Chapter Eighteen: Doubling the Income, Praise Floods In
“The data has been refreshed,” announced an intern operations manager, glancing at the clock.
Everyone else immediately looked to Yu Jia.
Without hesitation, Yu Jia opened the backend data for “Zerg Wars.”
First day sales: 1,160,320 RMB.
“Holy crap! Over a million!”
“Dear god, why did I ever study operations? Wouldn’t making games be a better deal?”
“Wake up. You couldn’t afford to make a game. The production cost for ‘Zerg Wars’ alone was over 1.5 million.”
As soon as the first day sales for “Zerg Wars” appeared, the office erupted with exclamations of shock and disbelief.
None of these intern operations managers had ever dared to dream of such results.
With this achievement, Yu Jia would not only secure a permanent position but would also gain considerable influence within Qiyou after her promotion.
She was on the fast track to success.
Listening to the cheers, Ye Yu’s face turned ashen.
In the end, no miracle had occurred.
Though two months remained, he felt he could no longer stay here.
He cast one last glance at Yu Jia, who was staring blankly at her computer screen, imprinting her image in his memory before slipping out of the office without disturbing anyone.
A single failure meant nothing—he would return one day, triumphant and unassailable.
...
“Yu Jia, you did an excellent job this time!” Yun Ying said approvingly as she looked at the data on Yu Jia’s monitor.
Her happiness for Yu Jia was genuine.
Yet Yu Jia herself felt no joy at Yun Ying’s praise.
The apparent success of this game seemed to affirm her discerning eye for talent, rescuing the game from Ren Scumfish’s hands, but in truth, it had nothing to do with her.
She had merely done her duty.
The real reason “Zerg Wars” was reborn was the sandbox game designer everyone else had scorned.
Only she knew that “My Little World,” thought by all to be dead, had in his hands become a stellar title selling five thousand copies a day.
And that wasn’t even its limit.
Almost every so often, sales would surge dramatically.
She had scoured the databases at Qiyou, but found no other game whose sales figures rose as abnormally as “My Little World.”
Every other game’s numbers fluctuated wildly—only this one climbed steadily, unhurried and unfaltering.
It stood out like a crane among chickens.
After fending off Yun Ying and the rest, Yu Jia sat at her desk, growing more and more frustrated.
“I feel like nothing more than a tool,” she muttered.
As an operations manager, she felt utterly defeated.
“So annoyed.”
She opened the management backend and stared at Yin Jian’s profile, which she had previously blacklisted.
Without hesitation, she removed him from the blacklist and then immediately blacklisted him again.
Rotten people should be blocked!
...
...
In his apartment, Yin Jian stared at the notifications of being alternately whitelisted and blacklisted, utterly baffled.
Did this operations manager have some kind of bizarre compulsive habit?
“The world is truly vast, and the chances of meeting weirdos are just as great,” he sighed, putting the matter out of his mind.
His interactions with her were confined to the game; what quirks others had were none of his concern, so long as they didn’t interfere with his gaming.
He opened the backend data for “My Little World.”
He calculated this month’s earnings.
The highest daily sales occurred right after he released the monthly pass, hitting an astonishing 14,563 yuan.
For several days after, daily sales remained high at around seven or eight thousand, but once the monthly pass launch craze passed, they stabilized at about five thousand a day.
“By this calculation, my sales for the month should hit around 160,000–170,000 yuan.”
He clicked his tongue at the result—after all, his total investment in “My Little World” hadn’t even exceeded five thousand.
A thirtyfold return in a single month was nothing short of terrifying.
“Game designers are the real men’s choice; only sissies choose operations,” he thought smugly.
Yin Jian ignored the usual hurdles other designers faced, such as high upfront costs and the difficulty of securing contracts.
To him, being a game designer was like driving a truck straight to the bank.
Satisfied after tallying up his income, he began the final touch for “My Little World”:
A community for players to freely exchange and share game mods.
With this, “My Little World” would finally have its own soul—a living, breathing ecosystem that would generate income without his intervention.
The platform itself provided a community function, so there was no need to purchase it separately.
Still, he needed to set some community rules:
For example:
- No insulting the designer.
- Players could upload their own mods for integration into the game.
- Mods could be sold, but the game would take a 5% service fee.
- Priced mods would have a ten-minute trial period...
Once he finished writing all the settings, Yin Jian stretched lazily and hit “upload.”
[Review in progress...]
[One of your settings is unreasonable and is being modified...]
[Changed to: The game will take a 10% fee (5% for the designer + 5% for the platform)]
[Confirm changes?]
...
Staring at the system’s modifications, Yin Jian was momentarily speechless. This greedy mechanism gave him an odd sense of familiarity.
Boss Ma, did you transmigrate here?
After several attempts, Yin Jian found the platform insisted on its cut no matter what, so he reluctantly hit “confirm.”
But before that, he posted a notice in the community.
He explained the rules and clarified that the service fee was charged by the platform.
He made no mention of his own share.
...
...
July arrived—payday.
Yin Jian checked his account, which now had over eighty thousand yuan—his actual income after the platform’s deduction.
Though he winced at the loss, there was nothing he could do; after all, his work depended on the platform.
“But at least it means I can make a new game now.”
He nodded in satisfaction at his account balance—life was finally looking up.
Before starting on his new project, Yin Jian decided to check the “My Little World” community to gauge player reactions to the new rules.
If any rule caused player dissatisfaction, he planned to amend it immediately.
Upon entering, he saw a pinned thread with the most comments:
“If you want to play the full game, do you have to buy a monthly pass?”
That was my thought when I first saw the monthly pass.
I thought “Biwo” was just trying to claw back a bit of profit.
But if you really think that, you couldn’t be more wrong.
Biwo is a true game enthusiast!
The creative mode isn’t exclusive to players who buy the monthly pass.
Only after I completed the game did I discover that finishing it unlocks creative mode—then I understood Biwo’s well-intentioned design.
He’s looking out for us less-skilled players, while ensuring regular players don’t lose the core gaming experience.
He set a barrier for creative mode not to force us to pay, but to let us appreciate the game’s charm, block by block, instead of just bulldozing through with creative mode and missing out on the intended enjoyment.
For such a selfless and conscientious designer, I urge everyone to buy all the skins in the shop. We mustn’t let a true game lover lose heart.
———
[Wanli]: Master, I get it now. I’m off to clear out the store.
[Big Bad Wolf Who Loves Frying Pans]: So that’s how it is. Damn, I almost blamed the designer wrongly.
[Heihei Ha Ha Hehe]: If only Qiyou had more designers like Biwo.
———
After reading through the comments, Yin Jian was left speechless.
“So I’m actually such a noble person? How come I never noticed before?”
PS1: Please vote! Please give monthly tickets! Please tip! Please comment! Please like the characters!! (If there’s a chance, I’ll let you cameo.)
PS2: Some readers said it was unreasonable to lock creative mode behind a paywall. After thinking it over, I agree, so I’ve revised the earlier monthly pass description to ‘early access to new modes.’