Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

Kio was genuinely dumbfounded by this blow.

They had certainly considered that Sheng Quan might also leverage public opinion, but on one hand, Starlight Entertainment had only been around for two years, and on the other, Sheng Quan's investments in those research projects had barely spanned a year. How could they possibly have achieved results surpassing Kio's?

Though Kio excelled at waging PR battles, they did have real expertise.

The guide robotic dog project had taken nearly four years of development, backed by solid technology—so of course they were brimming with confidence.

Sheng Quan, an entertainment industry player, and a project meant for movie props at that—what groundbreaking results could they possibly produce?

And then, they were slapped hard in the face.

The hype did surge, but the massive wave of customers flooded straight to China instead.

A 5.3 rating? Just one year? How the hell did China's robotic guide dog pull that off?!

Even if Gu Shuyue was a genius, so what?! With such a small team and such little time, how could they have done it?!

Even if Kio's own R&D team had been given the same constraints, they wouldn’t have been able to deliver.

They immediately rushed to the research testing agency involved—and there, they saw a small line of text written clearly at the top of the test report:

Total project investment: 500 million CNY.

Five. Hundred. Million.

Kio’s management: "..."

Invested in a student team.

Five hundred million. In one year.

Five hundred million! FIVE HUNDRED MILLION!!!

The words echoed relentlessly in their minds.

The management team thought Sheng Quan had lost her mind.

Research projects were indeed expensive, but those were usually massive undertakings.

A small student team? She dumped five hundred million into it—in just one year. They hadn’t even spent that much in four years of research.

She didn’t play by the rules. This wasn’t logical.

While the management was spiraling, the researchers at Kio’s affiliated institute had a different reaction.

"Five hundred million in a year… How enviable. No wonder they got results so fast."

Just look at the interview with that young Chinese college student:

"Originally, it was 30 million, but the costs kept piling up, and soon, 30 million wasn’t enough. I was terrified the project would shut down prematurely because we ran out of funds."

"But then Chairman Sheng told me to keep going—whatever the project needed, she’d fund it."

"I can’t go into details, but we tried over and over. Every attempt meant huge sums of money going down the drain, yet Chairman Sheng always said it was fine."

"She admitted she didn’t understand research, so the only thing she could do was provide financial support."

Kio’s researchers: ...A patron like this actually exists in the world?

Their company, meanwhile, squeezed them to make one yuan produce a thousand yuan’s worth of results. Success earned them a meager bonus; failure earned them reprimands.

And now, with China’s 5.3-rated guide robotic dog making waves, the first ones under pressure were them.

"They’re saying the company invested so much time and effort, yet our results can’t even compare to what Chinese students achieved in a year—with five hundred million backing them."

"Damn right. Give me five hundred million, and I’d work myself to the bone delivering not just guide dogs but transport bots too."

"Good grief, Chairman Sheng even raised their salaries every time they made progress."

K-country had always had some reputation in tech products, and until now, Kio’s researchers had never even considered jumping ship—even if they found the company overly harsh.

After all, this was just how things were in K-country. Everyone was used to it.

But nothing highlights disparity like comparison.

Now, seeing how Sheng Quan treated those Chinese students, some of them genuinely started thinking about defecting to China—to work under Chairman Sheng.

If she treated students that well, surely experienced professionals like them would be valued even more, right?

As it turned out, people everywhere thought the same.

Inquiries poured in from all over the country, reaching a point where three or more calls came in every second. Thankfully, Sheng Quan had prepared in advance, hiring and training a team of customer service reps.

To handle the production and sales of the guide robotic dogs—and future "movie props"—she founded a small tech company called "Stargaze."

"An Baixing joked that, give or take, 'Stargaze' means 'I’m looking at An Baixing.'"

With the film wrapped, Yu Xiangwan returned to the company. As one of the deputy directors, his responsibilities went beyond production supervision. Like Gu Zhao, Yu Xiangwan—a latecomer to the industry—had to carve out time for professional courses.

But he was a quick learner. In the original "Starlight" novel, after becoming an "unconventional enforcer," he rapidly mastered all sorts of "gray-area tactics" to handle various tasks for the boss who treated him as a weapon.

Now, he could also sign himself up for three classes, not wasting a single moment of study time, actively handling various tasks for Sheng Quan, and accompanying her whenever she wanted to do something she enjoyed.

For example, gossiping about An Baixing together at this very moment.

"Hahahaha, how does he always find such amusing points? I think his workload must be too light—Minister Yuan should probably assign him more tasks."

"'Watching stars' is a pun on 'watching the industry'—a trending online joke, but it also brings good luck."

Sheng ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍Quan was indeed amused, her eyes curving into crescents as she reached for her phone. Yu Xiangwan, who had been sitting across from her with a faint smile, gently placed the phone by her hand when she straightened up and fumbled around without finding it.

Sheng Quan, touching the phone: "Huh? How did I find it so easily? Didn’t I deliberately put it far away just now?"

Only then did realization dawn on Yu Xiangwan’s fair face. His slender fingers quickly picked up the phone and moved it farther away, his usually magnetic and gentle voice tinged with a rare hint of guilt:

"My apologies, I forgot you were testing."

It was almost instinctive—the moment he saw Sheng Quan needed help, he acted without even thinking.

"It’s fine. You shouldn’t push yourself too hard in general. Make sure to rest properly—I’ve heard lack of sleep affects memory," Sheng Quan said casually, continuing to feign searching with her hands.

"Woof—" A soft dog-like sound came from beside her. The mechanical dog, which had been obediently "sitting" to Sheng Quan’s left, stood up and gently swayed its head, slowly pushing the phone back toward her hand.

Sheng Quan felt the phone, removed the black cloth covering her eyes, and couldn’t resist rubbing the mechanical dog’s head. "So well-behaved, such a good boy."

Its 5.3-star rating was well-deserved. Despite being a mechanical dog, it seemed almost like a real, intuitive canine—capable of "reading the room" and fetching items for its owner without needing commands.

"Woo…" The large dog, having been petted and praised, let out another soft whimper, nuzzling Sheng Quan’s calf with a gentleness that contrasted with its sturdy metal frame.

Who could resist a big, affectionate mechanical dog?

Certainly not Sheng Quan.

Her adoration was unmistakable as she hugged the dog’s head, showering it with praise. "So good, so good! Here, have some bread—I spent a lot of time making it myself."

"Woo…"

"Oh… I forgot you can’t eat. So adorable—how can something without fur, with just a mechanical body, be this cute?"

"If you like it, why not keep it by your side?" Yu Xiangwan suggested while taking a bite of the bread from Sheng Quan’s hand. "This batch tastes even better than the last one," he praised.

Sheng Quan: "You said the same thing last time."

In her past life as an overworked employee, she’d lived on takeout—let alone cooking, even taking medicine that required stirring was a chore because it meant washing the cup afterward.

But now, when in a good mood, Chairwoman Sheng would occasionally cook, leisurely spending an afternoon experimenting with online recipes—though sometimes, things went awry.

For instance, at this moment, Sheng Quan took another bite of bread and winced.

"It’s a bit hard. How did I not notice when slicing it?"

"Not at all. I think it’s just right."

As they spoke, Gu Zhao, dressed in a sharp suit, walked in holding a coffee cup.

"Ah, Gu Zhao! Perfect timing. I brought the guide mechanical dog that’s about to launch—want to test it? It’s incredibly smart. Gu Shuyue and her team are truly amazing."

Yu Xiangwan nodded at Gu Zhao. "President Gu."

Gu Zhao returned the gesture politely. "Vice President Yu."

After exchanging greetings, Yu Xiangwan pulled the plate of bread toward himself and softly asked Sheng Quan, "These suit my taste quite well. May I take them back with me?"

"Of course! If you like them, go ahead."

Sheng Quan was happy they wouldn’t go to waste.

Gu Zhao glanced at the bread Yu Xiangwan was packing up and sat to Sheng Quan’s left. "Could I have a slice?"

After a pause, he added, "I haven’t had lunch yet."

Yu Xiangwan, who had been pleased a moment earlier, froze mid-motion. "...Of course."

His movements slowed noticeably as he reluctantly handed over a slice.

Gu Zhao accepted it. "Thank you."

Sheng Quan warned him, "That bread’s overbaked. Vice President Yu likes it hard, but you don’t—careful not to chip a tooth."

Gu Zhao: "I can learn to like it."

He took a bite, expression unchanging.

Sheng Quan: "Teeth okay?"

Gu Zhao lowered his lashes, chewing once, twice… by the twentieth chew, he swallowed and replied calmly:

"Yes."

Then, without flinching, he took another bite. And another. And another.

Sheng Quan: "..."

—How does he manage to eat bread with the same intensity as tackling a work project?

The place they were currently in was the company's executive lounge, exclusively reserved for management. Naturally, it was lavishly furnished, complete with a massive floor-to-ceiling window and a few beanbag chairs by the windowsill.

The blue one had practically become Sheng Quan’s designated daydreaming spot because she loved lounging there to gaze at the scenery.

After eating and drinking her fill, Sheng Quan curled up on the beanbag again and got down to business with the two of them:

"The guide robotic dog has made a name for itself, but there’s still a major issue—production takes too much time. The demand is overwhelming, and we can barely keep up with the orders."

"Also, Stellar Wars is set to premiere next week. Once it hits the screens, the rest of our tech products are expected to gain massive popularity. We need to strike while the iron is hot—this is money we absolutely have to make."

Only a fool would pass up easy money, and Sheng Quan was in dire need of it.

Besides, if they could solidify their position in one go, this Chinese-made guide robotic dog would stand unshakable in the market.

Gu Zhao agreed with this point: "Production time isn’t the main issue. Pre-orders are standard for products like these. The real problem lies in the production lines."

It was obvious to everyone that Kio Company had hyped the guide robotic dog into a massive trend, and this was the golden moment to cash in.

But the problem was—Sheng Quan lacked production lines, factories, and skilled technicians. She was desperately short on all fronts.

Even though she had started recruiting early, while other industries might manage, a tech company like hers couldn’t magically assemble a fully operational, professional production chain overnight.

The current situation was painfully awkward: customers were lining up in droves, but their supply couldn’t meet the demand.

"I’ve gathered some data on established production lines, both domestic and international. You can take a look," Yu Xiangwan said, pulling out her phone. "It’s not complete yet, so I only have a portion ready. I’ve already sent it to your email—you can skim through it first."

Sheng Quan nodded, her expression not showing much concern.

Gu Shuyue had also skyrocketed to fame, her career progress bar jumping to 32%. That might seem low, but—her field was scientific research.

Based on Sheng Quan’s observations over the past year, the career progress of researchers was the slowest and most incremental among all the professions she had encountered. Professor Chen Aihong had started with built-in progress, but Gu Shuyue was already the fastest-growing researcher in her roster.

As for Ning Zhou… there was still no movement from him.

He was buried in his research, practically living in the lab. If not for his two senior colleagues keeping an eye on him, this genius—who lost all sense of time and hunger once immersed in his work—might have starved himself to death.

No wonder he had succeeded in the original story. With his sky-high IQ, natural genius, and an almost superhuman level of focus, who else could have achieved what he did?

As long as Sheng Quan stopped him from self-destructing, things would be fine.

In any case, the career progress Gu Shuyue had brought her was enough for a lottery draw.

Sheng Quan planned to try her luck that very night. If fortune favored her, she might just land a complete production line.

"I’ll review the materials tonight and try to finalize things as soon as possible."

—Or at least see if she could draw one from the lottery.

If she managed to get a moderately renowned one, all their problems would be solved.

Stellar Wars premiered.

Thanks to its investments in university research, disaster relief, and the guide robotic dog, the film exploded in popularity on its opening day without needing much promotion.

The more Stellar Wars dominated the box office, the colder the new general manager of Kio felt inside.

Yes, new.

Due to the disastrous miscalculation regarding the guide robotic dog, the company had suffered massive losses. Rumor had it that even the chairman’s funding chain had been affected. Under immense pressure, the former general manager had resigned to take responsibility.

The one hastily promoted wasn’t the deputy general manager, nor the chairman’s brother-in-law, but this new manager with no connections.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been overjoyed at the promotion. But now? This was clearly a setup for taking the fall.

Though his heart was ice-cold, in K-country’s cutthroat corporate world, he didn’t dare resign.

Fortunately, he was an optimist. Despite seeing this as a mess, he rolled up his sleeves after taking the position, brainstorming with his team to salvage the company’s losses.

After thorough investigation, this optimistic general manager finally discovered a critical weakness in "Stellar Vision."

"Their production lines are too small, and they don’t have enough skilled technicians."

The new general manager believed he had found Kio’s lifeline:

"Stellar Vision is undoubtedly booming right now, but it’s too booming. Just looking at their setup, it’s obvious they can’t meet the massive demand."

"But Kio is different. We’re an established, reputable tech company with deep roots and loyal customers. Most importantly, we have five fully operational production lines ready for rapid manufacturing."

The more he spoke to his subordinates, the more excited he grew. "Stellar Vision is just a startup—they don’t have these kinds of resources. This is our opportunity."

He concluded:

"Unless Starlight Entertainment can find mature production lines in a short time, our Kio will inevitably surpass them."

So, can Starlight Entertainment secure mature production lines?

Absolutely not. Production lines aren’t something you can just buy off the shelf. Take their company’s five production lines, for example—unless the company is on the brink of collapse, there’s no way they’d sell even one.

If Sheng Quan wanted production lines, there was only one possibility: acquiring a company that already had them.

But the cost of acquiring such a company would be enough to build how many new production lines? Who would even do that?

In any case, he believed the chances were practically zero. Besides, acquiring a company with production lines required a massive sum of money—not something just anyone could pull off.

After this optimistic analysis, the ever-cheerful general manager once again felt hopeful about the future.

"Starlight Entertainment is still one step behind. They’re missing this golden opportunity."

Then, he was notified of a change in Kio’s equity. After continuous turbulence and the major shareholders’ financial chains collapsing, the once-prominent company finally couldn’t hold on any longer.

Kio announced a change in ownership.

They welcomed their new leader.

—Sheng Quan.

The new general manager: "…"

Well, at least he was an optimistic man.

When Sheng Quan arrived at Kio, she found the general manager to be quite competent—though he seemed a little… overly enthusiastic.

While briefing her on the company’s situation, he couldn’t help but excitedly envision the future:

"Chairman Sheng, rest assured. Our Starlight Entertainment has five mature, specialized production lines. There won’t be any issues with manufacturing."

"We’ll definitely seize this golden opportunity!"