenty of untrained, unskilled actors flooding the industry, but Yan Li was professionally trained, and the Beijing Film Academy’s reputation still carried weight.

Besides, Wang Decai’s endorsement counted for a lot; if he vouched for someone, the director wouldn’t easily reject them.

If Yan Li turned out to be hopeless, it would just be a casting mistake for a minor role—and replacements were easy to find in Hengdian.

What Hengdian lacked was not top-notch actors...