Liang Qianfan was stunned for a moment.

Who specifically looks for properties with no appreciation potential when buying real estate?

Could it be…

Was Mr. Pei suggesting buying popular buildings in the city center?

Popular properties were already inflated in price, so they had less room to rise further. In terms of low appreciation potential, this seemed to make sense.

Liang Qianfan immediately understood and quickly nodded: “No problem, Mr. Pei!”

He had noticed that Mr. Pei’s attitude toward “buying buildings” had changed dramatically.

Previously, he had been constantly picking up garbage—buildings with poor layouts, remote locations, mixed commercial-residential buildings—he bought them all.

But now, he wanted to buy buildings with little appreciation potential, meaning some popular properties in the city center.

Why?

Combining this with the Sloth Apartments 2.0 model, Liang Qianfan guessed this must be a strategic transformation.

Initially, picking up garbage was mainly to highlight Sloth Apartments’ core concept.

For example, in Sloth Apartments’ promotional video, the two buildings in Binhu Community were transformed from ignored garbage buildings into extremely livable spaces, which created a lot of buzz and attracted substantial attention.

Now that Sloth Apartments had gained attention, it was time to move upmarket and establish a higher brand value.

So, Liang Qianfan fully supported Mr. Pei’s idea.

Seeing the “great minds think alike” expression on Liang Qianfan’s face, Pei Qian suddenly felt inexplicably nervous.

But thinking about it, continuing to pick up garbage wouldn’t work either. The properties would skyrocket in value, causing problems during settlement.

Choosing the lesser of two evils, Pei Qian decided to stick with his current plan after careful consideration.

They would try the Sloth Apartments 2.0 model first, and if it didn’t work out, they could think of other solutions.

…

October 21st, Friday.

Beijing, Cherry Studio.

“Hurry, hurry, everyone, clean up your workstations quickly. Don’t leave a bad impression.”

A tall, thin young man who looked to be under thirty was tidying up his messy desk, piled with books, while calling to the other three people sitting near him.

The other three looked even younger than him: one was a boy with a crew cut who looked somewhat innocent, another was a slightly chubby boy, and there was also a girl with glasses wearing a ponytail.

In Beijing, there were many small independent game studios like this.

Three or four people working in an incubation space could develop an independent game.

The tall, thin young man was the owner and producer of Cherry Studio, named Jiang Fan.

The innocent-looking boy was Yang Liang, the game’s lead designer. The chubby boy and the ponytailed girl were the game’s numerical designer and art director, respectively.

Everyone also doubled as functional designers, and they all used game editors to create the game.

Though the girl was the art director, she only created a small portion of the art resources herself. Most of her time was spent communicating with people on resource platforms, requesting what they needed, and checking the quality of art assets.

This four-person small team was the standard for independent game studios in China.

With fewer people, development cycles would be longer, and it would be difficult to ensure quality, purely depending on luck. But with more people, they might not be able to afford it.

As independent game developers, they were strapped for cash, having to stretch every penny.

Developing an independent game still incurred costs, even with official editors and platforms to help find artists.

Rent had to be paid, salaries had to be issued, and art resources had to be purchased.

Although official platforms offered various preferential policies for independent game developers, if the game didn’t sell, any preferential policy would be meaningless, and all investments would be lost.

The somewhat innocent-looking lead designer, Yang Liang, was cleaning up reluctantly: “Fan-ge, let’s not bother cleaning up. I don’t think it will help. Previously, several investors came and asked many questions, but in the end, no one was willing to invest and take the risk.”

“After all, independent games have a high failure rate, so no one wants to invest.”

“With this time, we might as well fix a couple more bugs.”

Jiang Fan also looked helpless: “We have no choice, Liangzi. The studio’s financial situation is too dire now. Without help, we can only hang on for about another month, and then we won’t even be able to pay salaries. I can’t expect you all to work for the love of it. Let’s give it another try.”

“I checked with a few friends in the industry, and this Mr. Qiu, who’s coming today, is indeed somewhat well-known in the industry. He has contacted several game companies, although he hasn’t invested in any. But at least it shows he has the intention.”

Yang Liang continued tidying up: “Really? Do you think we have a chance to get investment, Fan-ge?”

Jiang Fan shook his head: “I can’t say for sure.”

“This Mr. Qiu used to be involved with pay-to-win games, but for some reason, since last week, he’s been frequently contacting domestic single-player game companies, especially independent game studios like ours. From what I know, he’s already talked to three studios in Beijing.”

“He specifically invests in domestic single-player and independent games, which means our chances of getting investment are much higher than with other investment companies.”

“However, from what I’ve heard, none of those three companies received investment.”

“I can understand why he didn’t invest in the first two—they seemed too unreliable. But the third was very promising. The game framework was complete, the content was good, and they just needed a final push to launch, yet Mr. Qiu didn’t invest.”

“I’m not sure what his criteria are.”

“But regardless, this is a good opportunity for us. Let’s try our best to seize it.”

The four studio members hurriedly tidied up their workstations, waiting for Mr. Qiu’s arrival.

Jiang Fan anxiously checked the time on his phone.

Two minutes before 2 PM, Jiang Fan’s phone rang.

He quickly answered: “Mr. Qiu, you’re here? Just a moment, I’ll come down to meet you!”

Before leaving, Jiang Fan gave everyone a meaningful look. They immediately sat properly at their workstations and began working diligently, waiting for Mr. Qiu’s arrival.

A few minutes later, Jiang Fan led Qiu Hong to Cherry Studio’s office area.

Since accepting the “Desperation Plan” task from Mr. Pei, Qiu Hong had quickly settled his personal affairs and headed straight to Beijing without delay.

Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou—these cities were all hubs for game companies, so Qiu Hong chose Beijing as his first stop.

Although Qiu Hong’s task was to invest in single-player game companies and independent game studios across the country, there was no need for him to constantly fly between cities.

Staying in Beijing for a month, examining one company each day, and moving to the next city after screening most companies in Beijing was the most efficient approach.

Previously, Qiu Hong had already visited five companies but invested in only one.

Three of the companies were unreliable, small workshops. The bosses themselves didn’t understand games very well, seeming like amateurs pretending to be professionals, and Qiu Hong felt they tended to try to scam investors.

Mr. Pei had said not to invest in unreliable companies.

One company was good in all aspects, with high game completion, and Qiu Hong tried it and thought it had a high probability of success.

But Mr. Pei had also said not to invest in companies that were too reliable.

So, only one middle-of-the-road company had received investment from Qiu Hong’s “Desperation Plan.”

Today, Qiu Hong came to Cherry Studio to continue his evaluation.

His job was the most relaxed and pressure-free. Previously, as a game producer, he had to rack his brains thinking about gameplay mechanics, fearing that one wrong decision would ruin the entire project. But now, he simply needed to look at a company’s situation and decide whether to invest.

Moreover, his bonus now had nothing to do with whether the investment made money. The more he invested, the higher his bonus—where else could you find such a good deal?

Without pressure, without fear of gain or loss, he could make decisions more rationally and clearly.

Jiang Fan brought a chair for Qiu Hong, got him a cup of hot water from the nearby water dispenser, and then began introducing the basic situation of Cherry Studio.

Qiu Hong drank water quietly while listening.

According to Jiang Fan, the establishment of Cherry Studio was a standard “labor of love” story.

Jiang Fan originally worked at a law firm, with a profession completely unrelated to games. He started making games simply because the existence of official platforms and editors greatly lowered the barrier to game development, giving him the idea to try making a game in his spare time.

Jiang Fan’s regular work was very slow-paced, allowing him to spend only one hour each day using the official editor to create games.

In this way, he spent a full two years making a text-adventure game themed around legal defense on his own. Surprisingly, the game received quite positive reviews after its release.

Although sales weren’t very high, independent games didn’t have much cost. Selling nearly 200,000 copies at five yuan each, combined with various preferential policies for independent games from official platforms, he earned over 600,000 yuan.

So, Jiang Fan made a very important decision in his life: giving up his lawyer job to establish Cherry Studio and become a full-time independent game developer.

The other three employees were also found from Jiang Fan’s player community after simple communication and interviews. These three also willingly gave up their previous jobs to come to Cherry Studio for salaries that just covered basic living expenses.

It wasn’t that Jiang Fan was stingy; the key issue was that they only had a total of about 600,000 yuan, which also had to cover office space rent and art resource purchases. There simply wasn’t more money available for higher salaries.

The game they were currently developing was called “Office Worker’s Survival Manual,” with a much larger scope than Jiang Fan’s previous game. But precisely because the game’s scale exceeded Jiang Fan’s control capabilities, Cherry Studio was running out of money.

In a little over a month, they might not even be able to pay salaries, while the game was nowhere near ready for release.