Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 53

Regarding Qin Guofu's attempt to "sell" his son, Sheng Quan found it both amusing and exasperating.

After settling into the base's reception room, she had to repeatedly explain:

"I'm looking for a full-time general manager, and Elder Brother Qin is already quite busy with his own work. He wouldn’t have much time to spare."

Only then did the old man reluctantly give up on promoting his son:

"Well, Director Sheng, you can always consult him if you have questions. He dabbled in special effects back in the day—even wanted to start a business with his classmates in college."

Sheng Quan immediately straightened up with respect: "Elder Brother Qin was doing this back in college? That early?"

Though still somewhat unclear about the situation, when the clearly admired young woman looked at him with such admiration, Elder Brother Qin couldn’t help but sit a little taller:

"Ahem, that was almost twenty years ago. It was just small-scale back then, and it never took off. But if you're thinking of starting a special effects company, the domestic market is tough.

In recent years, quite a few effects companies have gone bankrupt—even Mirage, once the most famous in the country, declared bankruptcy two years ago. I’d advise you to think carefully."

From these few sentences alone, it was clear he had some understanding of the domestic special effects industry. Even though Sheng Quan had already done her research and had her company assess the risks, she still listened attentively.

The summary was this: despite the global entertainment boom, which should have elevated the importance of special effects companies, the domestic environment for growth in this field was riddled with obstacles.

"I have several friends working in special effects. Their skills are advanced enough to achieve incredibly detailed results, but the deadlines clients give them are often impossible, even with overtime."

As he spoke, Elder Brother Qin’s expression turned helpless, clearly having heard plenty of complaints from his friends:

"Projects that should take a year or more get compressed into three months—sometimes two. And they can’t refuse the work. The domestic film industry prioritizes speed above all else. If they don’t take the job, they don’t eat."

"Without time to refine the details, the results inevitably fall short of what could be achieved with meticulous care. And even when they deliver on time, clients might still withhold the final payment."

In short: "Starting a special effects company requires massive upfront investment in equipment and labor. Whether domestic or international, most of these companies operate at a loss until they build a reputation. And in China, even established companies often struggle to stay afloat."

This aligned with Sheng Quan’s earlier findings. In her past life, she hadn’t paid much attention to special effects companies, but she imagined the situation was similar—after all, the entertainment industry back then also prioritized speed over quality.

As long as a project had star power, even mediocre work could yield impressive returns.

This was terrible for special effects companies, which thrived on precision, not haste. They might possess top-tier skills, but survival forced them to deliver only half their potential.

And for an industry requiring heavy investment in equipment and manpower, this vicious cycle meant only one outcome for most: bankruptcy—unless they had a money tree at home.

Though Sheng Quan assured him she was prepared for these challenges, Elder Brother Qin remained skeptical.

He didn’t follow entertainment news much. His days were packed, and his downtime was spent calling friends and family, reading, or dining with colleagues.

In fact, the forty-year-old didn’t even have a Weibo account.

So he didn’t recognize Sheng Quan. The same Elder Brother Qin who, in his early twenties, had been brimming with confidence about building a world-renowned special effects company now saw the domestic industry as a money-devouring wasteland.

He wasn’t one to meddle, but since this was his father’s employer—and they clearly got along well—he felt obliged to warn her, even after she remained undeterred:

"Unless you’re exceptionally wealthy, I really wouldn’t recommend investing in this industry."

Beside them, Old Man Qin, who had been listening with great interest, pulled out his phone and showed his bank balance alert:

"You’ve been asking about my salary, and I never bothered to tell you. Here, take a look—this is what I earn every month."

Elder Brother Qin: "…"

Putting his phone away, the old man added leisurely:

"The reason I asked you to come these past few days is because she recently went to Country A and bought an estate there."

"Nine billion. In RMB."

Elder Brother Qin: "…"

Time seemed to freeze.

This content is taken from fгeewebnovёl.com.

Three seconds later, he slowly pulled out his phone and opened his contacts: "Didn’t you say you needed recommendations for talent in this field?"

"I know a few friends… who might be open to switching jobs."

"Seriously? The base salary is really that high? And the bonuses?"

Elder Brother Qin’s friends were no longer young. Many had families and mortgages, so they weren’t about to quit their jobs based on a phone call.

They weren’t worried about the salary or benefits being exaggerated—what concerned them was whether this new company would follow the same trajectory as other domestic effects firms: producing a few stunning works before fading into obscurity.

Until they heard one name:

"Tan Hongguang from Mirage? Why reach out to him?"

Elder Brother Qin watched the lively "sparring arena" before him:

"Because the new company’s chairwoman wants him as the general manager."

At present, Tan Hongguang was virtually unknown. If you stopped a hundred people on the street and asked if they’d heard of him, you’d be lucky to get one or two positive responses.

But if you asked those same people about blockbuster hits like Red Carp or Stars Sink into the Sea, many would recognize them.

The dazzling, intricate effects in those films were produced by Tan Hongguang’s Mirage Studios—and their box office success owed much to his team’s work.

Yet two years ago, while Stars Sink into the Sea raked in profits, Mirage quietly went bankrupt.

Truthfully, Sheng Quan had been planning to start a special effects company for a long time.

So long that she’d been mulling it over when she parked her car by Yan Hui’s food stall.

She’d thought about it while filming The Cultivator.

And even when a renowned foreign effects company handed her their business card in Country A, smiling as they said, "Feel free to contact us for future projects," the idea still simmered in her mind.

After securing Tan Hongguang’s contact details, Sheng Quan raised her teacup to Elder Brother Qin with a smile.

This was why connections mattered. She’d searched for ages without finding Tan Hongguang, who had vanished after his company’s collapse. Yet Elder Brother Qin located him in just two days.

The trail had led through his friends, their former colleagues, an old classmate, and finally to Tan Hongguang’s sister.

Just like the trainees at Starlight Security, gossip in any industry traveled fast—especially among those still working in it.

Sheng Quan would bet that within the special effects industry, countless people had wondered, "What happened to Tan Hongguang afterward?" And the answer was downright bizarre—he went into seclusion.

Yes, in the modern era, he chose seclusion.

He found a remote, long-abandoned mountain cottage and lived there alone for two years. Of course, it wasn’t some primitive, wild existence—otherwise, Sheng Quan wouldn’t have been able to track him down through so many intermediaries.

That said, it wasn’t easy. The original text mentioned Tan Hongguang’s seclusion, but which mountain? What was his phone number? Who were his family members? None of these details were provided in the book.

"The biggest challenge for special effects companies is the high cost. It’s rare to find film projects willing to give effects teams the time they need to perfect their work. Even if the results are outstanding, most productions prioritize speed over quality."

The call with Tan Hongguang wasn’t long—in fact, it was surprisingly brief:

"However, Starlight Entertainment already has a mature film production team. We’ll be continuously producing various projects moving forward. And whether these projects hire special effects teams—and how much time they’re given—is entirely up to me."

This was what Sheng Quan had been working toward during her "planning" phase.

Turning "unsuitable" into "suitable."

At the time, she couldn’t be 100% certain the system would change its rules, but as the saying goes, preparation never hurts. Even borrowing arrows with straw boats required extensive groundwork.

And now, the "east wind" had finally arrived.

At first, Tan Hongguang was resistant:

"Director Sheng, judging by your voice, you’re quite young. While you may own a company, special effects firms are different from ordinary businesses. Perhaps you should familiarize yourself with the industry first."

"I already have. But Mr. Tan, before you give me an answer, maybe you should familiarize yourself with me."

After hanging up, Sheng Quan cringed at her own words: "That sounded so pretentious."

Then she grinned. "But being pretentious feels great."

Jiang Lu, standing nearby, remarked, "It was just the truth."

And it was the truth. Within a year, Sheng Quan had become a prominent name in the country.

Tan Hongguang’s sister and brother-in-law waited eagerly nearby. Seeing their brother lost in thought after the call, they grew impatient:

"Brother, what’s there to hesitate about? This is Sheng Quan we’re talking about."

"Sheng Quan…" Tan Hongguang, who had been offline and disconnected from the world for two years, turned to them. "Is she very wealthy?"

Two years ago, he hadn’t even heard her name.

"More than wealthy—she’s practically sitting on a gold mine."

Tan’s sister pulled up a Baidu search for Sheng Quan and showed him the endless list of results.

[How Many Celebrities and Tycoons Gathered at Sheng Quan’s Starlight Banquet?]

[Young Female Tycoon Spends 9 Billion to Acquire A-Country’s Jones Manor]

[Sheng Quan Revealed as Investor Behind The Cultivator]

[Donates 100 Million to Charity—What Really Happened at The Voice of You?]

[The New Owner of Huaxia Mansion—A 23-Year-Old Woman]

Tan Hongguang: "…It seems a lot has happened in two years."

He scrolled through each article one by one, finally pausing on an interview.

It was taken after The Cultivator’s release, during the promotional tour. Typically, investors rarely appear in such interviews, but Sheng Quan—already something of a public figure—was no ordinary investor.

On screen, the strikingly beautiful young woman, radiant under the lights, smiled as she answered:

"Yes, The Cultivator’s special effects were outsourced to a foreign company. That’s an unfortunate reality. What’s even more unfortunate is that many of the artists at that renowned firm are actually Chinese."

Despite her words, her expression remained cheerful:

"But I believe this won’t always be the case. Who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll have world-famous special effects companies right here at home."

Tan Hongguang watched the clip frame by frame, replaying it over and over.

His sister, ever the concerned sibling, whispered to her husband:

"Oh no, has my brother lost it? Should I drag him to a psychiatrist?"

Her husband, however, understood perfectly. He worked in the same industry, and Tan Hongguang had always been his idol.

Mirage Studios had lasted seven years—seven years of grueling battles.

Even now, Tan Hongguang’s temples were streaked with white. Looking at him, no one would guess he wasn’t even forty. Running a quality-driven special effects company was brutally hard because few production teams were willing to pay for their work.

No matter how talented they were.

Mirage had survived by taking on foreign film contracts. When Stars Sink Into the Sea approached them, the producers had been effusive in their praise. The entire studio dropped all other projects and worked tirelessly for over half a year to deliver.

Stars Sink Into the Sea did become a blockbuster, raking in massive box office returns. But during interviews, the production team never once mentioned Mirage—and worse, they shamelessly withheld the final payment.

Late payments were common in the domestic special effects industry, and Mirage had endured plenty. But this time, it wasn’t just frustrating—it was soul-crushing.

Every member of Mirage could be called a "dreamer." Otherwise, they could’ve stuck to outsourcing or joined foreign studios like their peers.

But dreams don’t feed people. Even the most passionate hearts grow cold after too many disappointments.

When Mirage disbanded, it felt like the death of a collective dream.

No one raged. They just packed up their belongings in silence, bid each other farewell, and walked away. Seven years, and in the end—nothing to show for it.

Failures. The word branded itself onto their hearts.

And now, Sheng Quan—whose wealth was evident from the headlines—was inviting him, a failure, to be the general manager of a new company.

Tan Hongguang didn’t sleep that night.

He rewatched the interview endlessly, then watched The Path of Life and The Cultivator in full.

Sheng Quan wanted him to lead this new venture. Did he want to go?

Honestly? Yes. Desperately.

But ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‍the first thing that surged up was self-doubt: Why would she choose me?

Seven years of exhaustion had crushed the once-promising prodigy.

He didn’t even know if he could stand back up.

And having lived through it, Tan Hongguang knew all too well—the first year of a new company would be pure loss. Back then, they’d survived because Mirage wasn’t his solo project; it was a team built on shared dreams.

But with standard salaries factored in, the financial backing for this new company would have to be substantial.

It would require a massive upfront investment. And him—could he really steer this ship?

Meanwhile, in Shanghai…

Sheng Quan lounged leisurely on her balcony recliner. From her vantage point, she could see the security guards patrolling the garden below.

No wonder he was selected as a top-tier professional—his sense of security is off the charts.

System 006 expressed doubts about the host's choice of Tan Hongguang. It wasn’t questioning his character or abilities; the concern was:

[According to system analysis, Tan Hongguang is currently in a state of extreme self-doubt. He may not agree to the host's proposal.]

[He will agree.] Sheng Quan picked up her tablet, ready to catch up on some comics: [Just like how Yan Hui once traveled thousands of miles by train to attend the audition.]

[Once Tan Hongguang comes, others will follow him.]

There’s a reason why someone is so highly regarded by so many.

What makes a true talent is their ability to push aside inner pain and struggles, relentlessly striving for growth even in the darkest of times.

In the original story, didn’t he make a triumphant comeback after three years of silence? Everything was finally looking up—until overwork took him down... So really, can anyone blame her for cursing that garbage author so fiercely?!

Five hours later, Sheng Quan received a text from Tan Hongguang:

[Do you have time for a detailed discussion?]

Having just emerged from the sea of knowledge, Chairwoman Sheng closed the dense, mind-bending business book and flashed a bright smile:

[Here he comes—the foundation of our empire.]

A brilliant film might not spread globally overnight.

But an outstanding special effects production company? That’s something the entire world of cinema will take notice of.