Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 102

For ordinary people, holographic technology has always been something only imagined.

The most they’ve seen of it is in various dubious media reports.

["XYZ Institution Develops Holographic XXX"]

["Holographic Technology Achieves XXX, Expected to XXX by XX Year"]

After seeing enough of these, everyone just assumed that holographic technology was still in the research phase, and even if it were developed, it certainly wouldn’t be applied to everyday life anytime soon.

For the average person to see or use holographic technology, it would take at least fifty years… right? freёweɓnovel.com

That was their initial assumption.

Until a movie appeared before them in holographic projection.

Everyone was stunned.

Some even wondered if it was a joke.

Holographic projection technology?

Just like that, in a movie theater?

And for only 299 yuan?!

Yu Miao learned for the first time that when people are utterly shocked, they can’t even make a sound.

In the dead silence, the movie’s sound effects became even more vivid and immersive.

The audience first saw a row of dolphins playing, appearing out of thin air, leaping in unison through the air. When they dove down, the "floor" beneath them had somehow transformed into crystal-clear seawater.

—Splash!

The dolphins joyfully plunged in, sending towering sprays of water into the air.

The droplets flew so high that the audience instinctively flinched back, only to bump into their seats and remember—they were watching a movie.

This was holographic projection, not real.

But… it felt so real!

To put it simply, anyone who’s seen dolphins in person knows that photos or videos can’t compare to the real thing.

It’s like how many people have seen beluga whales on TV—knowing their size, their diet—but no amount of footage prepares you for the awe of seeing their massive bodies in person.

Before Yu Miao had ever been to a theater, she thought watching movies was just about the plot. What difference did it make whether she watched on a computer or TV?

Then she experienced 3D, IMAX, and so on, and realized it was the difference between a casual viewing and a full sensory feast.

And holographic projection? It was a hundred—no, a thousand—times more immersive than even those premium experiences.

Right now, it truly felt like real dolphins were frolicking right in front of them. Some audience members, snapping out of their daze, even tentatively reached out to touch the nearest one.

—Of course, their hands passed through nothing.

Yu Miao also swiped at empty air, suddenly understanding why the staff had repeatedly reminded everyone to fasten their seatbelts—probably to stop people from rushing into the "water" to pet the dolphins.

Then, a tremendous splash echoed in their ears. The vast blue expanse before them suddenly plunged downward, not as a jarring cut but as if they themselves were sinking into the depths.

A dazzling underwater world unfolded: tiny fish, shrimp, sea turtles, and even playful little squids darted about. A crab strutted sideways with comical arrogance, while seahorses stood upright among coral clusters.

As the dolphins chased each other through the water, the scene shifted seamlessly, presenting the audience with a hyper-realistic undersea realm.

Yu Miao had never seen a live seahorse before and found them utterly adorable. Then, a group of penguins glided into view—round, streamlined bodies with snowy white bellies. One even swam close to the audience, prompting an entire row of people to instinctively reach out.

Yu Miao did too, though her fingers met nothing. This was also her first time seeing live penguins—or rather, she was already treating everything before her as "real" and "alive."

Her excitement cooled slightly when she realized: Wait, don’t dolphins and penguins live in completely different climates?

The moment the thought crossed her mind, a whirlpool erupted in the tranquil depths, growing rapidly until it swallowed everything in its path.

The audience, still immersed in the underwater fantasy, gasped as the once-serene "ocean" was violently churned into chaos. Then, the entire seabed seemed to flip upside down.

The visual disorientation made many lose their balance, as if they might plummet into the abyss. Shouts erupted around Yu Miao, and she herself gripped the armrests tightly.

Yu Miao: So this is why they told us to buckle up.

Witnessing the "ocean" drain away and the "sky" collapse—even knowing it was just a movie—the sheer realism kept everyone on edge.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Can’t ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‍you design scenes with some basic logic? I asked for an ocean, not a dumping ground for every sea creature you could think of."

—Fzzzt, fzzzt—accompanied by glitch-like flickers, a figure gradually materialized in midair.

She was strikingly beautiful, dressed in a familiar Chinese school uniform—long sleeves, long pants, with a short, bob-cut hairstyle dyed in rainbow colors. A transparent visor covered her eyes.

While grumbling, she waved her fingers, "patching" the torn sky and "compacting" the fractured ground. With another flick, all the sea creatures floating in the water suddenly soared into the air.

She pointed at them one by one:

"These are Antarctic penguins. Delete."

"This one’s a solitary species. Keep your distance."

"And this—"

After scrapping a few, she whirled around and snapped:

"What kind of idiot dumps deep-sea freaks into shallow waters? What were you thinking?"

Behind her, another figure stuttered into existence—a lanky man in skintight white gear. Unlike his expressive superior, his face was eerily blank, as if frozen mid-botox.

But his voice dripped with guilt, muttering under his breath:

"I don’t get why management cares. It’s just a game. Can’t we place things wherever we want?"

The mismatch between his deadpan face and whiny tone instantly reminded the audience: This was all inside a game.

On-screen, the woman scoffed, her features animated (clearly unbound by the game’s "character limits"):

"Just let us do whatever we want? Do you know about the Minor Protection Act for Full-Immersion Games? Instance-based games are one thing, but for scenic environments, if there’s any inconsistency with reality, the server will be shut down for rectification."

"I’m warning you, Intern 998. If you make this mistake again, your probation period ends immediately, and I’ll request your transfer out of the World Maintenance Department."

The man’s face remained expressionless, but his tone instantly turned pleading: "No, please, Team Leader!! I worked so hard to get in here!"

"My bad, my bad! I’ll fix it right away!"

Yu Miao sat and watched as the man meticulously repaired the underwater scenery. The surreal sensation of seeing one person controlling the placement of every element—parting the seas, stitching the sky—was utterly novel and thrilling.

Even though the audience knew it was just a game, they were still awestruck.

Of course, the epic background music played no small part in that.

From the very beginning, the viewers were captivated.

And they remained spellbound until the very end.

Truth be told, the movie’s plot wasn’t exceptionally groundbreaking. It was set in the era of full-immersion technology, where "Polaris," already a renowned game, became even more legendary with the advent of VR.

Yet, the protagonist wasn’t the first character introduced—the beautiful world maintenance officer—nor was it the underdog player who rose to victory in the player battles. It wasn’t even the pair of 15-year-old twins, who looked every bit like main characters and managed to cobble together a rudimentary full-immersion pod using self-taught VR knowledge.

The protagonist was Wang Kaixin, a seemingly unremarkable young woman.

She didn’t have the privileged status of a maintenance officer, the top-tier combat skills to dominate the player rankings, or the genius-level ability to build her own full-immersion pod.

At the start of the story, she was just an ordinary player, indulging in the game like most others—almost to the point of being a bit of an addict. But in the full-immersion era, where everyone had a touch of "digital addiction," this wasn’t unusual at all.

Then, the game announced an event: complete a series of quests, earn the title of "Best Player," and win a luxurious, limited-edition "Version 000" full-immersion pod.

Instantly, the entire player base went wild—including Wang Kaixin, who had always been content with sightseeing and avoiding competition.

Though full-immersion technology was widespread, not everyone could afford a pod. Most players used VR helmets, which relied on handheld controllers for movement.

The learning curve was steep, but muscle memory kicked in with practice. Since they were the cheapest option, helmets were the best-sellers.

Those with a bit more money could pair their helmets with a "full-motion treadmill" setup.

And if they had even deeper pockets, they could invest in a full-body movement rig.

But the full-immersion pod was the pinnacle of gaming tech. Not only did it simulate all five senses for an unparalleled experience, but it also allowed players to enjoy the game while lying comfortably.

Of course, even in this era of advanced VR, the high production costs meant these top-tier pods were prohibitively expensive—far beyond the reach of the average person.

Full-immersion pods were categorized into tiers 1 through 9, with lower numbers indicating better performance and higher price tags.

But the "Version 000" wasn’t part of this ranking—because it surpassed them all. Marketed as a perfect 1:1 replica of reality, it promised identical visuals, scents, and even tactile sensations.

In other words, owning a Version 000 pod meant the world of "Polaris" would become a second reality.

How could players not go crazy for it?

They lost their minds over it!

Even Wang Kaixin, who had always been content with sightseeing, was no exception. Her first notable appearance was during a competition where the world maintenance officer also participated. While everyone else gave up, the two of them persevered.

The maintenance officer struck up a conversation, learning her name was Wang Kaixin. When the next round turned out to be team-based, they naturally decided to pair up.

Later, they met the top-ranked player—who no one else wanted to team with—and the genius twins.

The game developers had designed the challenges meticulously, blending strategy, teamwork, and even obscure historical and scientific knowledge.

After going through so much together, the group became friends.

One day, they gathered and shared why they wanted the Version 000 pod.

The maintenance officer admitted she was a collector—she had every model except the 000, which wasn’t sold commercially. She needed it to complete her set.

The top-ranked player was driven by his obsession with winning. He didn’t care much about the pod itself, but since it was a competition, he had to come out on top.

The twins? They just wanted to take it apart and study it.

Though their reasons differed, all of them were determined to win.

The maintenance officer couldn’t sleep without completing her collection. The top player would lose his mind if someone else won. The twins saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime research opportunity.

When it was Wang Kaixin’s turn, she explained that she was about to start a job at a company that banned full-immersion gaming. She just wanted to experience the pod before quitting the game.

With such a quirky but talented group, sparks were bound to fly. As the story unfolded, Wang Kaixin—the only one without any extraordinary skills—gradually became the heart of the makeshift team.

And to the audience, it felt completely natural.

Wang Kaixin was just an ordinary person, and she never pretended otherwise. Even during the competition, while her teammates were fiercely driven, she remained unfazed—happy if she won, unbothered if she didn’t.

Many of her lines resonated deeply, even with Yu Miao, who was watching from the sidelines.

—"You don’t need to feel guilty about loving to collect things. Having a passion, a goal in life—that’s something to be happy about, even envied."

—"Just do it. Doesn’t matter if you succeed or fail. The point is that you tried."

—"I used to be a dancer. Now, I’m a fighter."

—"Angry? Of course you are. So am I. Let’s be angry together, then get back at those jerks."

—"No matter what, you still gotta eat."

The story was engaging, especially with its clever twists and high-stakes challenges. And in the end, as expected, it was Wang Kaixin who passed the final test—"Serenity."

In the end, Wang Kaixin obtained the game's full immersion pod, but her teammates were only happy for her.

The maintenance technician no longer obsessed over his collection habits, the top-ranked player stopped worrying about losing face if he didn’t secure first place, and the twins finally learned to eat properly and take care of themselves.

It was a rather satisfying, happy ending.

If she had to rate it, Yu Miao would give the plot an eight at most—nowhere near the legendary status of The Cultivator or Stellar War.

But its setting, the well-crafted characters, and the breathtakingly realistic visuals that made her feel like she was living the experience—if Yu Miao had to choose just one movie to rewatch forever, she’d pick The Player without hesitation.

The final scene showed Wang Kaixin stepping into the full immersion pod for the first time. She gingerly touched the grass, ran her fingers over tree leaves, picked up a rabbit, and then slowly walked forward.

Her friends came to celebrate with her, only to find Wang Kaixin dancing tirelessly in the meadow. When she turned and saw them, she stretched out her hand, inviting them to join.

Finally, she announced that she was about to enter a very busy work phase and would have to quit the game.

Her friends were reluctant to let her go, but since Wang Kaixin had hinted at this before, they weren’t entirely surprised. They danced together for a long time before parting ways with lingering reluctance.

As Wang Kaixin turned to leave, she took a few light steps, then smiled up at the sky:

“The sky is so beautiful.”

Five days later, each of her friends received the transfer of her full immersion pod access rights, along with a personal message left for them in the game.

This was where the movie should have ended.

And that’s what all the audience believed—until the very last moment.

With a beep— sound, the familiar game logout screen reappeared, one that viewers had seen many times before.

Then, a flash of white light.

“March 4, 2052, 10:03 AM.”

The light focused, revealing a man in a white lab coat, jotting down notes: “Patient Wang Kaixin deceased, aged 83.”

Cries rose from beside the bed. Family members clutched her frail, wrinkled hand as someone sobbed, “Grandma…”

“Don’t cry. The doctors said it was a miracle she held on for so long.”

“Last year when I visited, she kept saying she wanted to dance—but at her age, how could she?”

The camera slowly panned to the hospital bed. The elderly woman’s sunken cheeks bore the marks of prolonged suffering, yet her face wore a peaceful smile, as if she had simply fallen asleep.

Yu Miao sat frozen in shock.

Wang Kaixin—the cheerful, carefree woman who always seemed the least invested in the full immersion pod—was actually an 83-year-old grandmother.

And one who had been battling illness all along.

Suddenly, all the subtle hints and carefully placed details about Wang Kaixin throughout the movie flooded Yu Miao’s mind. Everything made sense now.

She remembered the maintenance technician asking Wang Kaixin:

—“Is the place you’re going to work very far?”

—“Probably. But I think I’ll be happy when I get there.”

And she was happy. When she could stand again, smell flowers, see sunlight, and dance freely under its warmth, her smile had been radiant with pure joy.

The significance of full immersion technology was laid bare in this moment.

Even as the lights came on in Theater 10, Yu Miao remained stunned.

Most of the audience shared her reaction, though a few quicker to process had already moved on—some discussing excitedly with friends, others wiping away tears, and a handful already on their phones while heading for the exits.

“Holy !! This movie was AMAZING!! And you know what the special screening was?! Full holograms!! Actual holographic projection!! No, not some gimmick—REAL holographic tech! It felt like we were inside the world!”

“I’M NOT JOKING!! IT’S REAL!! No, seriously, I’m not lying—it’s actually holographic!! What? You don’t believe me? Fine, buy a ticket yourself—no, wait, DON’T, because I need to watch this ten more times!!”

Yu Miao finally snapped out of her daze.

Right!!!

The special 299-yuan screening was holographic! She had to tell everyone—friends, family, coworkers, online buddies.

And she’d add: The movie itself is incredible!! A must-watch!!!

Across the world, every viewer who had attended the special screening reacted just like Yu Miao, pulling out their phones to rave in awe.

Meanwhile, online forums buzzed with questions:

“Has anyone finished watching yet?”

“What’s so special about the special screening?”

“What’s going on? It’s just a movie, not a blackout—why is no one talking?”

“Some clown said it’s holographic. Yeah, right.”

The truth was, the holographic experience had been so overwhelming that even though audiences had their phones, barely anyone thought to post live updates. The few who did—squealing The special screening for The Player is ACTUALLY holographic!!—were dismissed as pranksters.

After all, everyone “knew” holograms were still sci-fi. And if it were real, wouldn’t the internet have exploded already?

How could only a handful of people be talking about it?

Then the movie ended.

And the floodgates opened.

Thousands of special screening attendees unleashed a frenzy of posts:

—OMG IT’S REAL HOLOGRAMS IT’S ACTUALLY REAL THE WHOLE THING WAS A FULL IMMERSION WORLD HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE HOLOGRAMS ARE HERE AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

The skeptics who had sworn it was impossible: “…”

Wait… it’s true?

And if holographic tech is already being used for movies… does that mean the full immersion pods in the film’s story are also…?

Everyone: “…”

HOLY !!!!