Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 82

A quick search revealed that, while she hadn’t deliberately altered these people’s fates, the growing success of Starlight Entertainment had positively influenced many characters from the original novel in one way or another.

The Road of Life, The Cultivator, and Interstellar War were just the three most outstanding productions from the past two years—Starlight Entertainment had invested in countless other films and TV series.

Thanks to Sheng Quan’s influence, whether the productions were big or small, they all maintained a principled approach. After all, everyone knew the boss despised "under-the-table deals," and Starlight Entertainment was entirely her domain.

From top to bottom, the company executed Chairman Sheng’s vision with absolute precision.

—Starlight Entertainment prioritized talent in casting.

This rule, mocked as "pretentious" when the company was first established, had been steadfastly upheld, becoming a lifeline for many skilled but unconnected artists.

It had to be said—Starlight Entertainment had spoiled its audience.

There had been companies producing high-quality dramas before, but quality meant high investment, and unlike cheaper productions, returns weren’t immediate, often dragging down studios mid-production.

Yet Starlight Entertainment scattered money here and there, not only avoiding financial ruin but actually reaping substantial rewards.

Add to that the sweeping reforms at the established firm Bluebird under Chairman Xie Wanzhao’s direction.

Even the smaller companies that had once operated without restraint were now behaving more cautiously. Before, when everyone churned out subpar shows, audiences might complain, but they still watched. Now, with Starlight and Bluebird setting the standard, things were different.

In just two years, while other aspects of the industry might not have improved, the atmosphere among actors had undeniably shifted for the better.

If the entertainment world had once offered only sporadic opportunities for talented actors, the past two years had seen chances raining down like a meteor shower.

As long as they were willing to reach out, they could grab one or two.

Among the "familiar faces" Sheng Quan recognized from the original novel, not all had achieved stardom, but none were as stifled as they had been in the story.

After reviewing all this, Sheng Quan was in a good mood.

Even the minor characters who had only briefly appeared in the book were now living new, hardworking, upwardly mobile lives—thanks to the ripple effects she’d set in motion. It felt pretty great.

After disembarking the plane and stepping outside, Jiang Lu subtly moved to shield Sheng Quan. "There are reporters."

Sheng Quan was puzzled. "Reporters? Here for me?"

That didn’t make sense. While she was well-known, she wasn’t a celebrity who frequently appeared in the spotlight. Plus, in Shanghai, she usually traveled by private helicopter. With no scandals to chase and no way to keep up with her transport, paparazzi had little interest in her.

She had clout, but she was also a homebody. Reporters had staked her out before, only to find that Sheng Quan spent weeks binge-watching shows at home. After two months of waiting, they’d only caught her leaving once—for a major event already swarming with media.

The time investment versus payoff just wasn’t worth it, so gradually, no one bothered stalking Sheng Quan anymore.

At most, during major news events, journalists might try to corner her for an interview. Under normal circumstances, Chairman Sheng’s surroundings were paparazzi-free.

Especially for a low-profile event like this that wouldn’t even make trending searches.

Sheng Quan assumed they were here for someone else. She turned to her assistant. "Any public figures visiting Fangcheng today?"

The tall, striking assistant with an air of cool elegance answered immediately:

"A variety show, Happy Travels, is filming in Fangcheng and will cross-promote with our Interstellar War event here. Their crew is arriving today—these people are probably waiting for them."

Her professionalism was evident. Who would’ve guessed her actual job was bodyguard?

That’s right—this assistant, He Xi, had been selected from the top tier of Starlight Security’s trainees.

Originally, her assistant role was just a cover, meant to operate discreetly. After all, when people thought of bodyguards, they pictured burly men in suits, not the elegant woman beside Sheng Quan.

Even Sheng Quan hadn’t expected He Xi, a former soldier, to excel at assistant work. But He Xi approached it with military discipline—studying the methods of Sheng Quan’s other assistants and painstakingly learning the ins and outs of the entertainment industry.

Most people around Sheng Quan pursued additional training, and He Xi followed suit, enrolling in courses during her time off. Among the elite trainees, she stood out as exceptional—a pleasant surprise.

Ninety-nine percent of Starlight Security’s trainees weren’t afraid of hard work, but it depended on the type of hardship. Many would rather run grueling obstacle courses than sit down and tackle dense, difficult study material.

The grind of studying was something only those who’d pushed themselves to the limit could truly understand.

He Xi was one of those people—relentlessly improving herself while never neglecting her primary duty as a bodyguard.

In just over a year, she had transformed from "one of the top-selected trainees" to "the most trusted assistant by Chairman Sheng."

Sheng Quan genuinely liked He Xi—what boss wouldn’t appreciate a hardworking subordinate? Even her penny-pinching employer from her past life, who was reluctant to pay overtime, had still tried to curry favor with her in various ways.

Having experienced the frustration of "effort misplaced," Sheng Quan gradually increased He Xi’s salary and bonuses as her responsibilities expanded.

And so, He Xi became even more motivated. The way she effortlessly recited program details showed just how meticulously she tracked every aspect of Sheng Quan’s schedule:

"This show is a large-scale travel experience program produced by Golden Orange TV. The guests are mostly public figures with fame and fanbases, and its popularity ranks 15th nationally among variety shows. One of this episode’s guests is Lin Qing, an artist from our Starlight Entertainment."

Sheng Quan didn’t really recall him. Starlight Entertainment now had so many artists that she couldn’t possibly remember every new signee’s name like she used to:

"Lin Qing… wasn’t he a child star?"

"Yes, Lin Qing’s contract with Wuhua Entertainment expired three months ago, and he signed with Starlight Entertainment. His agent is Zhu Ying."

Sheng Quan thought He Xi was truly embodying the role of an all-purpose assistant now. With so many people in the company, she even remembered the former agency of a relatively unknown artist like Lin Qing—clearly, she was always prepared for Sheng Quan’s questions.

Who would’ve thought that when she first started, she didn’t even know the leads of popular dramas?

Chairman Sheng couldn’t help but glance admiringly at her capable, striking, and beautiful bodyguard-slash-assistant:

"Starting this month, your salary will increase by another five percent."

A flicker of surprise and delight crossed He Xi’s coolly elegant face. She had just gotten a raise three months ago—another five percent would nearly match the salary of a senior executive assistant.

Even if Sheng Quan no longer needed her one day, this level of experience would secure her a high-ranking position at Starlight Entertainment.

"Thank you, Chairman Sheng."

Outside work hours, He Xi wasn’t much of a talker. No matter how grateful she felt, she couldn’t put it into words, so she channeled her excitement into action, resolving to work even harder.

Sheng Quan didn’t have much of an impression of the show Happy Travels. Since moving into her new home, her entertainment had been limited to movies and TV dramas.

She rarely watched variety shows, mainly because nearly every popular one featured someone she knew. Acting was one thing, but these semi-scripted, pseudo-real-life performances were too jarring.

She still remembered accidentally stumbling onto one show where Lin Aike was frantically cooking, only for the pot lid to go flying—it nearly killed her with laughter, and she immediately messaged Lin Aike to tease her about it.

Not keen on drawing attention, Sheng Quan adjusted her hat when she noticed the reporters with their cameras hadn’t spotted her yet. "Let’s go."

Unfortunately, while Chairman Sheng herself was low-key, her entourage of bodyguards was anything but.

The moment they moved, a dozen tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted bodyguards flanked her, drawing stares from passersby—let alone the paparazzi, who were already camped out at the airport, hypersensitive to any potential scoop.

"Who’s that? The show’s guests aren’t supposed to come out for another three minutes. Did they arrive early? But there’s no camera crew with them."

The paparazzi and freelance photographers instantly perked up.

One adjusted his cap. "Bro, I smell a trending topic."

"Smell my ass—just figure out who it is!"

They didn’t need to run over. Zooming in with their cameras, they caught glimpses of a young woman shielded tightly by bodyguards:

"Holy shit! It’s Sheng Quan! What’s she doing here?!"

"Sheng Quan?!!"

"Move, move! Get closer and snap some shots! See if we can squeeze out a quote!"

"Bro, what about the variety show?"

"That show isn’t going anywhere, and this episode’s guests aren’t even A-listers. We can always catch them filming later. But Sheng Quan? Every time she shows up, it’s big news. We actually lucked out this time!"

Clearly, many other paparazzi and freelancers shared the same thought. Happy Travels wasn’t unpopular, but it wasn’t a smash hit either, and this episode’s lineup wasn’t particularly buzzworthy. Since their targets’ schedules were easy to track, they had no qualms about ditching the show for Sheng Quan.

After being photographed so often, Sheng Quan had grown accustomed to it. They could snap away—she’d just keep walking.

Headlines like "Freelance Photographers Run Wild" or "Paparazzi Relentlessly Pursue" never applied to her.

These ethically questionable folks knew how to pick their battles.

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Sheng Quan wasn’t some fame-reliant minor celebrity—she was the chairwoman of Starlight Entertainment, a company steadily rising in prominence, with countless industry connections. Even major media outlets treated her with respect, let alone tabloid reporters.

She might not own any media outlets herself, but who knew how many influential people she knew? One wrong move, one annoyed word from her, and they could lose their jobs.

This caution extended to Starlight’s artists as well. The company was notorious for its deep pockets and fierce protection of its talent.

Take that one incident: A relatively unknown actress, newly signed, was harassed by a veteran actor on set. She slapped him, and the scene turned ugly.

For a well-known artist, company backing would be expected. But for a fresh face, most agencies wouldn’t go to war over such a "minor" issue—they’d just send a manager to smooth things over.

Starlight, however, stood firmly behind the actress. They pulled surveillance footage, gathered evidence, and immediately filed a lawsuit once the facts were confirmed.

The legal outcome might not have landed the old actor in jail, but Starlight made it clear: none of their projects would work with him again. Other companies followed suit.

The actor had been somewhat famous, always targeting newcomers—those too timid, too obscure, and too powerless to fight back—because he knew most agencies wouldn’t bother protecting them.

And then he kicked an iron plate.

Going to such lengths for an unknown newbie? Starlight’s young chairwoman clearly wasn’t as mild-mannered as she seemed.

Funny enough, before this incident, Starlight’s artists still faced some shameless freelance photographers. Afterward? Those same photographers suddenly became very, very well-behaved.

And when it came to Sheng Quan? That restraint multiplied tenfold.

They maintained a perfectly measured distance, taking photos without disturbing Sheng Quan. A few people tried to ask questions, but after receiving no response, they didn’t dare press further.

Surrounded by her tall, long-legged bodyguards, Sheng Quan moved smoothly forward. Just as she was about to reach the elevator, a voice filled with pure hatred suddenly rang out:

"Tan Chen!!! Go die!!!"

Even though it clearly wasn’t directed at Sheng Quan, the sheer venom in the tone instantly put her security team on high alert. The elevator doors opened, and Sheng Quan stepped inside. From her vantage point, she could see a group of people exiting ahead—staff members, cameras, and a few strikingly good-looking young men and women in the distance.

This must be that travel variety show.

Tan Chen… the name sounded vaguely familiar.

Just before the elevator doors closed, Sheng Quan caught sight of two people hurling vegetables at a man while screaming obscenities. Between their furious ranting, they spat out a string of other names:

"Chen Mo! Zhou Ke! Bai Xiangyuan!"—and more she couldn’t quite catch. But their verbal assault was impressively rapid, managing to curse out seven people in half a minute:

"How dare you disgrace us like this?! Losing in a competition like that!"

"You’ve humiliated China!! Do you even know how foreigners are mocking us?!"

"Bai Xiangyuan! Don’t you dare hide! It was your mistake!! And you call yourself the ‘Best Bottom Laner’? Disgusting! Just retire already! Tan Chen! Move! I’m not even done with you yet!"

Their main targets clearly weren’t Tan Chen, but since he stood in front, he bore the brunt of another round of insults.

And vegetable projectiles.

—Airport security checks meant they couldn’t have brought anything truly dangerous inside.

Still, Sheng Quan had only ever seen vegetable-throwing in TV dramas before.

The ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‍scene was almost comical—two people yelling while pelting greens—but the recipient probably wasn’t amused. Yet when she looked over, he seemed surprisingly unbothered.

He couldn’t have been thirty yet, but his demeanor carried a quiet maturity. Unlike the show’s guests, he wasn’t wearing the program’s uniform. Tall and lean, he shielded a group of teenagers—likely no older than seventeen or eighteen—behind him. His sharp, handsome features only accentuated his composed presence.

While the young guests behind him wore expressions of anger and indignation, Tan Chen remained almost eerily calm.

A vegetable smacked against his face. Even if it was just a leaf, the force would’ve stung. He merely frowned slightly, raising a hand to stop one of the teenagers from lunging forward.

With slender fingers, he plucked the vegetable off and casually unfolded a collapsible bag from his pocket, dropping it inside. His well-shaped lips moved.

Sheng Quan couldn’t hear him, but judging by his lip movements and the way the two haters instantly turned apoplectic, her expert gossip radar pieced it together:

"Thanks."

"Saved me a trip to the grocery store."