Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

"Honestly, this kind of entrance is a bit cliché."

Sheng Quan smiled at the camera, her words squeezed through gritted teeth to avoid lip-reading by the audience when the lens swept over her:

"From what I know, ninety-nine out of a hundred mystery guests make their entrance like this."

Yu Xiangwan took the juice glass from her hand with a soft chuckle, setting it aside before murmuring:

"But only your entrance comes with a sky full of stars."

And she was right. The moment Sheng Quan turned, the ceiling above exploded into a dreamy expanse of violet-blue starlight, as if tailored just for her.

—Whoosh!

Amid gasps from the contestants and viewers online—

Brilliant white light and gradient-colored "stars" descended against a smoky backdrop, their tails trailing radiant hues like shooting stars gently drifting downward.

Though falling, they seemed to rush eagerly toward those below.

As the young contestants on stage—each face exquisitely refined, coolly stylish, sunnily radiant, or breathtakingly beautiful—reached out with slender fingers to catch the shimmering starlight, the moment brimmed with destiny.

This screenshot would later be voted one of the top ten iconic moments in talent show history.

Of course, such poetic descriptions were reserved for viewers who still remembered their literature classes.

Most spectators, dazzled by the spectacle of the swirling galaxy on screen, had no time for elaborate adjectives. Their thoughts condensed into two words:

"Holy crap!!!"

[So beautiful it leaves me speechless—I can feel the magic even through the screen!]

[This is—]

[The colors are absolutely unreal, ahhh!!!]

[Watching these contestants reach for the stars—who else gets it, who else?!]

[I declare this the most stunning scene of any talent show this year!]

[Won’t say who’s utterly mesmerized, but it’s me!!!]

[Ahhh, only my Queen Sheng could pull off an entrance like this!]

The scene was indeed breathtaking. Even the judges and guests, who’d known what was coming, couldn’t help but lose themselves in it.

Including Sheng Quan.

When it came to treating her eyes to beauty, the Chairwoman never lagged behind. She reclined in her plush seat, savoring the grand finale of the starry descent.

The moment was screenshot from every angle, every detail, flooding social media within minutes.

Sheng Quan pulled out her phone—yes, even at the live recording, this 10G-speed internet addict wouldn’t fall behind.

With the reflexes of a decade-long netizen, she swiftly picked the most beautifully composed shot.

Most importantly, it captured everyone around her.

Yan Hui gazed upward with a gentle smile. Jin Jiu cupped a shimmering star in his palms, awestruck. Hua Qing, with a star "landing" atop her head, turned to share a grin with Lin Aike. An Baixing mimed a money-grabbing dance at the sky while Yu Hongdou looked on, baffled.

Jiang Zhen maintained his usual stoicism, though a faint curl of his lips betrayed him. Xu Man’s eyes sparkled, her adoration plain, while Wan Bao giggled beside her.

And Sheng Quan—she was at the center of it all.

As she marveled at the celestial display, Yu Xiangwan turned to her with a rare, unreserved smile, his usual polished warmth replaced by pure joy.

Jiang Lu, tall even seated, kept his eyes on Sheng Quan’s smiling profile, his hand outstretched as if to catch the starlight drifting past her.

To her left, Gu Zhao balanced a slim laptop on his knees, fingers flying across the keys.

Wait.

Hold on. Something didn’t belong here.

Sheng Quan saved the image and turned to him. "Aren’t you on leave today?"

"I’m informing them to use this starry sky for this year’s anniversary celebration."

Sheng Quan: ?

"You liked it?"

Gu Zhao didn’t seem the type to care for fleeting beauty.

Sure enough, the CEO—whose "time off" only meant one loosened collar button—replied flatly: "You did, didn’t you?"

Sheng Quan: Of course.

She gently closed his ever-present laptop. "No need. Something this beautiful is best seen just once."

What she truly cherished was sharing this moment with the people she trusted—and who trusted her in return.

Also, let’s be real: this spectacle cost a fortune. The holographic tech was cutting-edge, and every second of that starry sky burned cash.

Were those falling stars? No, they were dollar bills.

Only with the system’s mission backing and the pre-planned holographic stage did she greenlight the "Guoxinghai" project.

The decision paid off.

The "Guoxinghai" segment in the show’s premiere left everyone awestruck. Viewers screamed; contestants stood speechless.

At the peak of their excitement, Jin Jiu spoke from the judges’ panel.

"Was that starry sky beautiful?"

The contestants roared in unison: "YES!"

Jin Jiu: "That was Starlight Entertainment’s holographic stage technology in action—our team showing you what it can do."

"Dreamlike yet real, it amplifies every performer’s strengths. So tell me—do you want to stand on that stage and shine?"

Two sentences were enough to ignite the already electrified crowd.

If the visuals alone were this stunning, imagine performing there live—

Another deafening reply: "YES!!"

Sheng Quan watched Jin Jiu, who’d once been a crushed bud on the verge of blooming, now guiding new flowers toward the light.

In a university dorm, a girl shouldered her backpack and pushed open the door to find her three roommates huddled around a tablet.

"Seriously, isn’t it cramped? Why not use your phones?"

"You’re back!"

Their eyes stayed glued to the screen as they greeted her. One waved her over eagerly:

"Come quick! It just started—the best part’s coming! I’m freaking out!"

"Ugh, forgot snacks. This would be perfection with munchies."

"Quanzi, come here, we saved you a spot. Sit with us."

The girl nicknamed Quanzi responded with clear reluctance:

"That talent show you guys have been hyping up for days? No thanks. I'll wait until the later episodes when most contestants get eliminated. The early rounds are always packed with mediocre performers—it’s painful to watch."

Her roommate, struggling to tear her eyes away from the screen, turned around with a look that screamed, "What nonsense are you spouting?!"

"Mediocre?! Since when did your taste become so warped?"

Quanzi: "???"

She wasn’t new to talent shows. Sure, the eventual winners were usually outstanding, but the early rounds? Half the contestants seemed like filler.

No looks, no talent—just watching them made her question how they even passed auditions.

Most viewers didn’t mind, since they only cared about the top performers. The rest were just background noise, easy to ignore.

But Quanzi couldn’t do that!

She watched these shows to see stunning performers deliver breathtaking acts, not to endure a parade of awkward amateurs screeching on stage.

After a few disappointing experiences, Quanzi learned her lesson: skip straight to the finals, where the real showdown between elite contestants happened. That was worth watching.

"One show I watched had 200 contestants. At least 100 looked like they’d been hit by a truck, and another 30 were obvious plastic surgery disasters. This new one has 600 contestants—if even 100 are decent-looking, the producers deserve credit."

"I refuse to subject myself to that trainwreck."

She’d initially been excited about Starlight Entertainment’s new project, but the moment she heard about the 600-contestant lineup, she noped out.

Idols were supposed to be the perfect blend of beauty and talent, not a numbers game. What a joke.

As soon as she finished speaking, not just the roommate who’d spoken to her, but the other two glued to their screens also turned to stare.

Quanzi: "...What?"

One roommate lifted her tablet, her voice dripping with disbelief: "You call these trainwrecks?!"

Before Quanzi could protest, the screen flashed with a performer—a radiant beauty wearing a mic, executing a flawless backbend before rising effortlessly, her vocals steady and smooth.

Just as Quanzi’s jaw dropped, the next contestant appeared: a mesmerizing man with an exotic flair, dressed in game-inspired attire that showcased his sculpted abs.

Veiled with a gauzy fabric that teased his sharp jawline, he cradled a pipa and launched into a mid-air spin, every kick and gesture brimming with power.

When his minute-long performance ended, his lingering gaze at the camera—pleading not to be eliminated—left Quanzi internally screaming, "Keep him! Keep him!"

But then a fierce, long-legged diva strutted onstage, her wild, captivating eyes making Quanzi instantly forget the previous contestant, lost in the sheer brilliance of her dance.

Then another stunning man took the stage...

At this point, Quanzi felt like an ancient emperor, spoiled for choice with a harem of gorgeous, multi-talented idols.

"Wait—the show starts this strong? Don’t they usually save the best for the finals?"

Weren’t these shows supposed to build momentum gradually?

"And you said the first episode’s live broadcast is five hours long. If they’re going this hard from the start, what’s left for later?"

Roommates: "Those performers you just saw? They’re average for this show."

Quanzi: "..."

Roommates: "Every contestant’s one-minute performance is at that level—sometimes even more jaw-dropping."

Quanzi: "..."

Roommates: "Joining us?"

Quanzi: "..."

She immediately squeezed into the group, digging out chips, chicken feet, sausages, and spicy strips from her bag, snuggling up to her roommates with glee:

"I brought snacks! Let’s watch together!"

Similar scenes played out everywhere.

Not everyone understood idol culture or stage performances, but most people had an eye for beauty.

—In a cozy living room, a father fetching water paused to scoff at his daughter, who was grinning dopefully at the TV.

"Where did we go wrong raising such a silly girl... Hey! What’s got you so hooked?"

The girl waved him over: "Dad, come watch! It’s amazing!"

Father: "Yeah, right. Fine, let’s see how ‘amazing’ it is."

Five minutes later, the mother walked in to find father and daughter sprawled on the couch, identically starry-eyed.

"Goodness, like two peas in a pod. What’s so fascinating?"

The pair turned in sync, beckoning excitedly—just like when they’d discover a tasty street vendor years ago:

"Come quick! You’ve gotta see this!"

—In a room with a holographic projector, a family of four huddled together, laughing as the kids mimicked the dancers’ moves, earning proud applause.

—Overseas, an international student hunched over his laptop, engrossed in the livestream.

His friend pushed the door open: "Wang, I brought beer—wait, what are you watching?"

Three minutes later, they were clinking bottles, eyes glued to the screen.

"Contestant 124 is incredible! I’m voting for him!"

"I’m picking 156—she deserves to stay! But her name’s tricky. Wang, how do you pronounce it?"

"Ran Die."

"Ran~ ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍Die? What does it mean in Chinese?"

"Think of it as... ‘butterfly.’"

Far from home, "Wang" spent the day in perfect contentment.

Meanwhile, Sheng Quan studied the skyrocketing viewership stats, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Guoxinghai, first hour of premiere:

View count—370 million.

This wasn’t just breaking records.

It was obliterating them.