Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 65

As an avid novel enthusiast, Sheng Quan had read plenty of plots where domineering CEOs owned private jets.

Back then, she just thought, "Wow, that’s so extra."

But when she finally got one herself… well, it was extra.

And it felt amazing.

Traffic in the city was horrendous. Her luxury car was undoubtedly stylish and comfortable, but being stuck on the road for one or two hours? Not so fun.

Especially since she’d been traveling frequently lately—almost daily—and the traffic jams were relentless.

Sheng Quan could afford to leisurely waste time, but as her ventures grew bigger and more demanding, she found herself increasingly intolerant of such inefficiency.

She even suspected that one reason Gu Zhao treated the office like home was simply to avoid getting stuck in traffic.

That was exactly the kind of thing he’d do—after all, this was the same man who ordered most of his daily necessities online just to save time.

After Sheng Quan forcibly sent Gu Zhao to a resort for a three-day break, he returned and, predictably, dove straight back into work.

The good news? His complexion had visibly improved.

When Sheng Quan asked what he’d done during his vacation, Gu Zhao—now looking even more handsome after his rest—paused thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering:

"Read books, looked at greenery, watched the sunset."

Seeing Sheng Quan’s momentary blank expression, Gu Zhao, prepared for this reaction, assured her he had enjoyed himself—so much so that he’d even brought her a gift.

A single green plant.

"Thanks."

Sheng Quan took the small pot and studied the lone sprout inside for a solid ten seconds before hesitantly asking, "Is this… grass?"

"Yes." Gu Zhao explained earnestly, "I found three blades under a stone slab. I watched them push through the cracks."

Sheng Quan glanced at the single blade in the pot. "Three? Why is there only one here?"

Gu Zhao replied matter-of-factly, "I kept one for myself—planning to grow it in the office. The other is Lane’s. Since plants are hard to transport overseas, I’m keeping his with mine until he visits China."

Sheng Quan: "…"

Gu Zhao even offered helpfully, "If you’re worried about keeping it alive, I can take care of it. I have experience."

Sheng Quan looked down at the tiny sprout in its miniature pot. "I think I can manage."

Gu Zhao seemed genuinely experienced—he’d even custom-ordered miniature "stone slabs" online to recreate the plant’s original growing conditions.

Sheng Quan didn’t get it.

Couldn’t he just pick up rocks from the flowerbed downstairs?

At first, keeping a single blade of grass felt odd, but Sheng Quan eventually grew accustomed to it—especially after Gu Zhao named his. Following his lead, she christened hers Fortune.

The symbolism was… unmistakable.

To live up to its name, Sheng Quan went shopping and, after unintentionally buying a pile of exquisite cups and dishes, finally found a delicate little pot adorned with a tiny golden ingot.

Once her pot was ready, she snapped a photo of the two small pots on Gu Zhao’s desk, then one of her own, and sent them all to Lane overseas with the caption:

[The left one’s yours.]

Lane: [What kind of plant is this?]

Sheng Quan: [Didn’t your brother tell you? It’s his gift for you. I have one too—the second photo’s mine.]

Lane: [Haha, why’s he suddenly giving us gifts? Also, what plant is this? I can’t tell.]

Sheng Quan: [I forced him to take a vacation. After three days, this was his souvenir. It’s wild grass—I thought you knew. He said he once received a blade of grass as a gift when he was little and kept it alive for over a year.]

Lane didn’t reply for a long time. By the time Sheng Quan had finished a relaxing bath, his response finally came:

[Tell Ryan I love the gift. I’ll come to China soon to see it.]

He actually wanted to fly to China just to look at a blade of grass.

Truly brothers—their tastes aligned perfectly.

Sheng Quan mused that for future gifts, she could consider Gunnera manicata—the world’s largest herb. It’d make a great oversized potted plant.

As Sheng Quan settled in to watch a drama before bed, Lane, far away in Country A, remained sprawled across his plush mattress, repeatedly reopening his phone to stare at the photo of the two wild grass sprouts.

The vibrant green shoots, firmly rooted in their tiny pots, had an unexpected charm.

It reminded him of the first time he’d met Ryan.

Lane hadn’t always been this languid.

He grew up in an oppressively strict environment, where elders couldn’t tolerate the family’s gradual decline. Starting from his grandfather’s generation, marriages were arranged solely with high-IQ partners—like selective breeding for prized pets.

Their goal? To produce exceptional offspring who could restore the family’s former glory.

Lane was the child bred for his high IQ, and naturally, he received a rigorous education from a young age.

They hired top tutors to teach him. He wasn’t allowed to rest or play like other children his age. If he dared to slack off or failed to deliver results that satisfied the elders, he would be locked in a terrifying dark room.

For a child so young, every day was exhausting. But back then, he didn’t even realize how wrong their treatment of him was—because to prevent him from being "tempted by the outside world," they didn’t even let him interact with other kids.

But Lane had always been stubborn. He planned an escape, only to get lost in what seemed like an enormous garden to him. Eventually, he stumbled upon another dark room.

Inside was another child.

The two never even saw each other, separated by the door. When the other child asked who he was, the frightened little Lane, afraid of being reported, plucked a blade of grass from the ground and slid it through the gap under the door.

"Be quiet, okay? This room is dark and scary, right? I sneaked here to see you. This is a gift for you."

Truthfully, Lane had almost forgotten this incident over the years. But now, as he recalled it, the distant memory seemed to replay vividly before his eyes.

He still remembered how the child in the dark room stayed silent for a long time. Just as he began to feel uneasy, the blade of grass was carefully pulled inside.

Then came a very soft whisper:

"Thank you."

Back then, Lane faintly caught the scent of blood. Terrified, he ran away as fast as he could, only to be caught by the adults shortly after.

Later, he learned that the child’s name was Ryan, who also had a Chinese name—Gu Zhao.

Like Lane, Ryan was a genius. But as a mixed-race child, he was even less favored by the adults. Yet they still pinned their hopes on his brilliant mind, subjecting him to harsher and more unbearable treatment than Lane.

Unlike Lane’s parents, who, despite their neglect, occasionally shielded him, Ryan’s parents never protected him. They relentlessly drilled into him the idea that he "must succeed," never caring that he was still just a child.

In the end, the family did succeed in raising two geniuses. But neither of them was willing to fulfill their elders’ dreams of reviving the family’s glory.

On the day he came of age, Ryan left the family for good.

As for Lane, he stayed—but only to live lazily, happily leeching off the family. Every time he saw those people despairing over his "wasted potential," looking like they might cough up blood in frustration, he felt pure joy.

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To outsiders, Lane’s life seemed carefree and enviable. And in many ways, it was. But deep down, he knew there was an ever-growing void in his heart. No matter how much he indulged or sought pleasure, it only expanded with time.

But then, at some point—perhaps after taking on this job—he realized he wasn’t as resistant to work as he’d thought.

Especially when the boss was Sheng Quan.

Lane rolled over in bed and sent Gu Zhao a message:

[Has the void in your heart been filled yet?]

They’d never discussed this before, but he knew the other man would understand.

—Beep.

The screen lit up. Lane immediately grabbed his phone—sure enough, it was Gu Zhao’s reply.

[I think it has.]

Lane: [Any particular reason?]

In China, Gu Zhao gazed out at the night view outside his window. After a few seconds, he replied: [Because the sunset is beautiful.]

[After seeing it, I remembered how much I used to long for it as a child. And now, I’ve finally seen it.]

Lane: [Good point. I wanted to see the sunset too back then. Damn tutors always kept me studying till 11. Alright, I’ll make sure to watch it properly today.]

[Oh, by the way, it’s 11 PM in China now, right?]

[Why aren’t you asleep? Are you secretly working?]

[I’m telling Sheng Quan. Hahahahaha.]

Gu Zhao: "……"

Lane: [Speaking of, what was your goal again? Turning Xing Mang into a world-class top-tier company?]

[Count me in. I’d like to know what it feels like to stand at the top too.]

Gu Zhao’s expression softened slightly as he prepared to reply. But before he could type, another message popped up:

[But I’m still telling on you. Hahahahaha.]

The next morning, Sheng Quan woke up to a plea for help from Lane. He claimed he’d accidentally angered Gu Zhao and was now blocked—begging her to put in a good word for him.

The freshly awakened Sheng Quan: Wow, managing to piss off Gu Zhao? Impressive.

She cheerfully told them to "sort out your brotherly feud yourselves" and happily boarded her private helicopter to head to the film set.

Settling into the plush seat, Sheng Quan couldn’t help but gush to 006 for the nth time:

[This is amazing. So much better than any luxury car.]

The helicopters she had seen before were all the kind found at tourist attractions—you know, the ones that cost a few hundred bucks for a one- or two-minute ride.

Sheng Quan had once passed by a tourist area while running errands and spotted a cramped helicopter squeezing in four people, roaring loudly as it flew away, only to return moments later.

That had been her impression of helicopters until now.

But the one she had purchased was different. For starters, the noise inside was minimal, the space was spacious, it was fast yet safe, and it even had an entertainment system.

The commonality of all expensive modes of transportation in the world was probably this: their aesthetics were never lacking.

Stylish on the outside, comfortable on the inside, soaring through the sky without obstruction—and every time she boarded or disembarked, it felt absolutely exhilarating.

Plus, helicopters were useful for film shoots. Even though she could only afford this one, it didn’t matter. They could use it for on-location filming, and for the rest, Tianying could rely on special effects.

006 was also thrilled for Sheng Quan. It hadn’t originally had any particular feelings about helicopters, but seeing how much its host loved this one, it grew fond of them too:

[If Host likes it, we’ll buy a few more in the future and switch between them.]

[Yes! Switch between them!]

Sheng Quan, in high spirits, glanced down at the traffic jam below. The thought of arriving at her destination soon made her already great mood even better.

Hahaha, goodbye, traffic jams.

She adjusted her headphones and picked up the microphone provided in the cabin: [006, let’s sing some karaoke?]

006 loved singing and immediately agreed: [Yes!!!]

Singing all the way, both host and system were in great spirits. That evening, the lottery opened, and riding on her good mood, Sheng Quan hummed a tune as she started drawing prizes.

This time, there were many prizes, mostly things Sheng Quan had recently seen or wanted. The wheel spun, and the pointer landed on a prize neither of them had expected.

Sheng Quan: […Wow. Unexpected, but also not entirely surprising.]

006 felt a little guilty: [Sorry, Host. It’s probably because of me…]

It had realized by now that the prize pool was connected to it.

Sheng Quan: [Why apologize? If it really is because of you, then I’d say—well done!]

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the prizes and their quantities displayed in the pool: [I love these prizes. I really, really love them.]

[I can’t wait to see them.]

Since Interstellar War officially began filming, the entire crew had been in a state of nonstop busyness.

Gao Shi’s work on set had been going smoothly. Though the data collection tasks were a bit monotonous, in such a large production, there was always something new happening to break the routine.

For example, whenever Chairman Sheng visited the set, even Jiang Zhen—the male lead, who rarely smiled—would wear a faint grin. Yan Hui, Hua Qing, and the others would almost always accompany her.

But it wasn’t just them. Which actor on set didn’t like catching Chairman Sheng’s attention?

Gao Shi figured Chairman Sheng’s standards for beauty must be sky-high, given how many stunning men and women surrounded her.

Especially since, thanks to some rumor that Chairman Sheng liked actors with great physiques, nearly everyone in the crew had become obsessed with working out. The results were impressive—toned abs, well-defined V-lines, paired with the actors’ already gorgeous faces. Even Gao Shi had to admit privately that the rumor had some truth to it.

Who wouldn’t enjoy looking at that?

Months passed in a blur of busy days, but there was always a sense of energy and purpose. Gao Shi hadn’t even considered the possibility of working abroad again.

One day, after returning from a break, he arrived on set as usual, only to find everyone buzzing with excitement, heading toward the open field. Some actors were even sprinting over, eyes shining.

Gao Shi’s first thought: They must be filming a shirtless scene.

Ahem. Generally, if work wasn’t too hectic, people loved gathering around to watch—purely for the aesthetic appreciation, of course.

He really wanted to join them, but today’s workload was a bit heavy, so he reluctantly gave up. Just as he finished setting up his equipment, a crew member who had stayed overnight came jogging over.

Spotting him, the crew member waved urgently:

“Gao Shi, what took you so long? Hurry to the open field! There’s a surprise! So cool! I’ve never seen anything like this in my life—it’s insane!”

Gao Shi’s eyes lit up. “Is Jiang Zhen filming a fight scene? Shirtless??”

If so, he had to go. He was a Jiang Zhen fan, and watching him film fight scenes in person was something he wouldn’t miss for the world.

The crew member blinked. “No, Jiang Zhen’s filming the mecha-beast scene today.”

He tried to be mysterious: “But this is even cooler than Jiang Zhen’s fight scenes! Just come see for yourself.”

Gao Shi plopped back down. “I don’t believe it. No one’s cooler than Jiang Zhen.”

“Seriously, seriously! I’m not lying! Come on, Gao Shi!”

The special effects team was small, and they all got along well. The crew member simply grabbed Gao Shi’s arm and started pulling him toward the open field.

Gao Shi sighed and followed.

Alright, he had to admit his curiosity was piqued just a little.

Turning the corner to the open field, he froze at the sight before him.

“Holy…”

He muttered in disbelief:

“Are these rented???”

A crew member grinned proudly: “Chairman Sheng Quan bought them—for us to film with. We can even take samples later.”

“Gao Shi, just tell me, aren’t they freaking cool?!”

“Bought? ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍These were actually bought?”

Gao Shi’s eyes were glued to the scene: “Cool? They’re beyond cool! They’re absolutely mind-blowing!!!”

“Chairman Sheng Quan is really… She actually bought so many of them.”

Spread across the vast open field were rows of sleek, jet-black helicopters.

Larger than standard models, their streamlined designs exuded a sharp, aggressive aura, unmistakably expensive.

Lined up together, their sheer presence was almost overwhelming—and so was their price tag.

Sheng Quan stood with her arms crossed, admiration gleaming in her eyes.

If she hadn’t won these thirteen helicopters in a raffle, she would never have splurged like this—each one alone cost seventy million.

It was nearly impossible to resist the allure of over a dozen cutting-edge private helicopters assembled like this, and Gao Shi, a longtime enthusiast, was no exception.

He was utterly stunned:

“This many? My god! Even TV shows wouldn’t go this far, right?!!”

Noticing his awestruck expression, the crew member gloated: “Told you they’re cooler than Jiang Zhen’s fight scenes.”

Gao Shi nodded reflexively: “Yeah, yeah…”

Then, mid-nod, he suddenly snapped back to reality: “They’re amazing! But, but…”

He tore his gaze away from the black helicopters with visible reluctance.

Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, he blurted:

“Jiang Zhen is still the coolest!!”