Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 91
No one expected that after Sheng Quan acquired the club, even before any large-scale public promotion, the term "Sheng Quan Summons" would skyrocket in popularity across major platforms.
["Received the Sheng Quan Summons, dropped the cold noodles I was making, and rushed to buy a train ticket to get here."]
["You think that's something? I was mid-haircut when I got the summons—now I'm on the road with the salon's equipment still on me."]
["Didn’t even finish my bathroom break, just booked the next flight!"]
Some netizens unfamiliar with the esports scene stumbled upon the trend, confused: ["I know Sheng Quan, but what’s this 'Sheng Quan Summons' about?"]
Eager fans quickly jumped in to explain.
[Your Third Grandpa]: ["You’re out of the loop, huh? Let me enlighten you. Ever since Chairwoman Sheng bought the nation’s top esports club, she’s been summoning players from all corners—some from rival teams, some retired, some who’ve never even competed before. It’s like a grand gathering of heroes!"]
["There’s this one guy who was working overseas—dropped everything and flew back the moment he got the summons. Another had already quit the scene, swore he was done, but changed his mind instantly. And then there’s the legend who went home to inherit the family business, only to ditch it all when the summons arrived, packing his bags in a heartbeat."]
The buzz started when netizens learned about the recalls through a streamer named Lang Zhong. Her longtime followers knew she’d once been a pro player for DE, hailed as the season’s breakout star.
But after clashing with management, Lang Zhong paid her penalty fee and quit DE. Whether out of disillusionment or not, she never joined another team, turning to streaming instead.
Everyone knew Lang Zhong had sworn off pro gaming after that incident—yet when Sheng Quan called, she abandoned her live stream mid-session and sprinted out the door.
That was just the beginning. After Lang Zhong, more retired or school-bound former pros answered the summons. One resigned from his job abroad and flew home; another, now a barbecue stall owner, was filmed by customers tossing his apron aside and bolting.
As these summoned players went viral, later recruits didn’t need third-party recordings—they filmed themselves. Within four days, "Sheng Quan Summons" became a full-blown meme.
And, as always online, once something trends, content creators swarm to amplify it. Soon, influencers were compiling these stories into hilarious summaries. The phrase "summons" itself carried a fervent and delightfully nerdy energy, pulling in even those who’d never cared about esports.
Esports, which had been fading in China for years, suddenly seemed revitalized by the hype.
An unexpected bonus.
When Sheng Quan initiated the recalls, she hadn’t planned for this viral twist. But promotion isn’t always about meticulous, step-by-step strategies—sometimes, it’s about riding the wave.
Left alone, the meme might’ve fizzled in days. But with a push? Different story.
Soon, "Sheng Quan Summons" dominated trends, spawning countless parody videos, many set to the iconic bgm from The Cultivator’s summoning arc.
The internet never lacks talent.
Sheng Quan stumbled upon one particularly creative skit: two girls, clearly on a budget, had stuck leaves to their foreheads and draped bedsheets as robes. They stood on a "flying sword" (a TV screen scrolling landscape footage), selling the illusion of soaring through the skies.
Their deadpan urgency somehow nailed the ethereal vibe of cultivators:
"Senior Sister, the Millennium Spirit Blossom blooms once a century for just two hours. Can we make it?"
"Fear not, Junior Sister. My calculations say if we journey without pause, we’ll claim the blossom in time."
"Then I’ll rest easy!"
Their solemn faces froze at a sudden eagle’s cry. A wooden plaque dropped into the "Senior Sister’s" hand.
Her eyes widened. "What?! The Sheng Quan Summons?!"
"What?! The Sheng Quan Summons?!"
The "Junior Sister" paled. "No! Senior Sister, stay strong! The Spirit Blossom is right there!"
"Forgive me, Junior Sister... No one can resist the summons!"
The "sword" screeched to a halt. The "Senior Sister" leapt off, heaving the whole setup into a U-turn toward an air conditioner labeled "Tidal Esports Club."
The video was laughably low-budget. But their acting? Flawless. The "Junior Sister’s" heartbreak, the single tear trembling in her eye—it somehow felt like a drama cliffhanger.
Most viewers would just hit like/share/subscribe.
Chairwoman Sheng? "Check if they’re signed. If they’re open to acting, Starlight Entertainment should scoop them up. Potential’s there."
"See if they fit any roles in the current project too."
He Xi nodded, taking the tablet to relay the orders.
Meanwhile, Sheng Quan dove back into club paperwork. New assets always demand chaos at the start—but chaos meant profit was coming.
With hype this high, companies were lining up to partner with the club.
Yet Sheng Quan wasn’t rushing for traditional esports revenue.
First, the club was funded by task capital—no need to scramble for operational costs. Second, her own Starlight Entertainment had plans to collaborate with esports.
Exactly: collaborate.
Why had DE rather taken losses than stay? Because esports was losing its spark, the market shrinking. When profit paths crumble, survival means cutting losses.
But Sheng Quan wasn’t playing by those rules.
No matter how many ventures she launched, her core remained Starlight Entertainment. Esports monetization might seem narrow, but at its heart? It mirrored entertainment:
Hype. Fandom. Love.
"So, when I own both an entertainment empire and an esports club, why not let them elevate each other?"
Post-meeting, she headed to Tianying Studios to brief Tan Hongguang on the next steps.
"Making a movie related to the game? Yes, rest assured, we’ll follow your requirements closely."
Tan Hongguang was quite familiar with these matters, but he still asked, "But if it involves Polar Region, have you secured the rights?"
Sheng Quan turned her laptop toward him: "Don’t worry, I’ve acquired permanent shares in Polar Region. According to their regulations, that automatically grants me all necessary authorizations."
Tan Hongguang suddenly understood.
Updat𝒆d fr𝑜m freewebnøvel.com.
A news headline he’d once skimmed flashed through his mind—"Gaming Tycoon Spends 200 Million in a Single Day on In-Game Purchases"—and he blurted out, "Was that player who spent 200 million you?"
"You’ve been preparing for this since back then?!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized it was a silly question. Wasn’t he already familiar with Chairman Sheng’s style? She always thought ten steps ahead with every move she made.
After the release of Stellar Wars, Starlight Entertainment’s subsidiary, Sky Shadow, had skyrocketed to fame. The special effects company, which many in the industry had initially dismissed as reckless for its ambitious scale right out of the gate, was hiring again within just a year.
Just as Sheng Quan had predicted, Stellar Wars became Sky Shadow’s biggest advertisement. The more people loved it, the more domestic and international production teams clamored to work with Sky Shadow for their special effects.
Clients complaining about high prices? Long wait times? These were the very issues that had crushed countless effects companies, but for Sky Shadow, backed by Sheng Quan’s resources, they were non-issues.
Tan Hongguang now looked five years younger. Though streaks of silver still threaded through his hair, his energy and demeanor were entirely different.
Much like Sky Shadow itself, he had always been low-key but tirelessly diligent, quietly completing task after task with unwavering dedication.
He had no objections to Sky Shadow fully collaborating with Riptide Club and Starlight Entertainment this time.
While conflicts sometimes arose between parent companies and subsidiaries elsewhere, all of Sheng Quan’s enterprises—whether large or small, industry leaders or fledgling startups—maintained remarkably harmonious relationships among employees and management alike.
The main reason? There was always some form of collaboration happening between them.
Though Sheng Quan’s companies varied wildly in size, industry, and stage of development, she had a knack for creating win-win—or even win-win-win—situations.
Take Tan Hongguang, for example. Sky Shadow and Starlight Entertainment’s Stellar Wars had been a win for both.
The film’s explosive box office success had made Sky Shadow an overnight sensation.
This time, however, Tan Hongguang had one lingering doubt:
"Chairman Sheng, isn’t the investment a bit too large for this?"
He was a gamer himself, and after Sheng Quan acquired DE, he’d rushed to brush up on esports knowledge—just in case. After all, he’d learned from the last company meeting that even the executives overseeing her instant noodle factory were well-versed in every detail of her ventures.
Not one to fall behind, Tan Hongguang followed suit. Now, with a rough understanding of esports profitability, he couldn’t help but question:
"If this movie is produced, relying solely on box office returns and the esports club’s revenue, won’t the gap between investment and returns be too wide?"
This didn’t seem like Chairman Sheng’s usual approach.
Sheng Quan smiled. "Did you forget what I said? This is a joint project."
She leaned back in her chair, her expression brimming with determination. "And ‘joint’ doesn’t just mean the three of you working together."
Tan Hongguang: "?"
Aside from their three companies, were there others under Sheng Quan’s umbrella that could participate in this project?
The instant noodle factory??
Sheng Quan gestured for him to check the project proposal in his hands. "Take a look at the movie’s genre."
Tan Hongguang glanced down. "Full-dive gaming?"
His eyes widened in shock as the realization hit him. He looked up at Sheng Quan in disbelief.
"Full-dive?!!!"
In the research institute under Sheng Quan’s name, Ning Zhou rose from the full-dive simulation pod.
Slowly, he lifted his hand and removed the transparent visor covering his pale face. Turning to his assistant, who was practically vibrating with excitement, he said:
"Notify Chairman Sheng."
