Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

On the day the hashtag #RichFanGirlBuysABuildingToStartCompany trended, Yuan Zixin found herself sitting across from this very "rich fan girl" in a café.

Honestly, it felt surreal.

While netizens were still busy speculating and verifying rumors, Yuan Zixin had already gotten the inside scoop—not only confirming that the building was indeed under Sheng Quan’s name but also learning that the CEO of Starlight Company was Gu Zhao.

Money, a building, and Gu Zhao.

To Yuan Zixin, this company might as well have slapped the words "boundless potential" on its signboard.

When she’d resigned from her last job, she’d felt fearless, even serene. Back then, she’d thought to herself: *Ugh, I’m so done with these awful people and their nonsense. Might as well go back to my hometown and raise chickens.*

But now… Yuan Zixin maintained a perfectly calm expression as she sipped her coffee, her eyes darting briefly over to Sheng Quan—who was currently reviewing her resume—before snapping back.

She’d rushed back to her rented apartment to grab this resume last-minute. Thankfully, she had a habit of keeping physical copies, sparing her the awkwardness of sending an electronic file during an in-person interview.

Her roommate had gaped in bewilderment as Yuan Zixin stormed in and out like a whirlwind, the question *"What the hell are you doing?"* barely leaving their lips before she was already gone.

Though she considered her resume impressive, interviewing for a small-time company was a world apart from interviewing for one where the boss owned an entire building and had casually reserved an entire floor of Huaxing Building as office space.

Most importantly, Yuan Zixin could tell that this CEO, Sheng Quan, was nothing like her previous bosses.

She wanted to seize this opportunity.

Even as her mind raced with thoughts, Yuan Zixin kept her composure flawlessly, projecting an air of unwavering confidence.

—Even though, internally, she was *freaking out*.

Then, Sheng Quan finished reading the resume, smiled, and extended a hand. *"You really are an excellent agent. Welcome to Starlight Entertainment."*

For some reason, hearing Sheng Quan’s praise made Yuan Zixin’s nose sting, an unexpected urge to cry rising in her chest.

Maybe it was because no one had genuinely acknowledged her like this in a long time.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, smiled, and stood to shake Sheng Quan’s hand.

*"Thank you. I’m honored."*

Sheng Quan *had* read every word of that resume thoroughly.

While she admired Yuan Zixin’s credentials, business was still business. Just like in filmmaking, if a growing company let its boss shove anyone they fancied into key positions, it wouldn’t last long.

Sheng Quan had big ambitions—she wasn’t about to sabotage her own empire.

Of course, as the boss, she *did* allow herself a tiny privilege. Interviews weren’t technically her job, but if she wanted to personally conduct one, no one would stop her.

That said, Sheng Quan wasn’t just being nice. Yuan Zixin’s resume *was* impressive.

The success rate of the artists she’d managed was significantly higher than average—though, admittedly, so was her job-hopping frequency.

Wen Guang hadn’t been wrong: Yuan Zixin changed jobs so often it was less like holding a position and more like rotating through an industry-wide internship. Over a decade, she’d practically worked at every major company in the field.

After leaving her last firm, no reputable company in the industry would hire her—unless she stooped to fly-by-night agencies, which were even more toxic and unethical than the corporate giants.

In fact, just two hours ago, even Yuan Zixin had resigned herself to the idea of returning home to raise chickens.

And now? She was following her new billionaire boss into an elevator inside a dazzling high-rise.

Huaxing Building housed numerous companies, its workforce numbering in the tens of thousands. No matter how many elevators there were, peak hours always meant packed rides.

Yuan Zixin’s previous job had been the same—mornings were manageable with some waiting, but evenings meant stopping at nearly every floor.

Yet here she was, standing behind Sheng Quan as the elevator soared smoothly, uninterrupted, to the 33rd floor.

When the doors opened, two young receptionists immediately stood up. *"Good afternoon, Chairwoman."*

Yuan Zixin did a double-take before realizing they were twins—two clean-cut young men. While not strikingly handsome, they were undeniably pleasant-looking, their uniforms and long legs adding to the appeal.

Noticing Yuan Zixin’s glance, Sheng Quan said to them:

*"This is our new executive agent. Escort her to HR for the paperwork."*

The elder twin stepped forward with a sunny smile. *"Of course. Please follow me."*

As Yuan Zixin walked away, she overheard the younger twin chirping to Sheng Quan: *"Chairwoman, look at the flowers I just bought! Don’t they brighten up the space?"*

She couldn’t help glancing back, catching sight of the boy—fresh out of college, still exuding youthful enthusiasm—eagerly showing off his floral arrangement.

Then there was the elder twin, identical in face but far more composed, his smile warm and professional.

If not for the fact that Sheng Quan was merely examining the flowers—and the fact that Sheng Quan herself was young and attractive—Yuan Zixin might’ve let her imagination run wild.

Sheng Quan noticed Yuan Zixin’s lingering look.

She didn’t need to guess what weird assumptions were forming in the woman’s mind, but this *wasn’t* her doing. Sure, she had a *slight* preference for aesthetically pleasing people, but she hadn’t ordered HR to hire a pair of handsome twin boys as receptionists.

Nope. That was all Gu Zhao’s handiwork.

The phrase *"devoted to his career"* might as well have been coined for him. But his workaholism wasn’t the chaotic, self-destructive kind—it was meticulously planned to ensure he could sustain it long-term.

Part of that plan involved catering to Chairwoman Sheng Quan’s preferences (within reason) and ensuring her impression of the company remained favorable at all times.

After officially joining Starlight, he’d doubled down on his own grooming standards. Once HR was in place, he’d discreetly suggested prioritizing candidates who were both competent *and* easy on the eyes—even adding *"neat attire"* and *"fresh scent"* to the employee handbook.

His justification? *"As employees of an entertainment company, image matters."*

Gu Zhao didn’t stop at words. He even designed an employee shower room to prevent post-overtime body odor.

Sheng Quan thought he was overdoing it.

Gu Zhao: *"If the office reeked, would you visit often?"*

She *wanted* to say yes.

But… imagining the scenario, she *would* absolutely indulge her freedom as the boss to come and go as she pleased.

Back when she’d been a corporate drone, she’d had no choice. Now? She wasn’t about to torture herself.

Gu Zhao calmly stated with his handsome face: "You are the backbone of the company. I must ensure you never have any complaints about it."

Then, he hired this pair of young, good-looking twin boys as receptionists.

Whether it was because of his authority as the CEO or Sheng Quan’s status as the company’s most important figure, every time she came to the office, the twins greeted her with overwhelming enthusiasm.

Even an offhand comment from her about buying a pot of flowers for the entrance was treated like an unbreakable decree.

She suspected it was the former.

Because now, after she expressed her fondness for the flowers, the boy named Little He reported to her:

"CEO Gu had flowers placed in your office too."

Sheng Quan: Typical of Gu Zhao.

A top student is always a top student—when he sets his mind to something, he never fails.

She figured Gu Zhao was naturally meticulous, striving for perfection in everything. But after enduring two terrible bosses, he’d successfully become… a bit extreme.

Still, she had to admit—though she might say, "Isn’t this a bit much?"—being the one lavished with such attention felt incredibly satisfying.

Especially when she pushed open the door and saw those meticulously cared-for, beautiful flowers blooming vibrantly under the sunlight.

And knowing that sunlight streamed in through her luxurious floor-to-ceiling windows made it even more delightful.

Most importantly, Gu Zhao’s approach had no downsides.

He hired employees based on looks and physique, but it never hindered the company’s growth. His rules were exhaustive, yet new hires never complained.

Why?

Because the benefits were just too good!

***

"Our company has such great benefits? And they provide housing??!"

Yuan Zixin had initially been overwhelmed by the dense list of company regulations. But when the HR rep asked if she needed accommodation arranged, her mind immediately fixated on the bolded words: "housing included."

In a city like Shanghai, free meals might be common, but free housing? Almost unheard of.

The reason was simple: rent was astronomical.

Especially since company housing would have to be nearby. Small firms in remote areas might manage, but for a company like Starlight Entertainment, located in the heart of the city, even a tiny room without a living area would cost a fortune.

And now, she was being offered "arranged housing"?

The HR rep, clearly used to such reactions, maintained her sweet smile and explained, "The company does provide housing, but accommodations vary by position. My dorm is on South Cheng Road, but as an executive assistant, yours would be on the first or second floor of this building, in the side wing."

There was a corner there, intentionally separated from the rest of the floor during design—perfect for dorms.

Yuan Zixin nearly doubted her ears: "First or second floor… you mean this skyscraper’s first or second floor?"

The HR rep nodded, a hint of envy creeping into her voice. "Yes, no commute needed."

Commuting in Shanghai was a nightmare, with rush hours rivaling holiday travel chaos. Countless people woke up at six only to arrive at work by nine.

Yuan Zixin was dizzy from this stroke of luck, but even in her daze, her social graces remained intact:

"South Cheng Road isn’t bad either—just a few subway stops away."

"True." The HR rep’s expression brightened. "And if you get promoted or stay long enough, you can upgrade your dorm. After two years, I’ll be eligible to move to the first or second floor too."

Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "The longer you stay, the bigger the space. As an executive assistant, you’ll have better promotion chances. Work hard, and maybe you’ll even reach CEO Gu’s level someday."

Yuan Zixin’s curiosity piqued. "CEO Gu has a dorm too?"

From what she knew, Gu Zhao was wealthy—after all, he was a shareholder in Wansheng.

At the very least, he owned property in Shanghai. His clothes were clearly tailored, and every time she’d seen him, he wore luxury watches worth hundreds of thousands.

Yet he lived in company housing?

The HR rep nodded. "Yes, his dorm is on the 33rd floor, directly connected to his office. I’ve never been inside, but Little Jiang and Little He from reception say it’s at least 120 square meters, with a sofa, kitchen, bathtub—all top-tier brands. That fridge alone..."

She glanced around and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Cost 300,000! The bathtub was nearly 70,000."

A 70,000-yuan bathtub. A 300,000-yuan fridge. Yuan Zixin was stunned. Her thoughts immediately shifted from "Why would a CEO live in a dorm?" to "How is this even considered employee housing?"

Only a company whose boss owned an entire Shanghai skyscraper could pull this off.

If Sheng Quan knew they were gossiping about this, she’d have to clarify:

The 300,000-yuan fridge was real. The leather sofa, high-end kitchenware, and 70,000-yuan bathtub were all real.

But they belonged to Gu Zhao personally—the company hadn’t paid a cent.

Others might be picky about beds, but he was picky about everything. He insisted on replicating his entire living space exactly as he was used to.

Even the office-turned-suite renovation was funded entirely by him. He never asked Sheng Quan for a single yuan in "decoration fees."

When Sheng Quan asked why he didn’t expense it, he replied that such trivial matters weren’t worth the time required for reimbursement paperwork. That time could be spent on more important tasks.

At that moment, Sheng Quan had wanted to ask: "With all this money, why don’t you just start your own company?"

Of course, she didn’t voice such a naïve question.

Gu Zhao might have millions—or more—but that still wouldn’t cover the constant cash flow demands of an entertainment company.

Take their current office floor, for example. Renting it privately would bleed Gu Zhao dry over time.

So he’d chosen to step back and work under someone else.

Fortunately, he had zero interest in being the top beneficiary of the company. He only had two requirements for a business partner:

1. Money.

2. A functioning brain.

Aside from Gu Zhao’s uncanny ability to detect Sheng Quan’s preferences and swiftly cater to them with his efficiency, he was otherwise an ideal "three-no" subordinate:

No embezzlement, no power grabs, no defiance.

Under such circumstances, if he wanted 150 square meters for his "work suite," Sheng Quan would gladly oblige—heck, she’d give him the entire floor if he asked.

"I don’t need a whole floor," Gu Zhao said evenly, jogging on the treadmill. Clearly, he was no stranger to fitness, given how effortlessly he spoke while running. "150 square meters meets all my needs."

"As long as you’re satisfied," Sheng Quan replied.

Sheng Quan sat on her exorbitantly expensive sofa—and truth be told, the price tag was justified. The comfort rivaled that of the suite sofa in her luxury hotel.

After reviewing and signing the document in her hand, she waved it at Gu Zhao, who was jogging on the treadmill with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Signed. Should I leave it here?"

"Please place it on my office desk. This is the relaxation area," Gu Zhao replied, stopping the treadmill. He wiped his sweat with a sports towel and glanced at the watch on the coffee table. "It's time to prepare lunch. If you don’t have any prior engagements, would you like to try my cooking?"

Sheng Quan, who had been about to leave, immediately sat back down.

Frankly, she had nothing else planned for the day—and more importantly, she was genuinely curious about what Gu Zhao’s cooking would be like.

There was something almost miraculous about Gu Zhao. His daily workload was easily over ten times heavier than Sheng Quan’s, yet he somehow carved out time for exercise, fitness, and preparing his own meals.

The term "exceptional" didn’t even begin to cover it.

Though she couldn’t emulate his discipline, she couldn’t help but admire him for it.

Twenty minutes later, Sheng Quan silently swallowed a bite of food—and promptly retracted that admiration.

Struggling to keep her expression neutral, she took a sip of water to wash it down before finally asking Gu Zhao, who was calmly and methodically eating his meal:

"Don’t you think… this meat is a bit bland?"

Gu Zhao nodded. "It is. However, the recommended daily salt intake for adults is less than six grams. For health reasons, I minimize salt in my cooking. I’d suggest you also reduce your sodium intake—it’s beneficial in the long run."

Sheng Quan stared. "This isn’t six grams. It’s 0.6 grams, at best."

She then pointed at the vividly green pile on her plate. "Is this… boiled greens?"

Gu Zhao confirmed.

Sheng Quan inspected it closely. "You didn’t use any oil?"

Despite eating plain boiled vegetables, Gu Zhao managed to exude the elegance of someone savoring a gourmet dish, finishing every bite swiftly.

"I did, though perhaps sparingly. For health considerations, I generally opt for low oil, low salt, and low sugar."

Sheng Quan’s gaze shifted to the neatly chopped boiled corn beside it. "And this? Don’t tell me this is your main course."

"The afternoon is the most productive part of the day, but heavy carbohydrates induce drowsiness. Hence, I usually have sweet potatoes or corn for lunch—nutritious, time-efficient, and conducive to mental clarity. Three benefits in one."

Sheng Quan: "…"

Now she understood why Gu Zhao only needed twenty minutes to cook.

The fact that he still had a full head of hair was nothing short of a miracle.

She asked, "Have you ever invited anyone else to eat your cooking before?"

Gu Zhao: "You’re the first."

Sheng Quan raised an eyebrow. "What about the other two who co-founded Wansheng with you?"

Gu Zhao replied bluntly, "They didn’t deserve it."

Sheng Quan: "…"

She glanced at the boiled greens, boiled corn, boiled meat, and the accompanying boiled egg on her plate, unsure whether to pity those two or not.

Perhaps sensing her thoughts, Gu Zhao dabbed his lips with a napkin and clarified,

"Rest assured, Chairman Sheng, this diet is entirely health-conscious. It efficiently replenishes the body’s energy and facilitates a swift return to work."

He sat rigidly upright, giving Sheng Quan the impression that his lunch invitation was more of a professional loyalty gesture.

But her focus lingered on the faint frown he couldn’t quite suppress. "Do you actually enjoy eating this?"

Gu Zhao paused. "It’s optimal for maintaining bodily functions."

Sheng Quan countered pointedly, "That’s not what I asked. Does it taste good?"

Gu Zhao fell silent.

Her eyes drifted to his stomach, concealed beneath his impeccably tailored suit. "Didn’t you skip lunch yesterday? Please don’t tell me you have stomach issues too?"

After a beat, Gu Zhao explained, "My gastric condition stems from past habits, unrelated to my current diet, which is scientifically balanced."

Sheng Quan: "Right. Got it."

Of course. Even as a CEO with a full head of hair, Gu Zhao hadn’t escaped the classic "overworked executive stomach ailment."

In novels, ailing CEOs were usually depicted pale and immobilized by pain, requiring tender care and homemade congee from the female lead.

In reality, Gu Zhao—unfazed by his stomach troubles—had just jogged for an hour on the treadmill and was now stoically munching on boiled corn and greens.

Wordlessly, Sheng Quan finished the "nutritious" meal he’d prepared.

Only then did she rise. "Alright. It’s about time our company opened a cafeteria."

"A healthy, green, but actually delicious cafeteria." (Yes, "delicious" was non-negotiable.)

Gu Zhao looked down at his plate of corn. "I believe—"

"No, you don’t," Sheng Quan cut in. "You sleep six hours a day, start working before dawn, squeeze in one hour of exercise, then work until nightfall. Out of 24 hours, 16 are spent laboring for me. If I don’t at least feed you properly, I’ll start feeling like some exploitative tycoon."

Gu Zhao sat motionless, momentarily stunned. When he lifted his gaze, his pale gray eyes held rare confusion. "The company is still in its growth phase. Hard work is expected."

Now Sheng Quan understood how Wansheng had thrived despite its two other co-founders being deadweight.

But she wasn’t like them.

Gu Zhao was an exemplary subordinate—the kind of relentlessly efficient workhorse every boss dreamt of. But while Sheng Quan wanted prosperity, she wasn’t aiming for prosperity built on corpses.

Standing over him, their eyes locked, she said slowly, "I’ve always considered a cafeteria. First, as an employee benefit to attract top talent. Second, given our involvement with artists who require strict dietary control, it’s practically essential."

When Gu Zhao nodded silently, she pressed on, "You know chronic gastritis can lead to gastric cancer, right?"

The CEO showed no reaction.

Sheng Quan wasn’t surprised. She continued leisurely,

"If you die young, what happens to the company?"

"Who will lead Starlight to global prominence?"

Immediately, Gu Zhao’s demeanor shifted.

Straightening his collar, he checked his watch and stood. "Chairman Sheng, I’ll take the afternoon off to see a doctor."

Sheng Quan patted his shoulder approvingly. "Good. Go."

As Gu Zhao exited, she mentally applauded herself.

What a conscientious, employee-loving boss she was.

And admittedly, the small triumph of convincing a workaholic like Gu Zhao to prioritize his health was gratifying.

Once he recovered, he’d be back to grinding for her anyway.

In high spirits, she headed out to plan the company cafeteria—only to push open the door and immediately spot Gu Zhao collecting files.

She: "……?"

"Gu Zhao, do you really need to carry so many files to the hospital? Isn’t it exhausting to bring all that with you?"

Gu Zhao paused mid-motion. "You’re right."

Three minutes later, Gu Zhao strode into the elevator. As the doors slowly closed, he nodded earnestly at Sheng Quan, who stood seeing him off at the entrance. "Chairman Sheng, thank you."

Sheng Quan: "…You’re welcome."

Her gaze drifted behind Gu Zhao.

There stood… a secretary clutching a towering stack of files.