“What kind of game did I just play…”
Lin Wan closed her laptop screen and fell into deep thought.
This game, called “Hot-Blooded Battle Song,” completely redefined her lower limits for what she considered a game.
Could there be such a garbage game in this world???
Although it had already gone through updates and changes in the new version, these changes were mainly in gameplay and design.
No matter what changes were made, “Hot-Blooded Battle Song” was still a browser game, and the moment Lin Wan clicked into it, countless reasons urged her to quit.
The graphics were terrible, still filled with last century’s aesthetic style. The characters wore armor with intricate but poorly designed patterns, wrapped in exaggerated and vulgar golden effects, with pairs of colorful, large wings on their backs.
The scenes looked chaotic, especially in the main city, where large numbers of players clustered together. Everyone wore colorful equipment with super-long names above their heads, including ID, guild, title, and other information. The entire screen was an absolute mess.
The game thoughtfully provided a function to hide other players, which did help locate oneself after turning it on.
But this created another problem: the game immediately revealed its true nature, appearing extremely desolate, with those unrefined scenes presented to players.
The game’s music and sound effects were filled with the flavor of the previous decade. They weren’t necessarily unpleasant to hear, but always created a sense of disconnection.
Most critically, this was a browser game.
So, the vast majority of its art resources needed to be downloaded from the internet.
Every time you entered a new map or scene, since the art resources hadn’t finished downloading, a small progress bar would always appear on screen showing “Resources Loading”;
Moreover, all players would turn into default black figures, and the map scenes also needed time to load.
In places where scene switching was frequent, each transition was maddening.
As for the gameplay, it was clichéd and monotonous—nothing but grinding monsters, leveling up, running quests, and so on. Calling it “old hat” would be giving it too much credit.
Lin Wan forced herself to play for five minutes and had only one feeling.
Low-quality!
Even if they paid her, she wouldn’t want to play this game.
Lin Wan somewhat regretted her decision.
She had trusted Mr. Pei too much, so she had accepted this task without much consideration at the time.
She vaguely knew something about Shangyang Games and was aware that this company had a rather unsuccessful game product.
But she never imagined it could be unsuccessful to this extent!
In Lin Wan’s mind, a so-called unsuccessful work might be a few levels below the quality of “Bullet Hole” by Tianhe Studio.
However, seeing “Hot-Blooded Battle Song,” she realized this wasn’t just a matter of being a few levels lower—it was a matter of being years behind!
This game even made her feel like she had gone back ten years in time.
After trying the game, besides experiencing some instinctive discomfort, Lin Wan also felt deep doubt and confusion about Pei Qian’s decision.
Why would Mr. Pei acquire such a game company?
From any perspective, this game company should have only one destination: elimination by the market.
This company should have gone bankrupt on the spot, and the designer who created this game should have sought employment elsewhere. If no company would hire them, they would be better off changing careers.
Judging from the state of this game, its lead designer shouldn’t even exist in this industry!
But Mr. Pei still acquired this company, and reportedly even personally promoted a newcomer and proposed improvement suggestions.
The situation Lin Wan was seeing now was already Mr. Pei’s improved version.
But clearly, it was still far from being a truly profitable game.
Lin Wan felt hesitant, not wanting to go anymore.
How nice it would be to continue developing “Turn Back to Shore” at Tenda Games!
With Mr. Pei at the helm, that game would likely receive overwhelming praise and explosive sales. Lin Wan, as a member of the production team, would feel genuinely proud.
But now, going to the Shangyang Games to develop “Hot-Blooded Battle Song” presented a completely different scenario!
Forget about whether the game could be successfully developed; even if it could, the result would likely be rejection by mainstream players.
With a game like this, Lin Wan would be embarrassed to tell her friends and classmates that she made it.
However, considering this was Mr. Pei’s arrangement, Lin Wan felt there might be a deeper meaning behind it.
After all, when giving her this task, Mr. Pei had expressed high hopes for her, talking about being a “connecting link” and a “spiritual messenger.”
If she backed down just because of this, perhaps she wouldn’t be able to grasp Mr. Pei’s true intentions…
And the key to becoming stronger might be hidden within this challenge.
After much consideration, Lin Wan finally made up her mind.
Her position at Tenda was still being kept for her, and she could return anytime. Taking this opportunity to challenge herself at the Shangyang Games was quite a good chance.
…
…
Shangyang Games.
Meeting room.
Ye Zhizhou, Wang Xiaobin, and others nervously stole glances at Lin Wan sitting on the other side of the conference table.
Lin Wan, who had just arrived at Shangyang Games, held a small notebook, adopting a humble learning posture.
However, from others’ perspective, Lin Wan’s constant note-taking only added to their pressure.
Everyone felt nervous and uneasy about this leader parachuted in from Tenda.
Mainly because they couldn’t figure out Mr. Pei’s intentions.
Did Mr. Pei trust Shangyang Games or not?
If he didn’t trust them, why was Shangyang Games still designing the new game’s plan? The new lead designer, Ye Zhizhou, had been promoted from Shangyang Games’ original project, and the company’s original structure hadn’t changed much.
But if he did trust them, why parachute someone in just as the new game’s development was about to begin? What did this mean?
According to Mr. Pei, Lin Wan’s position was Development Director, basically equivalent to a Producer.
But examining this position carefully, it seemed she wouldn’t be directly managing things, but rather serving more of a supervisory role.
Currently, Shangyang Games essentially had three key positions: Ye Zhizhou responsible for game creativity and overall planning, Wang Xiaobin responsible for game values and specific execution, and Lin Wan who had veto power over any important decisions.
Originally, Ye Zhizhou and Wang Xiaobin had completed all the game planning work and could report directly to Mr. Pei.
But now, between Ye Zhizhou and Mr. Pei, there was the additional Development Director, Lin Wan.
Many people even privately speculated whether it was because Ye Zhizhou hadn’t been able to turn losses into profits in all this time since taking over as lead designer, so he had lost Mr. Pei’s trust, prompting Mr. Pei to parachute someone in from Tenda?
For a time, uncertainty cast a shadow over everyone at Shangyang Games.
Initially, Ye Zhizhou and Wang Xiaobin had planned to let Lin Wan take over all the work, but unexpectedly, Lin Wan directly declined.
Her speech in front of everyone was very brief, just saying a few mild words to slightly ease everyone’s emotions, then quietly sitting aside to listen.
So the meeting proceeded as usual, with Ye Zhizhou explaining the specific design of “Hot-Blooded Battle Song: Power-Up Version” to everyone.
Lin Wan sat on the side, listening and taking notes in her small notebook.
And then one question mark after another appeared in her mind.
What is this?
What is that again?