Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry] Chapter 51

"Inside the luxurious Starlight Manor, let’s explore why it attracts countless upper-class elites."

"How many business deals were sealed at the Starlight Banquet? Behind the highest-profile banquet in recent years lies a web of interests, with Sheng Quan emerging as the biggest winner."

"Renowned director from x-country publicly announced that his new film 'Heart of Love' secured over 70 million in investment at the Starlight Banquet."

"Huang Yan has confirmed her role in 'Chaos Universe.' During an interview, she joyfully shared that she met the director at the Starlight Banquet and expressed deep gratitude to Sheng Quan, vowing to work hard this year in hopes of receiving another invitation next year."

For those attending the banquet, the grand gathering was never about the food.

Just as Wan Bao, when seeking investment for 'The Path of Life,' went to great lengths to attend such events—certainly not for the refreshments.

Everyone held a glass, weaving through the crowd, toasting and chatting lightly while closing massive deals.

The guests all agreed: money must flow to generate profit.

And this historic, invaluable, and exclusive manor was the perfect stage for their ambitions and needs.

By the end of the banquet, the most influential guests bid farewell to Sheng Quan. When they smiled and said, "We look forward to next year's invitation," the purpose of the evening had been achieved.

That night, Sheng Quan collected countless business cards.

The contact details on them weren’t particularly hard to obtain—their value lay in the fact that they were handed over personally by their owners.

Notably, Xu Man and Jiang Zhen also received many cards.

Perhaps because Jiang Zhen perfectly fit foreign aesthetics—Sheng Quan had often seen his international fans praising his "mysterious Eastern charm" online.

Clearly, many banquet guests shared this sentiment.

Jiang Zhen not only secured two international project offers but also caught the attention of several luxury brands.

When Sheng Quan pushed the door open, the film crew was laughing uproariously. Jiang Zhen, seated on the left, wasn’t joining in but wore an amused expression.

Ever the enthusiast for lively scenes, Sheng Quan perked up. "What’s so funny?"

"Hahahaha! A little girl just handed Jiang Zhen a love letter and said she wanted to marry him," Xu Man cackled like a goat. "The best part? She’s barely knee-high to him and clung to his leg—hilarious!"

"Wow!" Sheng Quan laughed, turning to Jiang Zhen. "Your popularity abroad exceeds my expectations. How did you turn her down?"

While Jiang Zhen had remained composed under Xu Man’s teasing, Sheng Quan’s laughter made him slightly bashful. The impeccably suited man, radiating charm, pursed his lips lightly.

"I told her to focus on her studies."

A response perfectly in character for Jiang Zhen. After wrapping up 'The Cultivator,' he’d spent most of his free time studying.

At Starlight Entertainment, artists were arguably the most studious in the industry—actors, singers, directors, and screenwriters alike pushed themselves relentlessly.

Many marveled at Sheng Quan’s keen eye, as every artist under her banner was both talented and driven, with even her employees working tirelessly for her.

Seemingly withered talents from other companies would bloom into vibrant flowers at Starlight—how could such success not inspire envy?

But only those at Starlight knew the truth: it was Sheng Quan who provided the water and nutrients, allowing them to flourish without restraint.

Take 'The Cultivator' crew, for instance—their schedules were packed solid for the year, and these opportunities stemmed solely from the banquet.

In terms of loyalty to Sheng Quan, nearly everyone present scored above 80.

Just as Jiang Zhen’s favorability had long surpassed that mark.

After months of meticulous planning, Sheng Quan finally reaped monumental rewards.

The billions in system funds weren’t even the biggest return—the box office was. In this world, entertainment was a way of life. While she’d sensed it faintly during 'The Path of Life,' the explosive success of 'The Cultivator' made it undeniable.

A society obsessed with entertainment meant far more moviegoers than in her past life.

To date, 'The Cultivator' had grossed over 7 billion, with profits still pouring in.

Though box office shares hadn’t been distributed yet, the system’s rewards had already arrived.

Most crucially, Xu Man and Jiang Zhen had extended her lifespan to three years.

What was meant to pressure hosts into completing tasks now barely constrained her.

Sheng Quan’s first move? Buying property back home. While the lavish Starlight Manor abroad was undeniably comfortable, she preferred it as a vacation retreat.

Most days, she’d rather be in China.

Though most box office earnings would fund future investments, Sheng Quan—who’d once spent every penny as soon as it landed—finally had financial breathing room.

Better yet, she’d entered the profit phase. Money flowed out for investments but also streamed back steadily. In short, after over a year, Sheng Quan was no longer strapped for cash.

And "no longer strapped" meant she could indulge her whims—shopping sprees purely for pleasure.

Whether others enjoyed luxury, Sheng Quan didn’t know, but she certainly did.

Before her transmigration, she’d just turned thirty and was doing well among her peers.

Though reborn at twenty-three, her original early twenties had been a struggle.

Like most fresh graduates, she’d scrambled for jobs, adapted to post-school life, endured cramped rentals, overtime, and commutes, squeezing fragments of joy from phone screens on packed subways.

Exhausted daily, crushed by rent, let alone owning a shoebox apartment in the city’s relentless grind—youthful uncertainty and anxiety had been her constant companions.

It took years to learn self-love.

Yet looking back, Sheng Quan felt grateful for that younger self.

Without those hard lessons and encounters with all walks of life, she might’ve squandered the system’s fortune, trapped in a lifelong scramble to extend her days.

Now, in this second chance at twenty-three, Sheng Quan lived as if making up for lost time.

She shopped without glancing at price tags.

Loved a dress? Bought it instantly. Rows of exquisite shoes filled glass cabinets. Coveted jewelry adorned her neck the same day.

Sheng Quan cherished everything she had now.

She was still quite busy.

Aside from her CEO courses, she had signed up for a slew of other classes—dance, posture, illustration, painting. When she had time, she attended them; when she didn’t, she practiced slowly at home.

006 couldn’t understand why its host was so joyfully learning all these skills. It thought Sheng Quan was afraid it would disappear:

【Host, I won’t disappear. You’ll always be wealthy.】

【I know.】 Sheng Quan responded while holding a yoga pose: 【This isn’t painful studying—it’s pursuing my hobbies.】

These were the hobbies she had longed to pursue at 23 but never had the time for.

Back then, she could only spare ten minutes each morning for yoga—just ten pitiful minutes, barely enough to relax her stiff body.

But now, she could spend a whole hour practicing freely, even hiring a professional yoga instructor for private lessons.

How exhilarating!

Occasionally, Sheng Quan would also check in on her subordinates’ lives.

After a long period of treatment, Jin Jiu had been off medication for a while. That morning, he excitedly sent her a message, sharing his joy with the person who mattered most to him:

【Chairman Sheng, the doctor said I’m cured. I’m completely healed!!!】

The exclamation marks alone showed just how thrilled he was.

That evening, Jin Jiu arranged to meet his parents.

Whether he sought strength from the company or not, he chose a café beneath the office building as their meeting spot.

Jin Jiu’s parents weren’t terrible people. They had raised him and shielded him from online hate during his darkest days—they just didn’t love him enough.

Unfortunately, their remarriages coincided with the bleakest period of his life.

Sheng Quan didn’t know whether the Jin Jiu from the original story had clung to his fans’ love because he couldn’t accept this truth, but now, at least, he seemed to have moved on.

Jin Jiu’s complexion was rosy now—no longer the gloomy little mushroom he once was. He sat there, not smiling, yet his eyes shimmered with light.

He naturally ordered drinks and desserts for his parents and asked, “How have you been?”

His parents seemed awkward, exchanging stiff pleasantries like distant relatives—which, in a way, they were, given how long it had been since they last met.

At first, even after their divorce, they had tried to care for the child they hadn’t raised. But after remarrying and having new children, their attention naturally shifted to the younger ones who grew up beside them.

What little care they had for Jin Jiu gradually faded.

When he became famous, they merely sent congratulatory texts. Perhaps the greatest love they could offer was not disturbing the child they had left behind.

Faced with his parents’ uneasy and guilty expressions, Jin Jiu blinked back tears—something he still couldn’t fully control, though his therapist assured him it was normal.

The tears were real, and so was his smile as he said softly:

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m doing well now. You don’t need to worry about me.”

His parents stammered:

“Good, good… as long as you’re happy.”

Sheng Quan took a sip of coffee, watching the scene that resembled a meeting between strangers, and remarked to Gu Zhao beside her at the counter:

“Meeting my parents used to be like that too.”

In her past life, she was the textbook definition of having parents in name only. Blood might be thicker than water, but even biological children needed time to bond with their parents.

And Sheng Quan, born into divorce and immediate remarriage, never got that chance.

Gu Zhao also sipped his coffee. “My parents never smiled at me.”

Sheng Quan handed her cup to him. “Then we’re about the same. Cheers to that.”

Gu Zhao paused before lightly clinking his cup against hers.

“Cheers.”

After a brief silence, he asked, “Aren’t you curious?”

Sheng Quan kept her eyes on Jin Jiu. “About what?”

Gu Zhao: “My family, my parents, why I cut ties with them. Lane must have mentioned something.”

“He did, but I don’t see the point in asking. My gossip radar is usually tuned to entertainment news—like An Baixing’s voice cracking into a duck-like squawk during practice yesterday. The fact that it spread so fast through the company? That was all me.”

Gu Zhao immediately recalled the message he’d woken up to from Sheng Quan that morning:

【HAHAHAHAHAHA did you hear An Baixing’s voice cracked into a duck squawk during practice yesterday??? I have the recording—listen to this it’s HILARIOUS HAHAHAHA】

In the past, he would’ve dismissed such trivial gossip as a waste of time.

Yet somehow, reading that message had made him laugh too.

Jin Jiu was already saying goodbye to his parents. After so long apart, there wasn’t much left to say.

The young man stood, walking them out.

His mother took a few steps before turning back, her eyes slightly red. Hesitating, she murmured:

“I only learned from the news what you went through back then.”

“We failed you…”

His father also stopped, looking as though he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only hung his head in shame.

Jin Jiu froze.

Just as softly, he replied, “It’s okay.”

After watching his parents leave, he turned toward Sheng Quan at the counter.

She gave him a thumbs-up. “You nailed it!”