Start by Spending One Billion [Entertainment Industry]-Chapter 112

Tu Zhu froze in place.

He hardly dared to hope, yet hope now stood right before him.

His gaze then shifted to the judging panel seated on either side of Sheng Quan.

To his astonishment, the renowned Zi Tian and He Rizhao were among them—just for a preliminary audition, yet judges of such caliber were already present.

An opportunity… This was an opportunity beyond his wildest dreams…

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts until a staff member’s voice snapped him back:

"Tu Zhu, you may begin."

As the music started, the clamor around him seemed to fade instantly. All his earlier anxieties vanished. Taking a deep breath, Tu Zhu bowed toward the judges.

Until now, his eyes had always been downcast, but at this moment, he lifted them—those striking, slightly upturned yet subtly drooping peach-blossom eyes meeting their gaze.

With the first notes of the song, he raised his hand gracefully, and in an instant, he commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

Sheng Quan’s eyes brightened as she watched Tu Zhu, whose demeanor now contrasted starkly with his earlier quiet reserve. A spark of anticipation flickered in her heart.

A single gesture had transformed him entirely.

Yet not everyone shared this sentiment. Among the judges assigned to this audition room, two briefly marveled before frowning slightly in regret.

Tu Zhu was a revelation, but his song choice felt jarringly mismatched.

The piece, titled "Ceasefire", was composed by the famed Mao Hai, with lyrics that varied across renditions. The song carried a weight of sorrow and grandeur—its melody alone could evoke overwhelming grief.

"Ceasefire" was a masterpiece, undeniably stunning on stage. But the problem lay in its theme: a lament for war and national tragedy. Tu Zhu, with his striking youth and beauty, seemed an ill fit.

His looks might win him screen time and audience favor, but against the backdrop of such a somber piece, the contrast risked feeling abrupt and discordant.

The judges, of course, refrained from voicing critiques mid-performance, but seated beside Sheng Quan, they couldn’t help shaking their heads faintly.

A pity. Had his time away from the stage dulled his judgment?

Sheng Quan disagreed. Tu Zhu might have wrestled with self-doubt or even contemplated quitting, but on stage, she trusted his instincts.

And she was right. As the rhythm built, his slender frame moved with unexpected power and lethal precision. Those often-misread, faintly flushed peach-blossom eyes now burned with the desolate fury of a battlefield.

—"The general’s robes stained with blood, yet he turns to ask the child: ‘Where can you look back to?’"

Tu Zhu was no longer the reticent artist.

Razor-sharp intensity—seething hatred—crushing sorrow—subdued turmoil—hollowed reflection—

Every motion was a sword thrust, yet fluid with dance. His rises, his spins—though not technically flawless—were impeccably timed. No, more than that: they were masterful.

Sheng Quan had never been one for dance performances, preferring vocals. But now, she reconsidered.

Through Tu Zhu’s artistry, she saw the chaos of battle, crumbling city walls, and civilians wailing amidst ruins, searching for lost loved ones.

This was the power of great performance—it pulled you into its emotional world.

Each note, each movement, carried the weight of soldiers’ lives.

—Clang! Clang!

As the final metallic notes rang out, Tu Zhu completed his dance, kneeling breathlessly as sweat trailed from his hair.

When he lifted his eyes, Sheng Quan felt she wasn’t meeting Tu Zhu’s gaze but that of a young general, hardened by war yet clinging to hope.

Sharp. Dangerous. Grief buried deep, yet striving toward light.

A visual feast!

An absolute spectacle!

Recordings paled in comparison—this live performance stunned her a thousand times over.

Though "city-toppling dance" might be an overstatement, Sheng Quan couldn’t help feeling this performance could conquer nations.

So this was the joy of being a fan. novelbuddy.cσ๓

—"Overall, quite solid."

—"But the turn could’ve been sharper. The transition felt stiff—needs more practice."

—"Emotional delivery was strong, though technique requires work. The lack of polish shows."

The judges murmured their assessments, jotting scores on their sheets.

Sheng Quan: "……?"

She snapped out of her daze, gulping boba tea to steady herself.

This explosive, electrifying performance—and all they said was "quite solid"?

She’d known China’s entertainment industry was cutthroat, idols included, but this level of rigor was staggering.

Back in her past life, a performance like this would’ve catapulted Tu Zhu to overnight fame, outshining global competitors, even in a stagnant idol market.

Here? It barely earned lukewarm praise, with most feedback nitpicking his flaws.

And Tu Zhu? He absorbed every critique, visibly chastened.

Sheng Quan took another swig of tea, suddenly envying this world’s idol fans. How spoiled they must be!

Wait—she could be one of them now.

Her mood swiftly brightened.

Tu Zhu, meanwhile, was riddled with anxiety.

Since signing with Shenhua, he’d been overworked—dance practice was a luxury, sleep scarcer still.

Then came the contract termination, draining him further. He’d squeezed practice into what little rest he had.

He knew he wasn’t at his best… The youthful edge in his expression faded, replaced by growing unease under the judges’ scrutiny.

—He feared elimination.

Sheng Quan, reading his thoughts: "……"

This level of performance, and he’s worried about being cut? Just how brutal is this world’s idol scene?

She reconsidered her earlier dismissal of "China’s struggling idol industry."

Too nervous to meet the judges’ eyes, Tu Zhu finally forced himself to look up.

—And locked gazes with Sheng Quan, her face alight with admiration.

Tu Zhu: ……Was that… praise?

He barely trusted his own eyes, blinking to confirm—yes, that was approval.

Sheng Quan, famed for her discerning eye… thought he’d done well?

Sheng Quan: Kid, you were spectacular.

From the original text and past news reports about Tu Zhu, it was evident that he carried a certain degree of low self-esteem.

Regarding this, President Sheng also expressed understanding—wasn’t Jin Jiu in a similar situation? She had plenty of experience dealing with such cases.

But after watching his performance… This guy dances so well and still feels insecure?

President Sheng, who had recently taken up dancing, couldn’t help but digress—if she could perform like that, she’d be floating on cloud nine.

The judging panel beside her, while pointing out some minor flaws, couldn’t hide their admiration. Their expressions and constant nods made it clear they found Tu Zhu’s performance outstanding.

Though they discussed critiques, not a single judge suggested he should be eliminated. Instead, they focused on noting areas where Tu Zhu could further refine his skills—this alone spoke volumes.

Of course, Tu Zhu had no idea what Sheng Quan was mentally grumbling about.

From his perspective, after his performance, only Sheng Quan had unreservedly expressed her appreciation for it.

Tu Zhu stood there dazed, then watched as the dimness that had crept back into his eyes moments earlier gradually brightened again.

[Ding! Tu Zhu’s favorability has surpassed 80 points!]

After the announcement, even 006 was surprised: [So fast? This is only the first time the host and the sponsored individual have met face-to-face.]

Sheng Quan, however, didn’t seem surprised. She had noticed it the moment Tu Zhu entered the room: [He’s definitely been paying attention to me before this.]

[This favorability was accumulated long ago.]

From the moment he stepped in, Tu Zhu’s gaze had been fixed on Sheng Quan—only shifting when his performance began.

Moreover, he hadn’t terminated his contract with his company earlier or later, but right after Sheng Quan’s Starlight unveiled its holographic stage. Then, immediately after breaking free, his first move was to audition.

He was staking his entire career on this very stage.

[The domestic performance scene is a tangled mess. The slightest misstep—whether it’s a tarnished reputation leading the showrunners to exclude him for safety, or someone with connections replacing him—would leave Tu Zhu, who sacrificed everything to terminate his contract, utterly ruined.]

Sheng ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‍Quan had expected Tu Zhu to audition, but even she, who always stayed ahead of the game, never imagined he’d burn all bridges to do so.

He left himself no way back.

Tu Zhu was young, but Sheng Quan didn’t believe he was reckless—unless he was certain the holographic stage wouldn’t fail him.

That it would remain fair and just from start to finish, just as promised.

She had wondered why Tu Zhu was so confident.

Now, after 006’s reminder, she understood.

Looking at the young man with his faintly flushed peach-blossom eyes, cautiously glowing as he gazed at her, Sheng Quan suddenly remembered her initial goal after transmigrating—to change things. Whether it was artists, directors, the entertainment industry as a whole, or… that tragic, all-loss ending.

Only now did she truly realize: she had succeeded.

In the original story, Tu Zhu fought alone until the end. Yet here, before even meeting her, he had chosen to trust her promise—to believe in the fairness and justice she had created.

—This world had changed.

And it would only grow better under her influence.

At this moment, Sheng Quan couldn’t quite put her emotions into words. She only knew she was happy.

—Tu Zhu, clutching the pass certificate, could barely contain his excitement as he floated out of the room on unsteady feet.

Lawyer Ma rushed over: “How did it go?!”

For once, Tu Zhu’s flawless face showed a hint of youthful bashfulness: “I… I made it.”

“Amazing!”

Lawyer Ma nearly whooped with joy. He had witnessed Tu Zhu being skinned alive to break his contract. Had this opportunity slipped away, Tu Zhu would’ve ended up as a janitor at his law firm.

“Let’s go eat! Today calls for a celebration!”

As his friend chattered away, Tu Zhu’s mind replayed the pure admiration in President Sheng’s eyes. For the first time in two years, a spark reignited in his heart.

President Sheng… saw him.

The very President Sheng renowned for her discerning eye.

She had actually praised his performance.

Tu Zhu lowered his gaze, suppressing his exhilaration, forcing himself to steady his emotions. Determination solidified in his eyes.

—He wouldn’t let President Sheng down.

Meanwhile, the subject of his thoughts was in high spirits. And when Sheng Quan was happy, she celebrated.

As for how President Sheng celebrated…

Having discovered a new world of enjoyment, Sheng Quan turned to her secretary with a delighted smile:

“Clear my schedule today. I’m staying to watch the auditions. Which floor is the girl group tryouts on? I’m heading there now.”

The thrill of witnessing dazzling, fiercely competitive performances? Sheng Quan was all in now.

Ahahahaha—so this was the joy of being a fan! The sheer exhilaration of experiencing an idol’s explosive stage presence firsthand!

Now, it belonged to Sheng Newfound Enthusiasm Quan.