Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 120

【Holographic Stage Holographic Stage Holographic Stage!!!!】

Once Guoxinghai announced the exact time for its first-ever holographic stage livestream, discussions across major platforms were dominated by these four words.

From the very beginning, a massive wave of viewers had flocked to this talent show for one reason—to witness the world's first holographic stage performance.

【I thought the production team would save the holographic stage for the final showdown! Aaaaaah, I never expected every single stage would be holographic!】

【If this were any other production team, they’d probably use the holographic stage as a gimmick, only revealing it at the very end. But Guoxinghai is a Starry Brilliance production—Starry Brilliance never disappoints!】

【Aaaaaah, I’m so excited! If the stage weren’t starting in the evening, I’d totally call in sick just to watch it at home!】

【Just admit you don’t want to work, lol.】

【Everyone’s celebrating, while I’m here crying because I don’t have a holographic device.】

【The second I heard the news, I rushed to the store and bought a holographic helmet. Honestly, the price is a steal for this kind of tech. My wallet hurt for a second, but now I’m over the moon!】

【Aaaaaah, I went to buy one too, but I was too late—the store was sold out! Luckily, the owner said he’d restock ASAP. I swear, if he doesn’t get them in by 8 PM, I’ll lose it!!】

【Same here, sold out. Now I’m just kicking myself for not buying one earlier.】

【Broke student here, crying. I wanna see the holographic stage too, aaaaaah!】

【I’m broke too, but I just couldn’t resist. Sure, the helmet costs money, but the holographic stage itself is FREE!】

That’s right—Guoxinghai’s official announcement confirmed that while the holographic stage would debut soon, players only needed to enter the "Starry Sea Stage" in the game "Polaris" to watch it for free.

FREE!!!!

The Chinese people have always had a knack for compromise.

If ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‍you tell them a holographic helmet is expensive—something an average worker would need to save up for two or even three years to afford—they might hesitate.

But if you tell them that once they buy the helmet, they can enjoy breathtaking holographic performances without spending another dime?

That changes everything.

Especially when netizens come together to celebrate something, they’re more than willing to splurge.

And when that coveted item sells out, the frenzy only grows—so much so that when restocks arrive, eager buyers immediately throw their money at it.

Sheng Quan had learned this early on when she worked in marketing. Now, as the boss, she understood it even better.

Like right now—

"The backup stock of helmets we prepared in advance is already sold out?"

Her subordinate confirmed, the background noise filled with chaotic chatter—someone even shouting, "No stock left?! Not a single one?!"

It wasn’t hard to tell he was calling from the flagship store of their holographic devices.

Despite the surrounding clamor, his voice carried an unmistakable, barely suppressed excitement.

How could he suppress it? With holographic helmets flying off the shelves, his bonus was about to skyrocket to heavenly heights.

"Yes, the sales were incredibly fast. A huge number of customers who ordered online even drove straight to the store to pick them up in person. Right now, we’re completely out of stock."

Sheng Quan listened, unfazed, as she continued her call. "What about the simulation pods?"

The subordinate, still floating on cloud nine, answered immediately, "Just as predicted—sales are skyrocketing alongside Guoxinghai’s hype. Today alone, we’ve sold 70% of our inventory."

And this wasn’t just any inventory.

This was stock that headquarters had mass-produced well in advance, specifically in preparation for Guoxinghai.

At the time, some had voiced concerns.

Sure, holographics were eye-catching, but no matter how you looked at it, the price and durability meant the peak demand would come either when the tech first debuted or when a new generation was released.

Sheng Quan’s order to ramp up production had felt like telling a luxury brand CEO to mass-produce high-end goods for an event that might not even succeed.

But now, all those worries had turned into cheers.

Before Guoxinghai launched, some had quietly whispered among themselves—was Sheng Quan just throwing money around, spending two billion on a show with no real payoff?

Now, those whispers had vanished, drowned out by the overwhelming crowds flooding holographic device stores in every city.

Customers who had previously hesitated—visiting multiple times, trying out the devices, loving them but never committing—were now swiping their cards without a second thought.

They couldn’t wait to get home, set up their new devices, log into Polaris, and enjoy the full holographic gaming experience before slipping into the "Starry Sea Stage" to await the performance.

Of course, the frenzy wasn’t just benefiting the holographic devices.

Inside Polaris, veteran players quickly noticed that the already-popular game had suddenly become a sea of newcomers—excited, curious, and running wild through the virtual world.

The player count displayed in the top-right corner had reached a staggering number.

For now, these new players were still basking in the joy of "I’m inside a holographic game!" and "Tonight, I’ll see the holographic stage!"

But soon, they’d discover that holographic gaming was even more fun than they’d imagined—this second world was worth spending real money on.

And naturally, all that money would flow straight into Sheng Quan’s accounts.

"Are all these players from China?"

A player from Country B watched enviously as the newcomers adjusted their wrist-mounted "Dials"—the signature mark of holographic players. Every gamer who logged in via holographic devices had one.

"They’re all here for the holographic stage," his companion muttered, equally jealous as he eyed the new avatars’ wrists. "It starts tonight."

"I’m so jealous. I’d buy a holographic device too, but the import taxes are insane. The helmets are reasonably priced in China, but by the time they reach us, the cost is outrageous."

The two players spent a good while grumbling about how expensive imported holographic devices were after taxes, but in the end, they could only watch with envy as the happy Chinese players activated their portals and stepped into the Starry Sea Stage—an exclusive holographic experience.

Of course, it wasn’t just Chinese players entering the Starry Sea Stage.

Not all international players were like these two from Country B—unable to afford the taxed price of holographic devices.

Tonight, the world's first holographic stage will debut at the Polar region!

This news quickly spread across nations through the internet and media. Since Polar was already a globally popular game and the stage was free to attend, it immediately drew waves of holographic players eager to witness the spectacle.

Even though most of them hadn’t watched a single minute of [Guoxinghai], it didn’t matter—after all, watching the stage cost nothing, and it wasn’t like they’d lose anything by tuning in.

Of course, many international players opted for a better viewing experience by joining the livestream hosted by China’s program, hoping to familiarize themselves with the contestants who would soon grace the stage.

As a result, [Guoxinghai]’s viewership surged once again.

"Harvest time."

That was how Sheng Quan referred to today.

All the groundwork she had laid was finally coming to fruition.

A single holographic stage had seamlessly linked [Guoxinghai], [holographic devices], and [Polar]—three of the most lucrative projects.

What? [Guoxinghai] had always been free for viewers, not earning a single cent?

A voice sounded from behind her: "Chairman Sheng."

Like the busy Sheng Quan, her assistant and bodyguard, He Xi, had just finished a call.

"The chairpersons of [Yuzu Cat] and [Breeze Taste] have arrived in person, along with representatives from thirty-three other brands. They’re all highly sincere and willing to accept that ad placements on [Guoxinghai] won’t linger for too long."

She handed over a tablet. "Here’s the price list."

Sheng Quan glanced at the quotes, all starting at nine figures, and wasn’t surprised. "The offers are quite generous."

She set the tablet aside. "Stick to the original plan—have Qu Cheng and his team negotiate and try to finalize everything by tonight."

Yes, Sheng Quan had never intended to profit directly from the audience.

As the starting point of her interconnected strategy, [Guoxinghai] only needed to attract more and more viewers.

Of course, she wasn’t about to invest two billion just to break even.

A talent show that had already surpassed all its competitors—one that would undoubtedly remain unrivaled for years—had brands clamoring to pay exorbitant sums for even the smallest ad spot.

And one should never underestimate the power of a tiny ad placement.

From the water contestants drank during training, the air conditioners or fans they used when tired, the makeup they wore, the shoes on their feet, down to the tableware they ate with—brands specializing in even the most mundane items were eyeing these opportunities like hungry wolves.

They didn’t even need the program to give their brands elaborate introductions. A simple glimpse of their logo when the camera panned over these items was enough.

For that fleeting moment of exposure, brands were more than willing to pay top dollar.

Thinking of the massive influx of cash about to roll in, Sheng Quan felt a surge of joy but didn’t forget to remind her team once more:

"Make sure the contracts are scrutinized for suitability, especially for drinking water. Only sign deals with mineral water brands—no weird sweet or salty beverages."

Whether in this life or her past one, she had always found it baffling to see celebrities on variety shows chugging all sorts of flavored drinks for ad placements. Didn’t that just make them thirstier?

On other people’s shows, she might just grumble a little, but on her own, she could at least ensure things were done her way.

"Understood, I’ll relay the message."

He Xi nodded, jotted it down, and hurried out. As Sheng Quan’s chief assistant, her workload was now rivaling even Gu Zhao’s.

Speaking of Gu Zhao, Sheng Quan glanced back at the man diligently working behind her.

Xingmang operated like a well-oiled machine—when one component moved, the others followed suit. Now that [Guoxinghai], the starting point, was in motion thanks to the holographic stage, the rest of Xingmang’s parts were happily churning along as well.

Every second of movement meant more money pouring in.

Though Gu Zhao looked swamped, Sheng Quan could see the relaxed pleasure in his expression. Clearly, he was reveling in the thrill of scaling new heights in his career. His striking features glowed with satisfaction, making him even more captivating.

As for why there was a desk in the rest area…

—There hadn’t been one, but where Gu Zhao went, a workspace followed.

Gu Zhao, a man who carried his office wherever he went.

Sheng Quan was tempted to ask, "If you’re just working here anyway, and it’s less convenient than headquarters, why even stay with the program team?"

But remembering that she was the one who had invited him—and that while she was happily enjoying the sight of attractive contestants, the great CEO Gu was toiling away—she wisely kept her mouth shut.

Chairman Sheng felt she ought to do something for the overworked Gu Zhao, who had come to watch the show but ended up buried in paperwork.

So she picked up a small spray bottle and lightly misted the potted plant on his desk.

Unsurprisingly, Gu Zhao appreciated the gesture.

Noticing Sheng Quan tending to his little plant, he glanced up, looking faintly pleased, and thanked her earnestly: "Thank you."

—Then he immediately dove back into his work.

Sheng Quan was used to it by now. Sipping her coffee, she stepped out of the rest area, where a tall man was already waiting to follow her.

"Let’s go check on the contestants. They must be excited—they’ll be on stage tonight."

The contestants were practically dying of nerves!

They knew [Guoxinghai] had a holographic stage, but like most viewers, 99% of them had assumed such a high-end feature would only appear in the later stages of the show.

You know, after brutal eliminations whittled six hundred contestants down to six—the cream of the crop, the absolute best of the best—who would then stride confidently onto the holographic stage, buoyed by the cheers of countless fans.

But the program team didn’t play by the rules!

They had barely been in the program for a few days—not even ten—and now they were being thrown onto the holographic stage?!

Honestly, most contestants were feeling a little unsteady.

Rumor had it that holographic stages were insanely expensive. What if they messed up?

And of course, there’d be an audience. But since they had just joined the program, conventional wisdom said this was when viewership would be at its lowest—the first recorded episode hadn’t even aired yet.

Any contestant familiar with talent shows knew that before the first episode dropped, unknowns like them were basically invisible.

Even those who already had some fame couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

"The recorded episode hasn’t aired yet—will there even be an audience?"

Another contestant sounded uncertain. "Probably? It’s a holographic stage. If it were me… I’d go just to see the spectacle."

Yes, a spectacle—not to support any particular contestant.

Realistically, with such a short time in the program, audiences probably couldn’t even tell them apart yet.

Tu Zhu sat huddled in a corner with his roommates.

His three roommates, instead of dragging the corner-loving Tu Zhu out, had squeezed in beside him, forming a cozy little cluster.

It has to be said, Tu Zhu huddled alone in the corner did look a little pitiful, but when his three tall, broad-shouldered roommates also squeezed into the same corner, the scene became downright comical.

Jing Tiangao, a tall, handsome guy with sun-kissed skin and an aura that screamed "health," was also grimacing:

"I’m so nervous about going on stage. What do I do? There’s supposed to be an interactive segment in my dance routine. I thought having you guys in the audience would work, but now it’s a holographic stage—what if no one interacts with me?"

Meng Wei glanced left and right before whispering, "How about this? I have a holographic helmet in the luggage room. Let’s sneak it out, and when you’re on stage, I’ll pretend to be a fan and interact with you."

Jing Tiangao clapped his hands. "Brilliant idea!!"

Ming Qin shushed them. "Keep it down! Don’t you know we’re being filmed all day? What if this gets broadcast?"

"No way," Meng Wei said, looking around like a thief. "There are so many people here—they won’t focus on us. Right, Tu Zhu?"

"Or we could just quietly go now..."

Tu Zhu had been silent until then, but seeing his three roommates start glancing around suspiciously, he couldn’t help but get swept up in it. He cautiously scanned the surroundings and whispered,

"But aren’t we not allowed to use connected devices? Isn’t that against the rules? Also… do any of you even know where the luggage room is?"

The three tall roommates: "...No."

Tu Zhu whispered again, "And I remember the luggage room has a password lock. We don’t know the code, do we?"

The three tall roommates: "..."

[HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!]

The live chat was in stitches.

[Whispering their plans at full volume.]

[The cameras: Go on, keep talking.]

[I’m dying—stealing a helmet to pretend to be your own audience? Genius move.]

[They have no idea they already have a group name, LOL.]

[Come on! Three Huskies and their Samoyed friend are a powerhouse combo!]

Sheng Quan, watching the young contestants fret over these things, nearly burst out laughing.

"Is the director broadcasting this? Tell the production team to air all these secret conversations."

"Especially the part where they’re worried about not having an audience. Show it all."

She knew exactly how the internet would react.

After these scenes aired, tonight’s holographic stage would undoubtedly deliver a surprise.

The live feed cut to other contestants whispering among themselves.

On the big screen, Tu Zhu and his three roommates were still crouched in the corner.

One roommate tried to comfort Tu Zhu: "You’re different—you already have fans. There’ll definitely be people supporting you."

Tu Zhu, who had been relaxing a little while talking to them, stiffened at those words.

After a long pause, he murmured, "I hope so."

That night, the moment arrived.

The contestants stepped onto the stage, hearts pounding.

They weren’t dancing while wearing helmets, of course—the holographic technology projected the stage’s visuals into the real world.

The moment they appeared, every contestant froze.

As far as the eye could see, the space was packed with people… and non-human avatars.

—This was a game, after all, so plenty of viewers had chosen bizarre appearances. There was even an ant bouncing up and down enthusiastically.

Though the scene looked chaotic, with so many overlapping layers, it did nothing to dampen the crowd’s excitement.

Most of the audience held up glowing star signs bearing the contestants’ names, shining brightly in the sea of light.

"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"

"They’re here!!!"

"TU ZHU!!!!!"

"Lan He, Lan He, I love you!!!"

"CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!"

"OWOOOO!!! Ge Ling, look at me!!! Didn’t you say you like fluffy things?! I’m a wolf—a lone wolf from the north!!!"

"Fluffy? Pfft! I’m a spider! Do you even have leg hair this fluffy?!!"

The contestants stood dumbfounded, staring at the endless sea of spectators, as if caught in a dream.

We’ve only been airing for… less than ten days?!