Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

No one but Jin Jiu himself could understand the emotions that surged through him upon reading those words.

An Baixing, however, did catch sight of a single tear falling amidst the beautiful bouquet.

The gentle blossoms cradled Jin Jiu’s tear.

Startled, An Baixing exclaimed, “Do you love these flowers that much?”

To be moved to tears—just how touched must he be?

“Mm.” Jin Jiu gently placed the greeting card against his chest, right where his heart lay. “I love them.”

So much that it felt as if his entire being might melt away.

He could feel the tiny flutters of joy pulsating in his heart.

Like a little mushroom that had waited forever for a single ray of sunlight, cautiously tucking it beneath its cap once assured no one would snatch it away—and that the light wouldn’t vanish.

With tender, fragile hope, he thought: *This one sentence is enough.*

If even just one person cherished his singing, that would be more than enough.

***

“How can it just be me?” Sheng Quan was sharing her thoughts with Yu Xiangwan. “Jin Jiu was born for glory. The greater the glory, the brighter his talent shines.”

Yu Xiangwan glanced at the computer on the desk. “Don’t worry, you won’t be his only fan during the preliminary rounds.”

“The incident from seven years ago has mostly been pieced together.”

One had to admit, netizens these days were truly extraordinary. Most of the time, they might seem like lazy slackers, but when it came to uncovering drama, they transformed into eagle-eyed detectives, leaving no stone unturned.

Of course, they couldn’t do it alone—much of the truth had been buried.

That was where the marketing team stepped in.

Though Starlight Entertainment was still young, under Gu Zhao’s exacting standards, every department brimmed with talent.

Despite the company’s relaxed atmosphere, slacking off was practically unheard of. In fact, everyone worked harder than ever.

After all, Starlight didn’t micromanage. As long as assigned tasks were completed, employees were free to indulge in the beautifully crafted desserts in the breakroom or hit the company gym.

There was even an unspoken rule: finish early, leave early.

Paid holidays were fully honored, promotions came naturally with good work, and since Chairman Sheng had a habit of treating employees to food and drinks, management followed suit—free coffee was a regular perk.

Other departments aside, the marketing team had quickly become fiercely loyal to Starlight, itching to prove their worth.

Now, finally given the chance, the marketing head stayed up all night refining their strategy, waking repeatedly to tweak details.

The entire team threw themselves into the task. Even if Jin Jiu hadn’t been innocent—though he absolutely was—*ahem*, Chairman Sheng had repeatedly emphasized: no malicious or false marketing.

—A rule that might sound laughable in the entertainment industry, but Starlight’s marketing team embraced it wholeheartedly.

In fact, they were so energized they happily pulled an all-nighter, glued to their screens.

They weren’t the only ones burning the midnight oil—countless gossip enthusiasts were equally sleepless.

Overnight, one explosive revelation after another surfaced, all verified.

**[So Jin Jiu was forced to perform for that exploitative boss before his throat even fully healed? He was only sixteen!! That’s child labor!! Can’t he sue?!!!]**

**[It’s only been seven years, but the industry back then was even messier than now. Exploiting young stars was rampant—remember all those child stars treated as cash cows? Wait, didn’t Jin Jiu’s parents divorce?]**

**[They did, and both remarried. But they weren’t that terrible. Check this old news photo (image.jpg)—that’s his parents shielding him from paparazzi.]**

**[HOLY CRAP!! BIG BREAKING NEWS!! I just dug up an old article about Zhou Xie, the singer who competed against Jin Jiu in “Love Song Newcomer King” back then—HE GOT ARRESTED!!

The headline says: “Zhou Xie Detained for Intentional Poisoning—Victim Allegedly Angel-Voiced Jin Jiu.” Jin Jiu’s throat wasn’t damaged by illness—HE WAS POISONED?!]**

**[NO WAY!!! If this is true… his voice was ruined on purpose?!!!]**

**[I’m wide awake now. SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK!!!]**

Sleep? Ha! Adrenaline was all the rest they needed! Another hour of digging wouldn’t hurt—they could still clock seven hours. Wait, two more hours? Fine, six was plenty. Or… five would do!

While these gossip hunters buzzed with dark-circled excitement, their prime target, Zhou Xie, was also awake.

But unlike them, he wasn’t sleepless from thrill—he was paralyzed with fear.

Zhou Xie wasn’t some nobody; his connections had allowed him to resume his singing career seamlessly after prison.

The entertainment industry had a short memory. Seven years later, Jin Jiu was forgotten, while Zhou Xie had climbed to modest fame.

His three-year sentence had taught him regret—mostly about not being more careful. He’d never expected Jin Jiu to go to the police, let alone get caught.

He’d moved on—until Jin Jiu reappeared, singing again, his voice miraculously restored despite doctors declaring it irreversible.

And worst of all? Sheng Quan was Jin Jiu’s fan.

Zhou Xie had nearly choked in disbelief when he heard.

The Jin Jiu of today was a shadow of his former self—long hair obscuring his eyes, pallid skin, radiating gloom. Where was the dazzling prodigy from back then?

Sure, Jin Jiu had once shone like the brightest star, but that star had long since crashed and burned.

Yet here was Sheng Quan, lighting up his name on her fan sign, hoisting him back into the spotlight overnight.

*Who even is this woman? Why him? With all her wealth, why fixate on a has-been like Jin Jiu?*

Terror gripped Zhou Xie. As netizens turned their scrutiny toward him, he could barely breathe, immediately calling his uncle—the influential shareholder who’d shielded him before.

In Zhou Xie’s eyes, his uncle was untouchable, a kingmaker in the industry. But the phone call shattered that illusion:

“If I were truly all-powerful, you’d never have gone to prison in the first place!”

“You think I’m some kind of all-powerful figure? I’ve told you before—do whatever you want, just don’t break the law. When you got arrested last time, I spent a fortune bribing those newspapers to keep quiet. That trick worked back then, but now?

We’re in the age of big data and the internet. There are countless media outlets, countless netizens—millions, even billions of people. Do you really think I can bribe them all?”

Zhou Xie’s uncle was utterly exasperated. His focus had long shifted away from his nephew to a more pressing concern:

“We have no idea what kind of background Sheng Quan has. If she’s targeting us because of that Jin Jiu, we’re in serious trouble.”

Zhou Xie didn’t understand. “Isn’t she just some rich second-generation heiress? And I heard she just came back from abroad. Uncle, you’ve been established in China for years—how can you be scared of some newcomer?”

Zhou Yangqiang nearly laughed in frustration. “How did my brother end up with such an idiot for a son?! She’s not just any second-generation heir! ‘Just came back’? She’s only been back a short while and she already bought an entire building—a prime property in downtown Shanghai! Do you have any idea what it means that she acquired Huaxing Building? It means she has at least ten billion in liquid assets!”

“Ten billion!! There are barely any individuals with assets that high, let alone ten billion in cash. Even if we sold everything we own, we wouldn’t come close to that amount! At her level of wealth, she doesn’t even need to say a word—just a hint of displeasure, and there’ll be a line of people eager to take us down for her!”

Zhou Yangqiang massaged his temples, looking as though he’d aged ten years. From the moment he’d learned about this, the thought of opposing Sheng Quan had never even crossed his mind.

It was simply impossible.

If Sheng Quan really wanted to crush them, it would be laughably easy.

Forget everything else—Gu Zhao alone was enough to give him a massive headache.

Just like how Jin Jiu had once been powerless against them—a sixteen-year-old boy, no matter how hard he fought back, was easily subdued.

Now, the tables had turned.

The phrase “the weather’s turning cold, time for the Wang family to fall” wasn’t an exaggeration. Especially for a company like theirs, riddled with fatal flaws. If someone with power decided to target them, bankruptcy would be the least of their worries.

Zhou Yangqiang’s desperate struggle only led him to one last resort—he managed to get Gu Zhao’s number and called, hoping to buy his way to safety by begging for a few good words in front of Sheng Quan.

When the call came, Gu Zhao was working.

His current task? Compiling information on the company controlled by Zhou Yangqiang. To be honest, most firms like Sunrise Entertainment in the entertainment industry couldn’t withstand scrutiny.

As the saying goes, if they were willing to cover up Zhou Xie’s poisoning of Jin Jiu, they’d definitely done other shady things too. Based on Gu Zhao’s experience, digging up a few past incidents would be enough to land some of them behind bars.

And where did that experience come from? Well, one might have to ask his two former business partners about that.

Something this minor didn’t usually require Gu Zhao’s personal attention—he could’ve delegated it easily. But he could tell Sheng Quan despised this company, so President Gu took it upon himself to handle the matter.

Faced with Zhou Yangqiang’s polite plea, Gu Zhao responded with equal courtesy:

“Chairman Zhou, I understand your concerns. However, Chairman Sheng is quite fond of Jin Jiu. I believe she’d be very pleased if Sunrise Entertainment were to… cease operations.”

Sunrise Entertainment was the company Zhou Yangqiang had poured his heart and soul into. To elevate it, he’d taken out loans, exploited artists, forced them into transactional relationships, and crushed every competitor in his path—all to build it into what it was today.

And now, in Gu Zhao’s words, it had been reduced to nothing more than a tool to amuse Sheng Quan.

There was no way Zhou Yangqiang could accept that. Suppressing his rage, he tried to negotiate:

“It’s just some minor singer! Sunrise is an established company. Are you really going to target us over one insignificant artist?”

“Allow me to correct you,” Gu Zhao said politely. “It’s not ‘targeting.’ It’s ensuring you disappear from Chairman Sheng’s sight.”

“And it won’t even be difficult.” He flipped through the printed documents in front of him. “Tax evasion, excessive loans, suspected money laundering, coercing artists into sexual favors… not to mention the impending negative publicity. Honestly, even if we don’t lift a finger, you won’t last much longer.”

“But I will take action. After all, this is my first performance since joining the company. I’d like to make a good impression.”

Zhou Yangqiang trembled with fury. He refused to give up:

“Is there really no room for negotiation? Your chairman is young—but you’re not. Targeting an entire company over some singer? She’s inexperienced, blinded by his looks! Instead of advising her, you’re enabling this?

We’re a longstanding company. If you go easy on us this once, we can discuss collaboration. Think carefully.”

Gu Zhao did think carefully—for about two seconds—before concluding:

“My apologies. But compared to any potential collaboration with Sunrise, Chairman Sheng’s preferences and my performance evaluation carry far more weight.”

“If you’re truly attached to your company, I suggest taking a photo now for nostalgia’s sake.” He glanced at his watch. “Our conversation time is up. Goodbye.”

After hanging up, Gu Zhao promptly blocked Zhou Yangqiang’s number and returned to his diligent work.

Of course, dismantling Sunrise wasn’t purely about vengeance. Gu Zhao already had his eye on at least three of their artists. The collapse of a company always created new opportunities, and he was more than happy to let Starlight Entertainment absorb them.

After another hour of work, Gu Zhao took a break to stretch, ran for half an hour on the treadmill, then resumed his tasks.

At six, dinner arrived—a private chef arrangement set up by Sheng Quan. Since the company didn’t yet have a cafeteria, she’d arranged for three meals a day to be delivered punctually.

Reluctantly setting aside his work, Gu Zhao spent thirty minutes eating before immediately diving back in.

By 8:30 PM, having exceeded his work quota, he finally left his desk, satisfied.

As usual, he called Sheng Quan to ask when she’d return to the company.

Sheng Quan was currently soaking in a hot spring with Ming Qi.

The relaxed Chairman Sheng replied lazily, “I’ll be staying to watch Jin Jiu’s semifinals and finals. You’ll have to hold down the fort for the next couple of weeks.”

“Understood. I hope you enjoy your trip.”

Gu Zhao was slightly disappointed that Sheng Quan wouldn’t be returning for two weeks.

Truthfully, he didn’t care much about Jin Jiu—or anything outside of work, for that matter.

But today, he opened his phone, searched Jin Jiu’s name, and stared at the image of the pale, long-haired young man with his eyes half-hidden.

He pondered for exactly three seconds.

That day, Secretary Zhang, who had been nothing but cheerful since joining Starlight Entertainment as the CEO's personal secretary, finally faced his first professional challenge.

His aloof, workaholic boss—who usually had eyes only for spreadsheets and deadlines—not only kept him working late until 8:30 PM, but also, just as he was tidying up the files, caught him off guard with a sudden question.

With that coldly beautiful face, the CEO asked:

“What do you think if I grew my hair out?”

“Long enough to cover my eyes.”