Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 64

Sheng Quan was nothing short of pleasantly surprised.

She had previously extended an invitation to Professor Chen, after all, Chen was an expert in robotics, and as everyone knew, sci-fi films were never without robots.

But back then, Chen Aihong had flatly refused, forcing Sheng Quan to settle for inviting her as a consultant for the film crew.

Now, however, Chen was proactively seeking collaboration.

Sheng Quan hadn’t come across Chen Aihong’s name in the original text, but she could see her current achievements.

After reviewing the project proposal, the third round of approvals went smoothly, and she officially entered into a partnership with Professor Chen Aihong.

When the news spread, the first to express astonishment wasn’t the film crew but the researchers familiar with Professor Chen.

Even Chen Aihong’s mentor, Academician Zhang, called to ask:

“You’ve never liked collaborating with corporations before. Even when that big company, Leyuan, approached you, you turned them down. Why the change of heart now?”

Chen Aihong replied, “It’s just… I feel at ease. I like Director Sheng’s attitude toward researchers.”

She turned to look at the bustling film crew, the mechanical transport dogs moving around the set, and the small-scale rail system being constructed in the distance.

None of this was groundbreaking enough to shock researchers—mechanical dogs had been done before, and these transport units lacked autonomy, with obstacle avoidance still somewhat rudimentary.

But they had been built by a group of students barely in their twenties, in an incredibly short time.

And now, with Sheng Quan’s strong support, these students were pushing forward, alongside more than thirty other student teams.

Thinking of Ning Zhou’s team, whom she had seen at the research institute, Chen Aihong said:

“Teacher, you might think this sounds far-fetched, but even though this is just a movie, I believe that by the time it’s released, it might truly create not just one, but several miracles.”

Academician Zhang paused for a few seconds. Instead of dismissing his student’s words as wishful thinking, the ninety-year-old chuckled and responded:

“Then let’s look forward to that day together.”

While Chen Aihong and the others were anticipating miracles, the on-set visual effects (VFX) supervisors sent by Starlight Entertainment felt they were already witnessing one.

It was common knowledge that film VFX were part of post-production.

But in reality, there was such a thing as on-set VFX supervision—a role that involved following the production from start to finish, collecting data, and assisting during the filming of VFX-heavy scenes.

It sounded impressive, but in simple terms, it was underpaid and overworked.

To elaborate: the pay wasn’t terrible, but the workload was absolutely overwhelming.

Put nicely, on-set VFX supervisors served as a bridge between VFX companies and the film crew. Put bluntly, they were stuck in the middle, bearing the brunt of conflicting demands.

Every day, they lugged around multiple heavy pieces of equipment while dealing with unexpected issues. Domestic VFX artists weren’t yet mainstream, and on-set VFX supervision was still an underdeveloped field. Often, when the VFX company said one thing and the crew said another, the pressure could become unbearable.

But to their surprise, the newly hired VFX supervisors at Starlight Entertainment found their work on Star Wars proceeding remarkably smoothly.

The crew’s attitude toward them was even more seamless than on some big-budget Hollywood sets.

Gao Shi, the leader of the on-set VFX team, had seen his fair share of high-profile productions. Yet, after joining the Star Wars crew, he spent the first few days in a state of flattered disbelief at how valued they were.

In truth, Gao Shi had been with Starlight Entertainment for less than ten days.

He was an old classmate of Tan Hongguang’s and had been working abroad, where the VFX environment was more developed. But with his elderly parents growing older and his old friend luring him back with a generous salary, he had finally taken the plunge and resigned to return home.

At Starlight Entertainment, there were quite a few VFX artists like Gao Shi—those who had worked overseas but were persuaded by Tan Hongguang or others to come back.

Most had families. If not for necessity, who would willingly live far from home? A stable, well-paying job in their own country was enough to make them pack their bags and return.

Gao Shi was the most experienced on-set VFX supervisor at Starlight Entertainment, so within three days of joining, he was promoted to team leader.

The title wasn’t what mattered—what mattered was the higher salary.

This early boost eased his initial worries. More importantly, Starlight Entertainment was expanding at an astonishing rate.

After the viral success of their Ten Great Celestial Palaces VFX showcase, the company’s name had entered the public consciousness. The stunningly detailed effects not only boosted their reputation but also attracted top domestic VFX talent.

From day one, Gao Shi had sensed the enormous ambition behind this fledgling company.

In China, a VFX team of a few dozen was already considered sizable.

The biggest VFX firms had maybe two or three hundred employees.

Yet Starlight Entertainment, a brand-new company, already had a staggering six hundred employees—and was still hiring.

While continuously releasing high-quality VFX content related to Starlight Entertainment to attract fans, they had turned down all new clients after Star Wars began filming, focusing every resource on this one production.

This wasn’t just about making Star Wars Starlight Entertainment’s biggest advertisement.

Gao Shi had never met Chairman Sheng Quan, but it was clear that a leader who could steer Starlight Entertainment’s steady rise wasn’t the type to “whimsically decide to start a massive VFX company.”

Running a VFX studio was expensive, let alone one with over five hundred employees and the countless high-end, pricey equipment on set. These preparations couldn’t possibly be just for Star Wars.

Starlight Entertainment… was playing a much bigger game.

Once Gao Shi realized this, his enthusiasm for work soared.

If Starlight Entertainment had founded a subsidiary like this to produce more blockbuster films, it meant that as long as Starlight stood, the VFX studio would thrive.

On a personal level, it meant promotions and raises—maybe even a lifelong career at Starlight.

On a grander scale, if Sheng Quan’s plans panned out, the studio he was part of might one day make waves globally.

Having worked abroad, Gao Shi was acutely aware of the global disdain for Chinese VFX.

But in reality, Chinese VFX artists were far from inferior.

Many Hollywood blockbusters with jaw-dropping effects had Chinese artists behind them, and international films often outsourced VFX work to Chinese studios.

All Gao Shi could hope was that his instincts were right—that Sheng Quan was indeed orchestrating something monumental behind Starlight Entertainment and its VFX subsidiary.

The thought alone was exhilarating.

Not aiming to compete with those top-tier special effects companies, it would be enough if a Chinese special effects firm could secure a place on the international stage.

"It's not enough."

Sheng Quan flipped through the equipment list: "Send someone to purchase more fixed cameras, and motion capture devices too. The equipment must be among the most cutting-edge available."

The reason this report landed in her hands was due to the staggering amount of money involved.

Even before the film began shooting, they had already purchased a large batch of filming equipment and on-set special effects gear, along with substantial investments in research. Now, just as production officially started, another massive expenditure was required.

The enormous profits generated by "The Cultivator" had barely warmed their hands before being poured out again. Anyone else might have advised against it.

But the executor was Gu Zhao.

Within the entire company, he was the most radical, though his usual rational approach to handling affairs masked it well.

Not only did he immediately agree to execute the plan, but he also raised another major company matter:

"We need to clear out the 32nd floor as well."

Recently, Starlight Entertainment had undergone a significant expansion. Artists previously signed under the company had been assigned suitable roles, and now their projects were entering a phase of explosive releases.

Just ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‍like Yan Hui, Hua Qing, and Jiang Zhen, as their films and shows aired, the influx of fans and fame brought invitations from production teams and brands alike.

At the start of the year, Jiang Zhen had already traveled to various countries over eight times. Yan Hui and Hua Qing were similarly busy, though their fanbases were mostly domestic, so their schedules kept them flying around the country.

Despite the hectic pace, all of them were highly career-driven and found fulfillment in their work.

At Starlight, exploiting artists was strictly forbidden—a firm decree from the top leadership, Sheng Quan herself.

Moreover, as long as signed artists had the talent, the company would propel them forward. Even newcomers who struggled to land roles could be placed in Starlight's own productions.

And it wasn’t just actors. Take Jin Jiu, An Baixing, and Yu Hongdou—Starlight’s first batch of signed singers—who, in just a short time, had already gained considerable fame.

Jin Jiu had released several new songs, and after "The Cultivator" aired, the theme song he performed became a nationwide hit. Though he didn’t hold many concerts, the ones he did were packed to capacity.

He was even invited to be a mentor on a talent show—though he declined, the fact that he went from an unknown contestant to a potential mentor in less than a year was something even inspirational movies wouldn’t dare portray.

With the company’s fair treatment and proven ability to elevate artists, Starlight Entertainment, barely a year old, had quickly become a dream destination for many in the industry.

Newcomers choosing agencies were one thing, but even established artists stuck in stagnant careers were willing to pay termination fees to jump ship to Starlight.

This rapid growth, however, came with a downside: space was running out.

They needed another floor for operations, as well as new hires.

Reviewing the company’s current state, Sheng Quan recalled her early days founding Starlight, when she had imagined the entire Huaxing Building one day belonging to the company.

She hadn’t expected Starlight to double in size so quickly.

Though thrilled, her thoughts aligned with Gu Zhao’s:

"After this expansion, slow down new signings for now. Let’s stabilize first."

While rapid growth was exhilarating, entertainment companies—often tied to large projects and financial strains—needed breathing room.

The entire Starlight team had been working at full throttle. In most industries, high rewards came with high-intensity labor, and "The Cultivator’s" success had brought not just wealth but an overwhelming workload.

Walking through the offices, Sheng Quan saw employees rushing about, executives with dark circles under their eyes, and hairlines that seemed to have receded slightly.

Even workaholic Gu Zhao looked worn out—though thankfully, his hair remained intact.

As someone who spent her leisure time strolling, getting massages, or soaking in hot springs, Sheng Quan felt she ought to do something.

She turned to Gu Zhao, whose rare display of fatigue didn’t escape her:

"The company’s almost a year old. I’d like to select outstanding employees from management and staff for a vacation—as a form of welfare. You haven’t had a single proper break this year. Why not take this chance to relax?"

Gu Zhao paused. "A vacation?"

He’d never taken one. Before adulthood, his life was consumed by relentless studying, and after starting work, the idea was laughable.

Without a second thought, CEO Gu refused outright:

"I don’t need a vacation."

The concept of "work-life balance" had never existed in Gu Zhao’s dictionary. He’d much rather be at his desk working.

He knew Sheng Quan meant well, and though he was sparing with words to others, he made an effort to explain to his boss:

"It’s a waste of time."

Seeing her still watching him, Gu Zhao knew she was concerned about his health.

He wanted to insist he was fine, but given Sheng Quan’s tendency to drag him for checkups—and his recent exhaustion—he reluctantly offered a compromise:

"I’ll consider a vacation when airports eliminate layover times."

Though he wouldn’t go himself, he fully supported sending top employees on trips, believing it would boost morale and loyalty, motivating them to work even harder afterward.

For new hires, such perks would also drive ambition.

He suggested: "Send them to Starlight Manor. Employees recognizing the company’s strength will benefit future growth."

"With Starlight focusing resources on 'Stellar War,' rumors and partners are worried about our finances, which has affected staff morale."

Sheng Quan wasn’t surprised. "Stellar War" was a money pit, and expansion costs added to the pressure. The bustling surface inevitably masked underlying concerns.

She chuckled. "Don’t worry about that. I have a solution."

"But the manor is a great choice for employee vacations."

The matter was settled.

Starlight began mass recruitment while running internal evaluations.

Ever the efficiency expert, Gu Zhao tied it to an anniversary celebration—after onboarding the new hires.

Among the fresh faces was Yu Miao, a recent graduate.

Yes, that girl who had watched "The Cultivator" three times and even bought tickets to visit the Ten Great Immortal Palaces—Yu Miao—immediately submitted her resume when she discovered Starlight Entertainment was hiring.

It wasn’t just for the chance to see celebrities. Despite her online persona constantly posting things like "AWSL, I’d rush up and call her 'wifey wifey'!" in reality, Yu Miao was too shy to even ask for a photo with her favorite stars. She could only silently freak out in her heart.

The main reason? Starlight Entertainment was famously known for its excellent benefits!

An online friend of hers worked there and never missed a chance to rave about how great the environment was, how healthy the competition, and most importantly—how high the salaries were.

Clearly, Yu Miao wasn’t the only one who thought so. During the interview, she saw plenty of other candidates waiting, and at that moment, she was terrified she wouldn’t make the cut.

Luckily, she passed. And right after starting, she got to attend the company’s anniversary event.

The highlight? It was held on a weekday.

The company would rather split employees into two shifts for the celebration than encroach on their rest days. Even as a first-time employee, Yu Miao knew how considerate that was.

Plus, she’d heard the anniversary wasn’t just held at a luxury hotel—there were also awards for outstanding employees and a raffle. New hires couldn’t compete for the awards, but they could still win prizes!

And a hotel that fancy? Yu Miao had never even set foot in one before.

She hadn’t yet tasted the bitterness of work but was already savoring the sweetness of its perks—that was her current state of mind.

Naturally, with her strong urge to share, she practically wanted to shout to the world about how amazing her new company was.

That day, as she stepped off the subway and walked toward Huaxing Building, a real-life friend—who’d been keeping tabs on her arrival—timed a video call perfectly.

"Let me see! Show me what the inside of Huaxing Building looks like! All the pics online are just exteriors—barely any of the inside."

Her friend wasn’t in the city but was job-hunting there. After hearing Yu Miao gush so much, she wanted to find work in a company based in Huaxing Building too, so they could hang out more.

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

Yu Miao raised her phone. "I’m not there yet, just a little farther. But here’s the outside—see? Super high-end, right?"

Her friend’s eyes suddenly widened. "Wait—what’s that flying in the sky? A plane? It’s so low!"

"Holy—!!! It’s stopping!! On the rooftop?? Hold on, don’t shake the phone—I’m screen-recording!"

Atop Huaxing Building, Sheng Quan stepped off the helicopter and stretched.

"Now this is the life."

She pulled out her phone and dialed Secretary Zhang directly:

"Tell President Gu to come up for a break. If he can’t go far, nearby is fine."

In the CEO’s office, Secretary Zhang silently glanced at his boss.

Gu Zhao stood, his hand resting on a stack of documents.

Sheng Quan’s voice came through again: "Oh, and is President Gu listening? Don’t let him bring work. Otherwise, I’m dragging him for a health check."

Gu Zhao: "..."

The cold-faced CEO reluctantly withdrew his hand from the files.

While Gu Zhao experienced the novelty of his first-ever vacation, a video quickly went viral online.

#HelicopterAtHuaxingBuilding

#PrivateHelicopterLandsOnSkyscraper

Even residents in distant high-rises captured footage of Starlight Entertainment’s chairwoman, Sheng Quan, stepping out of the helicopter.

Amid the strong winds, Sheng Quan stood beside the aircraft, flanked by six long-legged bodyguards shielding her—a scene rivaling that legendary photo taken at the gates of Starlight Manor.

The image all but confirmed that this exorbitantly expensive private helicopter belonged to Sheng Quan.

With its appearance, all rumors about financial troubles instantly evaporated.

After some digging, netizens discovered the truth: this ultra-luxury "ride" had originally been custom-ordered by a foreign tycoon, but when his finances collapsed, Sheng Quan swooped in and snatched it up.

And what did she do after acquiring it? Flew it straight to her own company.

Those who’d confidently declared Starlight was doomed: "..."

This was ridiculous.

Do rich people really commute by helicopter now?!