Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 100
Starlight Entertainment has produced quite a few visually appealing films and shows in recent years, but Sheng Quan rarely promotes them on her Weibo before their release. More often, she joins audiences in watching dramas or movies after they’ve aired.
Occasionally, when a particularly gripping series comes along, Chairman Sheng happily pulls some strings to access the studio’s archives and binge the rest. But outright promotional posts on Weibo? Over the years, she’s only done it a handful of times.
Among those rare instances were classics like The Cultivator and Interstellar War—both massive hits. While netizens were still flooding the comments with excited messages like "Yes! I’ll definitely buy tickets when it’s out!", seasoned fans had already made their predictions:
"When Sheng Quan promotes it, you know it’s premium."
"I have a feeling we’re about to relive the thrill of scrambling for sold-out tickets—lowkey excited, ngl."
"OMGGGGG if Sheng Quan’s personally promoting it, it HAS to be amazing!!"
A new fan chimed in: "Wait, why does her promo mean it’s good? Isn’t this her company’s film? Does she usually not promote their stuff?"
The replies came fast:
"No amount of money can make Sheng Quan promote something. Not even her own projects."
"Sure, she’s the producer, but her standards are sky-high. Only the absolute best get her personal stamp of approval."
"LOL so true—sometimes Starlight drops a hit drama, but if Sheng Quan stays silent, you just know it wasn’t her cup of tea."
One user recalled: "I remember an interview where Jiang Zhen was asked why Sheng Quan didn’t promote his new horror movie. He deadpanned, ‘It was too scary—she skipped the internal screening.’"
Another jumped in: "There was also that one series by a Starlight-signed director that started strong but nosedived. Sheng Quan live-tweeted her rage, roasting it every five hours. Rumor has it she overnighted the guy to an elite director’s bootcamp."
"I heard about that! The director was fresh out of school—talented but green. And that bootcamp cost a fortune. Imagine graduating just to get sent back to class—LMAO."
"Don’t forget that time a Starlight rookie got called out by Sheng Quan for bad acting. Next day, he enrolled in intensive training and documented his progress daily. Dude leveled up fast."
"After the Chairman drags you, you’d better study HARD."
"This is why I ignore other influencers but trust Sheng Quan’s word. She doesn’t sugarcoat—even her own projects get roasted if they’re trash (dog head x2)."
Plenty of industry insiders follow Sheng Quan—not just actors, but directors, screenwriters, hosts, agents, and even rival entertainment companies’ official accounts.
The reason? Starlight Entertainment’s deep pockets and stellar output. They churn out high-quality content yearly and aren’t afraid to cast unknowns in lead roles—if the talent fits.
This is the confidence that Chairman Sheng Quan gives to the company. Most film crews, especially those with sizable investments, are hesitant to cast relatively unknown actors in leading roles, fearing that the project might flop and result in massive losses.
That’s why stories like "handpicking an unknown but talented actor for the lead role" become legendary tales within and beyond the industry whenever they happen. Of course, it’s only a legend if the project succeeds—if it fails, it fades into obscurity.
What makes Sheng Quan truly remarkable is her clear preference for giving newcomers opportunities while treating veteran actors with equal fairness. In all projects under Starlight Entertainment, casting decisions are driven by one principle: suitability. If the company doesn’t have the right actor in-house, Starlight has no qualms about bringing in talent from other agencies.
Some companies think Starlight is foolish—small productions might be one thing, but why let actors from rival agencies take the spotlight in big-budget projects? Take, for example, the all-out effort behind Polaris—The Ultimate Player, a film with an astronomical budget, where the lead role ultimately went to an actor not signed with Starlight.
Starlight isn’t short of A-list actors. Even if age was a concern, why not use special effects makeup or simply tweak the script to adjust the character’s age? To outsiders, Sheng Quan’s approach seems like painstakingly growing a tree only to hand the fruit to someone else.
But Sheng Quan, who usually favors collaboration, stands firm on this point:
"As long as it achieves the best possible outcome, I don’t care if the lead isn’t a Starlight artist—even if the entire cast isn’t, that’s fine."
Making a movie isn’t like throwing together a stew where you toss in whatever ingredients you have. Whether as a chairman or as an audience member, Sheng Quan refuses to force unsuitable actors into unsuitable roles just to maximize profits.
That said, if they are suitable, she’s more than happy to cast them.
Just because the lead isn’t a Starlight artist doesn’t mean none of the roles are. A movie has countless characters, some with just a minute of screen time as "background extras." For these roles, which don’t affect the main plot or viewing experience, Starlight mostly uses its own signed artists.
Many of them are newcomers or lesser-known actors, and even a fleeting 10-second appearance in such a high-budget film is an unimaginable opportunity for most.
Even Tan Chen and his teammates made a brief cameo—not as actors, but through flashback footage of this year’s global championship. The roars of the crowd, live broadcasts on giant screens, and the triumphant scene of esports players standing on the podium all highlight Polaris’s immense popularity.
Joining the cameos were other Starlight artists who landed suitable roles, like Yan Hui, Hua Qing, and Jiang Zhen—now major stars—who squeezed time out of their packed schedules to make appearances. freewebnoveℓ.com
Naturally, their fans alone guarantee a built-in audience for the film.
"Produced by Starlight" has become synonymous with quality, and with these increasingly popular stars making cameos, the movie’s success seems almost inevitable.
In fact, even before its release, just the trailer alone—
Some minor actors who didn't secure roles weren’t discouraged. Even though they had no connection whatsoever to the film, that didn’t stop them from reposting Sheng Quan’s promotional Weibo posts and adding a few compliments of their own:
["Just watching the trailer has me excited—definitely buying tickets to support! (flowers)(flowers)"]
On the surface, it looked like blatant flattery—and honestly, that’s exactly what it was.
One actor explained to their agent, "Of course I’m doing it. What if Chairman Sheng happens to see my repost, clicks on my profile, and thinks I’d be perfect for some role?"
The agent, who had initially wanted to stop them, reconsidered. It wasn’t entirely wishful thinking.
This actor wasn’t just daydreaming. The entire industry knew about Sheng Quan’s habits. Take, for example, that pair of sisters who made goofy short videos—they were barely considered influencers at best.
But because they posted a video responding to "Sheng Quan’s Open Casting Call," Sheng Quan herself noticed them, decided they’d fit a pair of roles in The Players, and gave them a chance to audition.
And guess what? They landed those roles.
When the trailer dropped, sharp-eyed viewers spotted the sisters in a brief cameo. Though their screen time was fleeting, their lines made it clear they weren’t just background extras.
Who wouldn’t envy that?
Remembering the sisters’ success story, the agent quickly changed their tune. "You’re right. Actually, let’s clear your schedule on opening day. You’ll go watch the movie in theaters."
Though this actor wasn’t a big name, the agent was serious about building their career. "I’ll arrange for someone to 'secretly' snap photos of you there. We’ll buy a trending topic about you disguising yourself to catch the film. Even if Chairman Sheng doesn’t notice, at least we can drum up some buzz."
The actor nodded eagerly, then sighed. "Sometimes I wish I was the one Chairman Sheng called out for bad acting. At least then I’d have her attention—that’s an opportunity right there."
"Dream on. Chairman Sheng has her limits. Haven’t you noticed she only critiques artists signed to her own company? And besides, you really think being called out by her is a bad thing?"
The actor frowned. "Isn’t it? Getting publicly labeled as unprofessional by your boss?"
The agent shook their head. "Being called unprofessional and then benched—that’s bad. Being called unprofessional and then given training to improve—that’s an opportunity."
They mused, "No wonder Starlight Entertainment’s artists are so loyal to Chairman Sheng. Her blunt criticism and direct demands for growth actually make people feel secure. At least they know that at Starlight, if you’ve got talent, you’ll get your shot."
The more they thought about it, the more the agent understood why Starlight had risen so rapidly in just over three years.
"When Chairman Sheng critiques her own signed artists, they thank her for the chance to learn. Fans respect her for speaking her mind instead of covering up flaws just because they’re 'family.' No wonder she’s such a powerhouse."
The actor could only listen in awe before hurriedly pulling out their phone again.
The agent blinked. "What are you doing now?"
"Adding more praise! I feel like my last attempt wasn’t heartfelt enough!"
They weren’t the only ones trying to ride the hype train by showering the film with compliments before its release. Sheng Quan was more than happy to let this self-motivated "hype squad" do their thing.
Everything was going smoothly. On the eve of the film’s premiere, Sheng Quan visited the research institute.
—Ning Zhou really was something else.
Row upon row of holographic gaming pods lay quietly in the vast space as Sheng Quan examined them one by one.
Polaris Headquarters
Upon discovering that a film based on Polaris's universe had been released in China—and confirming the production company held the rights—they barely batted an eye.
Just a movie, after all.
If it succeeded, Polaris would gain a flood of new paying players.
If it flopped? No skin off their backs.
The shareholders of Polaris might clash on other matters, but when it came to profit, they were united.
As long as there was something in it for them, no one cared how a little Chinese film turned out—including that minuscule year-end stock bonus, a negligible fraction tossed out merely to spur spending.
This Sheng Quan, who’d recently made waves, went to great lengths to spend 200 million yuan securing that year-end stock… only to pour a fortune into a movie where the official brand would profit effortlessly?
A staff member chuckled as he set down the report, thinking:
Truly, the wealthy are whimsical.
And a bit of a sucker, too.
