Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 58

Generally speaking, university students aren’t particularly fond of participating in school activities.

—Unless the event comes with funding support of 100 million yuan.

To say the entire campus was buzzing would be no exaggeration.

That’s right—even the professors were excited.

A hundred million yuan? Everyone wanted a piece of that.

Anyone in academia knows that research is essentially burning money. The costs of raw materials and equipment go without saying, but even routine supplies add up to a massive expense. That’s why every year, faculty members scramble like mad to secure funding, each employing their own unique strategies.

But no matter how fiercely they’ve competed before, none of them had ever fought over a sum this large!

And the real kicker? The person offering this funding, President Sheng, wasn’t even an alum of their university. She had made it clear that she intended to invest in a select few promising projects.

A few!

Not triple digits, not even double digits—just single digits!

A handful of projects, sharing a billion yuan!

If selected, even the smallest share would likely be in the tens of millions, right?

Who wouldn’t be tempted?

If President Sheng hadn’t explicitly stated that her goal was to nurture the nation’s future talents—and that this funding was strictly for student projects—the professors would have been elbowing their way into the competition themselves.

Of course, even if they couldn’t apply directly, they could still help their students vie for the opportunity.

As a prestigious research-focused institution, C University had an intensely competitive academic atmosphere. Professors naturally had their favored students and were eager to see them seize this rare chance.

Dr. Chen Aihong, a C University alum who had introduced President Sheng to the school, found herself bombarded with calls from former classmates still on faculty. They grilled her for details—what kind of projects was President Sheng leaning toward? Could she arrange a meeting? And so on.

Some didn’t even bother with subtlety, outright asking if she could persuade the big boss to lift the student-only restriction, since they themselves had highly promising projects in the works.

Faced with these requests from old classmates, Dr. Chen couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride amid her amusement.

"Don’t think it’s just you—even the university president brought it up. President Sheng didn’t outright reject the idea, but she made it clear that this round of funding is prioritizing young students."

"This round?" Her former classmate’s voice perked up with hope. "Does that mean there’ll be another round later?"

"That’s the impression I got. Though she grew up overseas, President Sheng was raised with traditional Chinese values. She hasn’t said it outright, but we suspect she might have family ties to the military—she’s very passionate about contributing in this way."

Just talking about it made Dr. Chen’s face light up with a smile:

"Otherwise, after our conversation about this field, she wouldn’t have immediately decided to donate and invest just because I praised our university."

And she had every right to feel proud. When the rest of the research team’s experts heard about this, they were practically green with envy. Many lamented that they should’ve taken the chance to hype up their own alma maters to President Sheng.

Even long after graduation, most people would jump at the opportunity to bring donations or investments back to their schools. Thanks to Dr. Chen’s efforts, C University—from the president down to the students—was now the recipient of an astronomical sum. It wasn’t her money, but who at C University wouldn’t be grateful to her?

And beyond the gratitude, it just felt good.

C University had always been a cradle for talent, pouring resources into nurturing bright minds—especially high-IQ students like Dr. Chen. During her time there, she’d benefited immensely from the school’s support.

Back then, her family had been far from well-off, but the faculty treated their most gifted students like treasures. Many professors would go without to ensure these students had what they needed.

For experts of her generation, the emotional ties to their alma mater ran deep. Now, not only had Dr. Chen found a way to give back, but her juniors had also gained this incredible opportunity. The satisfaction was immeasurable.

She was especially glad she’d taken this consulting job after some hesitation. Initially, it had been the generous salary that swayed her, but after joining and witnessing the entire crew’s dedication, she’d come to believe in their mission—"contributing to Chinese cinema."

Now, not only had she made that contribution and earned her pay, but the entire team treated her with deep respect, addressing her as "Professor" and learning from her with humility. And on top of all that, she’d connected President Sheng with her alma mater. This gig had been more than worth it!

Though she didn’t say it aloud, Dr. Chen had already decided: if President Sheng came calling again, unless she was tied up with critical work, she’d sign on without hesitation.

The other experts felt much the same. Even setting aside President Sheng’s massive donation to Dr. Chen’s university, the overall experience had left them feeling it was time well spent.

Human nature being what it is, when people discover something great, they naturally want to share it with friends.

While the film’s cast was still being finalized, several consulting experts had already invited other luminaries in their fields to join.

Sometimes, debates would grow so heated that someone would pull out their phone mid-argument, scrolling through contacts while declaring:

"Just wait—I’m calling Old Zhang. He’s the real expert on this. Lucky for you, he’s free right now. You’ll see!"

Next thing they knew, Old Zhang would be passionately weighing in over the phone, and the discussion would inevitably end with him packing his bags and rushing over to join in person.

President Sheng’s directive for these situations was simple:

"Open arms. One comes? Welcome them. Two come? Welcome them both. No compensation is too high for this caliber of talent."

She was ravenous for expertise. Others might look at President Sheng’s team and see an abundance of talent, but her ambitions spanned the globe. If circumstances allowed, she’d happily scoop up every brilliant mind in China.

After a couple of days on set, the newly arrived experts reached the same conclusion:

"The academic atmosphere here is exceptional. Definitely worth the trip."

This top-down culture of excellence was no accident—President Sheng’s influence permeated the entire production. Even though she’d been absent these past few days, it did nothing to dampen their growing admiration for the young visionary.

President Sheng, meanwhile, was busy selecting projects for funding.

In novels, such decisions might be wrapped up in a sentence or two, but in reality, whittling down countless outstanding proposals from a top-tier university’s brightest minds to just three? That took serious time.

Her focus on C University wasn’t random. After extensive research, she’d confirmed that Ning Zhou was enrolled there—a fact that genuinely surprised her.

The original novel had only briefly mentioned Ning Zhou, but it was clear his scientific achievements were extraordinary. When she’d first started searching for him by name, she’d assumed he’d be in his forties at least.

Complicating matters, President Sheng couldn’t simply ask connections to dig up information. Conscious of her future as a formidable figure, she took great care to avoid drawing attention to her knowledge of the novel’s plot.

The more famous a person is, the more they attract scrutiny from others. Sheng Quan even felt that someone must have already investigated her several times. If nothing else, the fact that she donated supplies to the military while also contributing police cars to the local district station was enough to draw attention from higher-ups.

Especially since, on the surface, she had just returned from abroad and was looking for highly sensitive scientific talent. Putting herself in their shoes, she’d investigate too.

So how did she find out that Ning Zhou was at C University?

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Because President Sheng suddenly had a flash of inspiration—she started searching for news reports related to Ning Zhou’s name on Baidu.

Her logic was this: Since Ning Zhou was so exceptional in the book, he must have been outstanding from a young age. There were cases of late bloomers, but that didn’t quite apply in the field of scientific research.

At the very least, the experts hired for the film crew, even if they didn’t stand out as children, would immediately outshine their peers once they started school. Some were all-rounders, but most had a specialty—and in that one subject, they’d consistently score full marks.

So if Ning Zhou was a genius, there might be news about him being a top scorer in the high school or college entrance exams.

With that thought, Sheng Quan searched and actually found something.

Her reaction upon seeing the results was: "..."

No wonder he was so hard to find.

Ning Zhou was only 21 this year and still in graduate school.

A genius.

Though C University had many such geniuses, what surprised Sheng Quan was that while the professors eagerly recommended their brightest students to her, no one even mentioned Ning Zhou’s name.

If not for the fact that she had clearly found news reports stating Ning Zhou had entered C University as a provincial top scorer and a young genius—and even saw his name on the list of outstanding students—she might have thought she’d come to the wrong school.

Sheng Quan directly pointed at Ning Zhou’s name on the list and asked the professor accompanying her during the project selection:

"This Ning Zhou—I remember reading about him in the news. Wasn’t he the top scorer in his province’s college entrance exams? And he’s still quite young. How come I don’t see his name among the project applicants?"

With so many outstanding students at C University, the accompanying professor naturally couldn’t know every single one by heart. He immediately said he’d check with Ning Zhou’s advisor.

Ning Zhou’s advisor was named Li Jun—a common name, but quite renowned at C University for mentoring many exceptional students. When Li Jun received the call and heard Ning Zhou’s name, he was momentarily stunned.

Upon learning that the high-profile business magnate—rumored to be investing 100 million in student projects—actually knew of Ning Zhou, his eyebrows practically flew up in excitement.

As for why Ning Zhou hadn’t applied for the project, Li Jun quickly explained:

"Of course he’s applying! Such a great opportunity—Ning Zhou would never miss it. His project is quite large, so the preparation took longer. I’ll hurry him along. Yes, yes, we’re definitely submitting it!"

As soon as he hung up, Li Jun was about to call Ning Zhou, but then reconsidered and decided to go to the lab in person.

When he arrived, two other students were just leaving. He immediately asked, "Is Ning Zhou inside?"

"Yes."

Li Jun had three students in total. The two replied promptly, "Are you looking for him? Should we call him out?"

"No, I’ll wait for him here. He wouldn’t come out even if you called him now."

The two students exchanged a glance but said nothing in front of Li Jun. Once outside, however, they couldn’t help but vent their frustration on their advisor’s behalf.

"He’s not even that impressive, yet he acts so arrogant, not even giving the professor face."

"Exactly. I don’t know what the professor sees in him. It’s been so long, and he hasn’t produced any results. Even the investors who used to support him have pulled out."

"If he can’t deliver results and has such a difficult personality, of course no one would keep funding him. But why do you think the professor came to see him? Is it about the funding project? Our professor is too good—how did he end up with a student like Ning Zhou?"

"Enough, let’s not gossip. If the professor doesn’t mind, why should we? You could be furious, and Ning Zhou still wouldn’t care. Better to focus on our own project. If we get selected, funding won’t be an issue."

Neither of them was the type to indulge in idle talk, so after a brief complaint, they redirected their attention to their joint project.

Outside the lab, Li Jun flipped through some documents, waiting for over an hour before the door finally opened and a young man in standard lab attire stepped out.

The youth glanced at Li Jun, who had been sitting on the hallway bench and now looked up at the sound, then walked past without a word.

Li Jun, unfazed—even accustomed to this—called out, "Ning Zhou, wait. I need to talk to you."

Only then did the young man pause at the end of the hallway and turn back. "What is it?"

Since Ning Zhou didn’t approach, Li Jun had to stand and walk over. He reached out to pat his most promising—yet most troublesome—student’s shoulder, but Ning Zhou sidestepped the gesture.

Li Jun: "...Right, I forgot you don’t like physical contact. Come to my office."

Ning Zhou clearly had no intention of going. His complexion was pale from years spent indoors, and with his striking features, his displeasure was plain to see when he frowned.

Not that Li Jun needed to see it—Ning Zhou stated bluntly:

"I don’t want to. I need to go back and write my experiment logs."

He said it matter-of-factly, as if refusing his advisor’s request was perfectly normal, and didn’t wait for a response before turning to leave. But Li Jun grabbed him and pulled him back.

"You little—whether you want to or not, you’re coming. Now move it."

Ning Zhou had never been athletic. From childhood, he’d managed to skip PE classes thanks to his academic excellence and persistent requests. In other words, he was physically weak.

And so, the weakling Ning Zhou was dragged all the way to Li Jun’s office.

He sat across the desk, visibly irritated, his entire posture radiating resistance.

Li Jun shook his head helplessly. "You... Ah, fine. I know your time is precious, so let’s get to the point. Why didn’t you apply for the university’s funding project?"

"The materials you showed me before were excellent—and clearly expensive. For a project like this, you should’ve applied immediately. I already told Professor Wang you’re submitting. Hurry up and gather the documents so I can send them in. There’s a real chance you’ll get selected."

At this, Ning Zhou’s expression faltered. His gaze dropped slightly.

"The application requires a team of five. I invited others, but they refused."

Li Jun: "..."

Ah. He’d forgotten about that.

Students usually collaborated in groups for these projects—especially his own students. He’d only ever heard of teams being too large, never struggling to find members.

He coughed awkwardly. "Maybe they all wanted to be the team leader."

"No."

Ning Zhou shook his head and answered honestly, "They don't like me, so they don’t want to work with me."

Li Jun: "...It’s fine. You’re smarter than them. You’re worth two of them. I’ll call other teachers and ask them to assign a few students to help you with the project proposal."

Ning Zhou’s gaze remained fixed on the ground, silent. Having mentored him for so long, Li Jun could tell he was feeling down.

"Alright, don’t be upset. Everyone has their own strengths. Yours is research. Social skills—those aren’t necessary to learn."

Mainly because Ning Zhou couldn’t learn them anyway.

A few seconds later, Ning Zhou, still staring at the ground, slowly shook his head. "Don’t bother with the proposal. Even if we submit it, they’ll reject me as soon as they see me."

"Nonsense. How could that be? Don’t overthink it."

Ning Zhou looked up at his teacher. "You’ve recommended me five times before. It was the same every time."

"They won’t trust me, and they won’t invest in my project because it sounds like a fantasy. I’m also not likable, and I can’t manage a team."

Li Jun fell silent for a long moment before finally saying,

"Ning Zhou, you know this isn’t your fault. You’re just sick—you can’t learn or understand most people’s behavior patterns. And you’re a genius. Geniuses are allowed to be different. The reason you haven’t achieved results isn’t because you’re worse than others. It’s because your goals are far more ambitious."

"As a genius, you don’t need to be likable, and you don’t need to learn how to manage a team. All you need to do is keep doing what you’re doing—steadily using your talent and working hard."

This ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍was why Li Jun was so patient with this student. Ning Zhou had Asperger’s syndrome, also known as the "genius disease," because it often appeared in highly intelligent individuals.

The condition fell under the autism spectrum disorder and came with social interaction difficulties. While those affected had no intellectual or language impairments, they struggled to interpret body language, facial expressions, and subtle social cues.

They often couldn’t understand jokes, sarcasm, or double meanings. They weren’t good at sports and approached social interactions in a rigid, textbook manner.

To others, they seemed unempathetic, indifferent, rude, and cold—which was why people with Asperger’s were frequently isolated by their peers.

Unlike autism, where individuals often had no desire for social connections, those with Asperger’s usually longed for friendships. But it was like a curse—they were rejected by peers from childhood, growing up mostly friendless.

If they were lucky, their families nurtured them. If not, they might even be treated as freaks at home.

Ning Zhou’s luck was mixed. When his parents noticed his symptoms, they didn’t realize it was Asperger’s. They simply thought they’d given birth to a mentally ill child.

With limited financial means, they didn’t even take him for a diagnosis. Instead, they quickly decided to have a second child—like having a first child who was "defective," so they needed a second one to carry the family’s hopes and eventually take care of the older sibling.

The Ning parents’ approach was harsh on both children, but in their minds, it was the best solution. After Ning Kang was born, they left both children with their grandparents and went to work in the city.

In their logic, since their eldest was "disabled," they had to earn more money. While their younger child was growing up, resources would naturally go to her. But even after she became independent, they would keep working—because they needed to ensure Ning Zhou had enough to live on for the rest of his life.

If not for his sister Ning Kang also being a genius, Ning Zhou might have spent his entire life confined to a small rural room, silently poring over the few books he managed to collect.

Ning Kang was three years younger. When she started learning to read, Ning Zhou followed along. She adored her brother, and after starting school, she taught him what she learned, solving problems together.

When her teachers realized Ning Kang was a prodigy, they were thrilled. After being praised, little Ning Kang immediately understood that her brother—often called "slow" by villagers—was also a genius. She showed his work to her teacher.

Eventually, the young teacher from the city visited their home. After testing Ning Zhou, she confidently told the grandparents that he, like his sister, was a genius.

The whole village was stunned. Even Ning Zhou’s parents rushed back, gritted their teeth, and followed the teacher’s advice to take him to the city for an evaluation.

Only then did they learn that Ning Zhou wasn’t "slow"—he had Asperger’s, and his intelligence was as exceptional as his sister’s.

His social skills, however, were nearly nonexistent.

From that point on, Ning Zhou was finally allowed to attend school.

Li Jun learned all this from Ning Kang. The school administration was also aware.

But after Ning Zhou faced severe bullying and whispers in middle school when his condition was revealed, the information was kept confidential from other students.

For Ning Zhou, it was better if people simply saw him as eccentric and hard to get along with—at least then they’d dislike him from the start.

It was worse when others approached him out of curiosity, only to grow frustrated and leave, often with insults and attacks in their wake.

So when Li Jun wanted to secure an opportunity for Ning Zhou, he first asked for his opinion:

"This chance is truly rare. If you’re willing, I can explain your situation to President Sheng. From what Professor Wang said, she’s young and open-minded. Since she specifically asked about you, she must be interested."

"You can’t keep cutting corners to pursue your ideas. You can skimp on other things, but not research. Poor materials, accumulated over time, can cost lives."

Ning Zhou looked at Li Jun. His dark pupils, almost childlike, held a stubborn glint. After a second, he lowered his head again.

"I’ve tried. They just give up on me faster."

Li Jun sighed and gently patted Ning Zhou’s shoulder. This time, Ning Zhou didn’t pull away—maybe he needed the comfort.

"You still have to try. How else will you know? Maybe this time will be different."

Li Jun made the decision. "Alright, you stubborn kid, go prepare your materials. I’ll submit them. My reputation still carries some weight—President Sheng should be willing to meet me."

Ning Zhou lifted his arm and sniffed it, then retorted seriously, "I’m not smelly. I shower every day."

Li Jun couldn't help but laugh: "Alright, alright, you rascal, go on then."

Ning Zhou nodded in agreement and stepped outside, walking along his usual route.

Every step had to land within the school’s brick paths, close to the edge of the road. He had to keep his eyes on his surroundings and avoid getting lost in thought—habits drilled into him since childhood by his family.

People with Asperger’s syndrome rarely change their routines.

But this time, as Ning Zhou walked, his path was blocked by a plump cat licking its fur on the bricks. In a university where students often fed strays, cats like this one reigned supreme as the unofficial rulers of C University.

Most people would either step around it, walk straight past, or even stop to pet the cat.

But Ning Zhou? The chubby tabby refused to budge, so he didn’t either. He just stood there, waiting as the cat leisurely groomed itself in the sunlight.

He maintained this distance for a good ten minutes, but the cat showed no sign of moving. Ning Zhou glanced at his watch.

Growing anxious, he stared at the smug feline, opening his mouth, then closing it, then opening it again.

Just as fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead, a voice called out from ahead:

"Here, kitty, kitty~ Come here, kitty~"

It seemed every cat in China answered to "kitty." The fat cat perked up at the sound, rolled over with surprising agility, and trotted toward the voice, eagerly accepting the freshly opened cat treat being offered.

In return for this human’s tribute, the cat generously allowed her to tentatively stroke its head while purring loudly.

With the path now clear, Ning Zhou exhaled in relief and resumed his measured steps forward.

Then the young woman ahead called out to him: "You’re Ning Zhou, right? I’ve seen your photo before."

His progress halted again. Ning Zhou wanted to ignore her, but since she was smiling, he hesitated before stopping. "Yes. I’m Ning Zhou."

Most people might have followed up with, "Where did you see my photo?" But Ning Zhou’s response was just that—an answer, nothing more. After speaking, he prepared to keep walking.

But the girl stood up, still smiling, and introduced herself: "I’m Sheng Quan. Nice to meet you."

She glanced down at the cat, still devouring its snack, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons—a smile Ning Zhou had learned to recognize as genuinely friendly.

"I was watching from the convenience store up ahead for a few minutes. Did it block your way? It looked like you were waiting for it to move."

Ning Zhou replied stiffly, "Mm."

The girl laughed again—not the mocking or awkward laughter he was used to, but that same warm, crescent-eyed smile. His gaze lingered on her expression as she said:

"You’re very polite."

Not "You’re weird," or "What a freak," but a compliment.

Ning Zhou blinked, unsure how to respond.

The cat, having finished its treat, mewed sweetly and rubbed against Sheng Quan’s legs, angling for more. She crouched down and ruffled its fluffy head.

"Kitty, he gave you the right of way. Shouldn’t you say thank you?"

The cat played along, letting out a sugary meow in Ning Zhou’s direction, as if actually expressing gratitude.

Sheng Quan and the cat both looked up at him.

Under their gaze, Ning Zhou paused. His fair, delicate features tensed slightly before his lips finally parted, and he uttered three quiet words:

"You’re welcome."