Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 118

After just a few days of live streaming on Guoxinghai, Tu Zhu's fans were pleasantly surprised to notice something different—unlike his usual terrible reputation where he was criticized everywhere, the audience of this show was gradually warming up to him.

Friendly comments about Tu Zhu began appearing in the bullet chats:

"Tu Zhu looks a bit dorky, but it's kinda cute."

"Didn’t expect Tu Zhu to be so soft-spoken in real life. I thought he’d be more arrogant."

"Wow, Tu Zhu is so short—he looks tiny!"

"Hahaha, it’s just that his three roommates are all super tall. Plus, Tu Zhu’s only eighteen, he’s still growing!"

"He’s ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‍an amazing dancer, just a little quiet usually."

"Every time I see Tu Zhu interacting with his roommates, I can’t help but laugh—it’s so wholesome!"

At this early stage, most viewers were still cautiously observing the contestants, so it wasn’t like a sudden wave of praise like "Tu Zhu is amazing, Tu Zhu is the best, Tu Zhu is perfect!" would appear. At most, the comments simply showed a slight fondness, with no outright dislike for him.

But even this small shift was enough to send Tu Zhu’s fans into a frenzy! They thanked the heavens, the earth, President Sheng, and Guoxinghai itself.

For a long time, they had witnessed Tu Zhu being bashed no matter what he did—or didn’t do. His company never stepped in to protect him, and controlling public opinion was unheard of, which only worsened the situation. Even something as trivial as "a fellow male artist’s plant died"—completely unrelated to Tu Zhu—could spark outrage. Haters would dig up a two-year-old photo of him watering a plant and accuse him:

"Tu Zhu killed that plant! Tu Zhu is evil, he deserves divine punishment!"

Fans who saw Tu Zhu’s Weibo flooded with hate could only react with: "..."

It sounded absurd, but this was the reality Tu Zhu had endured.

Leaving behind the stage—his comfort zone—to venture into acting, an industry where he struggled and only attracted more hate, without any protection from his company, he was like a target for anyone to take shots at.

Sure, the phrase "Even if my idol stands against the whole world, I’ll always support him" sounds romantic and heroic, but what fan actually wants their idol to be abandoned by the world?

What they loved was the radiant, shining Tu Zhu.

And it wasn’t like they were blind—his fans could see how the constant negativity was slowly dimming his spirit.

Now, any true fan watching the livestream could tell he was slowly "coming back to life."

Tu Zhu’s fans were so overjoyed they could hardly believe it. The fanbase, once scattered and demoralized by endless defeats, was regrouping.

Veteran fans reminded everyone in the group chats:

"When watching Guoxinghai, don’t hype up Tu Zhu by putting others down."

"His reputation is just starting to improve—we have to be extra careful not to ruin the goodwill."

"The show is treating him well. Let’s just quietly support him."

"But also, make sure the show knows we care! If they see Tu Zhu’s popularity rising, they’ll give him more screen time!"

Yes, the fans believed Tu Zhu was being well taken care of by the production team.

A person’s state of mind—whether they’re happy in their environment—can be seen clearly in their demeanor and daily habits.

Tu Zhu was still quiet, still kept his head down, still retreated to corners to practice lyrics and choreography alone.

But now, he was starting to invite his roommates to train together. His appetite in the cafeteria was improving, and he even saved seats for them during dance classes.

These changes were subtle, and casual viewers might not notice yet. But Tu Zhu’s fans, hidden among the audience, watched with delight as the boy they loved—the one who shone brightest on stage—smiled more and more each day.

Then, they’d quietly blend into the bullet chats with messages like:

"The meat looks delicious today—Tu Zhu, eat up! You look even cuter with a little more weight!"

Right after this comment was posted, Tu Zhu, who had been silently munching on his food, was poked by his roommate Meng Wei.

The young man looked up, confused.

Meng Wei: "Tu Zhu, have you gained weight?"

"Yeah! Your face looks rounder!" Another roommate, mid-bite, nodded vigorously. "Definitely chubbier."

Tu Zhu touched his face. "Really?"

"Yes!"

Ming Qin chimed in: "Let’s weigh ourselves after eating."

Ten minutes later—

Tu Zhu stood on the scale, staring blankly at the number showing he had gained five pounds since joining the show.

His usually delicate, ethereal face was now filled with deep bewilderment.

Jing Tiangao, loud as ever, exclaimed: "You gained FIVE POUNDS?!"

Ming Qin patted his sturdy arm. "Tu Zhu’s still growing. Five pounds is normal."

Jing Tiangao, ever the blunt one, countered: "But we’ve only been here four days."

Tu Zhu, cheeks rosy, hair glossy, clearly thriving, could only respond with: "..."

Viewers watching the livestream nearly died laughing.

"HAHAHAHAHA FIVE POUNDS IN FOUR DAYS"

"Thanks, Tu Zhu. I feel better about gaining five pounds in a month now."

"Stop laughing, guys! He’s still growing—rapid weight gain is totally normal HAHAHAHAHA"

"The one saying ‘stop laughing’ is laughing the loudest, I can’t—"

"Jing Tiangao’s reaction is meme-worthy. I’m dead."

"Jing Tiangao: buff dude in shock.jpg"

"How good is the show’s food?! An idol gaining five pounds in four days? I’m deceased."

President Sheng was also eating, though of course, she wasn’t in the contestants’ cafeteria. Today, she decided to treat herself to an expensive but incredibly delicious restaurant.

The high price was justified—since the filming location was a bit far (though only a two-to-three-hour drive), the chef and assistants arrived with fresh ingredients to prepare an exquisite feast on-site.

President Sheng multitasked like a pro: eating, watching the livestream on her tablet, and reading a novel on her phone.

At this scene, she even paused her meal to type: "HAHAHAHAHA."

After sending it, she marveled: "You know what? Even with five extra pounds, he looks even better."

"Too bad they won’t be seeing dishes like braised pork in the cafeteria anymore."

As she spoke, she took a bite of the tender, glistening braised pork with her rice, savoring the melt-in-your-mouth richness with satisfaction.

Many wealthy executives President Sheng knew were meticulous about their diets—the richer they were, the more they focused on nutrition and avoided carbs to prevent sluggishness.

However, many wealthy individuals, even after making their fortunes, don’t force themselves to change their eating habits. They eat what they enjoy, as long as it doesn’t harm their health.

Sheng Quan clearly belonged to the latter category.

She still occasionally indulged in snacks like potato chips and spicy strips. Though she was somewhat of a public figure, her dietary restrictions weren’t as strict as those of celebrities. As long as she didn’t overindulge, eating these treats occasionally wasn’t a problem.

Sheng Quan’s daily exercise routine was more than enough to maintain her good health.

—“So, as a rich person, you get to enjoy big chunks of braised pork with fragrant rice,” Lin Aike, sitting across from Sheng Quan, said with a resentful look. “Meanwhile, I have to eat these greens just to maintain my on-camera figure.”

Sheng Quan flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry, soon all 600 contestants will be joining you in eating like this.”

And she, Sheng Boss Quan, could happily munch on her braised pork while watching this crowd of people collectively endure nutritious but bland meals.

Just thinking about it made life feel wonderful.

Sheng Quan took out her phone and called the manager in charge of the program’s operations:

“Arrange for all contestants to be weighed. The cafeteria menu will change starting tomorrow, and make sure to capture their reactions during meals.”

“When editing the recorded footage, splice in clips of their happy eating expressions from yesterday for contrast.”

As for why the contestants were first treated to lavish meals in the program—well, for one, three days of indulgence wouldn’t instantly turn them into overweight stars.

On the other hand, it was a bit like a “last meal” before the real training began. Once the program officially entered its rigorous phase, these young contestants would have to endure intense dance practices while surviving on greens.

That night, the hashtag [#GuoxinghaiFoodTooGoodContestantsGainWeight] shot to the top of trending topics.

A flood of amused netizens rushed in to join the fun.

[Guoxinghai has been super popular lately!]

[Turns out celebrities have the same reaction to weight gain as I do lol]

[Tu Zhu even tried turning the scale off and on again in disbelief—his face is priceless: Tu Zhu shocked.jpg]

[I’m dead—how did that one guy manage to gain seven pounds in four days? I thought Tu Zhu’s five pounds was already the limit!]

[The seven-pound guy was living his best life—he even went back to the cafeteria for midnight snacks. Check out the comparison: happily eating.jpg vs. “No one told me food makes you fat!!”.jpg]

[These before-and-after pics are killing me—what kind of hilarious battlefield is this where everyone gains weight??]

[LMAO they’re all working out together now trying to lose weight—seeing them lined up in the gym and dance studio is comedy gold.]

The more people talked about it, the more curious others became.

A fresh wave of viewers flooded the livestream, watching the contestants desperately exercising to shed the extra pounds and laughing mercilessly in the comments.

These carefully selected contestants included some who already had fame and fans before joining the show, as well as newcomers who, while less known, were undeniably talented and attractive.

Different strokes for different folks—with so many viewers, even just four days into the livestream, some had already found their favorites.

From a fan’s perspective, seeing their beloved idol not suffering but instead thriving—with rosy cheeks and a few extra pounds—was nothing short of delightful. How could they not feel happy and grateful toward the show for taking such good care of their stars?

As for casual viewers, the sheer absurdity of a group of young, image-conscious idols gaining weight because the cafeteria food was too good was entertainment in itself.

They initially came just to see what the fuss was about.

But once they entered the livestream, they were greeted by a sea of gorgeous faces—all pouting, sweating, and struggling through workouts.

There was a manga-esque girl fiercely battling it out in a dance-off to burn calories.

A fresh-faced boy with flawless skin panting through a jump rope session.

A tall, muscular contestant—still baby-faced—arguing with his roommate that his weight gain was pure muscle, not fat.

A poised, elegant “big sister” type sweetly helping her petite, short-legged roommate with a jump rope.

Netizens who had only come for the laughs: Is this heaven?!

We’re never leaving!

This livestream is our new home!

Of course, the contestants, busy exercising and with their phones confiscated since entering the program, had no idea what the comments were saying.

They didn’t know that these viewers—some turning into new fans, others just here for the fun—were gathered together, laughing at their creative weight-loss attempts.

They certainly didn’t know that while they worried whether their weight gain would make them less appealing to audiences, their social media accounts were gaining waves of new followers.

Backstage at [Guoxinghai], a data analyst excitedly reported: “After the hashtag went viral, livestream viewership increased by 5%.”

Wu Ying was thrilled.

That 5% might seem small, but given [Guoxinghai]’s already massive daily viewership, the extra numbers alone could have landed another show on the weekly popularity charts.

As she celebrated, her admiration for Sheng Quan grew even deeper.

The entire [Contestants Gain Weight Trend] strategy had been President Sheng’s idea—rejecting the proposal team’s suggestions of [rivalry] and [competition] in favor of this fresh approach.

No talent show had ever done something like this before.

Wu Ying had known the plan was good, but she hadn’t expected it to be this effective. She silently marveled at President Sheng’s brilliance while making mental notes to study her thought process.

Seeing Wu Ying lost in thought after her moment of excitement, her subordinates didn’t dare disturb her.

The chief manager was relatively young for her position, but her decisive, no-nonsense leadership and her role in orchestrating the entire holographic stage production had earned her a reputation for formidable authority.

Wu Ying, unaware of her team’s cautious respect, was already planning to thoroughly analyze President Sheng’s strategy after work.

Her admiration for Sheng Quan had started as simple admiration for a strong, accomplished woman—a natural affinity. But over time, as she witnessed Sheng Quan’s charisma firsthand and was entrusted with greater responsibilities, that admiration had deepened into something far more profound.

If this were college, Wu Ying would have taped President Sheng’s photo to her wall before exams—just like students who pinned “genius” posters for good luck.

Then again, who said you couldn’t do that after graduation?

Wu Ying glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention to her. With renewed confidence, she straightened her posture and made up her mind with a resolute expression.

Alright, tonight’s the night.