NOVPUB"Has Coral Island been sold?"
"Who bought Coral Island?"
"Has the transaction price been announced?"
"Sheng Quan? The one from the holographic stage?"
In truth, it wasn’t just Qiao who was stunned by this news—people all over the world were equally shocked.
For most, this was just another piece of gossip to marvel at, but a select few immediately began gathering detailed information about Sheng Quan.
Truth be told, many had heard her name before. After all, holographic technology represented the dawn of a new era, and the person who single-handedly ushered in that era naturally drew attention.
But opening the door to a treasure trove didn’t necessarily mean one could claim the treasure—and even if they did, holding onto it was another matter entirely.
Yet, by purchasing Coral Island, Sheng Quan made it clear: she possessed more than enough power.
Buying private islands had always been a pastime reserved for the ultra-wealthy, much like yacht clubs where owning a private vessel determined whether one could enter certain circles.
For those at the very top, such distinctions were subtler. At their level, whether someone owned a private island mattered little—so long as there was mutual benefit, social connections remained unaffected.
But buying the world’s largest private island, one so expensive it could offset the entire net worth of upper-middle-tier billionaires? That changed everything.
Especially since Sheng Quan didn’t intend to use it as an exclusive retreat for the global elite. Instead, she planned to host a concert open to the general public.
—Just who was Sheng Quan?
Whispers spread across nations: 𝘯𝑜𝑣𝑝𝑢𝘣.𝑐𝑜𝑚
"Client confidentiality? I don’t need her private details—just her publicly disclosed financials from last year to now."
"Unbelievable. How does this woman manage to turn every venture into a goldmine?"
"Calculations show her assets are constantly being reshuffled and updated—she holds investments worldwide."
"I remember her. She bought an estate in Country A once. Back then, I assumed it was a business move. Now it’s clear this young Chinese woman’s influence runs deeper than we imagined."
"China… I recall our company collaborated with her firm, Starlight. Dig up those records for me."
That day, Sheng Quan’s phone rang incessantly with calls from around the world.
Some were from contacts she’d once exchanged business cards with.
Others were from those she hadn’t even been worthy of leaving a card with in the past.
The calls were all variations of: "Congratulations," "When will your island open? May I bring my family for a visit?" or "I heard about the concert—any chance I could secure a ticket?"
Beneath the polite small talk, every word was an overture of goodwill toward Coral Island’s new owner.
Sheng Quan handled them with effortless grace.
She knew she had finally breached the world’s innermost circle of power—and, effortlessly, been welcomed into it.
Now, all that remained was to prove her strength.
Starlight’s small conference room—
Though modest in name, its decor surpassed even the company’s grander meeting spaces, as only vice presidents and above were permitted entry.
And whenever Starlight faced a major decision, the attendees here never exceeded five.
Fewer people meant greater stakes.
At this moment, the room—adorned with a potted large-leaf ant plant—held only Sheng Quan and Gu Zhao.
"I know this approach is blunt," Sheng Quan remarked about Starlight’s next move, "but it’s effective."
She looked up at the man seated across from her. Gu Zhao’s posture was relaxed, even as they decided the fate of 80% of Starlight’s liquid assets.
"Regarding diverting these funds toward the Coral Island concert…"
"I support your decision."
Gu Zhao had always stood by Sheng Quan, though to outsiders, this move resembled a reckless gamble—staking everything Starlight had built, every resource and connection, on a concert meant to shock the world.
In the nascent new era, success would cement Starlight’s unshakable dominance.
As the world hesitated, all eyes would turn to the company capable of pulling off such a global spectacle.
Years of groundwork would culminate in a single, decisive sweep.
But failure? Starlight, drained of its reserves, would plummet from grace overnight.
Honestly, Sheng Quan had expected his support—yet it still surprised her.
To the average person, this decision would seem like betting one’s entire fortune just to buy an invitation to an elite gala.
Especially when that fortune was already enough to live luxuriously for a lifetime.
The current situation of Starlight is quite similar—even if they don’t hold this concert with tens of millions of viewers, simply capitalizing on the holographic technology would be enough to elevate Starlight to the ranks of world-class entertainment companies.
Of course, there’s also a significant chance they might not reach the top two positions. After all, other major companies have deep-rooted foundations, while Starlight is still relatively young and inexperienced.
For many, this might be enough. Even if they can’t be first or second, third or fourth isn’t bad either—why take unnecessary risks?
—Is it really worth it, just for a single concert that would put them in the global spotlight?
“It’s worth it.”
Gu Zhao’s answer was firm. He lifted his light-colored eyes, their usual icy depths now simmering with the heat of ambition.
As it turned out, Sheng Quan, who usually seemed devoid of ambition—often skipping company duties to wander around—felt the same way.
Leaning back on her exclusive, plush sofa, Sheng Quan was dressed in her usual comfortable clothes, hugging a cushion to her chest. A cup of milk tea sat on the table beside her.
Yet, in this utterly ordinary, lazy state, she picked up a pen and signed off on a document authorizing the use of billions in funds.
After signing, she set the pen aside and took a sip of her milk tea.
She felt she’d grown accustomed to this. If it had been back when she first transmigrated into this world, signing such a document would have been unthinkable—back then, her pockets were barely deep enough to afford a jianbing guozi.
“If we pull this off, all of us will go down in history.”
This wasn’t like the early days when they’d just met and she’d fed him grand promises. After painting this ambitious vision, Sheng Quan paused and added,
“But remember to keep some reserves. If this fails, we…”
Before she could finish, Gu Zhao—who never interrupted her—cut in.
Years had passed, yet Gu Zhao’s appearance remained unchanged. He still dressed impeccably, still had that strikingly handsome face, and his hairline remained enviably intact compared to other CEOs of his stature.
But now, his voice—usually magnetic yet cold, almost like an AI’s—carried a hint of uncharacteristic softness:
“If it fails, it’s fine.”
Gu Zhao looked at Sheng Quan, his long, thick lashes framing light-colored eyes that were always so aloof. Yet now, they were filled with sincerity and resolve.
He still seemed the same as before—brilliant, yet somehow easy to coax. Back then, Sheng Quan had lured him in with grand promises. Now, she hadn’t even started spinning her usual tales, and he’d already convinced himself.
“We can start over together.”
For a moment, Sheng Quan didn’t know how to respond. She’d made this decision because she had System 006 as her safety net. Even if Starlight failed this time, as long as she retained her abilities, she could earn funds by completing tasks.
With money, Starlight could rise again.
But from Gu Zhao’s perspective, if Starlight fell, everything would be lost. All their hard work and dedication would vanish into thin air.
Given his usual company-first mentality, the fact that he hadn’t opposed her but instead chose to support her was already surprising.
In truth, Sheng Quan had prepared a whole speech to convince Gu Zhao during this meeting.
Yet before she could even begin, he’d convinced himself.
Sheng Quan, armed with a mental script: “…”
She had to remind him, “We could lose everything.”
“Once we’re weakened, our competitors—the ones we’ve been suppressing—won’t hold back.”
Gu Zhao was confident. “We won’t lose everything.”
Sheng Quan narrowed her eyes slightly. She knew Gu Zhao must have a backup plan.
She leaned in, ready to listen.
Then, her CEO lowered his gaze and gently tapped the two small potted plants on the table before looking back at her. His sharp, coldly beautiful face softened into a faint smile:
“They can take all our valuable assets, but they’ll never take Fortune and Little Treasure.”
“They’ll always be ours.”
Sheng Quan: …???
Yes, Fortune and Little Treasure were the two little plants on the table.
Back then, Gu Zhao had dug up three wild grasses—one for Sheng Quan, one for Lane, and one for himself.
When Gu Zhao named his grass “Little Treasure” (a name so at odds with his personality that Sheng Quan had been stunned), she followed suit and named hers “Fortune,” even pairing it with a pot shaped like a gold ingot.
As far as she knew, grass could wither and die. Lane had once revealed that the grass he’d given Gu Zhao as a child had died of old age, which was why Gu Zhao had stopped keeping it.
But the grown-up Gu Zhao didn’t seem to care whether the grass was the original one. Even if the seedlings from the withered grass regrew, he still treated them as the continuation of “Little Treasure” and “Fortune.”
Sheng Quan was always jet-setting—either visiting film sets, attending events abroad, or vacationing in various places—so most of the time, it was Gu Zhao who took care of the little wild grass that belonged to her.
At one point, she had suggested letting the housekeeper handle it. After all, the Sheng family was wealthy, and there was no need for her to personally water the plants or clean the house.
But Gu Zhao clearly wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea. Though he never voiced his objections, every time Sheng Quan left home, the usually office-bound CEO would visit her place every other day to check on [Fortune].
The problem was, he disliked taking helicopters, and going by car meant getting stuck in traffic—wasting time he’d then feel compelled to make up for by working overtime.
In the end, Sheng Quan couldn’t bear to watch and simply entrusted the little grass named Fortune to Gu Zhao.
Among the higher-ups at Starlight, it was somewhat of an open secret that both the chairman and the CEO had taken to keeping wild grass. Sometimes, Gu Zhao would even bring them to board meetings.
This led to a rumor among the employees that “the two leaders wanted Starlight’s staff to embody the resilient spirit of wild grass.”
But in reality, only Sheng Quan knew the truth: Gu Zhao simply thought the meeting room had better sunlight, perfect for his carefully nurtured grass to bask in.
There was also the fact that whenever major decisions had to be made, he would bring the two little plants along—much like how Sheng Quan would purify herself and burn incense before drawing lots.
So when Gu Zhao brought the two grasses today as they discussed Starlight’s future, Sheng Quan wasn’t surprised.
What did surprise her was the faint, experienced pride in his expression.
Yes, the kind that said, “Our wealth might be taken from us, but no one would ever bother stealing our little grass.”
Sheng Quan: “…So that’s what he meant when he gave me the grass.”
It was true. Even if someone went bankrupt, the courts would seize their villas, cars, and assets—but never a blade of grass.
As for how Gu Zhao had come by this wisdom, Sheng Quan could guess, given his background and the few offhand remarks Lane had made about “Ryan leaving the family.”
Back then, the freshly adult Gu Zhao had no way to stop his family from stripping him of everything he owned. And unfortunately, it seemed like the first half of his life had been defined by loss.
Loss of freedom, loss of parents, loss of friends, loss of trust.
Perhaps the only thing that couldn’t be taken from him was the wild grass Lane had given him as a child.
So when he grew up, he found the most precious gift that could never be stolen.
A blade of grass.
Sheng Quan watched Gu Zhao’s quietly smug expression, paused for a few seconds, then smiled.
“You’re right. Even if we go bankrupt, at least Little Treasure and Fortune will still be ours.”
Then she added, “Though that diamond-encrusted official seal case you gave me is probably still worth something.”
Gu Zhao analyzed seriously, “It’s unclear whether it would be counted among your assets.”
“But we could store it in a vault in Country O in advance. I have an account there.”
After a moment’s thought, he reluctantly stroked the two grasses. “Let’s put them in there too.”
He looked exactly like a squirrel desperately stuffing its tree hollow with nuts before winter.
Sheng Quan: “…Even if things go south, it probably won’t be that bad.”
“The value of Kara Island alone is enough to rebuild Starlight.”
Besides, there was a ninety percent chance they wouldn’t fail. It was just that both of them were used to planning ahead, always preparing for the worst-case scenario.
Since Gu Zhao didn’t raise any objections, the meeting ended much faster than Chairman Sheng had expected.
With all issues resolved, Sheng Quan was ready to charge ahead, fully immersed in the script of a “phoenix soaring to dominate the world.”
She might seem laid-back, but that didn’t mean she lacked ambition. With holography, stage performances, and Kara Island at their disposal, if they missed this golden opportunity, Sheng Quan would probably wake up in the middle of the night and start thrashing around on her bed in frustration.
It was easy to foresee that after this concert—which would fully showcase Starlight’s capabilities—the company would enter an unprecedented period of explosive growth on the global stage.
Just as borrowing arrows required an east wind, this concert was Starlight’s east wind.
If this were a novel, she’d undoubtedly be the female lead.
The mere thought of the immense prestige and benefits this spectacle would bring Starlight made Chairman Sheng so giddy she could’ve devoured ten jianbing in one go.
Of course, excitement aside, she was well aware that the more critical the moment, the steadier her nerves needed to be. So after a brief surge of joy, she quickly reminded herself to stay sharp.
At a time like this, not a single misstep could be allowed.
—“There’s one more issue.”
As Sheng Quan was racking her brain to recall if she had forgotten anything, Gu Zhao's words instantly sharpened her focus. Her already high-speed business mind reached its peak:
"What? Did I miss something?"
Gu Zhao wore a serious expression, and Sheng Quan perked up her ears attentively.
President Gu frowned slightly, his face tinged with concern as he pondered earnestly:
"The giant Alocasia you gave me."
"Can large potted plants be stored in a vault?"
