After coming up with this idea, Pei Qian carefully considered its feasibility.

Three lessons must be learned.

First was the lesson from cooperating with Ruan Guangjian.

Looking back, the cooperation with Ruan Guangjian now seemed quite unsuccessful. Since “Ghost General,” Ruan Guangjian had been safeguarding the quality of original artwork for Tenda Games.

Much of the success of many games was partly due to the extremely high quality of the original artwork, which captivated players at first sight. The perfectly matched visuals that complemented the game content also became a key element in the artistic merit of the games.

Pei Qian reflected on his cooperation with Ruan Guangjian and felt that this should mainly be attributed to his super-lucky attributes.

Logically speaking, he had initially sought out an unknown small-time artist, so the probability of encountering a hidden master should have been extremely small, right?

But that’s exactly what happened!

Who could he complain to about this?

So Pei Qian felt that he must cast a wide net.

If he only concentrated funds on investing in one or two small companies this time, he would likely repeat the same mistakes. Therefore, he must invest broadly.

The larger the sample size, the more accurate the probability, and the influence of luck could be minimized.

The second was the lesson from acquiring Shangyang Games.

Pei Qian recalled that when he first acquired Shangyang Games, everything was fine. Things went wrong when he couldn’t resist wanting Shangyang Games to lose more money, so he had them change the game’s monetization model.

As a result, “Hot-Blooded Battle Song” became more consumer-friendly, established a good reputation, and after being remastered and ported from PC to mobile, it suddenly became popular.

So this time, Pei Qian felt he absolutely could not change these companies’ original operating models, and shouldn’t even look at them.

Because sometimes, it was precisely because Mr. Pei observed that things would change.

Although the “observer effect” existed widely in all aspects of life, Pei Qian found it especially prominent in his case, and he had to find a way to avoid it.

Finally, there was the lesson from Dream Realization Venture Capital investments.

Dream Realization Venture Capital had invested in IOI, Shared Phone Booths, Scholars Come Quick, Fully Automated Contrarian Machine, and so on, all of which had achieved success.

The reasons for the success of these projects varied, but after some thought, Pei Qian felt that a very important reason was “attention.”

Because he was so eager to lose money, Pei Qian often chose particularly outlandish projects when selecting investments, such as Shared Phone Booths and Fully Automated Contrarian Machine.

But such projects, precisely because they were so outlandish, could easily generate topics of discussion and gain a lot of attention.

Moreover, any industry associated with Tenda naturally did not lack attention.

Add in a bit of Pei Qian’s super-lucky attributes, and once attention was gained, there would always be people buying.

Therefore, Pei Qian felt he should choose more conventional, less outlandish projects to minimize the possibility of making a big profit.

Even if conventional projects did make money, it would only be a small profit. With a wide-net approach, other failed projects could offset the profits, preventing excessive earnings.

So, combining these many failed experiences, Pei Qian explored a new path:

He must cast a wide net. The more companies he invested in, the less influence luck would have. Given the high probability of domestic single-player games failing, the chances of losing money would be greater.

He absolutely could not interfere with these companies’ operating models, and shouldn’t even know what specific projects they were working on, minimizing his own “observer effect.”

The projects selected should ideally be conventional, mediocre, and unremarkable. This way, they wouldn’t chemically react with Tenda’s reputation and inexplicably make a lot of money.

After repeated consideration, Pei Qian felt that this time’s guiding principles were very reliable.

Having summarized so many lessons from failure, surely he could successfully lose money this time, right?

So the next question was, who would be in charge this time?

Looking around, he found there wasn’t a single suitable person.

There were many people who understood games in Tenda Games and Shangyang Games, but Pei Qian didn’t feel comfortable with any of them.

Because they were all too deeply indoctrinated!

The common characteristic of Tenda employees was that they would misinterpret Mr. Pei’s intentions, find the most profitable interpretation possible, and their understanding of games completely aligned with Tenda Games’ successful experiences.

Even if he randomly pulled someone from another department to be responsible for this matter, Pei Qian felt it might lead to failure.

After all, “having employees cross industries” was something Pei Qian had been doing all along, with no success.

It seemed like every employee who crossed industries achieved success.

Have Ma Yang do it?

No, with the precedent of IOI, he couldn’t trust old Ma in this field anymore.

Have Lü Mingliang do it?

Even worse. Lü Mingliang himself came from a lead game designer background and had a good understanding of the gaming industry. Besides, he was doing well at Headwind Logistics. If he were reassigned and someone else was brought in to manage Headwind Logistics, what if they also made Headwind Logistics profitable?

Wouldn’t that be losing both people and money?

After much thought, Pei Qian felt he had to find someone with absolutely no connection to Tenda Group to do this.

Preferably someone who understood a little about single-player games, but not too much.

Someone who knew nothing would seek professional consultants when given this task, which would be a big risk; while someone who knew too much would invest accurately, which also wouldn’t work.

Suddenly, Pei Qian thought of a good candidate.

Qiu Hong!

During the class, Pei Qian had roughly understood Qiu Hong’s current situation. He had just failed to secure investment for his pay-to-win mobile game venture, which was why he came to Jingzhou to teach and clear his mind.

It was difficult for even a successful producer to find investment, let alone a recently failed producer, making it even harder to find investors.

Moreover, Qiu Hong had already tried entrepreneurship, and in the short term, without financial pressure, he probably wouldn’t lower himself to seek employment at an ordinary company.

That is to say, Qiu Hong most likely hadn’t found anything to do recently.

Although Qiu Hong had successful experience, his success was limited to pay-to-win online games. He did initially make single-player games, but that was when he first entered the industry, and the single-player games failed.

Pei Qian thought that if Qiu Hong were to select pay-to-win online games, he would likely choose accurately, but for single-player games, that wouldn’t necessarily be the case.

As for Qiu Hong’s statement that he would resolutely avoid single-player games…

First, Qiu Hong didn’t despise single-player games; it was just that when he first entered the industry, he was hurt by developing single-player games out of passion, which made him turn cynical.

Second, Pei Qian didn’t plan to talk about dreams or preach grand principles; it was just a very realistic consideration of interests.

The reason Qiu Hong abandoned single-player games for online games was to make more money and live a better life, right?

So, the key wasn’t whether it was single-player or online, but how much benefit this job could bring to Qiu Hong.

Most producers of pay-to-win online games were very practical people; the market told them this was most profitable, so that’s what they did.

That being the case, Pei Qian only needed to offer more money, and he could poach Qiu Hong.

After much consideration, Pei Qian increasingly felt that Qiu Hong was the best candidate he could find.

So the question was, how should he talk to him about this matter…

Until now, Qiu Hong still thought he was Ma Yang.

Continue interacting with him as Ma Yang? Assign tasks to Qiu Hong as the head of Dream Realization Venture Capital?

It wasn’t impossible, but deceiving people was generally not good.

Moreover, Qiu Hong would more or less interact with other Tenda employees in the future, so this deception would be exposed sooner or later, and couldn’t be kept secret forever.

So, he had to come clean.

The question was how to come clean in a way that Qiu Hong could accept more easily.

Being completely open and honest was probably impossible. It wasn’t that Pei Qian didn’t want to tell the truth; the problem was that even if he risked a system warning to tell part of the truth, Qiu Hong wouldn’t believe it anyway.

Qiu Hong might even think he was showing off and storm off on the spot.

So, Pei Qian could only use another well-intentioned lie to cover it up.

Tell Qiu Hong that his previous claim to be Ma Yang asking for advice on failure experiences was just a friendly exchange and discussion between designers, getting to know each other. Now that they understood each other well enough, he felt they could collaborate, so it was natural to extend an olive branch.

Having decided on what to say, Pei Qian called Qiu Hong and invited him to come to Jingzhou again in the next couple of days for an important face-to-face meeting.

…

…

October 12th, Wednesday.

Wang Xiaobin was racking his brain planning DLC update proposals for several of Tenda’s older games.

There were too many old games, and with only four months in total, it was unrealistic to update all the games with DLC. He could only be selective.

Moreover, the content of the updates would have to consider cost-effectiveness.

Some manufacturers developed DLCs that could be completely considered independent games, with large content, high prices, and long development times.

Mr. Pei had only given about four months, making it impossible to achieve this level.

Although Mr. Pei never hesitated to provide money, money wasn’t omnipotent; money couldn’t buy time.

So, the difficulty was still high, and Wang Xiaobin rarely handled such work, so he felt enormous pressure.

“‘Lonely Desert Highway,’ add an online mode? Players can drive together, turning it into ‘Not-So-Lonely Desert Highway’?”

“Add a ‘You Do It Then’ mode to ‘Game Producer’? Let the narrator choose the routes himself, with players mocking the narrator instead?”

“Add another segment to the ‘Sea Fortress’ story? That seems unnecessary. How about adding an epic weapon? Mr. Pei would probably still prefer the former.”

“As for ‘Turn Back to Shore,’ many players who’ve completed multiple playthroughs find it somewhat boring. Although new players are still joining, the retention of old players has gone. How about creating a challenge mode starting from scratch to give old players something to do?”

“Hmm…”

“The content seems a bit simple. Will players buy it?”

Wang Xiaobin had some ideas but lacked confidence in them.

Some regular updates, like adding more new generals to “Ghost General” or continuing to release epic weapons for “Sea Fortress,” seemed uninspired. But the ideas he came up with were a bit too small; these DLCs would probably not be priced high, and might just be losing money to gain exposure.

“The former is safe but uninteresting, the latter is interesting but risky…”

“If it were Mr. Pei, how would he choose?”

“Mr. Pei would choose the latter.”

“Since Mr. Pei has entrusted me with this important task, I can’t be afraid of taking the blame. I must find a way to create something fresh!”

Wang Xiaobin continued to bury himself in thinking about the plan.

…

…

October 13th, Thursday.

Zhu Xiaocai arrived at the hotel where Lu Zhiyao was staying.

It had been three days since he had lured Lu Zhiyao to Jingzhou and given him a gaming laptop to “experience the script.”

Zhu Xiaocai felt he should check on him.

It wasn’t for any other reason; mainly because the script had to be completed in the next couple of days and couldn’t be delayed any longer.

Zhu Xiaocai had no clue, so he could only try to see if Lu Zhiyao had any good ideas.

Arriving at Lu Zhiyao’s room door, Zhu Xiaocai knocked gently.

After two minutes, the door opened.

Seeing Lu Zhiyao’s appearance, Zhu Xiaocai was stunned.

The previously radiant and handsome movie star had become disheveled, with short bluish stubble growing on his chin, drowsy eyes, and a lifeless gaze.

Zhu Xiaocai was a bit confused: “What happened? Playing a game, how did you become so melancholic?”

Lu Zhiyao was quite helpless: “Director Zhu, your method simply doesn’t work!”

“I’ve been playing games day and night these past few days, trying hard as you said, but I feel nothing at all.”

“I’ve given up.”