Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 66

Thirteen helicopters parked together made for a truly spectacular sight.

The scene became even more jaw-dropping when Sheng Quan mentioned that all thirteen had been purchased specifically for the film crew’s shooting needs.

Even though everyone already knew their big boss was wealthy, thirteen helicopters? That was next-level extravagance.

Many in the crew were familiar with helicopters, and those who weren’t had at least taken an interest after the recent news about "Chairman Sheng purchasing a private helicopter for her commute."

China hadn’t yet opened up private airspace, meaning personal helicopter flights required prior approval from air traffic control.

Getting clearance wasn’t difficult, but it also meant that aside from filming purposes, Sheng Quan’s fleet of private helicopters wouldn’t have much practical use.

Yet she bought them anyway—and not the cheap kind, either.

The entire crew buzzed with excitement as they marveled at the aircraft. The more their boss splurged, the clearer it became that she had immense faith in Stellar War. Why else would she invest so heavily beyond the already massive budget?

Even established actors couldn’t resist circling the helicopters, inspecting them up and down.

"I’ve been in this industry for decades, and I’ve never seen anything like this," muttered a veteran actor playing an alien role, shaking his head in awe.

"I thought that crew spending 20 million to rent helicopters was impressive, but Stellar War just went ahead and bought them outright."

"People always said Starry Horizon had deep pockets, but I figured it was exaggerated," another actor chimed in, eyes alight with exhilaration. "Turns out they’re even more generous than the rumors."

With such a hefty upfront investment, marketing would undoubtedly be just as lavish. Even if the film underperformed, it would still have a solid foundation—and for minor-role actors like them, that meant a real shot at breaking out.

"Don’t worry, this movie’s going to be huge," the older actor declared, far more confident than his younger counterparts.

Sci-fi is all about spectacle. Look at our props, the high-end equipment for special effects—this setup rivals even international blockbuster sets.

The younger actors’ blood pumped faster at his words. "If our movie blows up like The Cultivator did, we’ll all get our big break."

The Cultivator was arguably the most actor-boosting hit of the decade. Its ripple effects reached not just the leads but even those with mere cameos, turning them into recognizable faces overnight.

For these unknown actors, that level of recognition was already a dream.

And for the truly ambitious? They dared to fantasize about following in Jiang Zhen’s footsteps—exploding into global fame for a role that wasn’t even a lead, like his iconic Daoist Xingyun.

"Hey, is it true Jiang Zhen was a martial arts instructor before The Cultivator?" someone asked.

"Yeah, I saw the interview," another replied. "One of the actors he trained was doing fight scenes in The Cultivator as an extra. Their skills stood out, and when Chairman Sheng asked who taught them, they named Jiang Zhen.

She had him audition on the spot, and that’s how he landed Daoist Xingyun."

The questioner sighed enviously. "From instructor to A-list? That’s straight out of a drama."

"But…" Another actor frowned, gaze drifting ahead. "How did no one scout Jiang Zhen before? With his looks, you’d think every crew he worked with would’ve begged him to act."

Following his line of sight, the group spotted Jiang Zhen himself—fresh from a workout, damp hair tousled as he toweled it dry, sleeves casually rolled up to reveal defined wrists. His white shirt clung slightly from residual moisture, the fabric hinting at the sculpted abs beneath as he leaned down to match Sheng Quan’s height.

Even the way he listened was magnetic, his usually sharp, lion-like gaze softening into focused intensity.

Several male actors exhaled in unison.

"That’s just unfair levels of handsome."

Jiang Zhen didn’t need to try. His mere presence commanded the scene. Most days, he carried the lazy vigilance of a lion—calm but always ready to strike.

"And he was just a martial arts instructor? Were casting directors blind back then?!"

The veteran actor chuckled knowingly. "Fame polishes a person. Maybe he wasn’t this dazzling before the spotlight."

Sheng Quan actually shared the same sentiment as them. Her gaze couldn’t help but linger for a moment on Jiang Zhen’s faintly visible abs, feeling that ever since The Cultivator aired, Jiang Zhen’s charm had been skyrocketing nonstop.

At the very least, she had deliberately sought out Jiang Zhen’s dramas from ten years ago. Back then, he was undeniably handsome, but in terms of sheer charisma, the present version of him was easily ten times—if not more—captivating than his younger self.

Moreover, she remembered reading a scientific tidbit about how men’s muscles typically start aging around their thirties. Yet Jiang Zhen’s physique now was practically flawless—not an ounce too much, not a bit too little—perfectly controlled to showcase his well-built frame to its best advantage.

“Have you been deliberately working on your physique?”

“Yes, for the role. I’ve been training for over five months now.” Jiang Zhen didn’t miss the appreciation in Sheng Quan’s eyes. He pressed his lips together, the tips of his ears tinged slightly red. “Do you… think it’s alright?”

“Alright? It’s more than alright. With a body like yours, you could easily rank top five internationally.”

Sheng Quan now completely understood why Jiang Zhen’s fanbase was growing so rapidly. If she were in their shoes, she’d stan him too.

Especially since, beneath his sharp and wild exterior, Jiang Zhen’s personality was surprisingly reserved once you got to know him.

Reserved, as in—despite being an action actor who frequently had to show off his physique—he still got flustered when complimented on his body.

If it came from someone of the same gender, it was manageable. But if it was from the opposite sex? A few extra praises, and his ears would instantly turn red. And around Sheng Quan, he always made a conscious effort to tone down his intimidating aura, afraid of scaring her off.

Sheng Quan figured it probably stemmed from Jiang Zhen’s upbringing in a strict, male-only martial arts school. Later, when he started acting, his days were packed with grueling schedules—back then, action actors practically staked their bodies for their craft.

Then came the accident, which left him bedridden for years, cutting off almost all social connections. In other words:

Though he looked like a ferocious predator, Jiang Zhen was, at heart, a gentle herbivore.

Of course, this depended on who he was with. After getting familiar with him, Sheng Quan found that he really did have a good temper. Despite his bashfulness, if he noticed her watching during training, he’d still blush and avert his gaze before tentatively asking:

“Want to take some photos?”

—Because Sheng Quan loved photographing actors during their intense workout sessions. If she captured something particularly striking, she’d occasionally share it on her Weibo for everyone to admire.

Most of her Weibo posts went something like:

“This actress’s abs are absolutely stunning—more screen time for her! @[Actor’s Name]”

“That chest, that back view—I’m telling the scriptwriters to give him more scenes! @[Actor’s Name]”

Sheng Quan’s follower count wasn’t any smaller than that of the average celebrity. Aside from her own fans, she also had the fanbases of actors under Starlight Entertainment. Every time she posted a shoutout, the tagged actor would inevitably gain a fresh wave of admirers.

At one point, she even mused that if her Weibo account ever took sponsored ads, the results would probably leave advertisers ecstatic.

But so far, no one had approached her for promotions—likely because she gave off the vibe of someone who could outright buy the entire advertising company.

In any case, under these circumstances, the actors in the crew were always eager for Sheng Quan to photograph them.

After all, it wasn’t just a sign of good rapport with the big boss—it also meant exposure and buzz. Who would want to miss such a golden opportunity to boost their visibility?

But Jiang Zhen was definitely not part of that “who.”

So whenever he took the initiative to invite her, Sheng Quan always treasured the moment, snapping multiple shots, carefully selecting the best lighting and angles, then gleefully posting them on Weibo to watch the comment section erupt with screams of “I’m deceased” and “Jiang-ge, kill me already.”

Today was no exception. The helicopter was just too cool, so Sheng Quan even had Jiang Zhen pose in the pilot’s seat for a video.

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Jiang Zhen, whose entire being radiated a wild, untamed energy, looked impossibly well-matched with the dual-purpose military-civilian helicopter—so much so that he nearly rivaled Brother Jiang in compatibility.

Sheng Quan alternated between admiring the stunning shots she’d taken and scrolling through the comments, itching to join the chorus of “AWSL” and “Jiang-ge’s murdering me again” with a burner account.

Sitting right beside her, sharing the same expression while browsing the comments, was Ming Qi.

Her role wasn’t extensive, and after just a month on set, she was already wrapping up, scheduled to leave that very night.

After thoroughly appreciating the… ahem… visual feast with her boss, the ever-skilled sweet-talker clung to Sheng Quan’s arm, swaying it gently.

“Take me with you, pleaaase, President Sheng. I want to go to the anniversary celebration too—I’ve never been to one before.”

Not only was she adorably pretty, but her voice was soft and sugary, dialing up the pleading tone to heart-melting levels. “I’ll wear a mask and the hat you gave me. No one will recognize me!”

Sheng Quan, however, stood firm. “No way. You’re way too popular right now. Do you want to get mobbed in a crowded place?”

When Ming Qi first met Sheng Quan on Singing With You, she was still a little nervous, but as it turned out, there was a reason why someone was so universally adored.

She was pure-hearted and innocent, sweet-talking and coquettish, and never hid her true thoughts. Veterans like Hua Qing and Yuan Zixin, who had seen their fair share of scheming, couldn’t help but favor her.

Well, Sheng Quan was one of those veterans too.

But the thing was, Ming Qi was just too sweet—whether it was her looks, her voice, or her personality, she hit every single one of Sheng Quan’s aesthetic preferences perfectly.

And though she was a bit naive, she was inherently well-behaved and never made things difficult for others. Like now, after being firmly rejected by Sheng Quan, the beautiful girl’s face showed a hint of disappointment, but she still nodded obediently:

"Alright."

Her large, slightly rounded eyes, glistening with moisture, looked over pleadingly. To curry favor, she even carefully peeled an orange that Yu Xiangwan had brought over and handed it to Sheng Quan, her gaze full of anticipation:

"Then can I go back with you later, President Sheng? I’ve never ridden in a private helicopter before."

She even added, "I just learned a new dance—would you like to see it? My teacher said I dance really well."

Sheng Quan had principles… well, she had no principles when it came to beauties.

"Then let’s go back together later. Want to film it on the helicopter?"

"Yes!" Ming Qi immediately beamed, hugging Sheng Quan’s arm sweetly. "Thank you, President Sheng! You’re the best."

Ah~ A beauty’s coquetry was so sweet.

Sheng Quan admired the lovely, sugary girl up close, her mood soaring.

She decided she’d tell Yuan Zixin as soon as she got back—Ming Qi should be cast as the sweet female lead in a drama. She’d definitely skyrocket in popularity.

Yu Xiangwan placed new snacks and desserts on the table, refilled Sheng Quan’s glass of juice, and adjusted his glasses, pretending not to notice Ming Qi sneakily grabbing two nuts to munch on despite needing to watch her figure.

When it came to people Sheng Quan liked, he always showed a little extra leniency.

"The arrangements for those 27 actors to get their private pilot licenses have been made. Will these helicopters stay with the production crew permanently?"

"The hangar is already under construction near the set." The fate of these over a dozen aircraft wasn’t hard to settle. Aside from the actors needing licenses, Xingmang Entertainment would also need to hire a team of professional helicopter pilots.

Though ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍pilot salaries weren’t cheap, the thought of soon owning over a dozen helicopters still thrilled Sheng Quan.

"Coordinate with the military and see if we can arrange joint exercises later. These 13 helicopters are dual-use—civilian and military. With some adjustments, they’ll be ready."

"Understood."

Sheng Quan suddenly remembered something else. "Oh, and you should get a license too. It’ll make travel more convenient. Even if we have to apply for clearance, it’s still better than sitting in traffic."

Yu Xiangwan was taken aback.

"Such expensive private helicopters… I can use them?"

"Of course." Sheng Quan patted his shoulder. "With all your hard work, you could fly two helicopters and it still wouldn’t be too much."

Remembering the Outstanding Employee Estate Tour, she added with a smile,

"Don’t forget to come to the anniversary celebration tomorrow. You’re the outstanding employee—you’ll be receiving an award."

"Understood." Yu Xiangwan replied meekly, his striking peach-blossom eyes reflecting only Sheng Quan’s figure.

While neither of them was paying attention to her, Ming Qi stealthily snatched another cookie.

Then she noticed that Yu Xiangwan, the usually composed production supervisor, was completely different around Sheng Quan. This was the first time she’d seen him show such obvious anticipation.

Yu Xiangwan really was looking forward to it. Sitting up straight, he gazed at Sheng Quan with hopeful expectation. "Will you be the one presenting the award?"

Of course she would.

Sheng Quan had always been the one receiving awards—she’d never handed one out before. She’d already decided what to wear tomorrow.

Oh, and she’d bought a new bag—ridiculously expensive but stunningly beautiful. President Sheng had decided she’d carry it tomorrow.

With that confirmation, Yu Xiangwan looked even happier.

Clearly, more than the award or the prize itself, what he truly wanted was for Sheng Quan to personally present it to him.

He didn’t care how many outstanding employees there were or how grand the prize was. As long as it was President Sheng giving it to him, that was enough.

That day, Yu Xiangwan—who was usually so diligent, practically living at the set to oversee every major and minor detail—left unusually early. He needed to go home and pick out his outfit for tomorrow.

Xu Man had originally planned to just grab something slightly nicer from her closet, but seeing even Yu Xiangwan, who practically lived at the set, rushing home to prepare for the anniversary celebration, she suddenly felt she couldn’t fall behind.

Now that she thought about it, this was Xingmang’s first-ever anniversary celebration—of course it had to be treated with importance.

She handed off her tasks to the rest of the directing team, planning to squeeze in a spa treatment tonight so she could make a proper appearance tomorrow.

Sheng Quan, who had been at home picking out clothes, clapped her hands when she heard Xu Man’s plan.

"Let’s get Minister Yuan to come too. The three of us can hit the spa tonight, then go shopping. My treat."

Gu Zhao set down the documents in his hand and instructed Secretary Zhang, "Call a meeting with all departments later."

"Director Yuan was just summoned by Chairman Sheng Quan, so she probably won’t be able to attend," Secretary Zhang replied promptly. As a highly diligent secretary, he was always aware of Yuan Zixin’s whereabouts—though this had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he often gossiped with her.

"Chairman Sheng Quan?" Gu Zhao frowned. "At this hour?"

"Yes. It’s probably for tomorrow’s anniversary celebration. Chairman Sheng Quan plans to buy some suitable outfits tonight."

Not that Chairman Sheng Quan lacked clothes—her wardrobe was already overflowing with coordinated sets—but that was beside the point.

"Buying clothes," Gu Zhao murmured, briefly glancing away from his screen. "Did Chairman Sheng Quan invite anyone else besides Director Yuan?"

Secretary Zhang was about to say, "That’s Chairman Sheng Quan’s private matter, I wouldn’t know," when his icy boss added, "You absolutely asked around."

"...Also Director Xu Man. And Supervisor Yu Xiangwan seems to have left the set early too, likely preparing for tomorrow’s celebration."

Gu Zhao showed no visible reaction, but his gaze lifted slightly.

Secretary Zhang stole a glance at his boss, who had been working all day. "Should I notify the other departments about the meeting now?"

"No, postpone it." Gu Zhao stood up, straightening his tie. "No overtime tonight. Everyone should rest early. For tomorrow’s anniversary celebration, encourage them to dress their best."

"Understood."

Secretary Zhang maintained a respectful expression, but his eyes followed Gu Zhao as he headed to the lounge. He wasn’t the least bit surprised.

He’d bet anything that Gu Zhao was going to pick out an outfit.

That evening, the Xingmang company group chat buzzed with the announcement: employees attending the anniversary celebration were encouraged to dress as stylishly as possible.

Overnight, Xingmang staff rummaged through their closets in a frenzy, while others took advantage of the remaining daylight to hit the stores for last-minute shopping.

And shopping was always more fun with friends.

Yu Miao, a new hire who was thrilled to attend the celebration, had already seen her colleagues flaunting their outfits in the group chat—each one more elegant than the last.

Seizing the rare opportunity to wear formal attire without restraint, Yu Miao was beyond excited.

After two hours of deliberation, she settled on a stunning dress.

The only dilemma was the color.

Holding up two options, she asked her friend, "Which looks better—black or red?"

Her friend was baffled. "Red, I guess. But isn’t this just a company anniversary? Why buy a new dress? Isn’t this one a bit pricey?"

"You don’t get it. Our company culture is all about looking polished and put-together," Yu Miao chirped, admiring the dress. "Remember how you complained about that smelly guy at your office? That would never fly at Xingmang."

"We even have shower rooms to keep employees fresh."

Her friend blinked. "Wait, your coworkers are that hygiene-conscious?"

"It’s not just them—it’s company policy." Yu Miao loved it. "Rumor has it Chairman Sheng Quan is a bit of an aesthetics fanatic. Might be why."

"Hey, have you considered joining Xingmang? You’re way more skilled than me. I heard they’ll be hiring again once things stabilize."

Her friend shook her head. "No way. I’m fine where I am."

"And honestly, if my boss demanded we dress up for an anniversary party just because they’re shallow, I’d find it annoying."

Yu Miao handed the dress to the sales associate and grinned. "We enjoy looking good too, but yeah, there’s some brownie points involved. Chairman Sheng Quan has this habit..."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "What habit?"

Yu Miao smirked. "Sometimes, when she’s happy, she drops red envelopes in the group chat."

Her friend’s eyes lit up. "Big ones?"

"Not huge," Yu Miao admitted.

"But when Chairman Sheng Quan sends one, Supervisor Yu Xiangwan—who’s usually on set—follows up with another."

"Then Gu Zhao joins in."

"And after Gu Zhao, Lane—one of our foreign execs based in Country A—also sends one."

So whenever Chairman Sheng Quan started it, the chat would flood with red envelopes. The payout was insane.

Her friend: "..."

Yu Miao: "But that’s not even the main draw. Tomorrow’s celebration has a raffle—all employees are eligible. The grand prize hasn’t been announced yet, but word is one reward is 100,000 yuan in cash."

"Plus, the best part? If your celebration outfit falls within the budget, the company reimburses 10%."

"Chairman Sheng Quan announced it in the group an hour ago. Right now, everyone’s ecstatic—except Finance, probably. Hah!"

Her friend: "..."

10% reimbursement...

A cash prize of one hundred thousand...

"Red! Bet on red!"

"Do it now!"

"And also, your company... when exactly are you planning to hire new people?"