Investment Cashback, Billionaire God [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 1: A Little Bit

Chapter 1: A Little Bit

“Boss, our factory hasn’t paid wages for over a month. The workers outside are protesting. How should we handle this?”

With a loud bang, the office door was slammed shut right in the visitor’s face.

The accountant who had come to demand payment rubbed the tip of her nose, silently cursing inside. Poor bastard, if you can’t afford to pay salaries just say so. Who are you putting on this act for? Nearly bankrupt yet still acting so arrogant.

She vaguely felt today’s boss looked somewhat different than usual, but that strange sense of incongruity passed in an instant. Shaking her head, she quickly dismissed the baseless suspicion.

Inside the office, Fang Zhuo leaned against the wall, recalling the scene he had just witnessed.

One moment he had dropped dead in a luxurious office occupying the top floor of a downtown skyscraper, the next he found himself in this shabby, dilapidated old factory – the contrast couldn’t be more stark.

Sensing the host’s emotional fluctuations, the system comforted warmly: [Hello dear~ Let me introduce myself. I’m the Money-spreading System, though you can also call me A Little Bit]

[Host doesn’t need to worry about funds. You’ll receive tenfold returns on any investments in items or people. The initial capital is ten million, which can also be used for personal spending]

It sounded very much like those brainless spending systems from novels where money is no object, but the ridiculously generous function description clearly didn’t match the rundown factory around him.

There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Fang Zhuo carefully examined the surroundings but found nothing amiss. Then he frowned: [I think my stomach hurts]

A Little Bit sounded remorseful: [Sorry host, your initial survival days are set at thirteen, which is below the system’s default healthy survival period of forty days. You’ll be assigned a random illness debuff]

[You can exchange cash for lifespan. If your lifespan continues decreasing later, you’ll acquire another serious illness buff]

It expected the new host to break down or become despondent, but surprisingly Fang Zhuo accepted this quite well, even nodding in understanding.

Truly the chosen CEO it had meticulously selected from hundreds of millions of people – so reasonable and understanding.

To check for any other hidden traps, Fang Zhuo opened the system interface and discovered his balance wasn’t the ten million A Little Bit had mentioned, but over a billion.

A Little Bit’s voice grew even more apologetic: [Sorry, I have a small loan plugin installed. Your predecessor just borrowed one billion before passing away. The repayment period is twenty days, but no need to worry – the daily interest is only about 1.4 million]

The word “only” was used quite remarkably. Fang Zhuo quickly calculated – 50% annual interest rate, standard loan shark terms.

He guessed the previous host tried to make a desperate gamble with borrowed money before his lifespan ran out, but probably the system’s serious illness buff was too powerful. The money hadn’t been spent before he died, leaving this massive debt in his hands.

Opening the system’s host operation manual revealed an even more tragic picture.

The twenty-plus previous operators before him had average survival times of less than one month – faster turnover than South Korean presidents.

Meanwhile, information about this world’s settings flooded into his mind—

He had transmigrated into a sci-fi entertainment industry novel called “Stardust,” where technology was highly advanced, productivity could meet everyone’s daily needs, and an extremely prosperous entertainment industry had emerged as a result.

This novel was an ensemble piece, depicting the shining stories of twenty to thirty geniuses across different fields in the cultural and entertainment industry over several decades. It featured underdogs rising to the top and comebacks from rock bottom—a super-long wish-fulfillment novel spanning thousands of chapters.

In theory, this setting should have been perfect for investments—just pick a character from any minor storyline to support. However, there was a slight problem.

The records of the first host were filled with fear: [Stellar Calendar 5029, I discovered Ruan Zihan has been reborn. He snatched resources from several supporting characters and released those famous screenplays and compositions ahead of time, claiming all those works as his own… What should I do? Who can I invest in now? I’m doomed…]

Fang Zhuo’s gaze lingered on this message for a moment. Ruan Zihan was an important episodic character in the book, and his unexpected rebirth had completely altered the original trajectory of the novel, rendering the original plot useless.

“Stardust” had transformed from an inspirational ensemble story with blossoms everywhere into a one-man show starring an overpowered protagonist.

Ruan Zihan quickly absorbed the opportunities and fortunes of other characters, established his own entertainment company, and became one of the capital players in the entertainment industry.

Since then, successive operators had suffered repeated failures. These “CEOs” lost money on every investment they made. Sometimes they would discover a minor actor untouched by Ruan Zihan, only to have that actor’s key role snatched away the next moment.

Not to mention Ruan Zihan’s relentless suppression of characters involved in the original work during this period. Whenever any supporting character showed signs of taking off, he would quickly buy negative publicity to crush them back down.

Seeing that the entertainment industry path was blocked, some hosts even began exploring unorthodox methods—some opened breakfast stalls, others started factories for physical industries. But it could be said that the harder they tried, the more unfortunate they became, with the longest-lasting not surviving more than two months.

This dilapidated factory building was clearly the product of the previous host’s efforts.

Great. A disastrous starting situation.

Apart from money, he had nothing—not even the initial funds provided by the system could cover the loan interest.

A normal person encountering this situation might have just closed their eyes and waited for death, but Fang Zhuo merely sorted through the novel’s plot in his mind, opened the system interface, and transferred five million from his balance to the company account.

He called in the accountant: “Shut down all equipment in the factory now. Pay all employee wages before closing time this afternoon. I want to see the financial report by 10 AM tomorrow.”

The accountant checked the account balance on her terminal and stood there wide-eyed, completely unable to figure out how the boss had acquired so much money in just twenty minutes.

And had the boss always been this handsome? She had no memory of it.

She put on a smile, clasping her hands beside her face: “Absolutely! Seeing our factory operating so well, I feel like I can work for the boss for another five hundred years!”

A little bit watched him effortlessly transfer funds and shut down the factory, growing somewhat anxious: [Host, don’t do anything rash! Your stats are already the most outstanding among all previous operators. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together—we can definitely clear this dimension.]

Fang Zhuo chuckled lightly: “Don’t worry about useless things. Just lie down and rest.”

He didn’t waste any time. After briefing the finance department, he boarded the Cloud Rail heading toward a single-story house located in the slums.

The planet he was currently on was a standard industrial world, with over 80% of its land being industrial wasteland and heavily polluted. Living here wasn’t much better than being homeless; only those with no other options would choose to settle here.

Coincidentally, the person he intended to visit was sufficiently down on his luck.

The doorbell rang, triggering a crisp clattering sound as numerous liquor bottles and nutritional injection casings knocked against each other.

Inside, the man struggled to rise from amidst the surrounding mess, sweeping aside various instant food packages near his hands. Before he could even reach the door, he stumbled weakly near the sofa.

Rewind five years, and Qiao Ankuang was far from being as dejected and disheartened as he was now.

Back then, he had just graduated from the Star Federation’s top music conservatory as an outstanding graduate with perfect grades in all subjects. All his teachers and classmates believed he would have a brilliant future, and even he himself thought his path ahead would be smooth.

But when he participated in arranging the album of a popular singer for the first time, something unexpected happened.

Another singer released a song on the same day with an almost identical melody and beat, and even posted a timeline of the arrangement process. The court of public opinion immediately accused him of plagiarism.

At that time, he was still green and could only apologize to settle the matter. However, Qiao Ankuang soon discovered that every subsequent song he wrote had an almost identical version released by someone else on the same day.

After this happened repeatedly, his reputation in the industry was thoroughly tarnished.

Even when he later composed songs during live streams, fans of other artists would mock him for resembling the style of some newly released album. Gradually, Qiao Ankuang’s mindset shifted from suspecting others to doubting himself.

Was it possible that, as the audience claimed, he was unconsciously plagiarizing and imitating others’ styles?

Did he truly have musical talent, or were his past achievements merely the result of blending and paying homage to others?

His former friends gradually distanced themselves from him due to these controversies. With such a tarnished reputation, he could no longer find work in the industry and spent his days in a daze, lost and confused.

When he opened the door, Qiao Ankuang was surprised to find a strikingly handsome young man standing outside. He appeared to be at least 188 cm tall, dressed in a well-tailored suit, with not a speck of dust on his leather shoes. On his wrist was an antique watch that clearly cost a fortune, and he exuded an aura of refined nobility.

“Hello, Mr. Qiao. I’d like to ask if you’re interested in signing with our talent agency?”

…Qiao Ankuang closed the door.

He rubbed his face, thinking he might be hallucinating from lack of sleep lately.

When he opened the door again, the young man was still there. Qiao Ankuang hurriedly and flatteredly invited him in, quickly clearing a clean spot: “Please have a seat, sir. How may I address you?”

“My name is Fang Zhuo. I’m the chairman of Giant Entertainment. You might not be familiar with our company, but we’ve been operating for five years and have a well-established artist industry chain.”

Fang Zhuo shook hands briefly with him and projected the contract from his personal terminal.

“I listened to your previously released ‘Apocalypse Descends.’ The arrangement is highly innovative. I specifically didn’t bring our company’s operations director today. I’ve repeatedly emphasized to my staff that for important talent, the chairman must personally meet them to show sincerity.”

Qiao Ankuang was struck by overwhelming joy, nervously rubbing his hands before eagerly fetching two glasses of water.

“Although Giant Entertainment doesn’t currently offer a guaranteed monthly salary, I can grant you an exclusive 10% royalty split.”

Fang Zhuo carried himself with complete composure, effortlessly deploying the same motivational rhetoric he’d used with employees in his past life.

“Teacher Qiao, I knew from our first meeting that you’re different from those impetuous youngsters nowadays. We’ve both weathered storms and criticism—I understand your struggles.”

“On behalf of the company, I guarantee Giant Entertainment will provide you with the best platform and opportunities. As long as you’re willing to work hard and advance, you’ll undoubtedly achieve the major results you desire.”

“I have great faith in your future development. I believe you won’t let me down, will you?”

Qiao Ankuang nodded repeatedly in profound agreement, completely swept away by the other’s sincere words. He never expected someone of Master Fang’s stature to hold him in such high regard, even making the effort to visit him personally.

After hastily skimming through the contract, he confirmed it was exactly as described—the royalty split was highly attractive, the term followed the industry standard five-year period, and the clauses were straightforward with no apparent pitfalls.

Noticing Master Fang’s gaze, he was about to grit his teeth and sign immediately when the other stopped him: “No need to rush, Teacher Qiao. Take some time to consider—there’s no obligation to sign now.”

Qiao Ankuang was already completely won over by such consideration and grace, rendered speechless with emotion.

“You can think about the contract a bit longer. The agency department plans to release a new song of yours in three days to shift public opinion. There’s only one requirement for the style—it must be groundbreaking, distinctly different from your previous works, yet catchy and easy to spread.”

Recognizing this as the big shot’s first test for him, despite the tight timeline, Qiao Ankuang hurriedly bowed in agreement.

Considering himself highly pragmatic, Qiao Ankuang mulled over the request before ingratiatingly suggesting: “Master Fang, we could credit the song under your name and even use your portrait as the cover when uploading to platforms.”

Fang Zhuo responded with a meaningful smile: “How could I possibly accept such honor?”

Within half an hour of leaving Qiao Ankuang’s residence, Fang Zhuo received a system notification confirming the successful signing—marking his first successful human investment.

The one fooled by his casually fabricated lies wasn’t just Qiao Ankuang, but also the humble A little bit, which timidly raised its question: [Host, just curious—were the earnings from your previous life obtained through legitimate means?]

In good spirits, Fang Zhuo teased: [Of course not. I’ve engaged in fraud and pyramid schemes before, even spent two years in prison. Any problem with that?]

A little bit fell silent.

Fang Zhuo: [Just kidding]

Only then did A little bit pour out its thoughts like spilled beans: [You scared me! I thought you were actually criminal… Wait, Host, why are you going to Interstellar Bank?]

Approaching the service counter, Fang Zhuo settled comfortably into the seat: “Applying for a loan.”

Author’s note:

———————-

Check out my upcoming novel “Playing Popular Supporting Characters with a Saintly Father Filter” – please add to your collection!

Before his sudden death, Fu Zhao transmigrated into a cannon-fodder side character in a post-apocalyptic novel, starting with zero popularity points and zero physical strength. Only by increasing his popularity could he extend his life.

The system was very considerate: [I’ve applied for a “Save Lives and Heal the Wounded” buff for you. As long as you take hits for the main characters, you can accumulate rage points to unlock skills. Not only can you seize the chance to gain visibility, but repeatedly using skills can also exchange for items to improve your initial physique.]

Fu Zhao: [Got it. Endure damage to charge up ultimate moves—suffer first, reap rewards later. I’ll definitely take the most brutal beatings for the protagonist.]

But what the system didn’t tell him was that he came with a built-in “Saint” filter—no matter what he did, it was bathed in a soft, holy light.

At the start, Fu Zhao scavenged gear from a corpse—

Bystander: “He’s so gentle. Not only did he tidy up the appearance of the deceased traveler, but he also recited a compassionate eulogy for the departed.”

During a fight, Fu Zhao shoved aside a teammate who was interfering with his rage accumulation—

Bystander: “He’s so kind. He’d rather let the mutated plant pour all its damage onto him alone. Even drenched in blood, he insists on protecting his comrades behind him.”

Thus, in this resource-scarce, faction-torn post-apocalyptic world, the legend of the Saint quickly emerged.

He would block fatal blows for young explorers who had strayed into desperate situations, and after slaying mutated plants, he would hand over the energy cores to them without taking any reward for himself.

He was powerful, mysterious, comforting every passerby with the gentlest words, while he himself always gazed into the distance with a furrowed brow, quietly bearing all the harm as if loving humanity was simply his instinct.

In the comments section, countless readers expressed their heartache and shed tears for him, begging the author not to let this beautiful, strong, tragic “daddy” character leave the story.

In the real world, Fu Zhao’s roommate opened the latest page of the novel and couldn’t help but sob on the spot: “He’s so merciful—he even shows such care for the enemy who betrayed him. The villain was almost moved to kneel on the spot.”

Fu Zhao: ??? Wait, didn’t he just threaten the villain yesterday with, “If you’re this useless, you might as well go home”?

On his phone screen, he saw himself affectionately pat the villain’s head, his smile devoid of any trace of betrayal-induced anger, filled only with boundless compassion and sorrow: “Go home, child. Go home.”

After he left, rain began to pour from the sky. The villain’s tears mingled with the rain as he thought of his mother waiting for him at home, weeping bitterly in regret amidst the downpour.

Fu Zhao: …??? Who is this saint? Is this even me?