Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 105

Sheng Quan quietly acquired shares from numerous small and medium-sized shareholders of Polar Corporation. The unfortunate part was that, apart from those shareholders unwilling to accept the reality of losing control, everyone else was thrilled.

A quick glance online revealed waves of enthusiastic support from netizens worldwide, cheering like seals clapping:

["Hurry up, buy them all out! Then turn Polar into a full holographic company!"]

["The progress is too slow—who’s still resisting? We’re waiting to play holographic games!"]

["Ahhhh when will the holographic pods go on sale? I’d sell everything to buy one!"]

["Given that VR can’t compete with holographics, and Polar’s highest tech is VR while President Sheng’s initial tech is holographics, the conclusion is: Polar can’t win against President Sheng. Solution: President Sheng, speed up the acquisition!"]

At first glance, it seemed the entire internet was rallying behind President Sheng, as if the whole world stood firmly in her corner. An outsider might even marvel:

"Isn’t Sheng Quan just an entertainment company CEO? Why does it feel like the entire globe supports her?"

If Sheng Quan heard that, she’d probably laugh herself silly.

The "global" part wasn’t wrong—but it was just global gamers.

They weren’t her fans, nor were they Polar’s haters. These people simply wanted to play holographic games.

With the dust settled, Sheng Quan invited Xu Man, who had just wrapped up a major project and finally had some time off, to join her for a hot spring soak.

This time, she had genuinely exhausted herself.

The acquisition of Polar’s shares wasn’t handled by 006—it was entirely Sheng Quan’s own planning and maneuvering.

On one hand, since her last round of investments in the club members, the system’s reward pool seemed to have grown increasingly generous. While the pool refreshed regularly, landing Polar’s shares required time and task accumulation.

On the other hand, the cash flow and assets Sheng Quan now held—far from the days when she could barely afford a pancake—allowed her to secure Polar without relying on 006’s help.

Though the endeavor drained a significant portion of her liquidity, leveraged countless connections, and demanded immense effort in negotiations with shareholders, the moment the deal closed, it all felt worth it.

This was nothing like 006 simply handing Polar to her on a silver platter.

It was like riding a horse on the grasslands. If the host presented you with a cute, docile pony, of course you’d be happy—who wouldn’t love a free horse?

But if you tamed a wild, unruly stallion yourself and rode off victorious, that feeling would stay with you for decades.

"You clearly won’t forget it," Xu Man held up five fingers. "Five times. I’ve only been back three times this year, and you’ve brought it up five times."

Indeed, ever since President Sheng conquered that adult stallion, her conversations with friends had taken this turn:

—"Have you eaten?"

—"Oh, you know what? I tamed a horse all by myself. I named it Lettuce."

After the soak, Xu Man flopped onto the couch. "I’ve been swamped. I finally get a break, and you’re still dangling the big question—when’s the holographic game launching? Ahhh, I’m dying of anticipation!"

Like Sheng Quan, who in their generation wasn’t eager for holographics?

In fact, anyone who understood the concept of holographics would find it impossible not to yearn for it.

"It won’t be ready anytime soon," Sheng Quan didn’t beat around the bush. "This isn’t like slapping a lid on a pot and calling it done. There’s still so much to do—matching, rendering, display, interactive controls, you name it. You get it, right?"

Xu Man instantly deflated. "Guess we’ll just have to wait."

Sheng Quan took a sip of lemon water and drawled, "However..."

"I can pull some strings for you. You might not be able to play games yet, but things like outfit changes are doable."

Xu Man shot upright. "Do it! Yes, yes, yes—I’m ready!"

Since they were nearby, Sheng Quan led her straight to Huaxing Building. The elevator doors opened to reveal staff moving equipment. One glance told Xu Man everything:

"The company expanded again?"

"Yep. Added some holographic-related departments, plus earlier expansions, so we took over two more floors down. But we’d planned for it, so it wasn’t a hassle."

They stepped into the private elevator, bodyguards flanking them. Jiang Lu stood at the outermost edge as the doors slid shut. Outside, people waiting for other elevators—though long accustomed to sharing the building with Sheng Quan—couldn’t resist murmuring about holographics.

"I heard Starlight added a bunch of holographic departments. What does the entertainment industry have to do with holographics?"

"Everything! Didn’t you hear? The premiere of The Ultimate Player used holographic projection for screenings. The demand is insane now."

"Ugh, I regret not buying a special screening ticket. Now even scalpers can’t help—Starlight requires ID verification for those tickets now."

"Starlight employees have it made. They get free tickets. Do you think they’ll get first dibs on holographic pods too? Those’ll be limited edition, right? Maybe they can buy internally."

The others weren’t just envious—they were practically green-eyed. "If that’s true, I’m applying to Starlight tomorrow."

"Same. I’d switch majors for that."

Work or games? Of course, work came first.

But this was holographics we’re talking about!

Unaware of the fervent discussions below, Sheng Quan took Xu Man straight to her office, letting her play with the holographic pod while she tackled paperwork.

All that studying had paid off. The tasks that once seemed overwhelmingly complex now, after years of learning and experience... were still overwhelmingly complex.

The difference? Sheng Quan could handle them now.

Some were simpler, though. Right now, she was reviewing the list of employees Starlight had let go this month.

As the company grew, so did its challenges. Despite Starlight’s excellent benefits, not every employee was diligent, and every year, many were dismissed for negligence.

After finishing with Starlight’s files, she moved on to Polar’s.

No Polar employees had been let go yet. Though the shareholder disputes had been chaotic, the staff remained largely unaffected.

Some had initially worried, but once Sheng Quan took over and the entire company plunged into unprecedented busyness, no one had time to fret about job security.

With Polar under new ownership, its headquarters couldn’t stay abroad, and its workforce couldn’t remain limited to the original team.

Sheng Quan spent an hour and a half handling these matters before tossing her pen onto the desk and addressing the two assistants sharing her office:

"Start the hiring process."

For most people, Sheng Quan’s acquisition of Polar and its integration with holographic technology was cause for celebration.

Ask any random person on the street, and they’d cheerfully reply, "It’s fantastic! I thought we’d have to wait fifty or sixty years for holographic games, but now they’re almost here!"

But for those in the gaming industry, the rise of holographics wasn’t so welcoming.

They faced the looming threat of "obsolescence" and "unemployment." The debut of the first holographic game signaled that the future market would likely be dominated by this new technology.

Would professionals trained in "traditional gaming" be left behind?

They oscillated between excitement for the boundless possibilities of holographic worlds and dread at being rendered obsolete—a near-schizophrenic state of mind.

—And then came Sheng Quan’s hiring announcement.

The hiring itself wasn’t the headline. The real bombshell was the positions: [Polar Domestic Headquarters Staff].

Chinese game industry professionals: !!!

All their worries and speculations? Gone in an instant.

Polar was already a top-tier gaming company, and with holographics in its arsenal, its trajectory was undeniably upward.

Not to mention, Sheng Quan’s reputation for treating top talent exceptionally well was legendary.

Now or never!

Sheng Quan had long observed how fiercely competitive people were, whether in entertainment or other fields. She’d originally budgeted two months to fill the roles, but within just one, the headquarters staff was nearly complete.

Both the headquarters and branches now housed a "Holographics Division."

Including Starry Entertainment’s Holographics Division, these departments were easily the most enigmatic under Sheng Quan’s umbrella. Employees signed strict NDAs and underwent extensive training.

They clocked in and out like clockwork, never discussing work after hours. Their salaries were a mystery, but it didn’t take a genius to guess they were substantial.

The massive holographic stage Starry Entertainment was designing? Entirely helmed by the Holographics Division. Yet after months of collaboration, they somehow managed to avoid post-work gatherings or casual chats with colleagues from other departments.

Chatty during work hours, mute and distant the moment they stepped out—keeping an eight-meter radius from others if they could.

The project lead once grumbled:

"If the tech were there, I’d swear they’re all robots."

Gripes aside, no one doubted their competence. The holographic stage was gradually taking shape, and even during test runs—when no performers were present—the creators themselves couldn’t help but feel electrified by their own work.

China’s stage industry was niche, yet no one questioned President Sheng’s decision to debut large-scale holographics there.

After the holographic pod news was confirmed—and especially after her lightning-fast corporate maneuver using her minor stake—President Sheng was practically deified in some circles.

"Then again, there’s hardly any domestic competition for stages. Maybe that factored in," mused a worker at the stage’s edge, prompting laughter from colleagues.

"Since ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‍when does Starry need to worry about competition?"

"Exactly. This is the world’s first holographic stage."

"Just watch—once it’s up, every idol in the country will be clawing to get on it."

The confidence might’ve sounded brash, but Starry Entertainment had earned that swagger.

Still, pioneering holographic stages meant trial and error at every turn. Rigorous testing to prevent on-site mishaps slowed progress to a crawl.

It wasn’t ready for the public eye yet.

So Sheng Quan took to Weibo with a teaser:

[Holographic gaming devices now available.]

The era of holographic entertainment had officially begun.