October 23rd, Tuesday.
At the entrance of Tianhua Studio, everyone bid farewell to Boss Pei with reluctance.
Of course, this reluctance wasn’t entirely due to friendship or similar reasons, but mainly because of the game.
The game was barely in its conceptual stages, how could Boss Pei leave now?
But Boss Pei seemed completely unconcerned about this, as if the game was already finished.
After yesterday’s meeting ended, Boss Pei had returned to his hotel to rest, then took Min Jingchao, Zhou Muyan, and others out for dinner in the evening. This morning, after packing up briefly, he was ready to fly back to Jingzhou.
Actually, during yesterday’s meeting, Zhou Muyan and the other designers had wanted to ask Boss Pei more about the details of this game.
But firstly, Min Jingchao was the lead designer after all, and since he said things were clear enough, it wasn’t appropriate for others to keep asking. Secondly, Zhou Muyan and these designers also wanted to go back and carefully contemplate Boss Pei’s deeper meaning, to see where exactly the gap was between themselves and a top designer.
But after pondering all night, they all showed up this morning with dark circles under their eyes, clearly having pondered to the point of an existential crisis.
They hadn’t figured out a damn thing!
If it had been someone else saying these things, they might not have tried so hard to understand and would have simply brushed it off.
But this was Boss Pei, the god of game design!
Even if they couldn’t understand, they would naturally keep thinking about it, which led to going down rabbit holes.
Although they still had no clue about the game, Boss Pei was about to leave, and it didn’t seem appropriate to keep him here to ask more questions now.
Everyone wanted to speak up, but no one dared to.
As a result, everyone’s expressions were strangely conflicted, like they were trying to hold back a sneeze—extremely uncomfortable.
“I’ll be going now, see you all when fate allows,” Pei Qian said with a smile, looking indescribably suave.
At this moment, Min Jingchao said: “Boss Pei, after yesterday’s meeting I organized my thoughts and came up with a few questions. Could I ask for your guidance?”
Hearing this, everyone at Tianhua Studio immediately perked up.
Great!
It seemed Min Jingchao had finally cracked under pressure and decided to ask!
Were they going to return to the meeting room now for a more thorough discussion?
That would make things seem a bit more normal.
It just didn’t make sense—how could anyone design a game with such vague requirements?
It definitely needed more specifics.
Everyone expected Pei Qian and Min Jingchao to head to the meeting room, but the two didn’t seem to have that intention and remained standing where they were.
Pei Qian nodded: “Sure, go ahead and ask.”
Min Jingchao considered his words carefully: “Boss Pei, should ‘Bullet Hole 2’ have a story mode like ‘Sea Fortress’?”
Pei Qian immediately shook his head: “No!”
Back when “Sea Fortress” succeeded, the story mode was a crucial factor.
An excellent story mode served both as a good tutorial for new players and enhanced the game’s reputation—it was the finishing touch that made “Sea Fortress” complete.
Moreover, Pei Qian’s original intention for adding a story mode to “Sea Fortress” was to spend more money, but Huang Sibo and Bao Xu had cleverly saved funds by reusing scenes and simplifying supporting characters, so it didn’t end up costing much more.
Pei Qian had no intention of repeating such a thoroughly failed attempt.
Min Jingchao nodded slightly: “Then… the budget originally allocated for the story would be extra. We can’t just cut it, can we?”
Pei Qian chuckled: “Just spend it elsewhere. Money is not to be saved.”
“For instance… hmm, maps could use more work.”
“If the budget isn’t enough, we at Tenda can supplement it. It’s not a big deal.”
Zhou Muyan hurriedly said: “Don’t worry, Boss Pei, the budget is definitely sufficient.”
The agreement was that Boss Pei would provide ideas, while Tianhua Studio and Longyu Group would provide the money. How could they let Tenda contribute financially?
If word got out, where would Tianhua Studio and Longyu Group put their faces?
Pei Qian didn’t argue with Zhou Muyan.
The reason he suggested spending money on maps was because spending it elsewhere wouldn’t be appropriate.
Spend more on weapons? Character clothing? Skins?
Those were all monetization points!
It shouldn’t turn into “Bullet Hole Dress-Up,” that would be a disaster.
Spend more on gameplay?
That wouldn’t work either, as it would directly affect the game experience.
Only game scenes and maps were an area where better or worse quality wasn’t too noticeable and wasn’t related to monetization points. Spending more money there posed no danger.
Min Jingchao asked again: “Then, in terms of gameplay, we definitely shouldn’t learn from ‘Sea Fortress,’ right?”
Pei Qian thought for a moment: “Hmm… I think we can remove all those messy modes like Ghost Mode and Zombie Mode.”
“If conditions allow, Bomb Defusal Mode can be cut too.”
Back then, “Sea Fortress” became popular partly because these novel modes attracted many casual players. Players with poor aim could still jump on boxes and shoot zombies in Zombie Mode, which made it very popular.
As for Bomb Defusal Mode, it was the most tactically rich and professional mode in shooting games, deeply loved by hardcore players.
“Bullet Hole 2” would have a feel that appealed to hardcore players, who would definitely prefer Bomb Defusal Mode.
Min Jingchao considered: “That would leave just the basic shooting mode, wouldn’t it? The content would be too sparse.”
“Or are you suggesting I could create some original modes of my own?”
Pei Qian hesitated for a moment, then said: “Uh… you can.”
The word “original” made Pei Qian instinctively anxious.
But then he reconsidered and realized there was no real reason to be concerned.
Compared to these well-established modes that had been validated many times, letting Min Jingchao develop his own creative mode would obviously have a higher chance of failure.
After all, this wasn’t his own project, so he didn’t need to worry about whether it would lose or make money. Letting Min Jingchao freely experiment wouldn’t be a problem.
Min Jingchao nodded: “OK, then I have no more questions.”
Zhou Muyan and the others from Tianhua Studio watched from the side, even more bewildered.
When Min Jingchao said he wanted to ask for guidance, everyone had been pleased, thinking they could keep Boss Pei a bit longer for another meeting.
After all, “asking for guidance” was often a modest expression, and it wouldn’t be strange if it turned into a one or two-hour discussion.
But Min Jingchao had literally just asked for guidance on one or two things—he had only asked two questions!
Although the conversation had several exchanges, it mainly focused on two issues: one was that the game wouldn’t have a story mode, and the other was that the game would cut many of “Sea Fortress'” proven successful game modes in favor of original game modes.
And after the discussion, everything was still as clear as mud!
Min Jingchao had indeed asked questions, but had Boss Pei really answered them?
And why was Min Jingchao so satisfied with this? What was going on?
Pei Qian looked at his watch: “Well, I should be heading out now, the timing is just right.”
“If you have any other questions later, you can call me.”
Min Jingchao nodded: “Alright, Boss Pei. Leave everything to me here.”
Seeing the two of them working together so perfectly, Zhou Muyan couldn’t say anything more.
Although he still had many questions, Min Jingchao was the lead designer for “Bullet Hole 2” after all.
When Min Jingchao encountered difficulties during development, he could consult with Boss Pei then. There was no better solution.
With this in mind, Zhou Muyan got into the business car with Pei Qian to personally see him off to the airport.
Watching the business car drive away, Sun Xi tentatively asked: “Brother Min, you really just let Boss Pei leave like that?”
“Many things can be explained clearly face-to-face, but not necessarily over the phone.”
“Shouldn’t you have taken this opportunity to ask more questions?”
Min Jingchao looked at the notes in his notebook: “Actually, it’s already pretty clear.”
“Even if I need to call and ask more questions, it’ll just be a matter of a few sentences, which won’t be a problem at all.”
Sun Xi fell into silence.
Well, it seemed nobody at Tenda was normal.
It was understandable for Boss Pei, as the boss, to be eccentric.
The key issue was that all of Boss Pei’s designers were also so eccentric, which was really absurd…
If that was the case, they should prepare themselves to see what Min Jingchao would come up with!
…
In the business car, Pei Qian looked at the scenery outside the window, feeling pretty good.
Ah, business trips were so tiring.
He wanted to get back to Jingzhou quickly and have a good sleep.
Zhou Muyan suddenly remembered something and leaned a bit closer to say: “By the way, Boss Pei, there’s one thing I forgot to mention.”
“Earlier, we briefly determined that after the game is completed, the net profit will be distributed in a ratio of 35%, 35%, and 30%. Even if there are minor adjustments later, they won’t exceed 5%.”
Pei Qian nodded, unconcerned.
This distribution ratio had actually been agreed upon between Longyu Group and Tianhua Studio from the beginning.
The two 35% portions were for Longyu Group and Tianhua Studio, while the 30% was for Tenda Group.
In fact, Tenda’s share shouldn’t be so high by normal standards.
On one hand, the development and marketing funds were all provided by Tianhua Studio and Longyu Group, with Tenda not bearing any risk. On the other hand, this collaboration was also meant to get Zhao Xuming, so Tenda should have taken less.
But after discussion, Longyu Group and Tianhua Studio still felt they should give more, mainly for three reasons.
First, they were concerned that if Tenda’s share was too small, Boss Pei wouldn’t care enough, resulting in a game that didn’t make money.
If the game didn’t make money, what would be the point of talking about profit distribution?
Giving Tenda a larger share would make Boss Pei more invested. If the game earned more, everyone would get more, so fixating on the exact percentage didn’t make much sense.
Second, the concept was the essence of a game, and finding the right direction was sometimes more important than execution.
Third, the game’s promotion couldn’t do without Boss Pei and Tenda’s reputation.
When the game was released, it would definitely be promoted under the banner of “Jointly developed by Tenda and Tianhua Studio,” and it would also be marketed as a game designed by Boss Pei.
This wouldn’t be false advertising—it was all factual.
Just putting Boss Pei’s name out there would generate a lot of buzz, saving considerable promotional expenses.
It was like many companies buying copyrights—they either pay a large sum upfront for the rights or offer a high percentage of profits. Either way, they had to show some appreciation.
So all things considered, both Tianhua Studio and Longyu Group felt that giving a 30% share might slightly increase Boss Pei’s attention to the project.
However, Pei Qian felt nothing about this.
He didn’t care at all about how much of the game’s profits would go to him, since it would all end up in the system funds anyway and couldn’t go into his own pocket…
Zhou Muyan continued: “However, beyond that, we at Tianhua Studio should also show our appreciation.”
“After each game makes money, the project team receives a bonus, and ‘Bullet Hole 2’ is no exception.”
“Currently, the project team’s bonus is 15% of the net profit after distribution to other companies. As someone with a designer background myself, I highly respect talent. Without being modest, this bonus distribution is higher than most game companies out there.”
“Of course, it can’t compare with Tenda.”
“Among these, the core positions like lead designer, lead artist, and so on get about 2% each, which is generally considered quite leading in the industry.”
Pei Qian nodded. He was roughly familiar with these figures but didn’t understand why Zhou Muyan was telling him this.
Generally speaking, game companies don’t pay overtime, so most employees could only hope the project would launch successfully, make money, and go viral so they could receive bonuses.
The more successful the project, the larger the proportional bonus. Many newcomers who were lucky enough to join the right project could earn more than 10,000 yuan or even higher in monthly bonuses after just one or two years of work, which was quite normal.
Of course, the specific internal distribution depended on position importance, with core employees like the lead designer naturally getting the most.
Many game company bosses who weren’t designers themselves often didn’t value their employees much, with median bonus percentages around 5% to 8%. There were even plenty of stingy bosses who wouldn’t pay a penny in bonuses even after their projects made big money.
Zhou Muyan, coming from a designer background, valued talent more, so giving a 15% bonus distribution was already very competitive in the industry, which explained his good reputation.
Players evaluated a company mainly based on whether its games were exploitative, but people within the gaming industry evaluated a company primarily based on its benefits and treatment.
As long as the salary was adequate, employees would consider it a good company.
Zhou Muyan continued: “So, Brother Min as the lead designer will definitely receive his bonus according to the regulations, not a penny less.”
“Boss Pei, as the inspiration source and producer of this project, you should also have a share of the bonus.”
“According to our ratios, calculating on the high end, Brother Min should get 2%, and you, Boss Pei, should get 4%.”
The general proportion was: a total project bonus of 15%, with the producer taking 4%, the lead designer, lead artist, and three or four other core members taking about 2% each, and the remaining 4% to 5% distributed among the entire project team.
Don’t think 2% is small. If a game had a monthly net profit of 10 million yuan, 2% would be 200,000 yuan or more.
For an employee, receiving a monthly bonus of 200,000 yuan was already a rather dreamy figure.
Moreover, much of the money would also be distributed in the form of year-end bonuses and other formats. As long as a successful game was made and the company wasn’t too stingy, the rewards would be quite generous.
Of course, this was all based on the extremely low success rate of games.
As for Zhou Muyan and the company’s leadership… their bonuses naturally came from the company’s overall profits.
Only 15% of a game’s net profit was used for team bonuses, while the remaining 85% was obviously used for various company expenses, daily operations, and additional performance bonuses.
Pei Qian’s expression instantly became serious.
4%?
Damn, that’s quite a lot!
If this game had a monthly net profit of 10 million yuan, wouldn’t that mean he’d get 400,000 yuan per month?
Calculating over six months, that would be 2.4 million yuan!
Of course, taxes would need to be considered, but no matter how you looked at it, it meant either losing 24 million or earning 240 million at settlement?
Ah, this…
Pei Qian was momentarily bewildered.
Zhou Muyan quickly added: “Of course, this money probably doesn’t matter to you, Boss Pei. It’s just a gesture, and the proper procedures should still be followed.”
Not to mention all the profitable games on Tenda’s side, just for “Bullet Hole 2” alone, Tenda would get a 30% share, which was actually not much different from Tianhua Studio’s share.
How Tenda’s income was distributed was entirely up to Boss Pei’s word, wasn’t it?
So this seemed somewhat unnecessary. If it were someone else, like Lin Chang, they wouldn’t bring this up.
But Zhou Muyan came from a designer background, so he saw things from a different perspective.
He felt he actually had two identities: one as management and one as a producer.
As someone in the gaming industry, receiving a project bonus was an affirmation of one’s labor and design. The money wasn’t much, but this step couldn’t be skipped.
Making two cents, but the nature was different.
Since Boss Pei was also a designer, this extra money was a kind of affirmation of his work, a sort of icing on the cake.
Of course, Zhou Muyan didn’t think this matter was very important. Yesterday’s meeting was a public occasion with many people watching, and it wouldn’t have been appropriate to openly discuss such issues. So it wasn’t until today, when he was sending Boss Pei to the airport, that he found the opportunity to mention it.
Pei Qian froze on the spot.
He noticed that the system hadn’t warned him, which meant that regarding whether Pei Qian qualified as a producer to receive this share, the system’s attitude was rather ambiguous—at least it neither prohibited nor opposed it.
This unexpected happiness made Pei Qian a bit dizzy.
But at that moment, he had only one thought.
Why the hell didn’t you tell me earlier!
If you had told me before the meeting, I wouldn’t have minded spending more effort to seriously help you design, to think of some fun ideas and the like!
At this point, it was impossible to turn back!
From Zhou Muyan’s perspective, if Boss Pei, who had already decided to go to the airport, suddenly turned back for a meeting upon hearing about a 4% project bonus to redesign the game—how would that look?
He had already finished putting on his act and was ready to coolly head to the airport. Now he could only tearfully continue the act…
Pei Qian felt very melancholic, his mood suddenly taking a 180-degree turn.
Originally, he didn’t really want the game to make money, given the 30% share, and this was also an attempt to lose money—after succeeding, he could learn from the experience and continue to lose money consistently.
But now, hearing that he could get a bonus share from Tianhua Studio, Pei Qian became unsettled.
If the game lost money, there would be no bonus share. Although he would gain failure experience, it was uncertain whether that failure experience could be monetized!
Sitting in the business car seat, watching the rapidly passing scenery outside the window, Pei Qian was suddenly at a loss for words.
This was… life’s unpredictability…