Obviously, in this matter, Eric was the best choice for taking the blame.
Although data in other regions also showed some changes, the difference in player numbers between the two games wasn’t so great there.
During the event period, IOI’s data had first increased and then decreased, which could be explained as a normal phenomenon during an event—just like how customer flow surges during a supermarket sale and inevitably plummets afterward.
In short, IOI’s regional managers in other areas could find many excuses, and their interests were basically aligned.
The group’s higher-ups, for various considerations, had not taken action regarding this event, so any responsibility would be shared by everyone. Other regions could muddle through, and the higher-ups wouldn’t pursue the matter.
But the situation in Greater China was quite different.
The difference in player numbers between GOG and IOI was enormous here, so the data changes were particularly obvious. Compared to the data from other regions, it was too conspicuous to be glossed over.
Moreover, the proposal for this joint event had been submitted by Eric.
Was there anyone more suitable than Eric to take the blame?
Although Eric had previously thought rather idealistically, believing that he was just a mouthpiece who didn’t need to make decisions and thus wouldn’t have to take responsibility.
But he was clearly mistaken: in many cases, a mouthpiece naturally becomes a scapegoat. After all, a mouthpiece is dispensable, and using it to take the blame is only logical.
Pei Qian was completely speechless.
Miserable, too miserable!
Although Eric himself maintained an attitude of accepting his fate without much complaint, Pei Qian thought carefully and realized that since knowing Eric, this guy seemed to have been consistently unlucky…
Initially, he had been a high-level executive in Dayark Group’s media business, parachuted into Finger Company as the head of IOI’s Greater China region. He should have been able to make a grand display of his abilities.
However, he got off to a bad start and made no progress despite his efforts.
After being demoted the first time, Eric had laid low for a while and had finally made a comeback, only to face demotion again not long after.
Although Eric hadn’t explicitly said so, Pei Qian could roughly guess his fate.
He certainly wouldn’t continue as the head of the Greater China region. He probably wouldn’t be directly fired, but most likely wouldn’t be responsible for work related to Finger Company and IOI anymore.
The most likely outcome was a symbolic demotion and a return to his old profession.
But Pei Qian couldn’t do anything about it.
He couldn’t exactly go to Dayark Group to plead for Eric to continue as the head of the Greater China region, could he?
Wouldn’t that further confirm the improper relationship between the two of them?
Pei Qian thought for a moment and said, “Before you leave, would you like to come to Jingzhou one more time? I’ll treat you to a meal.”
Eric considered it: “Alright, my flight is the day after tomorrow. I can take the high-speed train to Jingzhou today and return tomorrow evening, which should be fine.”
Pei Qian was pleased: “Great, give me a call before you arrive, and I’ll arrange for someone to receive you!”
He needed to be a bit more cordial to his good friend.
If not for Eric, IOI wouldn’t have burned money alongside GOG for so long. For countless settlement cycles, Pei Qian had relied on this to get by.
Without IOI’s help, Pei Qian would have gone crazy long ago because of the money GOG was earning.
But his good friend had also burned himself out in his selfless contribution, becoming a scapegoat.
Pei Qian was a man of honor—how could he let his good friend bleed and cry?
This farewell might mean they wouldn’t meet again for a long time.
No matter how poor Pei Qian was, he could still afford one hearty meal, especially since the system would reimburse it.
…
Meanwhile, Bao Xu arrived at the Tenda Games department.
“Brother Bao is back?”
“Hello, Brother Bao!”
As one of the most veteran employees of the gaming department, Bao Xu had good relationships with these people, and many greeted him.
Unlike the department heads who trembled at the sight of Bao Xu, these ordinary employees weren’t so afraid of him.
The suffering journey tortured the department heads—what did that have to do with ordinary workers like them?
Even though many had voted for Bao Xu, those were anonymous votes, and Bao Xu couldn’t find out who had voted and who hadn’t.
So nobody worried about being dragged by Bao Xu to suffer on the suffering journey.
Under these circumstances, everyone’s attitude toward Bao Xu was quite friendly.
After greeting everyone, Bao Xu came to his workstation.
Hmm… for some reason, it felt like a lifetime ago.
Now there were many empty workstations in the Tenda Games department, but some personal items had been kept, and the computers had not been formatted or reinstalled.
For example, Huang Sibo’s workstation, Lü Mingliang’s workstation, Lin Wan’s workstation, Li Yada’s workstation…
Lin Wan’s workstation was particularly special. Although she was currently at Chixing Studio, she had a used workstation in the Tenda Games department and another at Shangyang Games.
Keeping these workstations meant that every Tenda employee who left could always come back to visit—this was their eternal home.
But Bao Xu felt that each of these empty stations was like a tombstone…
Of course, this might just be an illusion.
Casually pulling up a chair, Bao Xu began discussing “Ghost General 2” with Yu Fei.
During this time, Yu Fei had already organized some materials, mainly the original artwork and character settings for the various generals. He had also downloaded some classic fighting games on the computer, such as “Fist Overlord.”
But so far, there hadn’t been much progress.
Just playing these games superficially only gave him a surface-level understanding, which didn’t help with the game design at all.
Where Yu Fei had made more progress was in organizing all the hero artwork from “Ghost General” and carefully studying their character profiles and life stories.
Hmm… it had to be said, whoever wrote these background stories was really talented.
More accurately, “Ghost General” didn’t have a game plot or story background, only character designs for each general.
But through these character designs, combined with some historical events from the Three Kingdoms period, one could imagine quite a lot.
Yu Fei was curious about the original creator of “Ghost General.” After asking some veteran employees in the gaming department, he learned that it was the joint masterpiece of two Mr. Mas.
The first Mr. Ma was Ma Yang, Tenda’s first employee and Mr. Pei’s right-hand man. He had been responsible for multiple important projects such as Slackin’ Internet Café, Dream Realization Venture Capital, and the esports club. He was said to be an investment genius driven by interest, with his most outstanding investment case being the investment in Finger Company, which earned five hundred million from a single investment.
Recently, this Mr. Ma should be in charge of Rabbit Tail Live Streaming, which was equally effective.
Although this Mr. Ma’s work wasn’t closely related to writing, his casual creativity had given the “Ghost General” game its soul. It could be said that the article was naturally formed, and the masterpiece was accidentally obtained.
The second Mr. Ma was an old acquaintance of Yu Fei’s—after all, Ma Yiqun was the head of Terminal Chinese Network, and Yu Fei himself was an author on Terminal Chinese Network and an excellent member of the Inspiration Class.
Ma Yiqun had reportedly once worked in the Tenda Games department, where he had repolished all the background introductions for the “Ghost General” generals and had written background introductions for a series of new generals added later.
While preserving this unique style, he had filled and expanded the content, after which the entire story background of “Ghost General” was generally established.
Yu Fei suddenly felt that being responsible for this project was something to be very proud of.
He was standing on the shoulders of giants!
Although he didn’t have the surname Ma and couldn’t complete the good story of the “Three Mas,” it didn’t matter. What was important was delivering a satisfying game to the players.
When it came to storytelling, Yu Fei was quite confident.
After all, the plot of “Eternal Cycle” had been highly praised by Mr. Pei, and the game had been made with good reception.
For “Ghost General 2,” there should be quite a lot of room for creativity in terms of plot.
The key was how to design the gameplay.
Bao Xu sat next to Yu Fei, seriously considering how to help.
He already had a general idea, but he couldn’t directly tell Yu Fei. This was something Mr. Pei had specifically emphasized: let Yu Fei think independently, with Bao Xu only serving an inspirational role.
But to what extent should he inspire? This was a technical matter—too much or too little would be counterproductive.
Saying too much would definitely influence Yu Fei, but saying too little wouldn’t help.
After consideration, Bao Xu decided to start with the characteristics of fighting games, briefly talking about some very basic but easily overlooked common knowledge. Then he would gradually expand on this foundation to help Yu Fei complete the entire design smoothly.
“Fighting games actually provide a rather unique kind of fun. As an old player of ‘Turn Back to Shore,’ you might feel that action games and fighting games have some similarities, but in the eyes of fighting game enthusiasts, the differences are enormous.”
“Mr. Pei repeatedly emphasized that this time we need to design a fighting game, so he definitely won’t agree to make it an alternative version of ‘Turn Back to Shore,’ because that would mean misalignment and overlap with existing games.”
Yu Fei listened attentively, nodding frequently.
Previously in the meeting, he had indeed made such a suggestion, considering whether “Ghost General” could be made with a third-person following perspective similar to “Turn Back to Shore,” but Mr. Pei immediately rejected it.
Now hearing Bao Xu’s explanation, he realized that his idea indeed didn’t meet Mr. Pei’s requirements.
Bao Xu continued: “Fighting games appear simple but are actually very difficult to operate.”
“If you don’t train systematically and specifically, you won’t improve no matter how long you play, and you won’t experience the fun at all.”
“You must continuously engage in repetitive, boring practice and battle against people whose levels are higher than yours, repeatedly being dominated, in order to improve and enjoy the game.”
“On the surface, it might seem similar to ‘Turn Back to Shore’—both involve suffering—but there’s actually a big difference: one is PVP, and the other is PVE.”
“The main enjoyment of ‘Turn Back to Shore’ lies in PVE. The key to defeating bosses is memorizing patterns. As long as you can remember all of the boss’s moves and actions, and know how to choose targeted strategies to deal with them, you can always win.”
“Although such games can also have PVP content, the enjoyment of battle is completely different from PVE, which you should be very clear about.”
“Fighting games mainly focus on PVP. Memorizing patterns is useless because each opponent has different habits. The gameplay relies more on countering moves as they come—that is, raw skill.”