Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]

"…This spirit is worth learning from and deserves praise. We believe…"

Sheng Quan watched this segment over and over, growing more delighted each time. She hugged her blanket and rolled around on the bed excitedly.

006 expressed confusion: [Host, she only praised you for a few sentences.]

Back when Sheng Quan had won the Huaxing Building in a draw, she hadn’t been this thrilled.

[This is China Central Television!] Sheng Quan sat up, still clutching her blanket. [Do you know what this means? It means the entire nation saw it. And most importantly, they didn’t just mention my name—they specifically said it was because of filming a movie that I came up with the idea to collaborate with students.]

[China Central Television! They praised this approach, calling it an "innovative win-win spirit." In other industries, this might not have much impact, but in the entertainment world? It’s a game-changer.]

Of course, that was one aspect. The other was—what Chinese person wouldn’t be overjoyed to be praised by CCTV? Hahahaha!

At the very least, Sheng Quan, who had been raised by her grandparents, was ecstatic.

It was a shame her grandparents weren’t around anymore. Otherwise, the two elders would’ve bragged to all the neighbors from morning till night.

To them, her being a big company boss, owning estates and buildings—none of that would compare to her being praised by CCTV.

Though superstition shouldn’t be encouraged, Sheng Quan still performed a little ritual across time and space, lighting incense for her grandparents. In her heart, she explained that she’d time-traveled, which was why she couldn’t visit their graves, but she was doing great—even getting praised on national TV now, blah blah blah.

And indeed, Sheng Quan was thriving.

Her life had already been blissful, but after this public recognition, all her completed projects were showered with fresh praise.

The ongoing ones? Even more impressive. Especially "Star Wars"—though CCTV hadn’t explicitly named it as the film Sheng Quan was producing, a quick inquiry would reveal the truth.

Overnight, "Star Wars" transformed from just another "big-budget production" into "the movie praised by CCTV."

What?

It hadn’t even started filming yet?

Perfect! That meant there was still time for those wanting to ride the wave to jump on board.

Suddenly, "Star Wars" was flooded with A-list actors begging to collaborate. Pay wasn’t an issue—they just wanted screen time, preferably a spot in the main cast.

In just two days, Xu Man, the director, fielded countless calls. Whenever she had a free moment, she vented to Sheng Quan:

"Before, he wouldn’t even consider it—either the pay wasn’t enough or he only wanted lead roles. Apparently, he acted all high and mighty with the casting director, saying his schedule was packed. Now? Suddenly he’s all ‘I can do it, I’ll clear my schedule!’"

Sheng Quan laughed. "Did you agree?"

"Of course not! We just finalized the cast two days ago, contracts signed and everything. I’d have to be insane to break them for that guy."

Xu Man sighed, shaking her head. "Before, we were struggling to find actors. Now? We could assemble an all-star lineup without breaking a sweat. The problem isn’t finding them—it’s choosing."

The power of CCTV had exceeded everyone’s expectations in the crew.

The biggest concern with "Star Wars" had always been its massive ensemble—so many characters, so many speaking roles. In other words: they needed a lot of actors to play high-ranking figures.

But not just anyone could pull off those roles convincingly, and even those who could might not be willing to take a minor part in "Star Wars."

Now? Problem solved.

"If they just want the bragging rights of ‘starring in a CCTV-praised film,’ fine. As long as they can act the part, let them have it." Sheng Quan didn’t care why these famous actors were coming. It was a mutual exchange.

Of course, the already-cast roles were non-negotiable.

Xu Man nodded firmly at Sheng Quan’s reminder. "Absolutely. We’re not about that ‘drop the small fry to chase the big fish’ nonsense. With Supervisor Yu keeping watch, you don’t have to worry."

As the director, Xu Man could feel it most clearly—ever since CCTV aired the segment praising Sheng Quan’s support for student research projects, the entire production had smoothed out by several degrees.

To Xu Man, Sheng Quan was practically a goddess. She couldn’t help but wonder:

"Did you know this would happen when you went to C University? No way—you predicted even CCTV’s reaction?"

"What are you thinking?" Sheng Quan laughed. "This was a complete surprise. What kind of person do you take me for? I can’t predict something like this."

But they weren’t the only ones pleasantly surprised—C University benefited too.

Sure, CCTV had praised Sheng Quan, but why was she on the news? Because she’d seen so many outstanding student projects that she couldn’t bear to pass any up, so she forked over an extra 30 million to fund them!

And those outstanding students? All from C University.

Not that C University needed more prestige, but who would say no to extra bragging rights?

Especially when universities were constantly jostling for rankings.

Was ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‍CCTV just praising Sheng Quan? No—they were praising the university by extension.

The faculty at C University were smug.

See? Their students were so impressive that someone who’d planned to invest 100 million ended up adding another 30.

As for the students? They were over the moon—after all, they were the ones Sheng Quan had directly praised.

Sure, she’d singled out the 30 teams whose projects got funding, but with the news blowing up, who cared about details? The words "C University student" now carried even more weight.

And the real jackpot? After the CCTV segment, several investors showed up on campus, picking out student projects to fund.

The fastest to arrive was a certain Mr. Wang, who cheerfully dropped 3 million. Rumor had it his full name was Wang Zhengzheng. With a friendly smile, he explained:

"Chairman Sheng and I are business partners. She’s got an eye for talent—if she says C University is full of bright minds, then it must be true. So here I am. If it works out, great. If not, no harm done. Consider it my way of answering the national call."

Yes, Mr. Wang was a copycat.

After "The Road of Life" and "The Cultivator," this ambitious older gentleman had fully committed to his "follow Sheng Quan to get rich" strategy.

Sure, funding research projects was risky, but 3 million? A gamble he could afford.

To him, it was a small bet. But to cash-strapped college students whose biggest flex was "who bought the cheapest thing," this was life-changing money!

And everyone knew one thing: this windfall came because of Sheng Quan.

The campus had already been buzzing about her, but now the discussions reached fever pitch. Some even dug up old interviews of hers.

One was from back during "The Voice of You," when she’d donated 100 million on the spot and been swarmed by reporters.

One of the questions was, "When did Sheng Quan, who grew up abroad, start thinking about returning to China?"

This question was clearly designed for clickbait—if Sheng Quan answered with a late timeframe, it could be spun as her being unpatriotic. If she answered with an early one, the headline could read, "Chinese national raised abroad donates 100 million upon returning, claims she always wanted to come back."

But Sheng Quan's response was neither early nor late: "Around the time I started university. I was already an adult by then, so my family felt comfortable letting me return alone, though it didn’t work out for various reasons in the end."

At the time, this small interview didn’t attract much attention from the gossip-loving public, as everyone was more focused on the "100 million" figure.

Now, however, this old interview has resurfaced.

As it circulated, it eventually reached C University, where somehow the narrative morphed into:

["Was Sheng Quan planning to return to China for university because she wanted to attend our school?"]

Once someone voiced this, others began to see the logic in it.

["That might actually be true. Otherwise, out of all the universities in China, why would she specifically choose ours?"]

A more level-headed student chimed in:

["Wasn’t it because she met a prominent alumnus from our school who recommended it to her?"]

But they were immediately countered: ["Even for someone as wealthy as her, you don’t just throw 130 million at a school just because a friend suggested it. There’s definitely sentimental value involved."]

["I agree. Plus, Sheng Quan clearly adores our campus. I often see her popping up in random corners of the school."]

["Hey, haven’t you noticed that every time she’s in a corner, there’s a cat there? She’s obviously just there to pet them, lol."]

["Other schools have cats too. Why doesn’t she go pet those instead of only coming here?"]

["I’ve seen her too, but I didn’t notice any cats—just her entourage of bodyguards. The men are dashing, the women are stunning, all with narrow waists and long legs, dressed in those sharp uniforms. Fans self"]

["Same!!! Everyone around Sheng Quan is ridiculously attractive. Especially the one who always holds an umbrella for her. Last time I walked past them and reached for my phone, the tall, handsome bodyguard immediately locked onto me with this intense stare. The aura was unreal. Later, it hit me—he probably thought I was reaching for a gun or something, lol."]

["Hard same. Every time Sheng Quan visits, I can’t help but stare. Her entourage is just so visually pleasing—it’s like therapy for the soul."]

["Don’t you know? Sheng Quan’s a total looks person. She signed Yan Hui back then because she saw him selling jianbing and thought he was good-looking."]

The conversation gradually derailed into a heated debate about which of Sheng Quan’s long-legged bodyguards was the most attractive. Someone even dug up old, blurry photos and helpfully ranked them from #1 to #5.

Most votes went to #3 and #5, except for one user named "Elegant Alumnus," who staunchly supported #1.

["#1 is hands-down the most handsome! He doesn’t stand out as much at first glance, but if you look closely, he’s the best. His presence totally eclipses the other four."]

This declaration sparked immediate pushback from fans of the other four:

["Oh, as if you’ve gotten a ‘close look’ at him."]

Elegant: ["...I have! He’s seriously the best. And I even know his surname—Sheng Quan calls him ‘Brother Jiang.’"]

"We’re here."

Just as he discreetly glanced at the man’s broad back in front of him, Jiang Lu—as if sensing the gaze—suddenly turned his head, first scanning him before addressing the group:

"Let’s get off."

"Senior, you’re in my way." Ning Zhou, seated inside, stood up. His face, as pure and delicate as a little white rabbit’s, delivered two blunt words: "Move."

"Right away!"

"Elegant," whose real name was Han Ruya and who was also Ning Zhou’s senior brother, hastily scooted aside. "Careful, don’t bump your head."

He knew Ning Zhou had a tendency to knock into things.

The second senior brother in the back also scrambled to help. After all, they were fellow disciples—it was only natural for seniors to look after their junior. It definitely had nothing to do with the 50 million.

Ning Zhou didn’t notice his seniors acting differently. His full attention was fixed on the research institute outside. While his brothers marveled at its size, he remained indifferent—until they stepped inside.

The young man’s perpetually disinterested eyes instantly lit up.

"X-23, U-1..."

He moved from instrument to instrument, calling out the names he’d given each one with focused delight.

The student team trailing behind was too awestruck by the institute’s grandeur to question the origins of these names.

"All of this... is for us? This entire place is ours?!"

"Of course."

Sheng Quan walked over, having just arrived herself. Chen Aihong, who’d accompanied her, stood nearby.

When Chen Aihong had initially connected Sheng Quan with her alma mater, she’d never imagined it would lead to such a spectacular outcome. The school hadn’t forgotten her role either, promptly calling to express their gratitude.

Honestly? It was a major ego boost.

So when she heard Sheng Quan had bought a research institute, she volunteered to check it out. Now, watching the students’ excited faces, she couldn’t help but smile fondly.

Sheng Quan turned to Ning Zhou, whose fair cheeks were flushed with excitement, and grinned.

"Ning Zhou, do you like it here?"

Ning Zhou immediately looked up at her. This time, he didn’t avert his gaze but met her eyes with undisguised joy. "I like it."

"Good. From now on, this place is yours to manage however you want."

Ning Zhou was practically glowing with happiness, his eyes darting around as if memorizing every detail.

"Okay. Thank you."

Typical of him—short and to the point.

But the sparkle in his eyes and the way he kept sneaking glances at Sheng Quan betrayed just how thrilled he was.

"You’re welcome."

Finally having delivered this long-planned surprise, Sheng Quan’s mood soared.

She turned to Chen Aihong. "Since we’re here, why not visit your alma mater? Let’s leave them to settle in."

Chen Aihong happily agreed.

After they left, one student couldn’t contain their excitement any longer:

"Uh, this place isn’t classified, right?"

The staff member staying behind shook his head. "Nope."

The student’s grin widened. "Then I’m posting this on the alumni group!"

In the digital age, information spreads at the tap of a button.

By the time Sheng Quan and Chen Aihong reached C University, the news had already blown up across campus.

President Sheng Quan actually went ahead and set up an entire research institute for the Ning Zhou project team to conduct their studies!

And it’s located right near C University, so some of the faculty can even use the equipment and labs there.

She must have a deep love for C University.

Many people now believe the rumor that "Sheng Quan once wanted to attend C University" must be true.

While this realization dawned on them, as members of C University, they couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Look, even someone like President Sheng Quan adores our school.

No wonder she’s been so good to us students.

Who wouldn’t appreciate being liked by others, especially after Sheng Quan had just helped them so much?

In no time, Sheng Quan’s already high reputation at C University skyrocketed even further.

Strangely enough, through all this, even though Sheng Quan wasn’t a C University graduate, she ended up receiving the treatment of an esteemed alum. Students affectionately started calling her "Senior Sheng Quan."

Online, people often boast about having fans from this or that school.

But Sheng Quan? She earned the fervent admiration of an entire prestigious university.

When minor disputes broke out online over the two-month-long casting process for Interstellar War, someone dragged Sheng Quan into it. Before her fans could even react, a C University student spotted the comment, shared it in their alumni circle, and instantly rallied an army.

A swarm of sharp-minded students—adept in both science and literature—launched a logically airtight counterattack, verbally dismantling the offender until they deleted their account. The battle left behind a legendary quote:

"Bullying our Senior Sheng Quan? Did you think C University had no one to stand up for her?"

This clash became an instant legend.

Chen Aihong had just gotten home when she saw the entertainment gossip and froze for several seconds in disbelief.

Sheng Quan… her senior?

Were they alumni?

Since when?!

But soon, something far more important captured her full attention.

A message from Sheng Quan: "Professor Chen, a machine guide dog project I’ve invested in has made some progress. As an expert in this field, could you take a look and share your thoughts?"