Chapter 106: A Sad Story

Date: 2025-02-25
Author: Xian Ge

“HA?!”

Si Jinliang’s voice boomed, but the first to react weren’t his colleagues—it was Mingyu Tech’s operations team nearby.

These folks were stuck managing Dou Pai, Mingyu’s now-defunct game. It wasn’t Si Jinliang’s call, though—the investors behind Mingyu Tech were calling the shots. Their plan? Squeeze every last drop from Dou Pai’s remaining players before funneling them into other games under their portfolio. Not Mingyu’s games, mind you, but titles from other companies they’d backed.

Despite Si Jinliang’s failure, Dou Pai had retained a decent player base. It just wasn’t profitable. When the investors pulled funding, the game collapsed.

Tang Yao’s sense that Mingyu’s operations team was shrinking wasn’t wrong. It was dwindling.

The investors had taken over operations, paying the team’s salaries. But as Dou Pai’s player value was wrung dry, the game became a toxic mess. After months of complaints and outrage, few players remained, most seething with resentment. The development team had been gutted, updates and bug fixes halted, and recently, most payment and access points were shuttered.

Yesterday, the shutdown notice dropped, sealing the game’s fate. The servers would close soon, and the operations team had been told to pack up.

“Boss… I mean, Bright Bro, what’s up?” Yuan Yanbo, the team’s nominal leader, stood, approaching Si Jinliang, who’d just snapped out of his freeze with a shout. Curious, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?!” Si Jinliang spun, pointing at Avalon Studio, stunned. “Tang Yao just said Fate/Grand Order is their game?!”

“…” Yuan Yanbo fell silent, his gaze complex as he studied Si Jinliang.

The rest of the operations team wasn’t faring better, their expressions equally layered.

Huh?

“Bright Bro, they’ve been here forever—how’d you not know what they’re making?” Yuan Yanbo said slowly after a long pause. “Haven’t you talked to Yuxin and the others? Even if not, you know about Fate/Grand Order. Didn’t you see the logo at startup? Or in the trailers? Their studio name’s literally on the door.”

Si Jinliang racked his brain. The logo rang a faint bell—not the bold “Aniplex,” but a small boat with some distorted letters beneath. “But their company name…”

He froze, eyes widening as he pointed at the A4 paper on the door reading “Ideal Township.” It hit him.

Yuan Yanbo’s look grew more complicated. “You read the comic, right? Fate/Zero’s Excalibur sheath, the distant utopia, Avalon. And you think we all stare at Tang Yao just for her looks?”

Si Jinliang blurted, “Isn’t that why?”

“Cough…” Yuan Yanbo choked, coughing dryly. “It’s mostly the game. We were in on their first test. Didn’t they invite you?”

Fate/Grand Order’s initial test pool included Tang Yao’s contacts and Mingyu Tech folks Chu Yuxin had roped in.

“…” Si Jinliang opened his mouth, speechless.

Tang Yao had invited him, but he’d brushed it off, not wanting to dredge up painful memories. He barely spoke to Chu Yuxin and the others who’d “defected” to Avalon, or even to Yuan Yanbo. This was their longest chat in two months. He’d been holed up in his office, shutting out the world.

Seeing Si Jinliang’s expression, Yuan Yanbo sighed, guessing the truth. Poor guy.

But he got it. They weren’t sticking around to improve the game—they were milking Dou Pai’s last dregs and diverting players elsewhere. Dou Pai was Si Jinliang’s baby, poured with years of sweat. Now, it was being carved up in front of him, by the very “family” who’d built it—including Yuan Yanbo’s team.

Worse, Si Jinliang had played a part. Until last week, he’d been maintaining the game, implementing those predatory tactics himself.

The shutdown notice ended it all. Mingyu Tech was at its end, a stark contrast to Avalon Studio’s meteoric rise.

“They’re really something…” Yuan Yanbo sighed, glancing at Avalon’s corner, a touch of melancholy in his voice.

He’d been like Si Jinliang at first, skeptical of Avalon’s chances. But the first test changed his mind. Reality proved him right—the game was a smash hit, now teetering on mainstream. He didn’t know the revenue, but when he asked the operations team, every single one had spent money on it.

That said it all.

Same location, even mostly the same people—besides Kang Ming’s trio, Avalon was staffed with Mingyu Tech veterans. Yet their fates diverged.

What was the difference? Simple: the boss.

Si Jinliang was realizing it too. The studio he’d thought would crash and burn, reliving his own failure, was behind the blazing Fate/Grand Order? They’d succeeded?

His earlier warnings now seemed laughable. Standing there, he let out a bitter chuckle. What a know-it-all I was.

Same team, different destinies. Strip away excuses about markets or platforms—the biggest change was the boss.

Would he have bet big on a mobile game in that climate? Pushed forward despite comic fans’ backlash? No way.

Their boss… Si Jinliang pictured that poised, radiant girl, her smile when he’d offered advice, his recent spiel. Mortified, he gave another bitter laugh, waved limply at Yuan Yanbo, and shuffled back to his office—his home and workplace—soul adrift.

Yuan Yanbo watched him go, shaking his head, then glanced at Avalon. Should’ve jumped ship…

Back in his office, Si Jinliang slumped at his cluttered desk, staring at his game’s mangled remains on the monitor, then at Fate/Grand Order on his phone. He covered his face.

Same team… so why did his game end like this?

What a failure I am…

Meanwhile, at Avalon Studio, Si Jinliang’s piercing yell had derailed Tang Yao’s thoughts. She brushed back her long, loose hair—left down in the warmth—and set aside operations plans. His outburst reminded her of Kang Ming’s acquisition idea.

Buy Mingyu Tech? They’d been bled dry by now.

Avalon had their equipment, their people, and soon, a flood of cash. No need to keep pinching pennies through Mingyu. But Kang Ming’s mention of Mingyu’s game had piqued her interest.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 107: Pocket Change for Cousin Lin

Date: 2025-02-25
Author: Xian Ge

Truth be told, in her past life, Tang Yao was a lead artist but just a bigger cog in the machine—a typical worker bee. The company she’d worked for was trash, treating art as an afterthought. They figured players didn’t care about visuals; copy-pasting a “high-quality” anime game look was enough.

Art had no say in gameplay, interaction, or publishing discussions. Sometimes, it was siloed entirely from other departments.

Only when Tang Yao took on project management in this world did she grasp how grueling and complex making a game was.

Mingyu Tech’s game held no appeal for her—it was dead in the water. But having tasted success, she was curious about its technical bones, like its underlying architecture. Avalon’s Fate/Grand Order had saved time thanks to Kang Ming’s battle platform, and their website too. Those shortcuts mattered.

It was clear now: Fate/Grand Order’s triumph would kick off the mobile gaming era. Big studios would swarm in, ushering in a chaotic free-for-all.

Avalon, with its first-mover edge, wasn’t untouchable but could ride the wave for years. But what if… what if Avalon, now with a sliver of fame, moved faster than the giants? While they dissected FGO’s success, Avalon could drop another mobile game. Or, if slower, launch one after the giants made their move.

Wouldn’t that cement Avalon’s position?

Taking it further, Fate/Grand Order was mobile-only. Once its revenue exploded, big studios would zero in on mobile. But writing off PC gaming was premature. In her past life, even with mobile’s dominance, PC gamers stayed loyal. Here, it’d be even truer.

So, while giants chased mobile, what if Avalon launched a dual-platform game, holding the mobile market while tapping PC players? More profit, right?

For dual-platform, card games were the easiest bet. And Mingyu’s game, if she recalled… was a strategy card game?

Dou Pai? Tang Yao dredged up the name, searched it, and found the game’s site—still up, despite the shutdown looming. She downloaded it.

While waiting, she checked forums. Player buzz was growing, some even posting fan art, led by Ru Mi. Others speculated about revenue, noting the many spenders. Avalon was this close to breaking out.

Operations… Tang Yao eyed her open website, ideas still fuzzy, her mind drifting back to Mingyu’s operations team and Kang Ming’s acquisition pitch.

Ding. The game finished downloading.

Snapping back, Tang Yao installed it. She’d never played Mingyu’s game—too busy spinning like a top, and its genre was worlds apart from hers.

“What kind of card game is it…?” she wondered, opening it with anticipation.

That anticipation evaporated as the game loaded. Pop-ups screamed for purchases—first-charge bonuses, discounts, a main screen practically yelling “SPEND MONEY.”

Tang Yao was floored. This is nuts. No finesse? Not even pretending? A browser game?

It took ages to find the actual game entry amid the gaudy mess. Clicking “start,” she finally got a tutorial.

Soon, she forgot the sleazy tactics. As the tutorial deepened, revealing the gameplay, Tang Yao stared, murmuring, “This… it’s practically Hearthstone?”

Meanwhile, as Tang Yao studied a rival’s game, others were studying hers.

No surprise. Even before its open beta, Fate/Grand Order’s pre-launch hype had caught the eye of game studio producers. Anime forums and chat groups buzzed with chatter, and with old-school anime fans everywhere, industry insiders couldn’t miss it.

At first, most studios didn’t care much. They were surprised anime fans were so vocal, but that was it. A mobile game for core anime fans was novel, sure—Lin Shuang and Tang Yao’s clash showed the industry was hot on mobile but blind to anime audiences. Studios were focused on porting PC games to mobile, chasing PC gamers, not niche anime fans.

No successful precedent existed. In Tang Yao’s past life, Onmyoji launched with a nine-person team. Even a giant like NetEase, with Million Arthur’s decent proxy performance, didn’t prioritize anime games initially. Path dependency ran deep.

Anime fans? How much could they spend?

So, most studios just thought Avalon had a cute idea. But now? They’d played the game and seen the anime fans’ fervor.

“Fascinating! Truly fascinating!” Shen Lun, chairman of the country’s second-largest internet company and head of its gaming division, looked up, amazed. “A mobile game can do this?”

“Pretty creative,” nodded a suited middle-aged man beside him. “Anime art, no PvP, lightweight, low on social and competition, heavy on story and characters. Simple mechanics, yet insanely engaging.”

“And the buzz is huge,” he added. “No hard data yet, but it started in anime circles and now it’s on social media. The hype’s snowballing. Plus, the monetization’s clever—tons of players are spending.”

“Not just tons,” Shen Lun corrected, shaking his head, eyes on his monitor. “Loads. Look—some say it’s kinder than PC games! Absurd! The developers are sharp, exploiting player psychology, blurring pricing. This gacha system? Getting a specific character costs way more than most MMO items!”

“…” The subordinate’s face twitched, thinking of his own spending.

Fair point…

“Dig into this Avalon Studio,” Shen Lun decided after a pause. “See if they need funding. Check if acquisition’s on the table. Also, start an internal project. Have the PC-to-mobile team study this game and find producers interested in this genre. I’ve got a hunch—the mobile era’s here.”

“Got it.”

Shen Lun wasn’t alone. Plenty of studios were discussing Fate/Grand Order. Its data wasn’t public, but its potential and buzz were undeniable.

If studios noticed, venture capitalists were all over it. Mobile gaming was already hot, and now, with chatter spreading, even non-anime folks were jumping in.

In her office, Lin Shuang, spurred by a celebrity’s game post, searched social media for Fate/Grand Order dirt, hunting for proof of its failure.

Hours later, she found criticism—but nowhere near overwhelming. Praise dominated, and discussions grew by the minute. She knew what that meant.

No matter how proud she was, she couldn’t ignore reality anymore.

“No way… it actually worked?” Lin Shuang lifted her head, neck aching from hunching, her expression twisting as she muttered, staring at her phone.

At Wenxin House, Li Xue sat at her desk, long legs crossed, one high-heeled foot dangling as she worked. Anyone could see she was in a great mood.

She’d been like this since arriving, sparking curiosity. Some in the editorial department whispered she’d won the lottery.

But her cheer faltered when her phone lit up with a call. She frowned at the caller ID.

Her again.

Staring at the screen, she considered hanging up, but her ingrained courtesy won out. She answered at the last second.

“Hello… cousin,” came Lin Shuang’s voice.

“Lin Shuang, what’s up?” Li Xue’s tone was clipped, practically screaming, If it’s nothing, I’m done.

Lin Shuang caught the impatience. Stunned by her usually gentle cousin’s attitude, she jumped to conclusions—Li Xue must be upset over a money-losing game. High buzz, no profit?

Feigning obliviousness, Lin Shuang cut to the chase. “I wanted to ask… your friend’s game launched, right? How’s it doing? Bad? You sound off.”

Li Xue, catching the urgency in Lin Shuang’s voice, paused, puzzled. Then, recalling the morning’s buzz about Tang Yao’s game among comic artists she followed, it clicked.

A radiant smile curved her lips. “So-so,” she said.

“So-so? Where’s it falling short?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Revenue. Did your friend tell you?”

“She did.”

Lin Shuang hesitated, then asked eagerly, “How’s it look?”

“I heard day-one revenue was only 94 million,” Li Xue said casually. “Not much. Probably pocket change for you, right, cousin?”

“…”

On the other end, Lin Shuang froze. Her eyes reddened instantly.

How much?! 94 million?!

Not much?!

(End of Chapter)

Translation Notes

Names:
- Transliterated using Pinyin for consistency: Tang Yao (唐瑶), Si Jinliang (司金亮), Yuan Yanbo (袁彦波), Chu Yuxin (褚雨欣), Lin Shuang (林霜), Li Xue (黎雪), Shen Lun (沈仑), Kang Ming (康鸣). These retain Mandarin phonetics for accessibility.
- Fate terms (Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Excalibur, Avalon, Ru Mi/如迷) use established English names or transliterations for fan familiarity.
- “Mingyu Tech” (鸣宇科技), “Avalon Studio” (理想乡), “Wenxin House” (文心馆), and “Dou Pai” (斗牌) are kept as proper nouns, with translations reflecting their narrative weight.
Cultural Nuances:
- Industry Decline: Si Jinliang’s despair and Mingyu’s collapse mirror Chinese gaming industry struggles, translated with universal themes of failure and regret.
- Corporate Dynamics: Shen Lun’s analysis and Lin Shuang’s denial reflect Chinese business ambition, adapted for global relatability.
- Cousin Tension: Li Xue’s jab at Lin Shuang captures familial rivalry, rendered with sharp wit and emotional nuance.
Technical Terms:
- Game Terminology: Terms like “流水” (revenue), “抽卡” (gacha), “底层架构” (underlying architecture), “运营组” (operations team), and “破圈” (go mainstream) align with gaming jargon or Fate/Grand Order’s context.
- Business Terms: “资方” (investors), “创投” (venture capital), “路径依赖” (path dependency), and “收购” (acquisition) are translated to fit entrepreneurial contexts.
Adjustments:
- Emotional Tone: Si Jinliang’s regret, Tang Yao’s curiosity, and Li Xue’s smugness are tuned for natural English flow, preserving their emotional depth.
- Industry Contrast: Mingyu’s predatory tactics versus FGO’s finesse are amplified to highlight their divergence, balancing humor and critique.
- Climactic Reveal: Li Xue’s revenue drop is streamlined for impact, with Lin Shuang’s shock vivid yet concise.
Character Dynamics:
- Si Jinliang’s Fall: His self-awareness and shame humanize him, translated with pathos and irony.
- Tang Yao’s Vision: Her strategic curiosity reflects her growth, rendered with subtle ambition.
- Li Xue vs. Lin Shuang: Their cousinly clash, with Li Xue’s sly triumph, is translated with layered emotion and sharp dialogue.

This translation balances fidelity to the original Mandarin with a polished, engaging English narrative, ensuring the plot’s climax, character dynamics, and cultural context resonate with readers. Every effort has been made to avoid defects, delivering a professional and mature reflection of the author’s intent.

Siti Dara

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