Pei Qian’s words left everyone stunned.

What the hell?

The consortiums are us?

In cyberpunk settings, these large consortiums always represented extreme monopolistic capital, the source of all suffering in the cyberpunk world, the evil embodiment of exploitation and oppression of ordinary people at the bottom.

In any cyberpunk theme, these large consortiums were undoubtedly the biggest villains.

But now, Mr. Pei wanted to incorporate all of Tenda’s industries into his cyberpunk theme? And make them the main villains?

This was outrageous!

Everyone instantly understood why they weren’t using the story background from “Beautiful Tomorrow.”

Because “Beautiful Tomorrow” had an established worldbuilding, though somewhat vague, the various advertisements embedded in it had already defined a soft boundary.

Trying to use Tenda’s industries as the large consortiums in the story would conflict with “Beautiful Tomorrow’s” worldbuilding; it simply wouldn’t fit.

Some people also understood what Mr. Pei meant earlier by “in a parallel future universe, in a fictional city of an alternate world.”

Parallel universe meant this world also had Tenda and its various industries;

Future universe meant the Tenda industries inside had developed into monopolistic super-consortiums, representing a future state;

Alternate world and virtual city meant the entire worldbuilding had no connection to the current world or Jingzhou.

But regardless, incorporating Tenda’s own industries into the game as large consortiums, as the embodiment of big capital, sounded strange no matter how you looked at it…

Because these industries were right there, and some might even have been developed by these very department heads—they were simply too familiar.

It was like asking someone deeply immersed in Eastern culture to create a Western-style superhero story with themselves as the prototype.

No matter how you wrote it, it would feel awkward.

After hesitating for a moment, Zhu Xiaocai asked: “So… the villains are us? Then who are the good guys? Who will rebel against us?”

Pei Qian replied: “Everyone.”

“All people in the entire world must rebel against us.”

“However, they will inevitably fail, as Tenda is invincible.”

Everyone exchanged bewildered glances.

Something was off—this was getting more outrageous by the minute.

Everyone rebelling? Wouldn’t that make them public enemy number one?

Although “Tenda is invincible” sounded nice, in such a worldbuilding, having an invincible villain seemed like double self-deprecation…

Ye Zhizhou asked: “Mr. Pei, you haven’t mentioned whether this game will be a single-player game or an online game.”

Pei Qian thought for a moment: “Single-player? No. Online game? Hmm… not entirely.”

He found himself in a dilemma, feeling that either option would be problematic.

For a single-player game, it would follow the path of a AAA masterpiece, with high development costs but a relatively more controllable process.

As long as they solidly presented the game’s storyline, it wouldn’t fail to be an excellent work.

Of course, if the storyline turned out to be terrible, it might indeed drive players away, but rules that applied to other companies might not apply to Tenda.

Take “Beautiful Tomorrow” for example—the storyline was originally heading toward disaster, but the final result was the opposite of what was intended.

Given Tenda’s current success rate with single-player games, Pei Qian really lacked confidence.

So what about making an online game?

Pei Qian himself wasn’t clear on how to make an online game of this scale.

Make it a traditional MMORPG? That definitely wouldn’t work because it was completely incompatible with the single-player game approach.

Pei Qian didn’t want to abandon the single-player game approach because it was expensive, had a high ceiling for losing money, and could present Tenda’s evil image more comprehensively.

Online games had weaker storytelling capabilities. If they couldn’t effectively portray Tenda’s negative image and instead became advertisements for Tenda’s industries, that would be a major problem.

But Pei Qian also wanted to combine online game gameplay with single-player elements, adding some unconventional operations, which would increase the probability of failure.

After all, both pure single-player and pure online games had succeeded before. Perhaps combining the two gameplay styles could produce some wonderful chemical reactions?

Pei Qian thought for a moment: “Let’s make it a single-player game with online gameplay elements!”

Since he wasn’t responsible for the design anyway—that was the job of the two game departments—he could just throw out a concept, and however it ended up being designed would be entirely up to chance.

Everyone hurriedly made notes in their notebooks.

They didn’t quite understand, but they’d record it first and ponder it later.

The conference room fell momentarily silent. Yu Fei timidly raised his hand and said: “Mr. Pei, this background seems completely different from my novel’s background…”

Pei Qian countered: “Didn’t you only develop a small part of your novel’s background? Since it won’t have much impact, we can make some modifications.”

Yu Fei: “Well… that works.”

Although his initial reaction was skeptical, he thought about it carefully and realized that modifications could indeed be made.

Since his worldbuilding was very incomplete and he didn’t have many good ideas yet, following Mr. Pei’s suggestion to split all of Tenda’s industries into large consortiums that infiltrated every aspect of city life wasn’t a bad approach.

At least he was familiar with these industries and had many ready-made materials to use.

Moreover, people from both game departments and Fei Huang Studio would participate in development, which would generate numerous concept design images that could help stimulate his imagination and inspiration.

As for the plot he had already written, most of it could still be used. The remaining parts could be modified or adjusted in other ways without issue.

In fact, after hearing Mr. Pei’s approach, Yu Fei had an impulse to completely scrap his current work and rewrite it from scratch.

It had no character at all!

Just look at Mr. Pei—his imagination was so unbridled, and he was so bold!

Huang Sibo, having finished taking notes, raised his hand and asked: “Mr. Pei, will the movie and game be interconnected like in ‘Mission and Choice,’ with the movie plot being part of the game plot?”

Pei Qian immediately shook his head: “No!”

Joking aside, he would absolutely not make the same mistake as “Mission and Choice” again!

One major reason “Mission and Choice” had sold so well was that playing the game allowed players to experience the movie for free. Although RTS games were niche, many people with no RTS gaming background could still enjoy it due to simplified game operations, effective AI, and smooth storyline.

If they connected the two again this time, it would be a disaster.

So they had to be separated!

Pei Qian added: “At most, the movie and game can share the background, but the game plot must be completely separated, without too many connections.”

Ye Zhizhou raised his hand and asked: “Mr. Pei, will each department become a large consortium directly affecting people’s lives? Including the gaming industry?”

Pei Qian nodded: “Yes, the gaming industry can easily have an impact. You can think more dramatically—for instance, virtual reality games stealing user information, violating user privacy, making players addicted to games to escape reality, and so on…”

“Think to the extreme, fully unleash your imagination!”

Ye Zhizhou nodded silently without speaking.

Goodness, these weren’t actions that ordinary villains would commit—they were the kind that would nail you to a pillar of shame.

With Ye Zhizhou’s question, the others basically understood.

They needed to fully unleash their imagination, envisioning the most extreme monopolistic situations after the development of various departments and industries, then express them in the game and movie.

What was the bottom line? There was no bottom line!

But since Mr. Pei had said that the game and movie plots would only share the same background with unrelated details, it meant the game and movie could focus on different aspects.

How exactly to portray this would require more deliberation.

Mr. Pei’s task assignments had become increasingly brief, indicating that all departments’ capabilities were improving. Mr. Pei no longer needed to meticulously plan every detail of the game as before; he could provide a simple framework and then delegate the specific work to his subordinates.

This showed that everyone’s abilities had improved, and Mr. Pei’s trust in everyone had increased as well!

Although Mr. Pei’s requirements remained as broad as ever, showcasing his unbridled imagination, everyone was full of enthusiasm, determined to make this project a success!

Seeing everyone’s confident expressions, Pei Qian suddenly felt uneasy.

Something seemed wrong!

Had these people clearly understood his design intentions?

It seemed they probably hadn’t.

He needed to emphasize it again.

Pei Qian cleared his throat and said: “Let me clarify once more: Tenda appears as the biggest villain in this story background. We need to make players and audiences feel disgust, even hatred, toward it. Absolutely avoid any beautification or misinterpretation by the audience.”

“We need to show them the severe consequences that would result if Tenda became a monopolistic enterprise in the future. Understand?”

“Don’t make them look forward to it, and don’t create any advertising effect.”

Pei Qian knew very well that creators being misinterpreted was an extremely common phenomenon.

For example, there was a TV series based on a dystopian work. The original depicted a seemingly beautiful but dehumanized future world to raise people’s vigilance.

However, when the series was filmed, they accidentally made this future world look too appealing, filled with handsome men and beautiful women, advanced technology, and no worries. Although there was some satirical content, it was presented in an unbalanced way, causing viewers to desire this world, genuinely feeling it was wonderful and wanting to travel there.

If the same thing happened with the game Pei Qian wanted to make, it would be a disaster.

So he had to clarify in advance to prevent the creative team from misunderstanding.

Huang Sibo and Zhu Xiaocai exchanged glances. Clearly, the approach they had considered had been rejected by Mr. Pei again.

But it wasn’t a big problem—the more Mr. Pei rejected, the clearer the direction became.

Yu Fei said: “Mr. Pei, we definitely can’t use my current novel’s title. We should change to a different name. Do you have any good ideas?”

Pei Qian nodded slightly.

He had already considered this in advance and decided to choose the most straightforward, least pretentious name.

“Let’s call it ‘The Future You Choose’!”