Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 70

To be honest, Sheng Quan was also seeing such a scene for the first time.

She had heard before about people using drones to "form patterns" or "set off fireworks," which would look quite spectacular at night. But those were programmed in advance—nothing like this, where each person controlled their own drone.

Each drone represented a pair of eyes, flying overhead like helicopters searching for signs of life.

Compared to helicopters, the sound of drones was relatively quiet. But with so many gathered together, it was a different story. The busy people below heard the noise and looked up to witness the awe-inspiring sight of the massive drone fleet passing by.

They had coordinated their routes beforehand. Upon reaching their destination, they immediately split into several smaller teams, meticulously searching in different directions.

On a tree nearly toppled by the floodwaters, a middle-aged woman clung desperately to the trunk. Most of her body was submerged, saved only by the buoyancy of the dense, intertwined branches.

But while these branches had kept her alive, they also formed a perfect "umbrella" above her. When the massive helicopter flew overhead, no matter how hard the exhausted woman screamed for help, she remained hidden from the pilot’s view.

"Someone’s here!!! I’m here!!!"

She clung to the branches, watching helplessly as the roaring helicopter passed right over her. The hope on her face slowly turned to despair.

—Buzz.

—Buzz.

Half-sprawled on the branches, the woman heard the strange noise so close by and strained to look up.

—Buzz.

A pitch-black drone, its propellers spinning, descended slowly from above and hovered right in front of her.

Two seconds later, two identical drones maneuvered around the branches behind it, one on each side, buzzing as they hovered and "looked" at her.

Her chapped lips parted slightly, torn between hope and uncertainty, as she asked,

"Are… are you here to save me?"

The lead drone bobbed up and down—like a nod.

At that moment, to this trapped survivor, they might as well have been gods descending from the heavens.

In the time that followed, the other two drones slowly ascended and flew away to continue searching elsewhere. But the woman wasn’t afraid, because the first drone stayed with her the entire time.

Until the rescue team arrived in a lifeboat.

"Survivor located."

Only after watching the woman being pulled onto the lifeboat did the drone that had stayed with her finally rise into the air and fly onward.

There were many more rescues like this after the drone army joined the effort.

Their smaller size allowed them to weave nimbly through the wreckage, finding survivors who would otherwise have been nearly impossible to locate.

Those hidden behind fallen trees.

Those trapped inside vehicles.

Those stuck in narrow corners.

Even with communications down, these drones excelled at relaying information. Some even carried food and water, delivering supplies to survivors who weren’t in immediate danger but still needed aid.

On the high-elevation square that had been designated as their base, people sat or stood, intently controlling their drones from afar and reporting their findings.

"Approximately seventeen survivors located—sixteen children and one adult."

"One survivor found—adult male, urgent rescue needed."

"Two survivors found—one male, one female. Male has a head injury and is unconscious."

Of course, not all five hundred drones emerged unscathed from navigating these disaster zones.

Some were buried under collapsed buildings. Others were struck by debris swept along by the floodwaters. Some got tangled in branches or ensnared in power lines.

Flying was already difficult in such harsh conditions, let alone deliberately steering into dangerous areas. So it was no surprise that reports of "crashes" kept coming in.

These drones weren’t cheap—in fact, they were among the more expensive models on the market. The person keeping track of the losses winced with every report, but Sheng Quan remained completely unfazed.

In fact, not only was she unfazed, she even remotely ordered another batch of drones as replacements.

But the main issue wasn’t the number of drones or the crashes—it was that only a handful of skilled operators could handle flying in such extreme conditions.

And in a flood disaster, everywhere was an extreme environment.

What they needed now weren’t just people who could fly drones—they needed experts who could maneuver them through all kinds of perilous situations.

The official in charge of coordinating the effort was growing anxious. The impact of these five hundred drones had been enormous—since they joined the rescue operations, efficiency had at least doubled.

But now progress had stalled, and it wasn’t due to equipment shortages—it was a lack of skilled drone operators. The forty-something official’s first instinct was:

"Maybe I should make some calls, see if we can scrape together another batch of operators from drone retailers."

"Store by store, we might be able to pull it off."

It was a crude solution, but it seemed like the fastest way to gather more people right now.

Sheng Quan was about to nod when she suddenly paused.

"Wait—let me check something first."

The official didn’t know what the young Chairwoman Sheng was looking for, but after she pulled out her phone and scrolled for a while, the frown on her face gradually eased.

In ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‍fact, Sheng Quan didn’t just relax—when she looked up, even her tone was lighter:

"Don’t worry. I have a way to bring in skilled drone operators—and there’ll be plenty of them."

One of the defining traits of the internet age is that no matter the hobby or interest, as long as enough people are into it, they’ll naturally find ways to gather.

If someone picks up a new interest and wants to find a community—or get guidance from experienced veterans—all they need to do is search on platforms like forums, Weibo, QQ groups, or messaging apps. In no time, they’ll find all kinds of shared knowledge and advice.

And if they’re not content with just reading guides but want to interact directly with fellow enthusiasts, they can either post questions when stuck or join dedicated groups.

It’s safe to say that for many young people today, the time spent chatting in online groups sometimes even surpasses real-life socializing.

Just like Sheng Quan—both in her past life and this one—had joined countless groups for novels, comics, calligraphy, and study tips.

Casual hobby groups were one thing, like the novel discussion groups she was in, where members shared recommendations, gushed over their favorite pairings, or just chatted about random topics.

But when a hobby involved technical skills, the group dynamics shifted. You’d have the "gods" (top experts), the "minor gods" (skilled but not elite), the "experienced seniors," and the "newbies who could only cheer from the sidelines."

And drone enthusiasts? They were exactly like that.

Perhaps Gu Zhao's perspective held some truth—humans naturally admire strength, especially when that strength can offer them assistance.

In certain drone enthusiast groups, the status of a "master" could be described as commanding universal respect. Every time they appeared, people would follow behind, spamming "666" and showering them with praise.

Typically, such "masters" would also be group admins. Their passion for drones far exceeded that of most members, and they often organized offline events.

Wang Xujie was one such "master." Despite his ordinary-sounding name and relatively young age, his privileged background allowed him early exposure to drones, earning him high seniority among "aviation enthusiasts."

By high school, he had already formed a drone hobbyist group. In college, he actively campaigned and became the president of the university's drone club—devoting most of his time to this passion.

As an enthusiastic and financially unburdened drone lover, Wang Xujie had organized dozens of offline events. His online alias, [Soaring Eagle] (yes, it was a bit cringeworthy), was legendary in drone circles.

As a college student still clinging to his teenage idealism, Wang Xujie was thoroughly satisfied with his life. Whether others had vanity or not, he certainly did—and in abundance. Every time he surveyed the groups he'd built, he felt a sense of pride, as if thinking, "This is the empire I’ve built."

Though his family dismissed his hobby as frivolous, complaining that all he did was play with drones, he had thick skin. As long as his allowance kept coming, he tuned them out.

When the nagging got unbearable, he’d retort, "I don’t street race, I don’t party every night, I don’t waste money on extravagance—I just love drones. Why keep criticizing me?"

Of course, parents rarely listened to such reasoning—at least, Wang Xujie’s didn’t. To them, their son’s obsession with these "toys" only confirmed one thing: "This kid’s hopeless."

Fortunately, blood ran thicker than disdain. Despite their complaints, his allowance remained generous, allowing him to focus wholeheartedly on expanding his "drone empire."

He frequently recruited new talent online, even buying a second phone—one for daily life, the other dedicated to his "drone empire." For events, he exclusively used the latter.

That day started like any other—until he received a call.

"Lücheng disaster relief? Drones?"

After listening carefully, Wang Xujie was momentarily stunned.

In all his years of flying drones, it had never occurred to him that they could be used for rescue missions.

After a brief moment of shock, the young man in his early twenties agreed without hesitation:

"No problem. I’ll organize skilled members from my group right away. Hold on, let’s add each other on Feixin—you can brief me on the flight conditions and current challenges."

For some reason, his entire body trembled with excitement.

Maybe it was the first time he felt truly needed. Or maybe it was the first time he had a chance to save lives.

Brimming with adrenaline, he confirmed the details with the caller. Once everything was settled, he solemnly opened his laptop and drafted the following announcement:

"@everyone, Lücheng is hit by severe floods, with masses trapped. Rescue teams have deployed drones for search and rescue, but flight conditions are hazardous due to the disaster. Skilled drone pilots are urgently needed for support.

Compensation, travel, and meal allowances are detailed below. Expenses fully covered. Those interested, contact me for registration—I’ll screen applicants."

After posting, he immediately pinned it as an announcement.

This was a large, well-managed drone group with high activity at all hours. The moment the message went up, idle chatter ceased as members flooded the chat in astonishment.

"Holy crap!! Five hundred drones for rescue? That’s insane!!"

"I never thought drone skills could save lives. Count me in!"

"If it’s for disaster relief, I’ll volunteer—just cover my travel."

"Classic Soaring Eagle. I’m in too. Got days off—treating it like an offline event."

"Why didn’t we think of this before? Drones don’t need networks—perfect for large-scale rescues!"

"We did think of it—but conditions like this are high-risk for crashes. Most hobbyists only own one or two drones. Losing one means losing 10-20K."

"Wait, all five hundred drones are M-series? Those are expensive! What if they crash? Do we have to pay?"

Admin Soaring Eagle: "They’re hiring experts to minimize crashes. No need to compensate for losses—but let’s avoid them. They specifically want top-tier pilots. If we crash, even if they don’t complain, it’s embarrassing for us, right?"

Admin Soaring Eagle: "I’ve confirmed—other groups are joining too. Even Xinxin and Gu Yuan are bringing their people."

"Whoa! Xinxin’s going?!"

"Gu Yuan too? He hasn’t attended offline events in ages!"

Initially, the scale hadn’t fully registered. But upon realizing this was a cross-group effort, the magnitude hit them:

"This is historic."

"Just saw footage—aside from performances, have you ever seen this many drones mobilized?"

"A drone battalion. First time in my career."

"Damn, this is hype! I’m signing up!"

"I’m still a rookie, but can I tag along? I’ll help however I can—I’ll cover my own expenses."

"Sign me up. If approved, I’ll take leave immediately."

The Lücheng floods were already trending nationwide. Most members had only commented in support when scrolling through headlines.

But this recruitment notice changed everything. Who knew their hobby could contribute to disaster relief?

"When one suffers, all help"—this saying endured in China because most people lived by it.

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As sign-ups surged, Wang Xujie noted many volunteers refusing payment, forcing him to amend the announcement:

"Drone costs and operator wages are fully covered by Starlight Entertainment. They’ve explicitly stated compensation will be provided—this is not a volunteer call. Please stop requesting unpaid participation."

Ironically, this update only spurred more curiosity. Members couldn’t resist digging into who Starlight Entertainment was.

Most people don’t bother remembering the names of entertainment companies. To be precise, unless you’re a fan or part of the industry, no one really cares about these companies.

But when people searched, they realized: "Oh, this is the company founded by Sheng Quan!"

"No wonder, it’s Sheng Quan. That makes sense—she’s incredibly wealthy, and she’s always been a decent person. Didn’t she donate 100 million before?"

"Remember that time she invested in college students? I said back then she was a good person, and now it’s proven."

"Why isn’t there any news online about her buying 500 drones for disaster relief? The smallest things trend on social media, but something this huge doesn’t even get an interview?"

"Holy crap, guys!! I just found out why Sheng Quan was in Lücheng!! Starlight Entertainment was filming a movie nearby when the floods hit, and the crew immediately went to help with their equipment!"

"And here’s the kicker—the biggest equipment they brought was 13 helicopters!! And not just small ones either. Someone caught footage of them flying toward Lücheng—hang on, I’ll post the pics."

Helicopters are a rare sight in China outside of tourist areas, let alone a whole fleet of over a dozen flying together. As they made their way to Lücheng, people below snapped photos the entire way.

The crew never announced it was them—they just flew straight there. But with how fast news spreads online, people figured it out.

The internet is full of experts. Just by looking at the photos, some could tell these weren’t the usual government helicopters. Soon, someone dug up that they were actually from the set of Interstellar War.

Interstellar War had been filming for almost a year, moving between locations, and the 13 helicopters had made plenty of appearances. While there weren’t official reports, fans and movie buffs knew how extravagant this production was—buying real helicopters just for filming.

The deeper fans even knew that all of them were privately owned by Sheng Quan, though it was mostly just shared within their circles.

Now, buying 13 helicopters for a movie sounds impressive, but to the average person, it’s just a fun fact.

But when a film crew sends all 13 of their helicopters to aid a disaster zone? Even the most indifferent bystander would say, "That’s amazing."

And for the members of the FlyFlyFly drone enthusiasts’ group, who were staring at a high-paying recruitment post for drone experts? They were beyond impressed.

"I just looked it up—one helicopter costs 70 million…"

"Helicopters are a huge help in disaster relief, but flying in harsh conditions risks damage. Since this isn’t a government collaboration, there’s no compensation if they’re wrecked. And they still sent all of them? Respect."

"I never pay attention to the entertainment industry, but this Sheng Quan is seriously commendable. I’m a fan now."

Of course, not everyone in the group was a pro. There were beginners, hobbyists, and newbies who, no matter how fired up they were, had to reluctantly accept they couldn’t join.

But watching the experts prepare to head to the "frontlines" while they were stuck scrolling online left them feeling both envious and restless.

And when they got restless?

They needed to do something.

Some kept refreshing disaster updates.

Others started analyzing maps and takeoff conditions like it was a military operation.

And then there were those bouncing between trending topics, screenshotting and commenting:

"I think drones could fly here."

"That area seems to be running low on meds—the pros should bring extra supplies."

"Yeah, I saw footage of helicopters transporting the critically injured to Lucheng General Hospital, but the less severe cases still need meds."

One member, Liaoliao, was among the "online wanderers." Though he was new to drones, this whole situation had him buzzing with excitement.

He jumped between Weibo, trending topics, and keyboard-warrioring—anything to feel involved.

Then, he spotted a new hashtag:

#XXDonates100KToLüchengAndShoutsSupport

The hashtag was clearly bought—clicking in revealed almost no real engagement.

In the past, Liaoliao might’ve felt a twinge of annoyance—"People are suffering, and you’re just milking this for clout?"—but he wouldn’t have said anything.

After all, the person had donated 100K, and Liaoliao himself had only chipped in 100 yuan. Who was he to judge?

But this time, he didn’t scroll past.

It felt unfair.

Sheng Quan had sent 13 helicopters, bought 500 drones for on-site support, and even paid experts to operate them—with compensation!

And she wasn’t even trending?!

With nothing else to do, Liaoliao decided to act.

He opened the group chat and typed:

"Guys, I just realized no one online knows about Sheng Quan’s efforts. No one’s talking about the helicopters, and even with so many drones, no one’s crediting her."

"That XX donated 100K and bought a hashtag—why don’t we get Sheng Quan trending too? The people actually doing the work shouldn’t go unnoticed!"

The group was already hyped about the "disaster relief mission," and Liaoliao’s words lit a fire under the beginners who couldn’t join.

They needed this.

"Right?! Why is no one mentioning Sheng Quan?"

"This can’t stand—I’ll go make posts and rally people!"

"Everyone’s checking charity donation lists, but Sheng Quan didn’t just give money. The helicopters and drones she’s using for relief? Converted to cash, they’d dwarf the names on those lists."

The large drone hobby group effectively split into two teams:

One heading to the "frontlines."

The other staying "back" to post.

Their efforts soon spawned hashtags:

#ShengQuanBuys500DronesForLüchengRelief

#ShengQuan’s13Helicopters

#InterstellarWarCrewSendsHelicoptersToDisasterZone

With the entire nation focused on Lücheng’s floods, the topics exploded instantly. Even without paid promotion, they shot into public view.

More and more people joined in.

"Wait, those helicopters were from a movie set?"

"I checked Interstellar War’s official page—it’s completely silent."

"Of course it is—they’re probably busy saving lives. Heard Lücheng’s comms are still down in many areas."

"Holy—my girl Sheng Quan!! I knew she’d be helping somehow. She’s not just donating cash—she’s sending actual resources!"

"Some might not grasp what 500 drones mean. On-site, they’re like 500 flying rescuers—able to reach places no one else can."

"My aunt is in Lücheng, and she's already gotten in touch with my mom. She said they were actually found by a drone—I’m so grateful for Sheng Quan’s rescue efforts."

"This is way more impactful than just donating money. As someone with family in Lücheng, thank you, Sheng Quan!"

As more people joined the conversation, there was new progress in Lücheng.

The busy officials received word:

Thirty trucks loaded with all kinds of relief supplies had arrived.