Invincible Warrior launched successfully.

With Zhao Guowei’s endorsement, the download figures and user registrations on launch day exceeded projections by a significant margin. While it was nothing close to the chart-storming numbers a Ji Li game would put up, for a company just getting off the ground, it was a very respectable result.

And there was another reason to celebrate: Invincible Warrior had received excellent reviews, particularly in history-focused forums and community boards, where word-of-mouth was outstanding. The only consistent criticism was that there wasn’t enough content — many players finished the game in a single day.

Zhu Yun skimmed the feedback, and her nerves finally settled somewhat. She pulled Zhao Teng with her and dove into producing follow-up content. And Zhang Fang — nominally the “Operations Director” — at last had something to do, spending his days glued to his laptop refreshing data and playing customer service with evident delight.

When the first in-app purchase notification came through, Zhang Fang burst into tears.

“This is so moving, it’s absolutely moving!” He flung his arms around Zhao Teng and sobbed. “This is the company’s very first revenue!”

Zhao Teng tried to pry him off.

“Have some dignity! Ten yuan won’t even cover a bowl of spicy noodles!”

“I don’t care! It’s our first payment! The first!” Zhang Fang wailed into Zhao Teng’s shoulder until even Zhao Teng couldn’t help laughing.

True, ten yuan in today’s economy couldn’t accomplish anything practical. But this money didn’t need to accomplish anything practical. It just needed to be a sign — proof that everything was moving in the right direction.

Dong Siyang sat comfortably in his leather executive chair, surveying the noisy, lively scene in the office with a smile, and said to Zhu Yun: “Alright, you’ve earned your keep. Time to step aside and let a man run the project team.”

Zhu Yun silently told him where he could go. Dong Siyang immediately pointed at her. “You dare curse at your boss? You still want a job here?”

Zhu Yun ignored him. Dong Siyang turned to Li Xun. “She was just cursing me in her head — did you catch that?”

Li Xun, without looking up from his book, said: “She also curses you with her eyes. Pay attention next time.”

Dong Siyang scoffed. “Say it out loud if you’ve got the nerve.”

Zhu Yun tossed her folder aside, rescued Zhao Teng from Zhang Fang’s clutches, and declared: “Let’s go — lunch on me!”

She dragged Zhao Teng out the door. Dong Siyang grumbled behind them, “Getting all moody now — absolutely unreasonable.”

That same lunchtime, in stark contrast to the buzzing energy at Fei Yang, the office tower of Ji Li Company stood hushed and still at a commercial hub ten li from the startup park.

Management had held a meeting that morning and piled on even more work. By unspoken agreement, everyone had pushed their lunch break back by half an hour so they could leave a little earlier in the evening.

In the project manager’s office, the project lead Wang Ke was briefing Fang Zhijing.

After the internet conference some time before, Fang Zhijing had assigned Wang Ke the task of quietly keeping tabs on a certain company. Wang Ke had assumed it was a competitor of some standing, but when he discovered it was a little-known outfit with nothing to show for itself since its founding, he hadn’t given it much further thought. Recently, a subordinate had recommended a game to Wang Ke — a history strategy title that was supposedly quite well-designed, small but polished. Wang Ke downloaded it, and only then realized it was the very company Fang Zhijing had mentioned.

Wang Ke looked up. Fang Zhijing was still absorbed in playing the game, his concentration unusual.

More than half an hour later — by which time Wang Ke’s stomach had started growling audibly — Fang Zhijing finally spoke.

“What do you make of this game?”

“For a company that small,” Wang Ke said, “it’s quite impressive, honestly.”

“And compared to other companies?”

Wang Ke thought for a moment. “The content is decent enough, but it skews a bit niche. The classic case of earning critical praise without earning money.”

That phrase clearly pleased Fang Zhijing, who smiled.

“Come on then — break down the strengths and weaknesses from a purely game standpoint.”

“The strengths are that the content is genuinely crafted with care,” Wang Ke said. “Especially the story design — it draws players in very effectively. The narrative clearly went through serious research, and apparently they even brought Zhao Guowei on board as a consultant. But that’s also a double-edged sword — it sets an invisible barrier. The kind of casual players who don’t want to think won’t bite. And the players who do want to think tend to spend very carefully. So the game is fighting an uphill battle.”

Fang Zhijing let out a satisfied chuckle. “Your read is sharp.”

At that moment, Gao Jianhong entered from outside. Wang Ke greeted him immediately.

“Director Gao.”

Gao Jianhong gave a brief nod. Fang Zhijing handed his phone to him, then turned back to Wang Ke. “So you know what needs to be done to improve on it?”

Wang Ke was caught off guard. “Is Director Fang planning to…”

“This project is yours to run,” Fang Zhijing said. “Name it whatever you want. Same genre, same historical setting, but dial back the difficulty and load it up with events.”

Wang Ke was blindsided by the sudden assignment. Fang Zhijing saw his dazed expression and added reassuringly: “Don’t worry — I’m not asking for a huge investment of resources. Just copy the template. I’m not looking for this project to win any awards. I just want you to squeeze out Invincible Warrior’s user base.”

“That’s no problem at all,” Wang Ke said. “Their platform advantages are no match for ours.”

Internally, however, Wang Ke was in agony. He already had two projects on his plate. Adding a third meant he’d likely be working overtime for the next six months straight.

“Oh, one more thing,” Fang Zhijing added, catching himself. “Have someone go flood the review boards and forums. I want their average rating down to below 6 within a week.”

“That’s easy enough,” Wang Ke agreed. “Their player base is tiny — it’s a niche circle, and the only reason anyone showed up is because of Zhao Guowei’s promotion.”

“Zhao Guowei… right, right, you’ve reminded me.” Fang Zhijing turned back to Wang Ke. “Have someone go spam her profile too, and buy a few planted news pieces. Say something like…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. “…something along the lines of ‘Veteran Professor Abandons Academic Integrity for Cash.’ That’s the angle — the specific content is up to you. Hit her personal blog, the university’s internal forum, and all the major gaming news portals.”

Wang Ke nodded, noting everything down.

Gao Jianhong, still testing the game on the phone, said flatly: “Zhao Guowei is nearly sixty.”

“So?” Fang Zhijing sneered. “A woman that age who can’t sit still and do her scholarship, who insists on wading into the youth space — she brought this on herself. Honestly, it’s surprising — who knew academics had such a low threshold? She caved for money just like that. If I’d known, we would’ve approached her for a promotion ourselves.”

“That small company can’t afford to pay her,” Gao Jianhong said. “It must be a matter of personal loyalty. Zhao Guowei’s husband is a computer science professor at our university.”

“With that connection, why didn’t you use it sooner?”

Gao Jianhong’s response was cool and disinterested.

“Invincible Warrior didn’t exist yet. Neither did your plans to do a Warring States game.”

Fang Zhijing gave a cold snort, then turned back to Wang Ke. “Just find people to tear her apart — the worse the better. The ideal outcome is to destroy her completely. These old academic types care desperately about their reputation — even if we can’t finish her off, we’ll strip away a layer of skin.” He looked over at Gao Jianhong with a faint trace of mockery. “Any objections from Director Gao?”

Gao Jianhong set down the phone.

“Do as you like.”

Fang Zhijing turned back to Wang Ke. “How long will the project take?”

“If we’re just reskinning it, not long at all,” Wang Ke said. “Swap out the visual assets, repurpose our existing Three Kingdoms game resources with a Warring States coat of paint — two months, roughly.”

“You have one and a half months,” Fang Zhijing said. “Get it done.”

Wang Ke’s heart sank.

“And for that one and a half months,” Fang Zhijing continued, “coordinate with the marketing team to start building early buzz. Get the game warm before launch.”

Wang Ke took the new assignment and hurried back to call an emergency meeting with his planning team.

Fang Zhijing sank back into his chair, serene and satisfied.

Ji Li’s efficiency was staggering. Within less than a week, Invincible Warrior’s ratings across every major forum had been driven into the ground. Zhang Fang watched the numbers fall, and for once voluntarily worked overtime trying to push them back up — but he was outnumbered and outgunned, and could only watch helplessly as the ratings cratered.

Zhang Fang was furious to the point of hyperventilation.

“Who?! Who is doing this?! What kind of people sabotage a small company that never did anything to anyone?!”

Zhu Yun took one look at the blatant review manipulation and knew perfectly well whose handiwork it was. To avoid spreading panic, she said nothing to Zhang Fang or the others about Ji Li.

She did her best to calm Zhang Fang down.

“Just focus on your own work. Don’t worry about this sort of thing.”

Zhang Fang beat his chest in frustration. “I can’t let it go!”

Zhu Yun glanced at Li Xun. He wasn’t reading this time — he was writing something on paper, deeply focused, and had paid absolutely no attention to anything happening with Invincible Warrior.

His calm steadied her somewhat, and she forced herself to settle down.

But that forced calm didn’t last long.

Not long afterward, the smear articles targeting Professor Zhao Guowei began spreading across forums and blogs. The general public, lacking full context, weighed in with predictable indignation: academics selling out for money, professors who were never as noble as their reputations suggested. Some of Zhao Guowei’s own followers expressed disappointment at her involvement with the game — the more measured ones offered measured criticism, while the more excitable ones went straight for insults.

This time, Zhu Yun could not stay calm. Yet Li Xun was the same as before — reading his books, doing his own work, treating the chaos around him as though it were invisible.

Zhu Yun went to him and asked what they should do. Li Xun turned it back on her: “What did you tell Zhang Fang earlier?”

Just focus on your own work. Don’t worry about this sort of thing.

Zhu Yun remembered perfectly well what she had said. But this time, Zhao Guowei was involved — and thinking of that kind and gracious professor, then picturing those articles circulating online, Zhu Yun’s brow furrowed. “What they’re doing is borderline defamation.”

“Articles like that are everywhere,” Li Xun said.

Zhu Yun had no response.

Li Xun looked up and noticed the small sore that had formed at the corner of Zhu Yun’s mouth. He set down his pen and said coolly: “You spend every day worrying about this and that — how come you never worry about me?”

Zhu Yun met his gaze, her expression flat. “You? You’re indestructible. Why would anyone need to worry about you?”

“Go pick something up and visit Zhao Guowei,” Li Xun said lazily.

“You’re not coming?”

“I could. But by nature, I tend to come across as lacking sincerity.”

You actually know that about yourself?!

Li Xun reached into his pocket and produced a bank card. Zhu Yun frowned. “Where did you get money from?” Li Xun would never ask his brother for money, and all his paychecks went toward buying equipment.

“I have a little saved,” Li Xun said.

“No need — I’ll ask Dong Siyang to approve it through company expenses.”

Li Xun set the card on the desk and went back to his book. “Take it,” he said quietly. “Buy something nice. Consider it a small token from me as well.”

Zhu Yun slowly reached out and took the card. “What’s the PIN?”

“Six eights.”

“…”