Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

Stories often fade into mundanity after their climax, but in reality, such heightened attention lasts far longer than one might expect.

Just as that legendary prophet had predicted, after watching the show, Sheng Quan immediately signed three contestants: Jin Jiu, Yu Hongdou, and An Baixing.

Yu Hongdou and An Baixing were among the most outstanding contestants, and many companies were eager to recruit them. However, the moment Sheng Quan expressed her interest, neither hesitated before choosing Xingmang Entertainment.

Jin Jiu’s signing, however, came with a small twist. Several companies, captivated by his current fame and potential, were willing to offer exorbitant signing fees and profit-sharing terms that could only be described as exceptionally generous.

Yet, he didn’t even wait to hear all the benefits before firmly refusing, declaring, “I will only sign with Xingmang.”

The staff member who handed Jin Jiu his phone couldn’t help but express regret: “This is a major company. They’re willing to pay you such a high price because they’re serious about promoting you. Xingmang may be on the rise now, but it’s still a new company—they can’t offer you the same level of resources.”

Jin Jiu remained unwavering. “Then I’ll still only go to Xingmang.”

An Baixing wholeheartedly supported his decision. “Exactly! Those companies just see you as a cash cow. Don’t fall for it!”

“Right.” Jin Jiu nodded firmly. “I’ll only be Sheng Quan’s cash cow.”

An Baixing had been nodding along enthusiastically, but after hearing this, he paused for a moment to think. “...But Sheng Quan probably doesn’t see you that way. She likes *you*—not just what you can do for her. It’s different from those other companies.”

Jin Jiu’s face flushed slightly at the words. His naturally pale skin made the blush even more noticeable, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears, which turned as red as blood. He mumbled softly,

“Don’t say nonsense. She just likes my singing.”

“What’s the difference?” An Baixing remained oblivious to Jin Jiu’s near-paralyzing embarrassment and continued cheerfully, “Honestly, if you’re going to work under a boss, Sheng Quan is the kind you want. That’s why I agreed to Xingmang without hesitation! With all of us there, and the big boss already favoring you, I’ll definitely have a better time than at any other company.”

“But I still think Sheng Quan likes *you*, not just your voice. There are countless singers out there, so why does she only take a special interest in you? Listen, you’ve got to seize this opportunity. Keep improving, build yourself up, and one day, we’ll both be legendary! Also—”

“Huh? Why is your face so red? Hey—why are you running away? I wasn’t finished!”

***

The next time Sheng Quan saw Jin Jiu, she noticed he barely spoke a few words before his face turned beet red—and it really was a *small* face. Jin Jiu’s bone structure was so striking that he looked incredible on camera, but in person, the sheer impact of his beauty was undeniable.

No wonder he’d once been called an “angel.”

Even though Jin Jiu was no longer the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy he’d once been, his looks were still breathtaking enough to leave people speechless.

If not for the fact that Xingmang Entertainment was packed with stunningly attractive people—giving Sheng Quan some immunity to beauty—she might have been momentarily dazed by his appearance.

She shamelessly admired him for a second before noticing his blush deepening.

“Are you okay? Do you have a fever?”

As both his fan and his boss, Sheng Quan couldn’t help but express concern.

Jin Jiu shook his head, his face still pink. “No, I’m just… a little warm.”

Despite his obvious shyness, his eyes gleamed as he looked at Sheng Quan, as if silently assuring her that he was in perfect condition—ready to work, earn money, and do whatever the company asked of him.

Sheng Quan’s thought: *Adorable.*

Though Jin Jiu insisted he was fine and eager to start working immediately, Sheng Quan remembered the book’s description of how thirty years of silent nights had ravaged his health.

Even though he was only twenty-three now, his frail frame and sickly pale complexion made her deeply suspicious of his actual physical state.

She’d bet anything that Jin Jiu had stomach problems.

Come to think of it, Ming Qi and Liu Zi’an also had stomach issues.

Seemed like chronic gastritis was practically a job requirement in this industry.

She immediately decided on the first order of business for these newly signed artists.

Jin Jiu had been signed to companies before, and their strategy had always been the same: endless activities, concerts, recordings—keeping him so busy he barely had time to eat, sometimes even being abruptly woken from sleep.

That kind of life was exhausting, but the thought that Xingmang belonged to Sheng Quan made it all feel a little less grueling.

He steeled himself, prepared for the high-pressure workload to come.

But the first assignment Xingmang gave them after signing?

A hospital visit.

When Jin Jiu, An Baixing, and Yu Hongdou arrived at the hospital, they found Hua Qing, Ming Qi, and other artists already waiting, masks on, looking equally confused.

The staff member who brought them smiled reassuringly. “Aihe Hospital only admits patients with prior appointments, so privacy won’t be an issue.”

An Baixing, who had stayed up late gaming the night before, slumped against Jin Jiu with a yawn. “Why are we at a hospital?”

“Sheng Quan has arranged full physical examinations for all of you,” the staff explained. “Please wait here—the check-ups will begin shortly.”

An Baixing brightened in realization. “Oh, right, a company physical. Didn’t know the entertainment industry did those too.”

Jin Jiu nudged him. “They sent us a text about it. Didn’t you see?”

“Huh?” An Baixing hastily pulled out his phone and scrolled. “Oh, wow, they really did. My bad—my inbox is always flooded with spam. Promotions, loan ads, carrier deals… I just ignore them unless someone messages me directly.”

Though he’d never worked a corporate job before, he was familiar with the concept of pre-employment physicals. After reading the text, he perked up slightly, then glanced around and let out an impressed whistle.

“But seriously, is this really a hospital? It looks way too… *expensive*.”

Everyone had been to a hospital at least once. An Baixing, for instance, had frequented them as a kid thanks to his tendency to trip, sprain ankles, or pull muscles.

His mental image of hospitals consisted of sterile white walls, the ever-present sting of disinfectant, slightly worn floor tiles, endless lines at registration and pharmacy counters, a cacophony of voices, and an atmosphere that never quite shook off its gloom no matter how clean it was.

If you were lucky, you might even get one of those veteran doctors with thinning hair.

But this place?

An Baixing’s gaze drifted from the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows to the elegant wall panels—luxury that surpassed some hotels he’d stayed in. *Just the decor alone must’ve cost a fortune.*

“Why are there so few patients here? It’s practically empty.”

Hua Qing answered, “Aihe Hospital charges premium rates. Naturally, there are fewer people.”

Liu Zi’an asked, “Qing-jie, you’ve heard of this place?”

"This hospital is quite renowned." Hua Qing's beautiful fox-like eyes brimmed with barely concealed excitement. "From what I know, they excel not just in patient privacy and doctor quality, but also use the best equipment. Most wealthy individuals go to these hospitals for medical care."

"In our industry alone, several big celebrities come here for treatment—I can name a few off the top of my head. But the fees here are exorbitant. I’d only heard about it before—this is actually my first time coming."

Joining Xingmang had been a carefully considered decision for Hua Qing. The appeal lay in the fact that Xingmang was a promising new company with very few signed artists. With her current fame, jumping ship would guarantee her ample resources.

Most importantly, Wansheng was clearly on the decline, while Xingmang was on the rise—and its CEO was Gu Zhao. Hua Qing believed this gamble was worth taking.

What even she hadn’t expected, however, was how well Xingmang treated its artists. The moment they signed, the company splurged on bringing them to Aihe Hospital for a full medical check-up.

Even with her current wealth, she was still far from affording treatment at Aihe. Yet, Chairman Sheng had generously arranged for their entire group to undergo examinations here.

Sure, part of it was likely due to artists needing discretion in public spaces—but this was Aihe.

As Hua Qing shared this insight, the others gradually caught on and buzzed with excitement.

The prestige of the hospital was secondary—what truly mattered was that Xingmang was clearly flush with cash and treated its artists well. Other companies would’ve pushed them straight into work rather than investing in their health.

The younger and less experienced ones, like Ming Qi and An Baixing, were simply thrilled, eagerly anticipating the check-up process.

Those who’d clawed their way up, like Hua Qing, Yu Hongdou, and Liu Zi’an, were downright awestruck by the privilege.

As for Jin Jiu, his thoughts had already jumped to: "Chairman Sheng is so good to us—I’ll work my hardest for her."

The group immediately chimed in with agreement. Even Hua Qing, the most famous and sharp-witted among them, couldn’t resist praising Sheng Quan—even though Sheng Quan herself wasn’t present.

She was beginning to sense it: this time, she’d definitely made the right choice.

Meanwhile, the subject of their indirect flattery, Sheng Quan, was also undergoing her own check-up.

Truthfully, she wasn’t as extravagantly wealthy as the public believed. While outsiders assumed Chairman Sheng could casually toss around hundreds of millions, her actual liquid funds amounted to just a few million.

Saying "just a few million" might sound obnoxiously humble, but compared to her current status, the sum was embarrassingly small.

For someone considered a tycoon, she didn’t even own a decent luxury watch—Gu Zhao had several exorbitantly priced ones.

From Sheng Quan’s observations, Gu Zhao would match his watch to his workload for the day, pairing it with equally extravagant tie pins—all pinned to bespoke tailored suits, of course.

Sheng Quan, on the other hand, barely owned any high-end accessories. Maintaining her wealthy persona meant she couldn’t wear anything cheap—unless she wanted tabloids snapping photos and speculating that "Xingmang is on the verge of bankruptcy."

With only a few million left, she would’ve normally taken her artists to a more affordable clinic. The reason she chose Aihe? She’d won an Aihe Hospital membership in a lucky draw.

The kind that required a 50-million-yuan deposit.

When Sheng Quan saw the prize, all she could think was: *How absurd.*

A hospital with a membership system?

And a 50-million deposit? Even if she fell ill dozens of times a year, it’d take decades to use it all up.

It felt like adopting a puppy, taking it to the groomer twice a month, and then prepaying a million yuan for bath services.

When she called the hospital, the receptionist’s tone instantly shifted from "friendly" to "*supremely* friendly" upon hearing she was Sheng Quan.

She understood. If she heard someone had deposited 50 million at her workplace, she’d look at them like they were a mythical being too.

Fortunately, the membership could be used for others—otherwise, she’d never spend it all in her lifetime.

For now, she was bringing her artists—those prone to occupational hazards—for check-ups to prevent work-related injuries from worsening under strenuous schedules.

The rest went to Xingmang’s management as a company perk.

She even considered adding a prize for the annual company lottery: *[Two full-body check-ups at Aihe Hospital]*.

Apparently, luck didn’t stay consistently good. She still didn’t understand how, among prizes like *[a horse ranch]*, *[a golf course]*, *[a private jet]*, and *[a villa]*, she’d drawn *[Aihe Hospital’s 50-million-yuan membership]*.

No matter how bizarre it seemed, experiencing Aihe firsthand made her admit—sometimes, expensive *is* worth it.

She wondered if her past life had hospitals like Aihe catering exclusively to the ultra-rich. Probably. Surely, billionaires didn’t queue up with regular folks for a doctor’s appointment.

In this world, such places existed—and Aihe wasn’t the only one. Sheng Quan had once heard that "private hospital doctors aren’t as skilled as public ones," but Aihe’s medical resources were undeniably top-tier.

Then again, it made sense. Why would the wealthy pay so much if the care wasn’t superior? They weren’t fools—only when treated like royalty would they happily throw money around.

Now part of that elite, Sheng Quan basked in Aihe’s "spring breeze" of luxurious, exclusive service.

As a VIP among VIPs (thanks to her 50-million deposit), she had *three* staff attending solely to her—one quietly followed with a tray of drinks, ready to hand her a beverage the moment she glanced at it.

When she removed her coat for an examination, the guide smoothly took it from her. If she’d hesitated, Sheng Quan suspected the woman might’ve helped her undress.

No queues. No waiting. Every step flowed seamlessly, every staff member spoke in hushed, soothing tones, and every procedure prioritized her comfort.

Sheng Quan’s sole takeaway: *Being rich is fantastic. Even a check-up feels like a vacation.*

Fresh from her exam, a cheerful Chairman Sheng headed off to check on her employees.

*If my old boss had treated me to something like this, I’d have worked my fingers to the bone without a single complaint behind his back.*

But the moment she arrived, she saw Gu Zhao stride out of a room. With a quick gesture, a waiting hospital staffer handed him a laptop.

The second it was in his hands, he settled onto a sofa and started typing away.

His expression remained completely blank, even carrying a hint of urgency, his movements swift as if performing in a silent film.

Sheng Quan: "..."

Never mind. Gu Zhao wasn’t quite like other people.

Just as she was about to head over to the newly signed artists, another door opened, and Yu Xiangwan stepped out.

His usual careless demeanor instantly softened the moment he spotted Sheng Quan, a faint smile appearing on his face:

"You're here."

Yu Xiangwan quickly walked up to her: "Thank you. I never expected you to arrange our check-up at Aihe Hospital. This is my first time at such a high-end place."

Though she knew Yu Xiangwan always showered her with praise, his words still made her happy: "It’s the least I could do. After all, you're all working for me."

"How were the results? Everything alright?"

Yu Xiangwan adjusted his glasses, smiling lightly. "A minor stomach issue, but it’s just from irregular meals—an old problem. Don’t worry, I’ll pay more attention to my diet and rest."

Sheng Quan: *So it really is a universal stomach ailment among them.*

But thinking about it, it made sense. In this industry, erratic schedules and skipped meals were the norm. Especially since Yu Xiangwan had endured hardships in the past—if he were perfectly healthy, *that* would’ve been strange.

As the benevolent boss she was, she immediately declared:

"Don’t neglect meals just because you're busy. Look at Director Wan—his minor issue turned serious. Here’s what we’ll do: I remember there’s a great restaurant near the set. I’ll book it for you until filming wraps up. After that, take a break from the crew and recuperate at the company."

After a pause, she added, "I’ll need you at full strength to keep working for me."

Yu Xiangwan would never refuse Sheng Quan. Even if she told him to survive on water alone, he’d nod without hesitation.

"I’ll follow your instructions." He reached out, gently adjusting the slipping shawl on her shoulder, then produced a small box from seemingly nowhere. "I passed by a shop earlier and bought this. I hope you like it."

Sheng Quan opened it to find a dazzling diamond hairpin, perfectly complementing her hair color—clearly handpicked with care.

*Yu Xiangwan never disappoints, not even in taste.*

Delighted, she held it up. "Thank you, it’s beautiful."

Then a thought struck her: "This must’ve cost at least ten thousand. You didn’t blow your entire salary on it, did you?"

"Don’t worry, I have savings. I wouldn’t stretch beyond my means," he replied with a laugh before suggesting, "Yan Hui’s back too. Why don’t we all have dinner together after his check-up?"

"Sure!"

Sheng Quan agreed without hesitation and was about to ask if he wanted to visit the company’s artists when a cool, detached voice suddenly cut in:

"Chairman Sheng, I assume you wouldn’t mind my joining?"

Startled mid-admiration, Sheng Quan turned to see Gu Zhao—previously engrossed in his screen—now watching them.

*I completely forgot he was here.*

Gu Zhao’s expression remained impassive, his frosty, gray eyes shifting naturally to Yu Xiangwan beside her:

"And you… Producer Yu, surely you have no objections?"

Yu Xiangwan adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, exuding a refined yet sly charm as he tilted his head toward Sheng Quan with a gentle smile:

"I defer entirely to Chairman Sheng."

Gu Zhao’s gaze snapped back to Sheng Quan.

Caught between their stares, Sheng Quan: "? Of course I don’t mind. The more, the merrier."

Gu Zhao closed his laptop, stood, and straightened his tie with dignified reserve:

"There’s a project requiring your approval. I’ll sit beside you so you can review it during dinner."

Yu Xiangwan smoothly added: "Feel free to focus. I’ll assist you during the meal."

"Assisting" meant he’d serve her dishes, peel her shrimp—anything she needed.

Sheng Quan, who neither wanted to work nor be waited on: "...Neither of you is sitting next to me."

Gu Zhao frowned. "Then where should we sit?"

—Forty minutes later—

In the private dining room’s large round table, laughter and chatter filled the air—except for Gu Zhao, who sat stiffly, his face icy.

To his left: An Baixing, chattering away with Jin Jiu.

To his right: Yu Xiangwan, explaining company benefits to Yan Hui.

Further around the table: Yuan Zixin, the deputy director, Liu Zi’an, Yu Hongdou, and more—over a dozen people packed in.

Sheng Quan, as the host, naturally took the seat of honor.

Hua Qing sat to her left, Ming Qi to her right. The trio was deep in debate over "which anime character was the most captivating," now swapping phone screens to share recommendations and fan art.

Surrounded by a cool beauty and a sweetheart, Chairman Sheng was too thrilled to eat much.

An Baixing was equally thrilled—surrounded by celebrities, he collected WeChat contacts like treasures, convinced his phone had skyrocketed in value.

Since Jin Jiu was shy, An Baixing eagerly helped him add everyone too.

The only one left? Gu Zhao.

An Baixing eyed Gu Zhao’s cold profile as the man stared at his phone, hesitating. *This is the boss’s boss. Better not disturb.*

The man radiated the aloof, untouchable aura of a drama CEO.

Giving up, An Baixing turned to Yuan Zixin for company gossip instead.

Noticing his glance, Yuan Zixin warned quietly: "President Gu is dedicated. He’d work through an IV drip. He’s probably handling business on his phone now."

An Baixing’s admiration swelled. *A CEO who works through meals? With leadership like this, Jin Jiu and I are destined for stardom!*

Seated apart, Gu Zhao tapped "Purchase."

The order confirmation popped up:

*[Dear customer, please confirm your order: Men’s Ultra-Light Gold Business Glasses]*

*[P.S.: Post a review with photos for a cash rebate!~]*