Chapter Eleven: Better Not to Have This Recommendation!

In the blink of an eye, the week of recommendation had reached its final day.

Today was Sunday, the day the results for the trial push games would be announced.

Would they advance to a higher level of recommendation, opening up brighter prospects, or would they be swiftly put on the shelves, left to languish in obscurity? Everything hinged on the outcome of this day.

Yu Jia sat at her desk, one hand propping up her chin, her gaze drifting over one game after another, with no intention whatsoever of checking the results.

She had already lost hope for Yin Jian.

It was beyond saving.

“Click! Click! Click!”

Just then, a series of urgent high-heeled footsteps echoed outside the door.

After so many days spent working together, Yu Jia was familiar enough to recognize Yun Ying’s steps immediately.

Yun Ying pushed open the door and entered the office.

Today, she wore a white blouse with a V-shaped neckline, though it seemed a bit too small, as if the buttons might pop off at any moment.

She glanced around at the five focused staff members, involuntarily nodding her chin. Her efforts had not been in vain; at last, they were starting to look like proper operators.

“Ye Yu, the trial pushes for the games you’ve signed have all been approved. Guide your designers well—strive to seize the formal operator’s entry ticket in one stroke.”

After closing the door casually, she addressed Ye Yu, who sat nearest.

Ye Yu’s eyes flashed with delight upon hearing her words, though he quickly concealed it.

Trial push applications weren’t limitless; each round had a quota.

That all his applications had been approved was clearly due to Yun Ying’s behind-the-scenes maneuvering.

“Thank you, Sister Yun.”

He expressed his gratitude at once.

Yun Ying waved her hand. “It’s my duty.”

She said no more to Ye Yu, walking straight toward Yu Jia’s desk.

This round, her greatest concern was Yu Jia.

Ye Yu watched Yun Ying approach Yu Jia, ears pricked—he knew she was about to announce the recommendation results for Yu Jia’s designer.

“Definitely a failed push,” he muttered to himself.

Yun Ying arrived at Yu Jia’s desk, placed a sheet of paper on her computer, and narrowed her eyes with a hint of a smile. “The game you signed has advanced. Looks like I misjudged this time.”

Ye Yu: ?!

Yu Jia looked up, equally astonished.

She had never expected “My Little World” to advance to the next round—the results had been abysmal.

Yun Ying, oblivious to Yu Jia’s expression, spoke in amazement: “Although the game’s collection numbers aren’t high, the replay rate is astonishing—almost on par with some of the top designers’ games.”

The criteria for advancing recommendations at Qiyou weren’t based on collections.

It was based on replays.

A replay meant a game was opened and played multiple times by a player; if a player launched the game three times in a week, it counted as one replay.

The focus on replays was because mere collections meant nothing if players didn’t buy; the collection would be meaningless.

Generally, a replay rate of 5% was considered normal for a game, 10% meant it was good, and 20% signaled a boutique title...

As for Yin Jian’s “My Little World”...

Yu Jia picked up the sheet Yun Ying had placed on her desk.

Collections: 2,781

Compared with other games from the same period, all boasting tens of thousands of collections, this was utterly pathetic.

But...

Replays: 889 (32%)

Yu Jia’s eyes widened, doubting her own sight.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

No mistake—the replay rate was indeed 32%.

Such a replay rate marked a genuine boutique game.

Yun Ying saw the joy on Yu Jia’s face and shook her head. In the end, she couldn’t resist dampening the mood: “The replay rate is good, but the game’s genre is far too niche. Without a large collection base, it’ll be hard to advance again.”

This time, she didn’t speak too definitively, wary of being proven wrong again, but her words rang true.

After the trial push, the next recommendation was the Regional Strong Recommendation.

This recommendation wouldn’t appear on the main page, but below the descriptions of all games in the same region.

A simple scroll down would reveal it.

This recommendation brought a massive influx of traffic.

There had once been a game that, thanks to this recommendation, garnered half a million collections in a week.

Though that was exceptional, generally, games featured in Regional Strong would gain over a hundred thousand collections.

Even with a mere 5% replay rate, that meant 5,000 replays.

For Yin Jian’s game, based on the trial push data, at most it could gain ten thousand collections.

Even with a 30% replay rate, that would be just 3,000 replays.

In the face of ten times the collections, it simply couldn’t compete.

Yu Jia understood this; after the initial surprise faded, her expression turned gloomy.

If only designer Yin Jian had listened, improving the game’s graphics just a bit, it could have dominated its peers.

As things stood, even advancing through the trial push felt forced.

“That damned bastard!”

“You need to communicate with your designer, and hurry to use up the remaining twenty or so signed slots. Three months isn’t much time. If you don’t use them up by then, the company won’t give you a second chance.”

Yun Ying watched Yu Jia gnash her teeth. Though she didn’t know the reason, she didn’t pry, only reminded her.

“I know, Sister Yun.”

Prompted, Yu Jia nodded and prepared to confront designer Yin Jian.

As for messaging Yin Jian again—she’d be a puppy...

Woof!

...

...

Elsewhere, Yin Jian was staring gloomily at his wallet when a message from Shitou popped up. He clicked it open.

Shitou: “Your game advanced to Regional Strong.”

“Huh?!”

Yin Jian’s eyes widened at the message.

He had checked out the dozens of games from the same period—each had the badge for ten thousand collections. How had his game advanced?

How could it have advanced?!

Yin Jian’s eyes burned with anxiety. There were five days left in the month.

Qiyou’s game sales were settled monthly, meaning if he didn’t launch tomorrow, he’d have to wait until the first of the month after next for any income!

Starving for a few days was nothing, but starving for a month could be fatal!

Yin Jian was truly panicked and hurriedly typed:

“No, forget Regional Strong or whatever—just let me launch tomorrow. If you won’t let me launch, I’ll delete the game.”

Shitou: “You... you... you really are hopeless, go to hell!!!”

(Prompt: “Shitou” has enabled launch permission for you.)

(Prompt: Your operator “Shitou” has blocked you.)

“...”

Reading the last prompt, Yin Jian’s mouth twitched.

He felt a bit guilty toward his operator, but nothing mattered more than eating.

He was on the brink of starvation; all other concerns could go jump in the river.

Yin Jian shook his head, pushing aside these vexing thoughts.

He opened the assistant backend and, with his newly granted permissions, began to implement the final piece of his free game.

The TX-style microtransaction system!

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