Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 101

Before June 21st, almost everyone thought this was just another ordinary blockbuster film.

Like the previous hits produced by Starlight Entertainment, it was predictably entertaining, likely to maintain its popularity for a long time, allowing audiences to happily indulge in a visual and auditory feast.

Strangely, before the film’s release date was finalized, executives from several major cinemas frequently visited Starlight Entertainment.

After The Players was scheduled, competing films originally slated for the same period—though unable to uncover specifics—quickly changed their release dates.

No one dared to stubbornly compete, after all, Starlight Entertainment had undeniably become an unstoppable giant in the entertainment industry.

Those who had foolishly tried to go head-to-head with it in the past had long been crushed by its string of successes.

After swiftly pulling their films and retreating, many couldn’t help but wonder:

"She’s making such a big fuss, and I heard the budget is huge. Couldn’t she have waited and pushed it to the Lunar New Year season?" General Manager Lu lamented his misfortune: "After all that careful planning, we ended up clashing with Starlight’s film. Now all our previous promotions are wasted."

At the dinner gathering, as soon as he voiced his grievances, a certain General Manager Huang chimed in:

"That’s just how the film industry is. Who would’ve thought that at the start of the year, Starlight seemed to have no major projects, and now, just six months later, they’ve produced a movie tied to gaming? What’s President Sheng thinking—first suddenly taking an interest in esports, then abruptly deciding to make a film about it?"

No one dared to call President Sheng "young and impulsive" anymore. Even if some had said so initially, they quickly shut up after Starlight Entertainment rose to become one of the top three companies in the industry within just a few years.

Back then, when mid-to-upper-level executives from entertainment companies gathered, the terms they used behind Sheng Quan’s back were mostly "recklessly ambitious" or "overly aggressive."

Later, those descriptions shifted to "a talented young person," "truly carrying on her family’s legacy," or "the new generation surpassing the old."

Now, the labels attached to Sheng Quan had skyrocketed to "calculating mastermind" and "unfathomably shrewd."

Though everyone knew Sheng Quan rarely showed up at the company, whenever she attended industry events and others lavished praise on her, President Sheng would smile and modestly attribute Starlight’s rapid growth to Gu Zhao and the management team.

But think about it—a chairwoman who seldom visits the office yet commands unwavering loyalty from everyone, from the CEO down to the lowest-level employees? Even as Starlight expanded to its current scale, the company remained entirely under her control.

If anything, that made her seem even more inscrutable!

Especially considering someone like Gu Zhao bowed to her authority, diligently growing the company for years without a hint of disloyalty—a stark contrast to his time at Wansheng.

Did Gu Zhao suddenly become docile after leaving Wansheng?

Of course not!

If nothing else, the fact that Sheng Quan could tame Gu Zhao proved she was not someone to be underestimated.

"So, with someone like President Sheng, I refuse to believe she just whimsically decided to make a gaming movie for fun. Starlight never rushes things, yet this film was produced in such a short time. I’d bet anything she’s got some grand scheme behind it."

General Manager Lu might have been complaining, but he wasn’t stupid. Though reluctant to abandon the marketing costs already sunk into his film, he decisively retreated without hesitation.

"But the theme is full-dive VR—can they really pull it off in such a short time?"

Full-dive gaming was a common theme in blockbuster films, but due to the need for dazzling special effects and A-list star power, production costs were usually much higher than other genres.

Audiences mostly flocked to these movies for the big-screen spectacle and innovative settings. Such films were more common in Hollywood, while China rarely attempted them. The last domestic film with full-dive elements to break out was Stellar War.

"Of course they can! Sky VFX is Starlight’s go-to effects studio. I tried hiring them before, but they said all their artists were fully booked," Director Liu added. "They were probably rushing to finish the effects for this movie."

"No wonder every Starlight project blows up," someone remarked, unable to hide their envy. "Not only are they loaded, but they’ve got a top-tier VFX subsidiary at their disposal. Even their signed artists are all superstars—how could they not dominate?"

"Exactly. Even a last-minute film like this looks like a guaranteed hit. And before they’ve even recouped the box office, I heard Starlight’s already prepping another big-budget project. I can’t even keep up with how much there is to envy."

"Another big project?"

The eyes of those casually chatting immediately lit up. They might have missed this train, but perhaps they could catch the next one.

"Starlight really is swimming in cash."

"Their cash flow is insane. Those past blockbusters alone must’ve brought in untold sums, not to mention those robotic dogs—those things cost a fortune at 1-2 million each, but people worldwide are scrambling to buy them."

Director Liu raised his right index finger, signaling number one: "My guess? Starlight’s liquidity is definitely this in our industry."

"Can’t compete, hahaha!"

After collectively venting their jealousy, the dinner wrapped up. As everyone headed to their cars, General Manager Lu—who had been theatrically lamenting his losses—immediately pulled out his phone and called Sheng Quan:

"Ah, President Sheng! It’s me, Old Lu. Haha, nothing urgent—just wanted to wish you huge success with the new film. You know I’ve got some pull in promotions, so if there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word..."

"Oh, and I heard Starlight’s preparing another major project? Our company just signed a batch of new talent, so if you need..."

Meanwhile, in a sleek black luxury car behind him, Director Liu also took out his phone, intending to congratulate Sheng Quan in advance—only to get a "the number you are calling is busy" message.

"Damn it! Which bastard got ahead of me?!"

He didn’t need to guess—it had to be one of the guys from dinner.

Truthfully, everyone envied Sheng Quan, but that didn’t stop them from acknowledging her fairness. She never hogged opportunities; when she feasted, she was happy to let others sip the broth.

Otherwise, how could she remain unscathed despite being such a prominent target? After all, the saying goes, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

—Of course, the dozen bodyguards around her might’ve played a small role too.

He turned to his secretary: "Do you know if President Sheng has any public appearances coming up?"

The secretary in the passenger seat responded immediately: "President Sheng is attending C University’s anniversary ceremony on the 3rd next month. Should I arrange for you to go?"

"Do it. Also, prepare profiles of our rising artists—I’ll bring them for President Sheng to review."

So what if he wasn’t a C University alum or hadn’t received an invitation? That hardly mattered.

"Check if C University has any donation projects. Didn’t President Sheng previously invest in students? If possible, I’d like to sponsor some as well."

The assistant reminded him, "Most of C University’s investment projects are research-related and require substantial funding."

"As long as it helps me get closer to Sheng Quan, any amount is worth it."

Director Liu rolled down the car window and watched the trailer for The Player looping on the giant screen outside the mall:

"I have a feeling this movie is going to make a huge splash."

Quite a few people shared Director Liu’s intuition. Most of them had either collaborated or competed with Starlight Entertainment before. Being part of the same circle, they had some understanding of each other’s moves.

No one believed that Starlight Entertainment, usually steady as a rock, had suddenly rushed production just to capitalize on the global tournament hype for box office gains.

The investment for this film was simply too high—so high that even if it became a blockbuster as predicted, the profits wouldn’t justify the massive expenditure.

They all vaguely sensed that Sheng Quan was up to something.

But what exactly? No matter how much they analyzed, they couldn’t figure it out.

Some chose to step back and observe from the sidelines, while others, driven by instinct, tried their best to see if they could board the same ship as Sheng Quan.

One executive even called an urgent meeting to discuss the reason behind Starlight Entertainment’s unusual behavior.

"No one will ever guess," Sheng Quan said with a faint, almost villainous smile, silencing her constantly ringing phone and setting it aside.

"Even if I laid the truth right in front of them, no one would believe that holographic technology could appear so soon."

"You have no idea how addictive the holographic pod is. Even though the visuals are just test images, they’re incredibly immersive."

Unlike Sheng Quan, who chatted casually while eating, Gu Zhao meticulously finished every last grain of rice in his bowl before setting down his chopsticks. He gestured for the server to clear his dishes—

—then promptly pulled out his laptop and placed it on the table.

He turned the screen toward Sheng Quan. "This is a forecast of how holographic technology will impact all our business operations. We’ve made thorough preparations for every aspect."

Even though she was used to it, Sheng Quan couldn’t help but laugh at his seamless transition.

"I thought we agreed this was just a casual chat over dinner, no work talk?"

Gu Zhao glanced at his laptop. "I’ve finished eating."

Sheng Quan: "No wonder you were so focused on your meal just now."

Apparently, in his mind, "dinner time" ended the moment he put down his chopsticks. She’d bet the interval between him setting them aside and opening his laptop was less than twenty seconds.

Realizing he’d misunderstood, Gu Zhao raised his slender fingers, ready to close the laptop.

But Sheng Quan stopped him. "Hand it over. I actually want to take a look."

Holographic technology wasn’t just for gaming—otherwise, the moment Ning Zhou achieved a breakthrough, Sheng Quan’s first instinct wouldn’t have been to contact the government.

Gu Zhao passed her the laptop. Normally indifferent to others, even he couldn’t help but praise:

"This is a technology that could change the world."

"Even just in entertainment, it could instantly reshape the entire landscape."

Sheng Quan’s eyes sparkled as she scanned the screen. She looked up at Gu Zhao with a smile.

"The good news is, it’s in our hands."

After reviewing everything, she signed electronically and handed the laptop back. "Now, all we need to do is make sure its debut is as impactful as possible."

The instincts of their peers weren’t wrong—Polar: The Ultimate Player was indeed an exciting and captivating film. But in this high-stakes plan, the movie itself wasn’t the main focus.

The real question was: how would it be presented to the world?

Remember Yu Miao, the girl who adored the celebrity "Green Green" and later landed a job at Starlight Entertainment?

Well, she was back for another movie.

She wasn’t alone. Over the years, Starlight’s productions had raised audience expectations so high that fans could blindly buy tickets the moment a new film was announced.

Yu Miao was experienced enough to know that with the pre-release hype already at a fever pitch, tickets would sell out fast.

Hadn’t people already started posting online, "Bet you five spicy sticks I can snag a ticket this time"?

The good news? She was a seasoned ticket-snatcher.

With one minute left until presale, Yu Miao rubbed her hands together, checked her internet connection, and closed all unnecessary background apps—ready for the battle.

Three seconds left. Just as she was about to strike, her finger slipped.

By the time she looked back at the screen, only "Special Screening" tickets remained.

Yu Miao: ???? What the heck is a "Special Screening"???

And why was it so expensive?! fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

No time to think. She decisively grabbed a Special Screening ticket—after all, refunds were an option.

Her plan was simple: buy first, research later. If the "Special Screening" turned out to be a scam, she’d refund and watch the movie a day or two later.

But after securing her ticket, Yu Miao noticed something odd—no cinema had ever offered something called a "Special Screening" before.

Modern internet wisdom: When in doubt, post about it.

Yu Miao immediately searched The Ultimate Player Special Screening on Weibo’s real-time feed. Sure enough, tweets with #TheUltimatePlayerSpecialScreening were popping up nonstop.

[What even is a "Special Screening" for The Ultimate Player? None of the other movies have this option.]

[Most expensive movie ticket I’ve ever bought—The Ultimate Player Special Screening, priced at 299 yuan. Have the cinemas lost their minds???]

[Is this a mistake? Never heard of "Special Screenings" before.]

[299 yuan? Am I crazy, or is the studio?]

[Starlight has always been consumer-friendly. Are they turning into greedy capitalists now? Charging 299 for a ticket is just fleecing the audience.]

Yu Miao didn’t post but kept refreshing as more tweets poured in. Some found it outrageous, some refunded immediately to wait and see, and others—like her—were die-hard Sheng Quan fans, torn between the high price and their loyalty.

Seeing the flood of new tweets, sometimes several per second, Yu Miao knew it would trend.

Sure enough, #TheUltimatePlayerSpecialScreening soon hit the hot search.

"What?! The Ultimate Player has a Special Screening at 299 yuan?! Has Sheng Quan lost it?!"

General Manager Lu nearly choked on his tea. After confirming it online, he muttered in confusion, "Special Screening? Is there some actor interaction? Even then, 299 is outrageous."

"Can I still get a ticket now? Hurry and buy one for me—I need to see what Sheng Quan is up to."

—"Special screening?"

At Bluebird Entertainment, Xie Wanzhao stared at the new trending topic on the hot search list, recalling the mysterious behavior of those cinemas lately. Though she still couldn’t figure out the reason, she pulled out her phone and called a big-shot theater chain executive she knew.

"Old He, it’s me, Xie Wanzhao. Can you get me a ticket for The Best Player special screening? I want to check it out."

—"I knew it. There’s definitely something going on here. I don’t know what it is, but Sheng Quan is definitely hiding a big move."

Director Liu was on the phone with his fair-weather friends, declaring confidently, "Just wait and see. Our President Sheng never does anything without a purpose."

There were plenty of executives like him.

A movie ticket priced at 299 yuan? Whether from the audience’s perspective or the film industry’s, it could only be described with one word: insane.

Clearly, Sheng Quan wasn’t insane.

On the hot search, countless people—whether moviegoers or not—gathered to discuss what exactly this "special screening" was.

When they called the cinemas to ask, the responses were frustratingly vague: "A special screening is different from a regular one—it’s special."

Meanwhile, the executives tried every possible way to dig up what was inside the special screening. But the cinemas hosting it kept their lips sealed as if glued shut—no matter how close the relationship, they refused to spill a word.

As the hype grew, everyone began to realize: the 299-yuan special screening might just be a marketing stunt.

Hadn’t they noticed even non-entertainment media outlets were now covering this "sky-high movie ticket"?

And because the film was simultaneously released overseas, with two major theater chains also selling special screening tickets at equally outrageous prices, it created a global buzz—everyone was talking about "just how special this special screening really is."

Director Liu felt Sheng Quan’s move was far too unconventional.

"If ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‍what’s inside the special screening isn’t special enough and it backfires, the backlash will be instant."

Movie tickets usually cost just a few dozen yuan. For Sheng Quan to charge hundreds—and as an official move—if the content failed to meet expectations, the backlash would be brutal.

He secretly relished the thought of watching the drama unfold… or so he told himself.

As the saying goes, adding flowers to brocade is easy; delivering charcoal in snowy weather is hard. Sheng Quan had deep resources—no single movie could bring them down. Director Liu wasn’t foolish enough to make an enemy of them.

Instead, he eagerly called to offer his "support," expressing his willingness to help if Starlight Entertainment had made a promotional misstep.

Sheng Quan thanked him for his kindness, then replied with a smile:

"Thank you, Director Liu. But I believe the content of the special screening will satisfy the audience."

Director Liu: "…"

That confident, huh?

No matter how special it is, isn’t it still just a movie?

299 yuan for one screening—what kind of setup would it take for the audience to feel it was worth it?

This only strengthened his resolve to see it for himself.

Many shared Director Liu’s curiosity, including the audience members who had bought tickets. Some were simply intrigued, while others were thinking, "If they dare to rip me off, I’ll tear them apart online."

Others, like the executives, believed that since they’d paid for the tickets and Starlight Entertainment was thriving—not on the verge of bankruptcy—they must be in for a premium experience.

Some even speculated that the theater seats would come with gifts worth more than 299 yuan.

As for Yu Miao, her reason for not refunding her ticket aligned with the last group: she refused to believe President Sheng would scam the audience.

Holding onto her trust in Sheng Quan, Yu Miao gritted her teeth and paid the 299 yuan. On June 21st, she stepped into the cinema.

Waiting, ticket-checking, entering—everything proceeded as usual, except for one thing: this cinema had somehow added a "Theater 10" out of nowhere.

Polar—The Best Player was screening in Theater 10.

Was this set up specifically for the special screening?

See? President Sheng was too kind to let their 299 yuan go to waste. Maybe it was something like an Easter egg!

With a mix of curiosity, anticipation, and a little thrill, Yu Miao stepped into this never-before-seen theater.

The moment she entered, she froze.

The lights were still on since the screening hadn’t started yet, but what wasn’t normal was… why were there so few seats?

Worse, Yu Miao looked around—up, down, left, right—but couldn’t find the movie screen.

"Where’s the screen?"

Other audience members who had entered around the same time were also murmuring in surprise:

"Why are the seats arranged so weirdly?"

"Which direction is the screen in?"

"Is the special screening some kind of live performance? No way—I just want to watch a movie, not some gimmick."

"Maybe a celebrity is coming? Ahhh, if it’s Hua Qing, I’ll die!! I love her!!!"

"Could be Yan Hui! Or Jiang Zhen! Jiang Zhen!!"

The audience buzzed with speculation, but under the staff’s knowing "a huge surprise awaits you" expressions and directions, they eventually took their assigned seats.

Their collective mindset was: Alright, let’s see what kind of ‘huge surprise’ you’ve got.

Yu Miao sat down, her excitement and anticipation growing.

—BANG!

The lights went out. It was time for the movie.

A beam of light appeared in front of Yu Miao, like a beautiful star drifting through space, floating slowly in midair.

A voice announcement played:

"This screening will utilize the following format: holographic projection. Please remain quiet during the film. If you experience any startling reactions, contact staff for assistance."

Yu Miao: "…"

The rest of the audience: "…"

In perfect unison, their eyes widened, faces blank with shock and disbelief.

Holo… holographic…

Holographic projection?!?!