The system wouldn’t allow full refunds for previous players, after all, “Return to Shore” had only just reached the free standard this month. But to take care of player sentiment and maintain the company’s reputation, partial refunds weren’t a problem. As the saying goes: buy early to enjoy early, buy late for discounts, don’t buy and wait for freebies. Games are always most expensive when they first come out, with discounts getting bigger over time. This wasn’t just a promotion strategy for businesses to maximize profits—it had become a habit and consensus among players. Many e-commerce platforms had also introduced price protection policies, where if a product’s price drops significantly shortly after purchase, the difference would be refunded.

Of course, there were many reasons behind this, which Pei Qian couldn’t fully explain, nor did he care. He was simply using this as an excuse to refund money to players. Was there anything more satisfying in the world than returning money that had already been pocketed by the system?

Yu Fei couldn’t help but display a shocked expression. So considerate! Mr. Pei was truly extraordinary as always!

In reality, most players were quite accepting of games becoming free, even if they had just purchased it at full price. Even if the developer offered no compensation, most players wouldn’t make a fuss about it—at most they might complain a bit online or joke about their bad luck. After all, developers offering discounts or making games free was a good thing for the player community, and demanding compensation for previous purchases would be asking too much.

But Mr. Pei didn’t even wait for players to say anything—he proactively offered refunds and compensation!

“Return to Shore,” as an older game, still frequently appeared on official platform bestseller lists, particularly as a regular on the action game bestseller charts. This led many players to wonder: were there still people who hadn’t bought “Return to Shore”? Such a game was a stable source of profit for the company. Moreover, “Eternal Reincarnation” had been a huge success, forming a perfect pair with the main game “Return to Shore,” with most players sharing the consensus that “they must be purchased together.”

For veteran players, this was a given, but the key was those new players who had recently joined. If they bought “Eternal Reincarnation,” wouldn’t they also want to buy “Return to Shore”? That would be another significant source of income!

Yet Mr. Pei decided to make “Return to Shore” free at this critical moment when the game was experiencing a resurgence? “Badass” was the only way to describe it.

Yu Fei immediately nodded: “Yes, Mr. Pei, rest assured, I’ll definitely arrange this properly!”

He considered that although he was about to leave, if he could help make this happen before his departure, it would be like “presenting borrowed flowers”—doing something wonderful for the players. His brief experience as an acting chief designer at Tenda would end on a perfect note.

Pei Qian nodded with satisfaction: “Hmm… the second thing, go call everyone for a meeting about the new game.”

“Huh?” Yu Fei was momentarily stunned, somewhat confused.

After a while, he said: “Mr. Pei, there’s no rush for this, is there? Hu Xianbin will be back soon. Why not wait for him to return before holding this meeting? Otherwise, I’ll have to hand over work to him later, and many design intentions might not be properly conveyed.”

“Why does this scene feel strangely familiar…” Yu Fei suddenly recalled that at the beginning of last month, something similar had happened. Mr. Pei had asked Yu Fei to work with Meng Chang on the promotional plan for “Eternal Reincarnation.” Yu Fei had wanted to wait for Hu Xianbin to return, but unexpectedly, Hu Xianbin was diverted before even reaching the company, and they never got to meet. As a result, Yu Fei had to fill in for another month.

So this time…

Yu Fei’s gaze suddenly filled with vigilance, realizing something might be wrong.

“Mr. Pei, has something happened to Hu Xianbin again? Wasn’t he supposed to be in special training for one month? Don’t tell me I won’t even get to see him this time either?”

Pei Qian thought for a moment: “Ah, that won’t happen.”

The implication was that they would at least get to meet.

Apparently, Bao Xu had arranged a three-day break for these managers to settle their affairs—no, to return to their respective departments and briefly handle related work before embarking on their journey to Shennongjia. After all, they had been away from their departments for some time, so it was natural to go back and check on things.

So Yu Fei would definitely meet Hu Xianbin, at least once.

But after meeting him… that was another story.

Hearing Mr. Pei say this, Yu Fei relaxed a bit. That’s good—he had almost imagined the terrifying scenario of having to fill in for three consecutive months.

Pei Qian continued: “The main issue is that the schedule for the special training program often changes, with adjustments of a few days earlier or later being normal. But the work in the games department can’t be delayed, especially when it comes to new game concepts. We must meet early and establish the plan early; otherwise, it will easily impact the entire development cycle.”

Yu Fei nodded, thinking Mr. Pei’s reasoning made perfect sense. Tenda’s games department had always been known for divergent thinking, wild brainstorming, and strict control of development cycles. This tradition had been established when Huang Sibo was in charge and was a principle of the entire Tenda Group.

The prerequisite for divergent thinking was to first hold a meeting to determine the general direction of the new game. This way, everyone could work in the same direction and brainstorm within a defined framework to design the game prototype. And to strictly control the development cycle, every workday had to be cherished, especially since overtime was not allowed—every workday was precious.

So waiting for Hu Xianbin to return just to save the time of work handover before holding this new game discussion meeting was clearly irresponsible and inconsistent with the Tenda spirit.

Yu Fei once again felt embarrassed by his unprofessionalism. What a poor work attitude! Mr. Pei trusted him to fill in, and he had initially planned to stand his last watch well. But in the end, he naturally developed this “rather do less than more” mentality, greatly disappointing Mr. Pei’s expectations!

With this realization, Yu Fei stood up: “Alright, Mr. Pei, I’ll call them all in right away.”

……

Soon, the core members of the games department all arrived and took their seats in the meeting room.

A new game was in the works—how exciting! When they were developing “Eternal Reincarnation” before, although they were also excited, everyone knew deep down that it was just DLC, which felt a bit less significant. Now they were finally going to develop the next major game!

What kind of brilliant idea would Mr. Pei propose this time?

Looking at these people from the games department with their eager expressions, Pei Qian felt extremely troubled. Every time he had to rack his brains to fool these people, it was exhausting!

Moreover, although he had successfully fooled them, it was precisely because of this success that they often confidently turned the games into hits. Over time, this had fallen into a vicious cycle.

So what kind of game should he assign to the games department this time?

Pei Qian had already tried many directions before, both popular and niche. But whether popular or niche, they all ended up successful! This was simply ridiculous.

So now Pei Qian had pretty much figured it out—the success of a game might not have much to do with his choices. He might as well treat it purely as a matter of luck and just wing it.

During his previous meeting with Shangyang Games, Pei Qian had actually kept a contingency plan. At that time, they had brainstormed game types that Tenda hadn’t yet produced, and compiled a list including fighting games, rhythm games, sandbox games, and the like. In the end, they chose the racing game “Safe and Civilized Driving” for Shangyang Games, mainly because Tenda’s previous “Lonely Desert Highway” wasn’t really a racing game, so there was still one chance to fail in this direction.

Since rhythm games were difficult to lose money on, and sandbox games carried too much risk if they became popular, Pei Qian wasn’t eager to pursue either option for now. So he had kept the fighting game option in reserve.

It worked out well this time, as Tenda’s games department had already spent some time developing “Eternal Reincarnation,” leaving not much time remaining in this cycle. With this limited time, wouldn’t it be perfect to casually make a niche game?

Of course, Pei Qian had no idea how to make this fighting game, as he could hardly be considered a fighting game player—he hadn’t even memorized a move list. But what did it matter? After all, even the games Pei Qian played relatively well were not that impressive…

Let everyone brainstorm freely first, then stir up some trouble, and wouldn’t that result in a truly bizarre game?