Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

"Polaris" is currently the most popular game worldwide, but there are many other equally popular games. The reason it stands out among its competitors is largely due to the official efforts to continuously enhance the player experience.

Last year, the official release of VR goggles and full-body control consoles for professional esports was a game-changer—though prohibitively expensive for most, offering an unparalleled experience for those who could afford them. While not fully immersive like holodecks, the sensation is top-tier.

Though the high price limits widespread adoption, these devices are a perfect fit for professional esports. Not only do players see hyper-realistic visuals, but synchronization technology also broadcasts their in-game perspective to audiences during live matches.

At the very least, it makes watching competitions engaging even for non-gamers.

After approval by various national Esports Alliances, major tournaments this year will debut VR technology. Rumor has it that starting from the global semifinals, the organizers will customize in-game avatars using the players' real faces.

In simpler terms, players' faces will be mapped onto their in-game characters, heightening the viewing experience.

When Sheng Quan first heard this news, her reaction was: "…"

Even as a non-gamer, she knew most game characters were designed to be unrealistically attractive. Using real faces? That sounded absurd.

Then she looked up the likely semifinalists from various countries.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

She could see the appeal now—so much so that she considered buying tickets in advance.

No wonder the organizers dared to try this. Perhaps due to esports' early commercialization in this world, professional players from every country were strikingly good-looking—at the very least, pleasantly attractive.

Add to that the age restrictions in esports, with most players under 25, and it was no surprise fans were raving. Their youthful looks, combined with skill and intense focus during matches (even before VR goggles), made them irresistible.

After binge-watching match recordings, Sheng Quan understood why esports had once rivaled the entertainment industry in popularity. These players were ridiculously good-looking.

Sheng Quan, the self-proclaimed aesthetics enthusiast: "I love this world."

She completely forgot her earlier stance of "I’m not into games; I’d rather wait for full immersion" and eagerly jumped into the fandom.

Not just any casual dive—Sheng Quan was going all-in with the most luxurious setup.

After researching, she grew intensely curious: Just how good was the premium "Polaris" equipment, the same gear used by pros?

She hadn’t expected to get her hands on the top-tier setup immediately. The official lineup had three tiers based on price and performance.

Tournaments used the highest-end "3E" model. Esports clubs typically trained with mid-range "1A" or "2K" setups, while casual players found "1A" sufficient.

Honestly, "1A" wasn’t too bad—just 800,000 for a full set, a steal given the tech.

"3E," however, was a different story. At over 5 million per set, it was daylight robbery.

Sheng Quan’s reaction to the price: "…Are they serious?"

She started suspecting this year’s VR-only tournament rule was just a ploy to push these outrageously priced devices.

Clubs relied on competitions to build their fanbase—winning was everything. Even if they had to bleed money, they’d buy VR gear to practice. Losing because they weren’t used to the official equipment? Unthinkable.

Which made Tan Chen’s "Breakers" team even more impressive.

Clearly, they couldn’t afford tournament-grade gear—not "3E," maybe not even "1A." Yet they’d fought their way to the finals. Respect.

Sheng Quan’s original plan was to buy a "1A" in-store and preorder a "3E" online.

But He Xi worked miracles. Against all odds, she secured a "3E" set in their small city of Fangcheng.

Apparently, it was the only one in town. The wealthy shop owner had bought it for personal use, but financial troubles forced him to sell.

Problem was, no one in Fangcheng could afford it. It had been gathering dust for days.

When a big spender finally showed up, the staff were more excited than Sheng Quan, a complete newbie.

The owner personally supervised the installation, even offering his years’ worth of gameplay guides. His enthusiasm was off the charts—he might as well have had "THANK YOU" written on his forehead.

On his way out, he yelled, "Call us anytime! We’re on standby 24/7!"

Though Sheng Quan’s face seemed vaguely familiar, she wasn’t a celebrity, so he didn’t dwell on it. Right now, he was too busy celebrating finally offloading that ridiculously expensive setup.

Thank you, "Stellar War," for bringing in tourists—who knew someone would casually drop 5 million on a VR set during vacation?

With visitor numbers soaring, his shop’s sales were skyrocketing too. Rumor had it several variety shows were filming in Fangcheng—more exposure, more customers!

He decided then and there: He’d flood the internet with praise for "Stellar War" and subtly hype Fangcheng as "just as stunning as the movies, teehee!"

Then it hit him—his VIP client was a beginner.

"Polaris" had a steep learning curve. What if she tried it once, got frustrated, and demanded a refund?

Panicking, he texted He Xi:

"Hey, could you let your boss know? 'Polaris' is tricky at first, but it gets addictive fast! If she needs help, I’m available 24/7!"

After He Xi relayed the message, Sheng Quan, now wearing the VR headset, replied, "Tell him not to worry. No matter how hard it is, I’m sticking with it."

Because the experience was just that good.

Before trying it, she’d scoffed at the 5-million price tag—like money grew on trees.

Now?

Worth every penny.

Sheng Quan maneuvered her character forward, marveling at the grass, the flowers, the massive whale soaring overhead, its wake sending ripples through the clouds. The details were breathtaking.

She could happily spend all day here, even without playing.

This was nothing like the cheap VR games she’d tried in malls back in her past life.

The reason Sheng Quan had always been wary of VR was due to a past experience. In her previous life, she had once tried a VR headset at an esports center, only to end up feeling dizzy and nauseous. The visuals were somewhat realistic, but after just ten minutes of play, she was so disoriented that she had to give up.

But this game, 【Polaris】, was completely different—no dizziness, crystal-clear graphics, and none of that awkward physical disconnect. Even when sitting and using the control screen, she could get the hang of it quickly.

This kind of immersive experience was something you could only truly appreciate once you were inside the game.

Sheng Quan: What a waste.

She should’ve bought this VR headset the moment it launched last year!

To put it into perspective, the game’s visuals were like stepping into a movie—so lifelike that it almost felt like the full-dive holographic games she had once imagined.

That said, while the experience was incredible, the high-end equipment also made the game harder to master. The realism was so intense that she didn’t even know where to focus.

For a newbie like Sheng Quan, clearing the beginner levels was a challenge. She knew that switching to a PC or letting an experienced player take over would make things easier—but hey, she was just a little inexperienced.

No big deal! As long as it was fun, that was all that mattered!

The only downside was the massive map. Wearing the VR headset made it hard to check walkthroughs, and the forums were filled with gaming jargon she couldn’t decipher.

Luckily, she was a firm believer in speedrunning solutions.

CEO Sheng swiftly tapped the "I Need Guidance & Companionship" button in the top-right corner.

At the 【Polaris】 China agency, a staff member nicknamed Little Xia had been waiting for this very moment.

Due to the unique nature of the 3E equipment, the game company had assigned dedicated customer service agents to assist VR players. Little Xia was one of the trained professionals.

When her service indicator lit up, she knew another wealthy player had logged in.

Sure, five million yuan wasn’t an impossible sum for many in China, but spending it on gaming? That was rare. Little Xia sighed inwardly—some people really had money to burn—before diving into the game.

Dedicated agents earned commissions based on how much their assigned players spent. The more a player splurged, the higher the bonus.

Of course, regular players didn’t get this kind of VIP treatment.

Little Xia’s in-game avatar was a plump, round white fluffball. As soon as she entered the interface, she activated her mic and greeted Sheng Quan in a sweet voice:

"Hello! I’m Little Xia, your dedicated companion and support agent. You can ask me anything about the game."

Sheng Quan, who had been expecting an automated response, blinked in surprise: So the "guidance & companionship" was an actual person?

As a first-timer in such a massive game, CEO Sheng was genuinely impressed.

After ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‍some back-and-forth, Little Xia figured out that this player, 【Hold the Throne】, wasn’t here for competitive play. No problem—【Polaris】 catered to all kinds of players, whether they were into PvP, sightseeing, or anything else.

Though this big-spender lady wasn’t keen on competing herself, she was very interested in watching matches. Little Xia promptly introduced her to the game’s 【Arena】 system.

"Polaris is a highly flexible game with all kinds of modes. If you’re interested in spectating matches, there are official and player-hosted arena battles every month."

Sheng Quan followed her through various maps, each bustling with crowds around ongoing matches. Spectators packed the stands, with options for seating, standing areas, and even VIP viewing rooms.

Even though she had never played large-scale games in her past life, she knew the technology back then couldn’t have achieved this level of immersion.

Only now did she truly understand the meaning behind that casually mentioned line from the original novel: "With entertainment becoming a universal pursuit, technological advancements in this field progressed rapidly."

Little Xia offered a fair assessment:

"Players using standard equipment see a different version of the visuals. Yours are far more detailed and realistic. If you want better interaction, you can visit the VR-exclusive zones, though the player count there might be lower."

Sheng Quan had no interest in that. It didn’t matter if others couldn’t see what she saw—as long as she could enjoy it, that was enough.

So. Damn. Fun.

She decided then and there: From now on, she’d spend at least two hours a day in the game. Wait, no—since she was planning to invest in gaming soon, why not bump it up to five hours or more?

For the next three days, Sheng Quan transformed into a full-blown gaming addict, completely absorbed in the virtual world.

Not that she’d lost her senses—okay, maybe she was a little hooked—but she hadn’t forgotten her grand ambitions.

Her frequent logins were mostly to accumulate rewards in the prize pool.

Sure enough, on the fourth day, the prize pool unlocked, filled with in-game goodies.

Sheng Quan even did her draws while still immersed in the game.

She didn’t care what she got, as long as the value was high enough.

Staring at the massive prize pool, she stretched her in-game avatar lazily. In reality, a determined smile curled on her lips as she examined the rewards she’d drawn.

Only high-value prizes could attract everyone’s attention, after all.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Little Xia was sipping water while organizing Sheng Quan’s in-game inventory. Though it had only been three days, she’d already grown fond of this wealthy player.

She was low-maintenance, polite, never picked fights with top-ranked players, and didn’t complain to customer service when she lost. Most of the time, she just wandered around exploring, occasionally petting Little Xia’s fluffy white avatar and even buying it virtual leaves to munch on.

Though this clearly loaded lady hadn’t spent much in-game yet, Little Xia didn’t mind. She was also handling two other VR players, so her monthly performance quota was already met.

Plus, the lady fed her leaves!

In all her time using this chubby fluffball avatar, this was the first time someone had actually treated it to snacks.

In high spirits, Little Xia wiggled her avatar happily, meticulously tidied Sheng Quan’s inventory, topped up her experience points, and even logged her in for the day. Satisfied, she let the fluffball squat in the storage room, munching on leaves.

Meanwhile, the real-life Little Xia bent down to rummage through her drawer for some cookies.

These cookies were expensive, but so delicious that she couldn’t resist recommending them to 【Hold the Throne】 during their chat. After blurting it out, she’d worried the lady might scoff at the suggestion—but to her delight, the recommendation was warmly received.

Just as Little Xia sneakily popped a cookie into her mouth, a dry cough sounded behind her. She froze, then turned stiffly.

"B-Boss… hi?"

"Hi? Who said you could eat during work hours? And—hey! Don’t try bribing me! I don’t even like this kind of—"

Before the manager could finish scolding, a chime echoed through the office—the alert signaling that one of their assigned players had made a massive in-game purchase. This particular sound meant the amount had surpassed all previous records.

The manager’s eyes lit up, and he immediately looked up at the main screen.

There, in bold letters, it read:

【Xia Qing’s assigned player】 Hold the Throne has topped up: 200 million yuan.

"Polaris" had always been generous in acknowledging high-spending players. Any single recharge exceeding 30 million would trigger a server-wide announcement, let alone this staggering 200 million.

In the game, Sheng Quan had just claimed his rewards when a series of server-wide notifications suddenly blared:

[Congratulations to player Wo Jiangshan for achieving the "Wealth Beyond Measure" accomplishment]

[Congratulations to player Wo Jiangshan for achieving the "Ultimate Spender" accomplishment]

[Congratulations to player Wo Jiangshan for achieving the "Server's Top Gold" accomplishment]

[Congratulations to player Wo Jiangshan for obtaining the server's highest gold amount: 20 billion]

Players across "Polaris" who had been going about their business: ???

"Holy shit?! 20 billion gold?"

On the arena platform, Tan Chen looked up from his freshly concluded match.

The player he'd just defeated immediately stopped playing dead and scrambled to their feet:

"20 billion? That's 200 million, right? In RMB?! Holy fucking shit!!"

In the real world, Little Xia stared dumbfounded at the public screen.

She wasn't alone—the entire office had erupted in chaos.

"200 million?! Isn't this the highest single recharge record to date?!!"

"Oh my god..."

"Little Xia, you've hit the jackpot! The bonuses from this must be insane, I'm so jealous!"

Amidst the commotion, the manager appeared remarkably composed. He turned to scold them: "Keep it down! Don't act like our department has never seen real money before!"

"There are plenty of wealthy people in this world! Someone spending 200 million is perfectly normal!"

The others thought: Sure, people spend 200 million—but a single recharge of 200 million? That's unprecedented.

Pretending not to notice their expressions, the manager finished his stern lecture, then gently returned the biscuits he'd snatched from Little Xia earlier, his face transforming into an exceedingly warm smile:

"Now Little Xia, where were we? Ah yes, the biscuits..."

"I meant to say earlier—I love these exact same biscuits too. Go ahead, eat up, have as many as you want. I've got more if you run out."

"Haven't you heard? Office environments and biscuit-eating are a perfect match, hahahaha!"