It wasn’t that Jing Li lacked worldly experience. In his year and a half in the entertainment industry, the only time his pay had exceeded fifty thousand was for his role in Isolated Island—but even then, it had been a supporting part. Actors with comparable screen time had earned five times as much. He really had been paid rock-bottom newbie rates.
This time, though, that two followed by seven zeros hit him like a thunderbolt. Wasn’t he still just your average N-list nobody?
He blinked a few times and leaned in for another look. Twenty million. For real.
“No mistake here?” he asked An Jiaming. “Isn’t that an extra zero?”
An Jiaming: “…”
“No mistake. The program team’s appearance fee for you is twenty million before taxes. And that’s not even much—it’s because of you that Yunzhang agreed to do the show. They’re thanking you for it.”
Ji Yunzhang had never appeared on a variety show before. This would be his debut, and his first post-marriage appearance to boot. His name alone could draw endless traffic, and with those two massive hooks, the ratings were a sure thing as long as the show didn’t completely bomb. Sponsorships would roll in without effort.
The benefits to the TV station were plain as day, so naturally they wouldn’t shortchange Jing Li.
He didn’t need it spelled out; he could figure that much himself. He nodded, his gaze drifting back to that string of zeros. A grin spread across his face that he couldn’t suppress, his eyes curving into happy crescents.
Ji Yunzhang watched him with a faint smile tugging at his lips for a good long while before speaking again. “When’s the recording?”
“The 25th—fifteen days from now. First stop heads north to J Province, and on the 24th, the program team will film an on-location promo.”
“When do they start shooting for Ding Yixiang’s project?”
“Day after tomorrow,” An Jiaming replied. “I worked out the timing—it’s perfect. Jing Li wraps his cameo for Director Ding on the 22nd, then has the 23rd and 24th to rest. No rush at all.”
The schedule was indeed leisurely. Ji Yunzhang gave a small nod.
“Alright, then. Sign the contract if everything looks good. I’ll swing by and grab it tomorrow when I fly to H Province with Jing Li.” He turned to Jing Li with further instructions. “It’s been rainy and chilly in Film City lately, but temperatures will climb after that. Pack both light and heavy clothes. Flight’s at two tomorrow afternoon—I’ll pick you up at noon.”
Jing Li murmured his agreement. “Got it.”
The video call ended, and Jing Li abandoned all restraint. He leaped off the sofa, bounced several times in his fluffy slippers, then scooped up the passing Custard Bun and spun it around in a gleeful circle.
Pure, childlike joy.
Ji Yunzhang watched him, his eyes brimming with amusement.
~~~
The two-and-a-half-hour flight landed right on time, with no delays. By four-thirty in the afternoon, Jing Li and An Jiaming had touched down at H City Airport. Another two hours by car brought them to Film City, and they didn’t reach the hotel booked by the crew until past six that evening.
By then, most of the actors were still on set—including Ding Yixiang, who had night shoots scheduled that would drag on late into the wee hours.
Jing Li had already eaten dinner, and An Jiaming led him straight to the set to say hello to Ding Yixiang and a few of the leads.
They registered at the entrance and slipped inside without issue. The rain had stopped that afternoon, and none was expected tonight, so the crew was hustling to make up for the night scenes they’d lost over the past couple of days. The set was a whirlwind of chaos and activity. From a distance, they could hear Ding Yixiang bellowing, “Makeup artist! Where’s the damn makeup artist? The female lead’s eye makeup is smeared—get over here and fix it!”
Jing Li blinked in surprise. Was this the same Ding Yixiang? The guy on set was a roaring volcano, nothing like the laid-back, perpetually slouched young man he’d met at the banquet.
An Jiaming gave him a heads-up. “Director Ding’s got a reputation for a hair-trigger temper when he’s directing. His patience is razor-thin. If he snaps at you, just let it slide in one ear and out the other. Pretty much everyone on his sets catches hell at some point.”
Jing Li remembered that Ding Yixiang had collaborated with Ji Yunzhang twice before. Curiosity piqued, he asked, “Did Teacher Ji ever get an earful?”
“Not a chance. Yunzhang’s acting is beyond reproach.”
Jing Li figured as much. Ji Yunzhang’s skills were god-tier. No matter how nitpicky Ding Yixiang got—even if he inspected every frame with a magnifying glass—he wouldn’t find a thing to criticize.
They wove through the swarm of busy staff and the snaking tracks and cables littering the ground. Ding Yixiang sat behind the monitor, a cigarette pinched between his fingers as he puffed away steadily.
A short distance off, in the pool of lights with the camera trained right on her, the makeup artist hurriedly touched up the female lead and scurried away with her kit. Ding Yixiang snatched up the megaphone. “Action—continue.”
With him in the thick of directing, Jing Li and An Jiaming hung back and observed from the sidelines.
It was a fight scene: the female lead battling a pack of minor demons. She was wired up, flipping and soaring across rooftops in a flurry of beautifully choreographed action. The actress nailed every beat.
Jing Li watched for a bit before realizing he recognized the female lead. They’d been on the same crew once before, though they’d never shared scenes—just traded a few words.
An Jiaming wasn’t aware of this. He introduced her from nearby. “Xiao Ya—she won Best Supporting Actress at the Huayi Awards just last year. Most of your scenes are opposite hers. She’s a nice person and always looks out for newcomers, so don’t worry.”
“Yeah, I know. I know Sister Xiao.” Jing Li smiled. “I had a small role in Light Year earlier this year.”
He added, “The day Teacher Ji and I went public, Sister Xiao even sent me a WeChat message congratulating us.”
Jing Li and Xiao Ya got along well, and An Jiaming was genuinely surprised. He stared at him for a few seconds before asking abruptly, “You don’t happen to know the male lead, Lin Han, too, do you?”
Jing Li shook his head. “I don’t know Teacher Lin.”
“He doesn’t have any scenes tonight. I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”
The two of them spoke quietly, with An Jiaming doing most of the talking. He’d already memorized the entire crew roster before arriving and was now giving Jing Li a low-key rundown, helping him put names to faces.
The fight scene had started filming at dusk and dragged on until nearly nine without wrapping. Everyone was worn out, so Ding Yixiang called cut and announced a half-hour break.
Jing Li’s feet ached after standing for almost two hours. He shook out his legs to loosen his stiff joints and followed An Jiaming over to where Ding Yixiang stood.
Ding Yixiang had his arms crossed, staring stone-faced at the monitor replay. He looked a little intimidating. He didn’t turn at the sound of footsteps until An Jiaming called his name.
His gaze shifted to Jing Li, and he gave a small nod. “How long have you been here?”
Jing Li replied, “Since a bit after seven.”
“That’s a good while.”
“It’s not so bad.”
Ding Yixiang tapped the empty seat beside him, motioning for Jing Li to sit, then rubbed his face. His expression softened noticeably. “You finish the script?”
“Yep.”
He quizzed Jing Li. “Does Nan Xing like the female lead?” Nan Xing was the name of the courtesan Jing Li played.
Jing Li thought it over and shook his head. “No.”
Ding Yixiang arched a brow. “But he dies protecting her.”
“I think he just sees the female lead as his past self. Protecting her is like protecting who he used to be. He always hoped someone would have saved him from the pleasure house back when he was sold into it, but no one did. Then he meets the female lead, in almost the exact same spot, and it’s like seeing his own helpless younger self.”
“Nice.” Ding Yixiang grinned. “You nailed it. I was worried you’d read his kindness toward her as love. That would’ve given me a real headache.”
He went on, “Head back to the hotel for now. Get a good night’s sleep, then show up tomorrow looking your absolute best. I want your character to dazzle everyone right from the start.”
Just as Ding Yixiang had said, the next day Jing Li stepped onto the set with his styling complete, and everyone froze for a beat, completely stunned by his beauty.
He wore a flowing red robe with a delicate flower adornment between his brows. Most of his hair cascaded loosely, with just a small section pinned up casually with a hairpin. When he lifted his gaze and smiled, it was a beauty to bring down empires.
Ding Yixiang was thrilled. With a grand wave of his hand, he kicked off the official filming of Jing Li’s scenes.
Jing Li’s look in the drama was mostly red—bold, vibrant, and attention-grabbing. It suited the role perfectly: the most renowned courtesan under heaven.
His first three days of scenes called for playing the qin, painting, writing calligraphy, and dancing. After all, Nan Xing wasn’t just stunningly beautiful; he was a master of music, chess, calligraphy, painting, and dance.
Ding Yixiang had lined up body doubles and a dance double for him, but when he learned Jing Li could handle all of it himself without any stand-ins, he whipped out his phone and fired off three massive exclamation marks to Ji Yunzhang. He marveled at his buddy’s incredible luck in snagging such a treasure.
Ji Yunzhang didn’t text back. Instead, he video-called right away.
They were in the middle of shooting Jing Li’s dance sequence as he mingled among the patrons. He held a wine cup, flashing coquettish smiles while weaving through the crowd. The red robe made him shine even brighter, bringing the courtesan’s vivid allure to life for everyone through his features.
Ding Yixiang pointed his phone camera at Jing Li mid-take and narrated, “His acting caught me off guard—it’s genuinely solid. But the flaws stick out too. He still needs polishing.”
Ji Yunzhang watched Jing Li on the screen. A supporting actor pulled him down onto his lap, and Jing Li teasingly traced the man’s jaw with his slender fingers. But his body tensed visibly, the movements awkward and unpracticed, like he wasn’t quite sure how to pull it off. Ji Yunzhang chuckled.
Ding Yixiang called cut.
He was pretty frustrated. He told Ji Yunzhang, “That’s exactly one of the issues I mentioned. Probably from not having enough experience—he can’t loosen up. This scene’s been stalled for half the day now.”
All of a sudden, an idea struck him. He swung the camera away from Jing Li and back to his own face. “You’re not busy these days, right? Why don’t you come guest star?”
On the screen, Ji Yunzhang’s eyes and brows curved with a smile as he leisurely propped his chin, and he agreed, “I’ll arrive tomorrow.”
After the video call ended, Ding Yixiang rubbed his chin, gazed at Jing Li standing not far away, and pondered for a few seconds. Then, he suddenly called the screenwriter over and instructed her to write a few new Flying Pages.
After hearing him out, the screenwriter let out an “Ah” and scrunched up her face.
She was a Yunjing CP fan, and now she suddenly had to add kissing scenes and emotional scenes between Jing Li and other characters. Her shipper brain and professional rationality were locked in a fierce tug-of-war.
In a small voice, she protested, “Director Ding, you’re Teacher Ji’s good friend!”
Ding Yixiang glanced at her. “Yes, so what?”
She argued logically, “The scenes you want to add are pretty unnecessary. Nan Xing doesn’t need any extra emotional scenes.”
“They are necessary—extremely necessary—because the actor playing opposite Jing Li has been changed.”
The screenwriter: “??”
Ding Yixiang burst out laughing. “It’s been changed to Ji Yunzhang.”
The screenwriter: “!!!!!”
Her mood shot up like a rocket blasting into the sky. Inspiration suddenly surged through her, and she spun around and dashed off. “I’ll write them right now!”
