Chapter Two: It's in the Bag
Yin Jian stared at the pinned posts, the corners of his mouth twitching in disbelief.
He wondered if he’d stumbled into the wrong forum.
But after backing out and checking again, it was indeed the right place.
“This is getting ridiculous,” he muttered, scrolling past the top three posts to see the newest ones.
He figured these posts were probably meant to scare off newcomers, to keep the competition down and preserve resources for the old hands.
“So they think a few words can make me give up?” He smirked with disdain. Such petty tricks were nothing in his eyes; he could see right through them, unafraid.
After a few more scrolls, he found a post that piqued his interest.
“The Struggles of a Rookie Game Designer!!” +99
With over ninety-nine comments, clearly a popular thread, it must hold some valuable insights—hopefully enough to help him quickly grasp the basics of the industry and the market.
[First Post: Sacrifice to the gods]
[Day 1:
As an unsigned rookie author,]
[The first thing to do is to create a playable demo of the game.]
[If the demo catches an operator’s attention and you get a contract, that’s the first real step toward becoming a game designer.]
[Without a contract, you can’t list your game, nor can you sell it for profit.]
[According to third-party statistics, only about one in a thousand gets a contract. It’s really tough.]
[But enough small talk, let’s get started.]
[Story-driven games are trending lately, so I’m going to follow the crowd—this should greatly improve my chances of landing a contract.]
...
[Day 7:
Demo released.]
[Day 8:
Contract offer received.]
[Day 10:
Featured as a new release!]
...
[Day 20:
Applied for listing!]
[Day 25:
First day sales: 7,180 copies
Daily revenue: 280,020]
[It flopped...]
...
Comments:
Pink-Haired: So ordinary.
Quan Xia: Yet another “rookie” who’s actually a pro. Can anyone be honest in this world?
Qi Shang: Feeling envious.
Sect Master Jianqi: Don’t get carried away, folks. This is a real veteran—he’s been making games for around ten years. If you’re a true newbie, you won’t even make a ripple in this industry. Think twice before jumping in!
...
Reading the post made Yin Jian’s blood surge with excitement, an urge to jump right in.
Making games was insanely profitable.
Wages in this era were about the same as on Earth: the average person earned 5,000 universal credits a month, industry elites maybe ten to fifty thousand.
But in games? Spend twenty-five days upfront, then lie back and watch the money roll in every day.
Forget filling sacks with cash—this was outright robbery!
Yin Jian was thrilled. If buy-to-play games could rake in so much, what about free-to-play titles?
He clutched his chest, feeling his blood pressure rise. “Calm down. Calm down.”
He forced himself to focus, reading more threads. Relying on only one post for information would be too one-sided.
After careful browsing, he realized a significant portion of the forum’s posts were about how to land a contract, how to sign, what to do if no one responded after releasing a demo, and so on.
Clearly, getting a contract was indeed difficult.
But Yin Jian wasn’t particularly worried. His mind was brimming with the creative sparks from the collision of two worlds—signing a contract should be no problem at all.
After reading through most recent posts, he pondered what his first game should be.
Free-to-play games dominated the market thanks to massive traffic and top-notch psychological tactics that made players willingly spend money over and over.
“So it can’t be a niche game.”
“And the playability has to be very high...”
...
“Fengyue Street has arrived. Passengers, please exit through the left door.”
The subway announcement snapped Yin Jian out of his thoughts.
He quickly refocused and followed the crowd toward his current apartment.
He lived on Baiqiao Star, in the Shuchuan system of the Xiahua sector—a planet within the sun’s orbit.
This was one of the earliest human migration zones, with a highly developed economy.
Many major corporations had their Xiahua sector headquarters here.
He rented here because his prestigious university was also nearby.
Once home, Yin Jian immediately sat down at his computer and browsed the platform’s games.
He intended to try out the most popular titles before deciding what to make for his debut game.
However...
King of Mysteries (Part One): 998 credits
Total: 44 installments.
The Boss’s Calamity (Part One): 899 credits
Total: 83 installments.
Your Melancholy Game (Part One): 1,404 credits
Currently 6 installments, ongoing.
Yin Jian swallowed hard. The prices were outrageous!
Sorry, I’m not worthy of playing these games—sob.
He had just 3,000 credits in his account, 1,200 of which was next month’s rent...
Poverty was holding back his development.
“No matter; reading the comments will tell me about the gameplay—and most players’ preferences, too.”
He comforted himself and began to study the gameplay and feedback for the three games.
All three were story-driven experiences.
Just as the forum post said, this genre was the current market leader.
Story games had another unique advantage: their lengthy plots couldn’t be finished in a single installment. They could be divided into ten or even dozens of parts, released gradually.
This maintained the game’s popularity for a long time.
It made the game’s lifespan virtually endless.
But...
This type of game wasn’t well suited for the free-to-play model.
Or rather, he simply couldn’t think of a way to monetize it right now.
For now, he’d set aside story games and revisit them when inspiration struck.
After closing the three game pages, Yin Jian pondered for a moment and typed “sandbox” into the search bar.
With a click, over eight thousand results appeared instantly.
He browsed them one by one and quickly discovered that the ratings for these sandbox games were all quite low.
Out of ten points, the highest was only 4.7—and that was also the best-selling one.
Seeing this, Yin Jian’s earlier half-formed idea immediately waned.
Still, harboring a sliver of hope, he clicked into the only “high-rated” sandbox game, “miWorld.”
The description: start from nothing and build your own world.
A core sandbox gameplay loop.
After making that observation, Yin Jian turned to the reviews.
“Shocking! This game actually made me...”
Learn physics and chemistry. I checked—it takes about a PhD-level understanding just to barely play this game. I have no idea what the designer was thinking—do they think everyone has a doctorate?
“A terrifying game that makes you realize...”
You’re useless. So what if you have the power of creation? If you don’t know physics and chemistry by heart, you can’t even make a spark.
Having read all the reviews, Yin Jian finally relaxed.
Perfect.
Launching with MC—how could he possibly lose?