It was all over.

After hearing Ye Zhizhou’s words, Wang Xiaobin had given up hope on the bonus as well.

If only the players of “Hot Blood Battle Song Power-Up Version” were rating it, then perhaps the reputation would be good, because the game was very player-friendly.

But TPDb’s rating rules also included scores from gaming media and ordinary netizens. These netizens wouldn’t play the game in-depth, only judging based on the first impression from the “I am the Fried Pork Knuckle” advertisement. It would be a miracle if those scores were high.

After being acquired by Mr. Pei, Shangyang Games’ first game suffered a devastating defeat, leaving everyone feeling ashamed.

Could it be that we are in the terminal stage of cancer?

Mr. Pei makes one game, and it becomes a hit, all with both critical acclaim and commercial success. Could such a genius producer not lift Shangyang Games?

This was too hard to bear.

“Everyone, please come to the meeting room. I have a few brief words to say.”

Lin Wan’s expression was also somewhat dejected. She had also seen the game’s data and understood how unpromising the current situation was.

But unlike the others, Lin Wan hadn’t fallen into complete despair. She remained calm, as if she had mentally prepared for this long ago.

Arriving at the meeting room, everyone took their seats.

Lin Wan looked around at everyone and sincerely said, “Everyone should know about our game’s first-day data, which is very unpromising.”

Everyone remained silent.

Actually, those present were very familiar with this scene because in the past, when the original boss Du Ruijie was around, he often held these blame-assigning and morale-boosting meetings when game data was poor.

When a game had problems and showed signs of failure upon launch, it definitely meant that something had gone seriously wrong, and someone had to take the blame.

The problem with “Hot Blood Battle Song Power-Up Version” was that the micro-client approach was fundamentally wrong.

Although the micro-client idea was first proposed by Wang Xiaobin, it was unanimously approved at the meeting, and both Director Lin and Mr. Pei had signed off on it.

How should the blame be assigned?

So this meeting should briefly touch on the blame assignment and quickly move on to the morale-boosting section.

With the game’s current precarious state, everyone would need to work overtime to try to turn the situation around.

When original boss Du Ruijie and original lead designer Old Liu were around, they would definitely have everyone start a 996 work mode, frantically modifying the game.

Of course, there would be no overtime pay. After all, the company was at a life-or-death moment—if you weren’t willing to share in the company’s hardships, how could you ask for overtime pay?

A few veteran employees silently sighed.

After all, it was a company acquired by Mr. Pei, but the structure hadn’t changed. Once the company’s operations encountered problems, things reverted to the old familiar pattern.

Everyone’s hearts sank as they prepared for future overtime work.

However, Lin Wan took an unexpected turn: “This is not anyone’s fault. You don’t need to blame yourselves.”

Everyone was somewhat surprised.

Director Lin wasn’t assigning blame?

Although they felt this was a good thing, the game had failed—shouldn’t someone step up and take responsibility? Shouldn’t someone decide how to proceed from here?

Everyone raised their heads, listening attentively.

Lin Wan continued: “Think about it. Mr. Pei has never made web games before. His specialty is high-quality single-player games. But why did he acquire the consistently money-losing Shangyang Games, and why, after taking over Shangyang Games, did he keep working on ‘Hot Blood Battle Song,’ which was originally a pay-to-win game?”

“It was to do something very risky with ‘Hot Blood Battle Song,’ to conduct an experiment that no one has ever done before!”

“Mr. Pei hopes that players will no longer be slaves to money. He aims to change players’ tastes, allowing all players to enjoy the exclusive satisfaction of wealthy players even without spending money…”

“From game development to promotion, Mr. Pei has consistently moved toward this goal.”

“We should have been fully mentally prepared that going against the tide might fail.”

“I believe Mr. Pei prepared himself for this possibility as well.”

When Lin Wan first came to Shangyang Games, she had also been confused about this issue, but later she figured it out.

Hiring Zhang Zuting for the advertisement was to attract enough web game players.

Creating the micro-client, the Chosen One system, and cutting payment points was to cultivate healthy consumption habits among web game players.

Such motives were certainly noble, but they did indeed go against the nature of web game players. The game’s failure actually had a certain inevitability to it.

Failing like a hero is nothing to be ashamed of!

Lin Wan’s expression was resolute: “So, everyone must not be crushed by this failure. We aren’t making a money-grabbing web game; we’re doing something very noble. Whether we succeed or fail, each of us is a hero!”

After hearing Lin Wan’s speech, everyone felt much better.

They weren’t failures, but heroes going against the tide!

Director Lin, having worked with Mr. Pei for so long, truly had a different perspective on issues.

Compared to the former boss Du Ruijie, the difference was starkly obvious.

Ye Zhizhou was also inspired; his initial feelings of dejection had now been reduced by more than half.

But while morale had been somewhat restored, the necessary work still needed to be done.

“Hot Blood Battle Song Power-Up Version” was not making money was a that had to be solved.

There were only two solutions: one was to lift the restrictions and let big spenders drive up recharges; the other was to multiply the current player base several times over—if there were enough players, everyone buying energy potions daily would still generate profits for Shangyang Games.

The former was not feasible. After working so hard to reform the game, they couldn’t abandon all their progress at the first setback.

So they could only find ways to expand the player base.

The atmosphere in the meeting room heated up, with everyone freely expressing their opinions. Some suggested changing the micro-client model, others proposed major structural changes to the game, each person enthusiastically participating.

Lin Wan listened attentively without saying a word throughout.

Finally, she shook her head: “None of these are good. Our current plan is already the most complete. I believe we should persist.”

Everyone couldn’t help but exchange glances.

Wasn’t this being a bit too stubborn?

According to Director Lin’s previous analysis, her thinking wasn’t wrong.

The micro-client approach had been approved by Mr. Pei and indeed improved the game’s quality. Splitting the micro-client would lead to a discontinuous game experience and would still be treating the symptoms rather than the root cause—it might not solve the problem.

That might be true, but were they not going to make any changes?

Given the game’s current state, wouldn’t not changing leave even less hope?

Lin Wan was firm: “No changes. Everyone shouldn’t worry too much during this period. Get some good rest. We’ll observe for a week, and if the game’s data still hasn’t improved after a week, I’ll think of other approaches.”

Ye Zhizhou and Wang Xiaobin exchanged glances; they could feel that Director Lin’s attitude was very resolute.

Since that was the case, others had nothing more to say. After the meeting adjourned, they could only return to their workstations, each busy with their tasks, patiently waiting for a week to pass.

If things improved after a week, naturally, all would be well.

If there was no improvement, then they might have no choice but to make major changes.

Back in her office, Lin Wan also felt somewhat troubled.

Although she had boosted morale during the meeting and appeared resolute, she still wasn’t confident inside.

“In the next couple of days, I’ll find time to go back and see Mr. Pei in person, to seek his advice face-to-face.”

……

……

September 3rd, Friday.

Pei Qian was in his office checking the TPDb website.

The website template had been purchased, so the initial version was launched quickly.

Although it was still in the testing phase, the current TPDb website had taken shape and was roughly usable.

There were dedicated staff members negotiating collaborations with other websites, and some had already been completed.

For instance, regarding media ratings, they needed to collaborate with some gaming media outlets; for player ratings, they needed to use data from the ESRO official platform. At the same time, the TPDb website’s URL would also be updated on game detail pages, so players could click through from each game’s detail page to provide ratings.

These user experience optimization tasks were long-term work and couldn’t be achieved overnight.

Currently, TPDb’s traffic is still very low, mostly from Tenda’s internal employees and players coming from a few games.

Due to its low recognition, it hadn’t even triggered much discussion.

Pei Qian was looking at the rating data for “Hot Blood Battle Song Power-Up Version.”

Currently, the game’s overall rating was 7.2, with consumer ratings and netizen ratings in a polarized state—consumer ratings reached 9.1, while netizen ratings were a pitiful 4.3.

This meant that players who spent money on the game were very satisfied with it.

As for netizen ratings, most were because of Zhang Zuting’s advertisement.

These people hadn’t played the game; they might have accidentally clicked on a pop-up that opened the game’s official website, then saw the TPDb website from the official site, and proceeded to give a one-star negative review.

Although these people’s weightings weren’t high, since the voting base was too small, the ratings were still in a period of dramatic fluctuation.

According to the rules, 6-7 points was a C rating, with a bonus of 1% of the project investment; below 6 points, there was no bonus.

A total rating of 7.2 could only be considered a B rating, with a bonus of 5% of the project investment.

8 points or above was an A rating with a 10% bonus; 9 points or above was an S rating with a 15% bonus.

“Hot Blood Battle Song Power-Up Version” had invested about 8 million, calculating at 5%, the project team could share a bonus of about 400,000, which averaged to less than 10,000 per person.

Regarding this result, Pei Qian felt somewhat regretful.

Everyone had worked so hard to help him get rid of 8 million, and he was only giving them a 400,000 bonus—it seemed a bit unfair.

But TPDb’s rules had been set, and even Mr. Pei couldn’t manipulate them behind the scenes.

“If only this game’s rating could reach 8, I could spend an additional 400,000.”

Pei Qian understood clearly that the low rating couldn’t be blamed on the Shangyang Games team. The game itself was very player-friendly and deserved a high rating, but many netizens resented the advertisement and gave low scores vindictively without playing the game, which dragged down the overall rating.

But there was no need to rush, as there was still time.

Currently, TPDb didn’t have many users, so rating fluctuations would be relatively intense. It was possible that after some time, the netizen rating for “Hot Blood Battle Song Power-Up Version” might increase.

……

Lin Wan nervously knocked on Mr. Pei’s office door.

Although all the key designs of the game had been approved by Mr. Pei, the current situation truly made Lin Wan feel uncertain.

Despite appearing confident in front of the Shangyang Games team, when it came to actually meeting Mr. Pei, she still felt insecure.

“Come in.”

Lin Wan calmed herself down and pushed the door open.

She had come to report her decision, hoping to gain Mr. Pei’s support.

Of course, with the game’s launch revenue data being so poor, as the director, Lin Wan, had also mentally prepared herself to be held accountable.

However, upon seeing Lin Wan, Mr. Pei’s face bore a faint smile, an expression of genuine happiness, as if welcoming a great contributor!