Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 61

Most of the matters related to Ning Zhou had been settled, and as for the project team members, Sheng Quan had made it clear she wouldn’t interfere at all.

Though his social skills were practically nonexistent, Ning Zhou’s expertise in his field was undeniably reassuring.

For now, she shifted her attention to other student projects.

While her initial motivation had been Ning Zhou, Sheng Quan was genuinely serious about sifting through the multitude of projects available.

Of course, she wasn’t making the selections alone—she had enlisted professionals to analyze and pick the most promising ones.

Even as she participated in the evaluations, Teacher Wang couldn’t help but sigh every time he came across a project he particularly favored:

"Even at our university, students still don’t get enough research opportunities while they’re still in school."

Though he had been assigned by the university to accompany the big investor, after spending so much time together, Teacher Wang had come to see Sheng Quan almost like a junior family member, which was why he felt comfortable speaking his mind.

"It’s not just that lab resources are limited—there aren’t enough advisors either. Even when students take the initiative to start their own projects, funding is a huge hurdle for those who haven’t yet made a name for themselves outside campus."

He sighed as he flipped through the project proposal in his hands. "Take this one, for example. You can tell just by looking that the student has done their homework. The foundation is solid, and the chances of success are high."

"But even so, unless they’ve already built a reputation or have a well-known advisor, hardly anyone would be willing to invest."

Sheng Quan nodded in understanding—it was only natural.

Even though everyone acknowledged that young people were the hope of the future, when it came to investments, most would still choose experienced individuals with proven track records over blank-slate students.

Investing in students meant being prepared to lose every penny. Who would do that?

Even if billionaires wanted to do good, they’d likely prefer donating directly or building schools—at least those were tangible, guaranteed to be put to use.

But research? They might be happy to donate to the university as a whole, but directly funding student projects? Almost unheard of.

Because that money could very well vanish into thin air.

Pouring vast sums into research, only for it all to come to nothing, was an all-too-common outcome in the scientific world.

And if the investment went to students? The likelihood of total loss didn’t just rise from 60%—it skyrocketed to 90%.

The teachers might joke about how tempting that billion-yuan investment was, even for them.

But those who truly understood the struggles of student researchers knew just how rare and precious this opportunity was for undergraduates.

This was a completely fair competition—any student could participate.

The competition might be fierce, but at least this was a chance meant just for them.

Sheng Quan took the proposal from Teacher Wang and placed it in the "Final Review" stack.

"Things won’t stay this way forever. Twenty years ago, C University barely had any equipment—now they’ve got every instrument that’s ever hit the market."

Half-joking, half-serious, she added, "Just wait and see. C University is full of geniuses—they just need an opportunity. If my investment helps these talents soar, companies will be lining up to fund students, and you’ll be swamped hosting them all."

She wasn’t wrong. Businesses partnered with universities for profit, after all. If Sheng Quan’s student investments yielded double or triple returns, others would quickly follow suit once they saw the potential gains.

Teacher Wang wasn’t nearly as optimistic. "That’s easy to say, but with research, who can predict anything?"

Even as professors, they could spend seven or eight years on a project and still have nothing to show for it. How could they place too much faith in students? That was just the nature of research—hard work didn’t always guarantee results.

As a teacher, he wanted students to have as many hands-on opportunities as possible.

But personally, he admired Sheng Quan too much not to worry—what if she lost everything with no returns at all?

A conscientious entrepreneur like her, willing to spend so much nurturing young talent—if she suffered massive losses for doing good, it would weigh heavily on his heart.

"How could I possibly lose everything?" Sheng Quan, however, seemed untroubled. "Have you forgotten what my company does?"

"Big news!"

A young woman burst into the dorm room, excitement lighting up her face as she addressed her roommates:

"Do you know why Sheng Quan is picking student projects at our university to invest in?"

At the mention of Sheng Quan’s name, the previously curious roommates perked up instantly:

"Wasn’t it because she knows some big-shot alumnus who recommended our school?"

If there were a ranking for C University’s hottest topics lately, Sheng Quan’s name would undoubtedly top the list.

In less than a week, every rumor and tidbit about her—how wealthy she was, how extensive her connections, how deep her background—had spread across the entire campus.

Don’t assume C University students were above gossip. No matter how high their IQs or grades, they were still barely in their twenties, some even younger. Once they got started, they could out-gossip anyone.

Especially when the subject was a major investor!

At this age, most students were bursting with energy—the harder they studied, the more they dreamed of making their mark.

But university was like a preview of the real world, blaring a harsh truth at them: all those grand plans of diving into research, studying diligently, and gaining practical experience? Lovely in theory, but without funding, none of it mattered.

No money for research? How were they supposed to run projects, gain experience, or even learn properly?

Poverty forced these ambitious students to hit a wall.

All they could do was desperately seek out professors, try to impress them, or cozy up to senior students, begging to be included in their projects. Others agonized over papers, praying to every deity that their work might get published.

And then, out of nowhere, a fortune dropped from the sky.

Was it any wonder the students treated the woman holding that fortune like a goddess?

"Okay, calling her a ‘goddess’ is a bit much, don’t you think?"

"Much? That’s not even an exaggeration. Forget a billion—if someone gave me just ten grand, I’d light incense for the boss every morning and night, praying for her health and endless prosperity."

Another girl, eager to hear the actual news, steered the conversation back:

"So what’s the big announcement? Is it about why Sheng Quan’s investing here?"

"Oh, right, right!" The excited young woman’s eyes sparkled. "You all know Sheng Quan owns Starlight Entertainment, right? She backed The Path of Life and The Cultivator, but that’s not the point. The real news is—Starlight’s prepping a major new production."

"The theme is said to be sci-fi set in space, and guess what? One of the seniors in our institute has already signed a contract, with additional projects including making props for the film—props that are practically indistinguishable from the real thing.

But that’s still not the biggest highlight! The biggest highlight is—because the big boss values that senior’s project so much, and there are so many additional projects, the funding directly allocated to them is fifty million!"

"Fifty million?!!!"

Almost everyone’s eyes widened in shock.

"Fifty million... I wouldn’t even dare dream that big. What kind of project is this senior working on? Are they still looking for people? Can we still apply to join now?"

The young girl was pleased with their reactions. Having already gone through her own wave of astonishment earlier, she now appeared relatively calm:

"Don’t just focus on the fifty million! Listen to the key point! The fact that the big boss is pouring money into additional projects for the film crew means what? It means she’s likely to favor projects whose results can be directly used in the film!"

Her gaze landed on the long-haired girl sitting at the desk, still lost in thoughts about the "fifty million":

"Shu Yue, isn’t your project about robotic guide dogs? Have you submitted it? I think it fits perfectly for film production. There’s a real chance it could get approved."

The girl called Shu Yue froze for a moment, her first reaction being disbelief:

"There are way too many people researching robotics. I heard some seniors who’ve already made progress have also submitted proposals. My chances are probably slim."

Her roommate reassured her: "Not necessarily. Didn’t you consult about this project before? Weren’t they all praising its feasibility?"

Gu Shuyue couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope at these words.

She was exactly the kind of student Teacher Wang had described—unknown, without a mentor, from an average family, not a genius but diligent and hardworking. If not for Sheng Quan’s wide-net opportunity, she might have had to wait until graduate school, under a professor’s guidance, before daring to dream of joining someone else’s project.

Even then, it would take a year or two of accumulating experience, and only if luck was on her side with one or two successful projects, would she have a slim chance of starting her own.

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Despite having followed the field of robotic guide dogs since middle school, painstakingly gathering knowledge and experience, confident she could produce some results within six months if given the chance—it didn’t matter. Robotics was notoriously expensive, yet highly competitive. No one would invest in an ordinary student like Gu Shuyue, who hadn’t even won any awards yet.

So, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‍stumbling upon this opportunity, even if she downplayed it with words like "the odds are low," deep down, she couldn’t help but hope.

And it wasn’t just her. Her roommates were hoping just as hard.

While Gu Shuyue feared setting her expectations too high only to be disappointed, her roommates practically chanted in their hearts eight times a day for her to succeed.

As the saying goes: When one rises to fame, even their chickens and dogs ascend to heaven!

Gu Shuyue saw herself as ordinary, but her roommates thought she was amazing. After all, she was only a junior, yet she’d already drafted a project proposal—and she was willing to bring them along.

In other words, she was the entire dorm’s hope.

After being comforted by her roommates, the dorm’s hope heard her phone ring. She got up and stepped onto the balcony to answer:

"Hi, Mom. Yeah, I’ve eaten. I have enough money—of course I do. The cafeteria here is cheap, and studies aren’t too stressful. How are things at home? Good, good. Don’t worry, I’m doing just fine."

After exchanging a few more words and catching up, the call ended. Gu Shuyue stared at the contact name—"Mom"—and her tired expression hardened with renewed determination.

Just as she was about to return to her books, her phone buzzed with a new text notification.

These days, spam messages were everywhere, but broke college students couldn’t afford to ignore a single one. Despite living in the digital age, their stubborn school still clung to mass SMS for official notices.

Like the "one billion" opportunity—first announced via text, with students directed to the school website for details.

Gu Shuyue absentmindedly tapped the message, her thoughts drifting to whether she should head to the library later.

Then, her breath caught in her throat.

"Shu Yue, I’m going to the laundry room. Do you have any clothes to—what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost." Her roommate pushed open the balcony door, reaching for the clothes outside, only to freeze at Gu Shuyue’s stunned expression.

Gu Shuyue opened her mouth, taking several seconds to find her voice: "I... I got it..."

"Got what? You look—" Her roommate’s eyes suddenly widened. "You got it?! You got approved?! Sheng Quan chose you?!!"

Gu Shuyue couldn’t even speak, nodding repeatedly, her ears ringing too much to make out her roommates’ excited screams and laughter.

Only when a tissue was pressed into her hand did she realize she was crying—tears streaming down her face.

Belatedly embarrassed, Gu Shuyue wiped her cheeks, but her roommates were even more ecstatic:

"We get it! We totally get it! Oh my god, I’m about to cry too! This has to be at least ten million in funding, right? Ten million!!!"

"I knew it! I just knew it! Everyone online said Sheng Quan only cares about ability, nothing else. Shu Yue, you’ve got this! Maybe you’ll even get extra funding like that senior!"

Surrounded by her cheering roommates, Gu Shuyue—eyes still red—finally laughed along.

For the first time, this young girl from a small town, with dreams of her own, felt the path ahead crystal clear. She knew this was just the beginning—countless challenges awaited once the project officially started.

But at this moment, she wasn’t afraid.

Gu Shuyue tightened her grip on her phone, as if holding onto a bright future.

Far away in that small town, reassured her daughter was doing well, Mother Gu set down the phone and gathered her things to head out.

As she opened the door, her neighbor stepped out too. She paused, motioning for the other woman to go first.

"Oh, Mother Gu, off to buy groceries? Where’s your husband today?" The neighbor lingered, curiosity getting the better of her.

Mother Gu smiled. "He’s working overtime, so it’s just me. It’s fine—the market’s right downstairs, and everyone there knows me. No one’s going to cheat me."

"The street’s a bit crowded today. Let’s go together—I need to pick up some things too." The neighbor looped her arm through Mother Gu’s, warm and inviting.

"Alright." Mother Gu didn’t refuse the kindness.

She extended her retractable white cane, adjusted her sunglasses, and carefully tucked her wallet into an inner pocket. Satisfied nothing was forgotten, she nodded.

"Let’s go."

—At the same moment, a student fresh out of the lab stretched his stiff neck, dragging himself forward like a zombie as he pulled out his phone to check his messages.

First, check the text messages, then the QQ group, and finally scroll through the SMS inbox—nothing much today... Huh?!!!

"Holy crap!! Holy crap!! Holy crap HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

A student passing by with a junior who was visiting the area for the first time witnessed the scene of this student laughing maniacally in the hallway and clicked their tongue. "Another one’s lost it."

"Don’t worry about it. No one in research stays sane forever. You’ll get used to it."

On this day, many people "lost it."

All because of that one text message notifying them that their project had been approved.

The originally planned three projects had ballooned to over thirty.

Though more than twenty of them required funding under a million yuan, Sheng Quan didn’t deduct this from the initial one billion but instead added an extra thirty million.

—Because the research institute hadn’t spent much, Chairman Sheng still had plenty to spare.

So now, the situation was this: one billion yuan to be split among three major projects.

Ning Zhou got fifty million, Gu Shuyue got thirty million, and a student named Cheng Qixing received the remaining twenty million.

The additional thirty million was divided among thirty smaller projects.

What the three major project leaders thought about monopolizing the one billion was unknown to the smaller project teams. All they knew was that they were over the moon!

What’s an unexpected windfall? This was it!

Especially after the media interviewed Sheng Quan, who said:

"Originally, there were only three slots. That’s what we initially discussed with the university. But the students at C University exceeded our expectations—so many projects were simply too outstanding to pass up. That’s why we decided to invest more."

"Yes, I have a script about the interstellar era. Reading it made me so envious—I wished I could wake up in the future and see all that advanced technology. But when I went through these students’ project proposals, one by one, and saw the directions of their research, it hit me: I don’t need to envy the future. Because they’re the ones creating it."

After elaborating on how these projects were both wildly imaginative and full of promise, Sheng Quan concluded:

"We’ll likely continue investing this way in the future. Honestly, these students have given me such a pleasant surprise. I’m really looking forward to collaborating again."

Though the interview was short, it set the hearts of countless C University students ablaze.

[So that’s what happened! I heard over a dozen projects got funding when it was originally supposed to be just a handful. Turns out it was because of this!]

[Our school’s full of hidden talent! Their research projects were so impressive that Sheng Quan couldn’t bear to pass them up, even if it meant investing extra!]

[My project was one of the thirty. Honestly, I’m kind of ashamed—I only joined to pad my resume. But hearing Sheng Quan say so earnestly that we’re ‘creating the future,’ and knowing she must’ve deliberated hard before adding thirty million… I swear I’ll never half-ass it again.]

[Our project made it too. All twenty-something of us vowed not to let Chairman Sheng down!]

[I literally cried when I got the text. Then I cried again reading the news. Thank you so much, Chairman Sheng. We’ll do our best to create that future.]

[Sheng Quan’s seriously the best. I even saw her teasing the school’s ‘Flower Senior’ the other day and buying snacks for him.]

[Teasing a senior???]

[Upstairs, ‘Flower Senior’ is a calico cat that hangs around the lab building.]

At first, the news didn’t gain much traction beyond C University students, who mostly discussed it in campus forums.

But the story was just too perfect for mainstream media.

First, a company actively investing in student projects, encouraging on-campus research initiatives—pure positive energy.

Second, students enthusiastically submitting proposals, with so many outstanding ones that the company couldn’t choose and decided to add thirty million—also positive energy.

Finally, students feeling inspired to strive harder—overflowing with positivity.

It had heart, emotion, and showcased young talent while encouraging other entrepreneurs to join in shaping a brighter future for research. Simply flawless.

Even Sheng Quan’s previous one-billion-yuan donation didn’t get as much love from mainstream media as this did.

Once leading outlets reposted it, others quickly followed suit.

"Sheng Quan: I Added Thirty Million Because I Saw the Future They’re Creating"

"XXX Praises Sheng Quan, Urges Entrepreneurs to Support Research"

"She ‘Wasted’ 130 Million, Yet People’s Daily Applauds Her"

Almost overnight, Sheng Quan was trending across every major platform.

Industry peers: "..."

They’d thought Starlight Entertainment was busy prepping a new film and wouldn’t make any big moves for a year. Then Sheng Quan pulled this stunt.

Some found it baffling: "How does she even make university collaborations newsworthy?"

And not just gossip—proper, reputable news.

The entertainment industry’s longing for mainstream media recognition is like craving an official stamp of approval. If a celebrity got even a passing mention in serious press, their fans would never stop bragging.

Why?

Because mainstream media rarely praises anything related to showbiz.

Yet with Sheng Quan, that rule seemed nonexistent.

After stewing in envy, some consoled themselves: "She’s not even on TV. Even if she’s getting all this praise, her artists won’t benefit. If that 130 million is just for this, it’s not worth it."

"Right. Chairman Sheng just loves the spotlight. A few newspaper compliments? Who even reads those anymore? Sure, it’s positive energy, but the hype won’t last."

Then, it made it to television.

Central News broadcast.