Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

Sheng Quan instinctively felt a twinge of jealousy.

It wasn’t until she suddenly remembered that her own hair was now equally lush that her mood balanced slightly. Still, after sitting down, her gaze couldn’t help but drift subtly upward.

Mr. Wang remained oblivious, cheerfully introducing them: “President Sheng, this is Mr. Gu Zhao, the one I mentioned to you. Mr. Gu, this is Sheng Quan, President of Starlight Entertainment.”

Since Gu Zhao currently held no official position, Mr. Wang cautiously used the title “Mr.”

Having already briefed each party about the other’s background, Mr. Wang didn’t elaborate further. After the brief introduction, seeing the two exchange polite handshakes and successfully acquaint themselves, he tactfully excused himself:

“I’ll step out for some tea. Take your time.”

First meetings are usually awkward, but Sheng Quan and Gu Zhao clearly weren’t the type for such hesitations. Sheng Quan’s eyes settled on Gu Zhao as she cut straight to the point:

“I assume Mr. Gu has brought his resume?”

“Of course.” Gu Zhao’s tone was equally cool, though Sheng Quan observed that this seemed to be his natural manner of speaking—cold and detached, much like the man himself, without any pretentiousness.

Yet paired with his strikingly sharp, handsome features, that icy tone gave him an almost unreal aura.

No wonder Mr. Wang had joked that he resembled a robot.

The so-called “robot” sat with perfect posture. Sheng Quan noted that he must have undergone formal etiquette training—every movement was fluid and graceful.

Gu Zhao handed over a thick folder, at least several dozen pages long. His financial situation appeared stable, judging by the expensive luxury watch adorning his pale, slender wrist:

“This is my personal resume. President Sheng may review it before deciding whether to hire me.”

Sheng Quan accepted it and flipped to the first page. Sure enough, he was mixed-race.

She’d thought as much—Gu Zhao’s porcelain skin, sharply defined features, and light gray eyes made it biologically improbable for him to be purely Chinese.

The first page contained standard personal details: height, weight, age, etc. But from the second page onward, Sheng Quan felt like she was witnessing the life of an academic prodigy.

The dazzling list of achievements could be summarized as:

Skipped grades relentlessly, graduated from a world-renowned university at 18, immediately joined an internationally acclaimed corporation, climbed the ranks at lightning speed, then abruptly resigned at the peak of his promising career to return to China. There, he cycled through the country’s top companies—each time skyrocketing to executive positions before quitting without warning. Three times he reached Chief Operating Officer, and three times he walked away. Finally, he joined Wansheng, transforming the small firm into the colossal enterprise it was today.

And the most absurd part? He had a mountain of certifications.

She could understand the Legal Profession Qualification, Human Resource Manager, Certified Public Accountant, Actuary, and Chartered Financial Analyst. Even the Psychological Consultant certificate made sense. But what on earth were the Mandarin Proficiency Certificate and Health Manager credentials?

It wasn’t just domestic certifications either—he had an equally baffling international collection, including the most unexpected one: ACAMS (Anti-Money Laundering Specialist).

Sheng Quan: “…No wonder this resume is so thick.”

She lifted her gaze to Gu Zhao, who waited in composed silence. “Did you just take every exam possible? May I ask why?”

Leaving aside how notoriously difficult some of these certifications were to obtain, where did he even find the time and energy? He was only in his early thirties!

Gu Zhao replied calmly, “I believe human nature inherently admires strength. These certifications position me as a socially recognized ‘strong’ individual.”

“Most people, upon learning my credentials, unconsciously become more accommodating, deferential, or even proactively friendly. They save me considerable trouble in my career.”

Sheng Quan found this logic utterly ridiculous—studying relentlessly just to make people treat him better? And yet he’d actually passed them all. Strangely, hearing it delivered in Gu Zhao’s frosty tone made it somehow… plausible.

“Alright, moving on. Next question: Why did you resign from every company after reaching management level, prior to Wansheng? Could you share your reasons?”

Gu Zhao’s cool gray eyes remained impassive. “My objective was learning. Once I exhausted a company’s knowledge and experience, I left.”

Sheng Quan’s lips twitched. Suddenly, she couldn’t resist asking, “Did those companies know that was your goal?”

Gu Zhao’s expression didn’t flicker. “No. Had they known, they wouldn’t have hired me. Therefore, I concealed my intentions.”

Sheng Quan: “…”

She’d guessed as much, but how did he say this so matter-of-factly, without a hint of guilt?

Onto the next question. “Mr. Wang claims you’re responsible for the majority of Wansheng’s success. Do you agree?”

“To be precise, 87.57% of the credit is mine.” Even when discussing the company that had ousted him, Gu Zhao’s handsome face remained unreadable—no resentment, no added chill. “Chen Xuanzheng and He Qi’s capital contributed 34.5%.”

Sheng Quan: “? 87.57 plus 34.5 exceeds 100.”

Gu Zhao succinctly clarified: “Chen Xuanzheng and He Qi’s impact was negative.”

Sheng Quan: Damn, that’s savage.

“Out of personal curiosity,”—by now, Sheng Quan had a solid grasp of the situation—she leaned back in her chair—“given your caliber, why were you the one who ultimately left Wansheng?”

Gu Zhao smiled. It was his first smile since they’d met, yet on his striking face, it felt less like warmth and more like an icy draft down one’s spine.

In that same measured tone, he stated, “Wansheng suffers from chaotic equity distribution, overwhelming debt, nepotistic shareholders, and a rotting management. It appears prosperous, but within three years, collapse is inevitable.”

“Rather than ‘leaving,’ it’s more accurate to say I abandoned this seemingly colossal ship before its gaping holes sink it.”

Now Sheng Quan understood why someone of Gu Zhao’s caliber remained unemployed.

The man was terrifyingly composed. Even when discussing the impending doom of the empire he’d built, his tone never wavered from that detached calm.

Most people experience emotional fluctuations—even the strongest wrestle with feelings, though some suppress them to act rationally.

But Gu Zhao displayed zero affect. As if nothing in this world could stir him. Even that earlier smile when mentioning Wansheng felt more like “cool, knowing mockery” than “ha! The backstabbing company that fired me is going down!”

When Sheng Quan had successfully cornered her exploitative ex-boss who’d tried to skin her alive, she’d been privately euphoric.

Most people indeed have an innate admiration for strength, but Gu Zhao's behavior would only make others distrust him—at least the board members and shareholders wouldn't dare place their faith in him.

Who knew if Gu Zhao would be diligently working one day, only to suddenly turn ruthless the next, just as he had done to Wansheng?

He still held shares in Wansheng. Even after being ousted from management, those shares remained firmly in his grasp, ensuring his dividends were secure. Yet he hadn’t hesitated to deal Wansheng a devastating blow. This kind of mercilessness, indifferent even to his own interests, left people deeply unsettled.

Businesspeople chase profit; mutual dealings thrive on shared gain. But Gu Zhao was too composed, too indifferent to profit—no wonder they couldn’t trust him.

Sheng Quan saw all this clearly, yet she didn’t recoil from Gu Zhao like the others.

Every action had a purpose. Just as Gu Zhao claimed his reason for joining previous companies was to learn—what, then, was the purpose behind that learning?

If Gu Zhao truly wanted nothing and cared for nothing, he wouldn’t be standing here now.

She quickly pieced it together, taking a slow sip of tea. “You must realize that telling me all this only lowers the chances of me choosing you.”

“I disagree.” Gu Zhao remained unruffled. “Wang Zhengzheng is meticulous in his work. When introducing me to you, he would have detailed my background thoroughly. Under such circumstances, there’s no need for me to pretend.”

“Moreover, I’ve reflected on Wansheng’s failure. The main issue was that I didn’t reveal my true self to Chen Xuanzheng and He Qi, which led them to underestimate my threat and make some foolish decisions.”

“I was wrong. Human nature doesn’t change through pretense. Presenting a false version of oneself creates dissonance in how others perceive and interact with you. If you hire me, I won’t repeat such mistakes.”

Sheng Quan couldn’t help but admire Gu Zhao. He kept admitting fault, yet every word dripped with scorn for his former employers’ intelligence.

Wasn’t he essentially saying that he’d known his true nature would raise concerns, so he’d initially concealed it—only to realize his act was so convincing that his bosses mistook him for a pushover, leading to reckless decisions that nearly destroyed the company?

This time, he’d learned his lesson. By showing his true colors upfront, he’d scared off any firms incompatible with his philosophy.

A ruthlessly rational judgment indeed.

“One last question.”

Sheng Quan met Gu Zhao’s gaze. “What’s your goal this time?”

“Everything I do serves one purpose—my life’s mission.” Even when speaking of his lifelong pursuit, Gu Zhao’s tone remained detached. “I want to build the company I’m with into the absolute pinnacle. Not just nationally, but globally recognized as the undisputed best.”

“No matter the industry, no matter the starting point, I’ll devote my entire life to this goal until it’s achieved.”

Sheng Quan’s heart began to race with excitement.

She studied Gu Zhao, realizing she was utterly captivated—not by him, but by the ambition he described.

Did she have ambition? Of course. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have climbed so high in her past life.

But she was also self-aware. Beyond career drive, she had other passions.

She loved good food, admired beautiful faces, binge-watched dramas, devoured novels, and reveled in gossip and group chats. For a workaholic, Sheng Quan’s hobbies far surpassed her colleagues’.

She yearned for the heights—who didn’t?—but dedicating her entire existence to work struck her as unbearably dull.

Life offered too much to explore, and Sheng Quan wanted to taste it all. She wasn’t one to obsess over a single pursuit. Before meeting Gu Zhao, she’d assumed this was a classic “you can’t have it all” scenario.

Now, the prize had leaped straight into her bowl.

Suppressing her excitement, she asked, “Why not do it yourself?”

Gu Zhao: “Calculations show this goal requires sustained, substantial funding. I lack a stable, large-scale capital source, so I need a financially powerful partner.”

He emphasized the word “one,” clearly having learned from his Wansheng missteps to avoid multiple stakeholders.

“If you hire me, my sole condition is that you remain Starlight Entertainment’s majority shareholder indefinitely. Only then can I operate with full authority.”

“As a gesture of sincerity, we can formalize an agreement: no matter how the company grows, my lifetime cumulative stake won’t exceed one-third of yours.”

Sheng Quan’s spirits soared higher.

Gu Zhao wanted neither money nor profit—only to personally elevate a company to the apex. Less a man chasing a dream than one savoring the pursuit itself.

Talk about a perfect match. What luck to find a self-motivated, skilled, and tireless ally falling straight from the heavens!

She didn’t hide her delight, standing to extend a hand with a smile:

“You’re hired. Welcome to Starlight Entertainment. May your life’s mission find fulfillment here.”

After hours of negotiation, Gu Zhao’s expression finally flickered—first surprise, then assessing whether she meant it. At last, he stood and shook her hand.

“Thank you for your trust. I pledge to devote myself entirely to Starlight’s growth.”

Once seated again, they simply sipped tea.

Sheng Quan resisted, then gave in to curiosity:

“Out of curiosity—did you ever share your life’s goal with those two?”

“I did.”

“How’d they react?”

“They laughed. Loudly.”

“Wow. Their loss.”

“Indeed.”

“Were you angry?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I took them to pitch projects to other firms. After three days of talking, they lost their voices—and their laughter.”

This exchange confirmed Mr. Wang’s assessment: Gu Zhao truly held grudges.

With an exceptional CEO now secured for her company, Sheng Quan burned with impatience to begin.

Eagerly, she asked Gu Zhao, “What’s your first step?”

He pondered for a second before answering earnestly: “I’ll get a haircut, commission some figure-flattering suits, and sign up for a men’s grooming membership.”

Sheng Quan: “…”

Dude, did you have to say that with that ice-cold expression??

“So you can… make a dazzling debut?”

Somehow, she doubted that was the reason.

Sure enough, Gu Zhao replied: “Judging by the appearances of those around you, refining my image could enhance your mood. As your subordinate, it’s my duty to accommodate your aesthetic preferences—within professional bounds, of course.”

"Since I haven’t done this before, I’ll prioritize it first to make adjustments and corrections easier."

Sheng Quan: "...Honestly, I don’t care what you look like. You’re not an actor—as a CEO, all that matters is your competence. Even if you were a bald, middle-aged man, it wouldn’t bother me."

Gu Zhao’s tone remained as calm and almost clinically detached as ever. As he spoke, he subtly adjusted his angle toward Sheng Quan, despite not relying on his looks for a living, he still knew precisely which angle flattered him the most.

His strikingly pale eyes met Sheng Quan’s as he delivered a bold statement with utter nonchalance:

"But my appearance aligns with mainstream aesthetics. You like the way I look too, don’t you? You just haven’t admitted it."

Sheng Quan, struck head-on by his beauty: ...No rebuttal came to mind.

Gu Zhao concluded matter-of-factly: "If one can excel in both ability and appearance, why not strive for both?"

The phrasing felt oddly familiar to Sheng Quan. After a moment, she realized it echoed something her middle-school math representative had once said: "If you can buy the latest math and physics practice exams, why wouldn’t you do them?"

Her past and present emotions overlapped perfectly in that instant.

Geniuses—truly terrifying.