Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

【What preparations have you made for the world's first holographic stage?】

Nine hours before the Guoxinghai livestream, Sheng Quan's devoted fan [Riding a Little Donkey] started this topic on Weibo.

Instantly, countless replies poured in.

【I carefully selected and savored the best instant noodles, bought eggs and sausages, chilled cola in the fridge, all ready to enjoy with Guoxinghai!】

【Already gathered with friends, but why does the holographic feature only activate during the stage? We even prepared our helmets!】

【What else can we watch in holographic mode daily? After all, holographic tech is still in its early stages. I heard just synchronizing one holographic stage costs hundreds of millions, and that's just one stage. Imagine the budget for the entire show!】

【Agreed! Just having a holographic stage to watch is already amazing!】

The blogger Riding a Little Donkey promptly replied under the comment:

【Holographic stages are just starting, yet they’re already being streamed live to the polar regions for free, giving everyone an incredible experience. We should leave room for future improvements in holographic entertainment!】

His swift moderation drew laughter from longtime fans:

【LOL Donkey rushing to control the narrative】

【HAHAHA you can tell Donkey is Boss Sheng's number one supporter】

【All hail the Sheng dynasty!】

【Donkey, no need to explain—we’re just joking around. Getting to experience holography at this age is already a dream come true!】

Indeed, at an age where they can still enjoy entertainment, the audience was immersed in an almost surreal happiness, thrilled by the prospect of diving into holographic worlds and soon witnessing a holographic stage.

Even the most ordinary person, with a steady job and no mortgage or car loans, could afford to split the cost of a holographic helmet with friends—it wasn’t an unattainable goal.

Many weren’t even interested in idols; they were here purely for the holographic stage.

At its core, it was about treating their eyes to something extraordinary.

So, most of them didn’t mind catching up on Guoxinghai, the talent show, before the holographic stage officially began—just to enhance the experience.

Even before filming started, Guoxinghai’s pre-registered viewership had already surpassed 150 million.

Sure, there were duplicate registrations, but even accounting for that, the numbers were staggering.

This wasn’t the actual viewership—just pre-registrations. No other talent show in China, let alone globally, had ever seen such hype.

Not even in P Country, where talent shows were as common as meals, did the top programs pull in these numbers during actual broadcasts.

Now, some international contestants who’d dismissed the show as too distant or doubted China’s talent show scene were regretting their decision.

How could they forget? China might’ve had fewer stages before, but it had viewers in spades.

Meanwhile, those who’d joined and secured a spot were counting their blessings.

"150 million… I can’t even imagine over a billion people watching us."

Out of nearly 100,000 auditions, only 300 male and 300 female contestants remained.

These 600 were divided among 30 buses, rolling into the production site in an orderly line.

On Tu Zhu’s bus, a silver-haired foreign contestant was chattering excitedly in broken Mandarin to his seatmate:

"Once the show airs, the numbers will skyrocket, right? The biggest show I’ve been on only had 70 million viewers. Ugh, I wish we could use our phones—I’d love to see the live stats!"

The talkative contestant, barely in his twenties, wasn’t the youngest but was certainly the most vocal.

After gushing about viewership, he gleefully smoothed down his uniform—tailored by the production team with meticulous detail.

"This outfit fits perfectly. Looks way better than my own clothes!"

His red-haired Chinese teammate, who seemed rebellious but was patient with his chatty companion, nodded:

"Mine fits just right too. Must’ve been custom-made for us."

He rubbed the high-quality fabric at his cuffs, visibly impressed:

"These probably cost a fortune. Only Xingmang would go all out like this from the start."

Other nervous contestants overheard and glanced down at their own uniforms, belatedly realizing how well the clothes flattered their figures and how comfortable they were.

Even Tu Zhu quietly touched the finely crafted sleeve buttons. He’d been on [I Love My Flight], where, like other shows, contestants got generic uniforms.

But those were only superficially decent—poorly stitched, ill-fitting, and never tailored.

Uniforms cost money, especially early on when most contestants would be eliminated quickly.

Custom fits? In their dreams.

What production team would splurge on bespoke outfits for hundreds of soon-to-be-cut contestants?

So veterans like Tu Zhu had zero expectations. Some even packed needles and thread, ready to mend loose seams or missing buttons mid-filming—or tweak the fit themselves if needed.

The contestant beside Tu Zhu was one such pragmatist. After scrutinizing every visible stitch, he exhaled in relief, flashing sharp canine teeth that made him look even more boyish:

"This is awesome! My seniors warned me we might need to alter our clothes, but we lucked out—these are top-tier!"

Grinning, the canine-toothed contestant turned to Tu Zhu: "Hi, I’m Tian Yuan—stage name."

Caught off guard, Tu Zhu paused before responding: "I’m Tu Zhu."

"I know you! I watched I Love My Flight—you were amazing! Can’t believe we’re on the same bus. So lucky!"

Tu Zhu was momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden praise, unsure how to react. The last time he had laughed as brightly as Tian Yuan was years ago.

But Tian Yuan didn’t seem to care about Tu Zhu’s response. After enthusiastically gushing for a while, his attention was quickly captured by something ahead:

“Ah! Is that the production team?! It’s so huge!!”

The bus slowly drove through the automatically opening gates into an expansive "manor."

Tian Yuan could only describe it as a manor because, in a city like Shanghai, he had no other words for the stunning, sprawling buildings before him.

Gasps of amazement erupted from many of the contestants—young, exceptionally attractive individuals who pressed against the windows, eager to take in the view outside.

“We haven’t even been on the road that long, right? Less than three hours.”

“The production team must’ve spent a fortune. Filming right in Shanghai? The rent alone must be insane.”

“Just the location alone is worth a fortune. Ahhh, filming in Shanghai—I’ll have bragging rights for days after this!”

The fact that the bus could drive smoothly within the production grounds spoke volumes about the sheer size of the place.

Regardless of gender, experience, or age, every contestant in the bus was utterly awestruck.

Then, the bus stopped.

They were led to the largest building on the premises.

It was breathtaking—both in beauty and scale. Among the 600 contestants, many had seen stages or concert venues before, but this structure dwarfed even the grandest of them.

As the doors slowly opened, drones captured footage from above while the contestants, a mix of nervousness and excitement, filed in.

They thought this was already the peak of surprises.

Until the first contestant stepped inside and saw the lineup of mentors and guest judges turning to face them one by one.

“Ah—!”

The contestant froze on the spot, torn between shock and delight.

The moment they had entered the manor’s gates, the live broadcast had begun—and the screen was instantly flooded with an explosion of comments.

[Ahhhhhhh!!! Jin Jiu!!!!]

[Hong Dou is a mentor!!! My Hong Dou!!!]

[Am I hallucinating from work exhaustion or is that Jiang Zhen in the guest seats?! Ahhh, Jiang-ge still slays after all these months away!]

[That’s Jin Ke from P Nation! Ahhh, how did the show even get him?!]

[And Sister Mei—a top-tier industry queen!!!]

[Director Xu Man is here too!!! Ahhh, Xu Man, your film Regret in Green had me sobbing the whole way through!!!]

[Is that Hua Qing?! Even Hua Qing came?! What kind of godly lineup is this?!]

[Wait, wait, wait—who’s that?! Yan Hui!!!]

One familiar name after another was shouted out. These were figures who, years ago, might’ve been unknown but now symbolized fame and influence.

With their skyrocketing popularity came packed schedules—so much so that no one expected them to appear on a competition show like this.

Yet here they were.

Every single one of them.

[My jaw just hit the floor. Ahhhh, are there any live audience tickets?! I need to be there! Or can we at least get a hologram stream of the mentors and guests?!]

The mentor and guest lineup often determined the peak prestige of a competition show.

Each ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍one’s presence meant they were willing to leverage their influence and resources to support the contestants they favored—or the eventual winners.

And with them here, their fans would soon follow. Everyone could already imagine the tidal wave of attention about to hit.

[Damn, I’m suddenly so jealous of this season’s contestants.]

[What kind of heavenly starting point is this?! Ahhh, why couldn’t my bias get this lucky?!]

[LMAO, look at the contestant on the far right—their face is so red it’s practically a monkey’s butt.]

[Took me forever to find the “monkey butt.” They’re actually really cute, and the blush makes them even prettier. Who describes people like that?!]

[Holy moly, the resources this season are insane. Even a tiny bit of support from any guest could be a game-changer.]

[Wait! The center guest seat hasn’t turned around yet—who is it, who is it?!]

[All the biggest names from Starlight are here, plus internationally famous mentors… There’s only one answer.]

[This is the most important seat—I think I know who it is!]

[It can’t be what I’m imagining, right?! Please, please let it be true!]

[Ahhhhhhh, I’m begging—it has to be them!!!]

The 600 contestants filed in one by one. As the last person stepped inside, the doors closed, and dazzling lights illuminated the entire venue.

The suspense reached its peak. The camera panned across the contestants’ faces—some shocked, some nervous, some barely containing their excitement—before finally landing on the guest seats.

The center chair, which had remained turned away, slowly rotated to reveal…

Boss Sheng, casually sipping juice, smiling at the camera.

The contestants, who had guessed but didn’t dare believe: “!!!!”

The internet, already in a frenzy: [!!!!]

Ahhhhhhh!!!

It’s really him!!!

[Boss Sheng!!!!!!]

This show’s resources just skyrocketed to the stratosphere!!!!