Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

It was obvious that Gu Zhao was feigning ignorance.

Sheng Quan didn’t believe for a second that he couldn’t understand what she was saying. If Gu Zhao’s comprehension skills were truly that poor, he would never have become the ruthless figure the industry unanimously recognized him as.

He simply didn’t want to defy her while still insisting on working—so he’d chosen a "compromise."

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

It was almost impressive how Gu Zhao could maintain that "aloof, domineering CEO expression" while pretending to be clueless.

Some of Gu Zhao’s views might be extreme, but they weren’t entirely without merit—like his belief that "people are always more forgiving toward those who are powerful."

Especially when that "powerful person" was still working tirelessly for her despite suffering from stomach issues.

Watching the elevator doors close behind him, Sheng Quan sent Secretary Zhang a message on Feixin:

*[Take good care of Gu Zhao. Make sure he gets a full check-up—every possible test. If he resists, tell him it’s my order. And ask the doctor for detailed advice on how to manage his condition.]*

*[While you’re at the hospital, grab something to eat and keep the receipt for reimbursement. I’ll inform HR to count today as overtime for you. Thanks for your hard work.]*

Inside the elevator, Secretary Zhang felt his phone buzz. He awkwardly shifted the stack of files in his arms to fish it out, and his face instantly brightened.

Overtime pay on a weekday? At this rate, he’d happily carry Gu Zhao himself if it meant sprinting to the hospital!

He quickly typed back one-handed:

*[Understood, thank you, Chairwoman Sheng! I’ll take good care of President Gu! *Hard at work.jpg*]*

*[Ding—]*

The elevator doors slid open. Gu Zhao strode out first, with Secretary Zhang hurrying after him. After just a few steps, his boss’s cool, authoritative voice cut through the air:

"What did Chairwoman Sheng say to you?"

The icy tone sent an involuntary shiver down Secretary Zhang’s spine. He straightened immediately.

"Chairwoman Sheng instructed me to ensure you undergo a thorough examination—every available test."

Gu Zhao glanced at his watch, brow furrowing slightly.

Though they hadn’t worked together long, Secretary Zhang was already well-acquainted with his superior’s obsession with precision—no, his *excellent habit* of meticulously scheduling every minute.

That frown? Clearly, Gu Zhao was calculating how much work time he’d lose to medical tests.

Hesitantly, Secretary Zhang added, "Chairwoman Sheng will likely want to see your results. She’s... concerned about you."

Gu Zhao paused. "She’s concerned about me?"

Now it was Secretary Zhang’s turn to freeze. Chairwoman Sheng might as well have written the word *"concern"* on her forehead—was Gu Zhao seriously playing dumb?

But having clawed his way past countless competitors for this position, he wasn’t about to blurt out *"Are you blind?"* Instead, he adopted a solemn expression, meeting Gu Zhao’s gaze earnestly:

"Yes, Chairwoman Sheng is deeply concerned about you. She even emphasized that I consult the doctor on how to best care for your health. It’s only you, President Gu—given how busy she is, she wouldn’t go to such lengths for just anyone."

Not only had he conveyed the chairwoman’s care, but he’d also slipped in some subtle flattery. Secretary Zhang maintained his professional demeanor while mentally patting himself on the back.

With reflexes and diplomacy like this, he’d be climbing the corporate ladder straight to executive assistant in no time.

When he noticed Gu Zhao still rooted in place, he ventured, "President Gu?"

Gu Zhao snapped out of his daze.

He checked his watch again, silently tallying the time.

If he really went through with every test, there was no way he’d finish reviewing these documents.

But... Chairwoman Sheng was concerned about him.

The expressionless, frosty-faced man stood motionless, locked in an internal struggle for a full three seconds.

Finally, he turned back, his gaze lingering regretfully on the files in Secretary Zhang’s arms before closing his eyes with a resigned sigh.

"In that case," he said gravely, "we’ll follow Chairwoman Sheng’s instructions."

Secretary Zhang: *...Why does it sound like he’s being forced to part with a lover?*

As Gu Zhao reluctantly abandoned his plan to *"multitask between doctor visits and paperwork,"* Sheng Quan first reviewed the scale of the company cafeteria project before scrolling through updates.

006 cheerfully reported: *[First beneficiary’s career progress: 16.]*

It eagerly shared: *[It’s been steadily rising these past few days! Once it hits 20, Host can draw another prize!]*

Sheng Quan, however, wasn’t as optimistic: *[Without any released works, Yan Hui’s career progress hitting this level is already the limit. Further growth will depend on his debut.]*

As she’d said before—people only *"invest"* affection after they’ve *seen* something. No matter how much hype surrounded *"the handsome pancake vendor,"* without substance, it was all smoke and mirrors.

Fans weren’t fools. The odds of them falling head over heels from a few photos were slim, especially in an entertainment industry as cutthroat as this one, where Yan Hui’s looks only placed him in the upper-mid tier. In the end, talent spoke louder than aesthetics.

We need to get his work out soon. His current popularity is purely topic-driven. Without a product to anchor it, it’ll keep fluctuating.

006, initially thrilled, now panicked slightly: *[Then what will Host do?]*

Sheng Quan leaned back in her office chair, perfectly at ease: *[I’m no professional in this field—past this point, I’m out of my depth.]*

But she wasn’t worried in the slightest: *[Leave it to the experts. I’m the boss—this isn’t my job to sweat over.]*

***

Yuan Zixin had just finished reviewing the company’s entire handbook—every regulation, every benefit.

Even Sheng Quan, the chairwoman herself, had admitted some rules seemed *"excessive."* Yuan Zixin had privately agreed while reading, but like every candidate drawn to Starlight Entertainment, the moment she saw the compensation package, all doubts vanished.

Full social insurance? Overtime pay? *Company housing?!*

She was ready to wave the *"I ♡ Starlight"* banner on the spot.

After the HR specialist finished outlining onboarding basics—departments, her assigned team, protocols—she guided Yuan Zixin to register her fingerprints and facial recognition.

Yuan Zixin complied but couldn’t resist asking, "Is this for clocking in and out? I didn’t see any scanners at the entrance."

The HR rep smiled. "No, this is for our private elevator access."

Yuan Zixin’s eyes widened. "*We have a private elevator?*"

No wonder she’d found it odd earlier. In a central business district, skyscraper elevators were usually jam-packed—yet when she’d ridden up with Chairwoman Sheng, they’d shot straight to the 33rd floor without a single stop.

"Correct. As an entertainment company, Starlight frequently hosts celebrities. Privacy and confidentiality are prioritized more than in conventional firms. Plus, given that Chairwoman Sheng is..."

She gave Yuan Zixin a meaningful look.

Yuan Zixin caught on instantly. "Right—she owns the entire Huaxing Building."

"Exactly. So our company enjoys certain... *privileges.*" Though she’d only joined recently, the HR specialist’s tone already brimmed with pride.

Yuan Zixin understood perfectly.

In a company that offers overtime pay, provides housing, and covers social insurance with housing funds, Yuan Zixin already felt a strong sense of belonging even before officially starting.

At that moment, all she wanted to say was: *This company is my home now—wherever I go, I’ll work my hardest for it.*

After registering her fingerprint and facial recognition, she marveled, “So the elevator I just used is our floor’s private elevator?”

“No, that’s not it,” the young woman assisting her replied. “That one’s reserved for the executive team and above. Ours is right next to it.”

Glancing around, Yuan Zixin lowered her voice and shared a rumor she’d heard: “Word is, Gu Zhao wanted to build a personal elevator just for Chairwoman Sheng Quan, but she refused. Otherwise, we’d have *three* private elevators in this building.”

A private elevator in a 33-story central business district skyscraper? Yuan Zixin had only seen such a thing in the over-the-top CEO dramas she watched as a kid.

It sounded excessive—until she remembered that Sheng Quan *owned* the Huaxing Building. Then it suddenly made sense.

*This must be what the world of the ultra-rich is like.*

“Why did Chairwoman Sheng refuse?” she asked.

“Apparently, it’s because other companies in Huaxing Building also need to use the elevators. Setting aside two doesn’t disrupt things too much, but a third would be unnecessary.”

Yuan Zixin’s mind flashed back to Sheng Quan smiling and holding the door open for her downstairs. She couldn’t help but sigh, “Chairwoman Sheng is *such* a good person.”

It was rare to find someone in such a high position who still considered the needs of ordinary employees.

Though their interactions had been brief, Yuan Zixin could already tell: Sheng Quan was a woman of principle.

Her line of work had exposed her to plenty of wealthy people, and that world was a mixed bag. She’d met too many who, once rich, stopped caring about anyone else’s feelings—until they encountered someone even more powerful, at which point they’d grovel without shame.

Sure, there *were* genuinely refined wealthy people, but they were the exception. Most in that circle operated purely on self-interest, with no regard for courtesy.

That’s why she respected Gu Zhao—because whether you were rich or poor, he *equally* looked down on anyone whose IQ didn’t meet his standards.

The problem was, he was terrible at hiding it. No wonder he had such a terrible reputation.

By that logic, if Sheng Quan could make someone like Gu Zhao work for her, she had to be even more impressive than she seemed.

*This company has serious potential.*

When she saw the small but fully private dormitory assigned to her, Yuan Zixin thought it again: *This company has serious potential.*

It wasn’t just the free housing winning her over. Her experience “rotating” through multiple companies had given her a sharp eye for workplace culture.

Most employees at other firms slacked off at least a little, but from what she’d observed walking through Xingmang Entertainment’s departments, everyone was diligently focused. The atmosphere was nothing like the tense, suffocating environments she’d seen elsewhere—the kind that made people joke, *“One year of work ages you three.”*

Instead, Xingmang—a brand-new company—buzzed with positive energy. The HR rep’s enthusiasm said it all: she *genuinely* wanted to stay and climb the ranks here.

For a startup, the team was remarkably grounded.

Probably because overtime pay wasn’t just a myth here—it was logged and paid, every single time.

No one had slipped through the cracks. They’d all been rigorously vetted, and each was confident in their skills, with Xingmang giving them the platform to shine.

Yuan Zixin’s job required constant social media monitoring, and she’d seen plenty of *“Gen Z slacker culture”* videos. Yet at Xingmang, where 80% of the staff were young, every single one radiated ambition.

To exaggerate a little: *Their eyes sparkled with drive.*

Running a hand over the dorm’s small bed, she thought, *Hell, even* I *feel like shooting laser beams of motivation, and I’m thirty-seven.*

In a company where *“performance equals promotion”* and *“promotion equals better perks,”* who *wouldn’t* be ready to go all out?

Still lost in thoughts of *“How is this place so… normal?”*, Yuan Zixin was startled by a call from the executive secretary’s office: *The Chairwoman wants to see you.*

On her way up, she noticed the staff treating her with even more warmth than before.

No surprise there. At Xingmang Entertainment, Chairwoman Sheng Quan was the undisputed apex.

This was another way Xingmang differed from other companies. Normally, a chairwoman might hold a lofty title, but employees rarely revered them—after all, chairpersons rarely showed up day-to-day. The real authority lay with the CEO.

But at Xingmang? Gu Zhao might as well have *“Sheng Quan is supreme”* tattooed on his forehead.

Even if Sheng Quan brushed it off, he insisted on deference: falling a step behind when walking together, immediately yielding in disagreements if others were present.

—Zero concern for his own dignity as Chief Officer.

And when leadership sets the tone, subordinates follow.

Take the fresh-faced twin boys at reception. Their envy of Yuan Zixin—*summoned by the Chairwoman herself*—was practically oozing.

Unconsciously, Yuan Zixin started absorbing the company’s vibe: *You must be exceptional if Sheng Quan personally interviewed you and now wants a private meeting.* Her steps grew more confident.

The last time she’d felt this self-assured was fresh out of college—before reality sanded it down to a thin veneer of bravado.

By the time she reached the Chairwoman’s office, her nerves finally caught up.

This wasn’t just *“wealthy book fan”* Sheng Quan anymore. This was the boss who signed her paychecks.

Knocking, she entered at the sound of *“Come in.”*

Her first thought: *This office is massive.*

Her second: *That floor-to-ceiling view of the city is breathtaking.*

*No surprise—owning the whole building means Chairwoman Sheng’s workspace outclasses my last boss’s by miles.*

Seated behind an expansive desk, Sheng Quan cut straight to the point:

“Do you think you could elevate Yan Hui to A-list status within two years?”

Yuan Zixin froze mid-sit.

But she recovered fast. “Yan Hui has outstanding potential in all areas. If you trust me, and the company provides the resources, I believe I can.”

“Good.”

Sheng Quan nodded. “Then Yan Hui is yours.”

Yuan Zixin: *…Wait, that’s it?*

He didn’t ask her what she thought about Yan Hui’s development, nor did he question where her confidence came from.

Sheng Quan smiled faintly as she observed Yuan Zixin’s calm demeanor, though her slightly dazed eyes betrayed her true feelings:

“You might not know this, but I’ve actually learned about you through other channels. I’m aware that your capabilities go far beyond what you’ve shown—only held back by invisible rules that limit your potential.”

She stood up and extended her hand to Yuan Zixin once more: “I promise you this—no matter how other companies in this industry operate, Xing Mang neither endorses nor tolerates any of those invisible rules.”

Yuan Zixin froze. Neither the overtime pay nor the housing benefits had struck her as deeply as these words from Sheng Quan, which filled her with an overwhelming sense of security.

Then, she heard the young yet dependable Chairwoman Sheng say:

“I look forward to the future where you create one rising star after another for Xing Mang.”

Yuan Zixin’s heart raced. The corners of her eyes reddened as, once again, she took Sheng Quan’s hand.

At that moment, she felt as though the shackles that had long constrained her shattered instantly, revealing a self that had always been there—yet now felt brand new:

“Thank you. I believe I can live up to your expectations.”

Because this time, someone was standing beside her.