To ascend, I had no choice but to create games

A month after “King’s Dungeon” went online, a bombshell news came out of Kongkong Studio.

The PVP system for “King’s Dungeon” was about to go live.

As the countdown began, advertisements were deployed en masse, pre-launch events heated up, and real money turned into paid posters and traffic, luring back players who had abandoned the game and those who had never played “Princess Dungeon” into the game, thus inflating the daily active user count once again.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere in Kongkong Studio grew increasingly tense. KongKong, having taken over all of Huang Ping’s duties, was finally not as comfortable as before.

Bogged down by both minor and major tasks, his severe overtime work made his once overweight body slim down, yet his temper grew ever hotter.

Whether it was because he had been away from the production role for too long, KongKong’s various skills seemed a bit rusty and made collaboration all the more troublesome.

What gave the employees even more headaches was that he wanted to get involved in every process, yet he would say that nothing felt right. An otherwise ordinary character illustration would be sent back for revisions over a dozen times, only to end up with the comment, “Let’s just stick to the first draft.” During smoke breaks, the number of complaints about KongKong from fellow smokers rose, while Huang Ping merely responded with a smile.

He had already foreseen the consequences that the PVP launch would bring. Fortunately, he had a contingency plan.

The previously fair arena was almost complete and could be quickly revised and launched when needed to recoup some of the losses.

Then, a deluge of gifts and packs would be freely distributed, ensuring players would act as if “nothing happened.”

Even though the fallout couldn’t be completely erased, at least some reputation could be salvaged—it was the greatest effort he could make as the former head strategist.

Finally, the day of the launch arrived.

When the loyal fans of “King’s Dungeon” finished updating and eagerly entered the game to try out the PVP, they were stunned.

Some, after their first experience, silently quit, uninstalled, and left without a trace, while others headed to forums, transforming into veteran posters to declare that it was nothing short of a disaster.

The arena and the outer PVE were two separate parts, with no connection between them, and players were shocked to find that weapons and characters in the arena had to be purchased all over again.

All weapons and characters were temporary, and some worthless costume actually cost two payments of 648?

Players who purchased the pass could only participate in one PVP season, but with each season lasting a mere two weeks, it meant that players were getting their wallets trimmed twice a month.

There were no rewards in the arena, not even for the first place. All you got was a useless title of something like “Champion of the Season.”

What was even more infuriating was that the so-called “fist-to-flesh, blow- by-blow” arena advertised turned out to be just an automated animation comparing stats!

The more you paid, the more formidable you were, and thus, the higher your rank, ending up with a deceitful prize and continuing to be deceived.

The excitement of entering the game turned into disappointment, which further transformed into rage!

When the enraged players bombarded the customer service line, Kongkong Studio’s blog lightly announced, “We’re not like some low-cost dungeon cash pigeon games. If you don’t like playing it, then don’t.”

Although they didn’t name names, it was clear that the “low-cost dungeon cash pigeon game” referred to none other than “Princess Dungeon.”

At that moment, even the most loyal fans were furious.

Boosting one and bashing the other was something even many small studios looked down upon, yet Tianyi, a major studio, was engaging in such despicable tactics?

Many players began to log into Bilibili, releasing all sorts of comparative videos on the platform.

They posted clips of the automated battle animations, declaring this was King’s.

Then they showed a thrilling video of intense fighting, like gods battling, and said this was Princess’s.

The former required a pass every two weeks, each costing 328.

The latter, a one-time purchase, allowed for endless fun for just 68 yuan.

So please tell me, who is low-cost!

An overwhelming wave of scathing criticism caused “King’s Dungeon’s” already shaky reputation to collapse in an instant.

The phenomenon of “game retirement and account deletion” was everywhere on Bilibili, with many hardcore spenders displaying their accounts before publicly destroying them.

The game’s daily active user count was halved once again, and the PVP system that KongKong had placed high hopes on didn’t even have a single real person —only a swarm of bots continuously playing matches.

It was truly a digital life, indeed.

After querying the current number of online users through the backend, Huang Ping stared at the screen, and surprisingly felt somewhat exhilarated.

This exhilaration stemmed from a sense of schadenfreude, with a hint of an “I told you so” feeling.

However, after the pleasure of others’ misfortune, he organized the documents of the previously fair competitive arena and then sent them to KongKong. It wasn’t until the afternoon that KongKong called Huang Ping into the office. He had thought that this would be a heart-to-heart discussion, where everyone would reconsider the game’s developmental direction, resolve conflicts, and start afresh.

But to Huang Ping’s surprise, not only was KongKong present, but also Tianyi’s boss, Zhang Ping.

The presence of the other party took what should have been an internal studio discussion to a whole new level, giving Huang Ping an uneasy premonition. As soon as he entered the office, Huang Ping heard KongKong sincerely say: “Originally, my intention was to create a fair competitive arena. Look, I have organized the planning documents, and all the environments are ready. However, the chief designer Huang Ping emphasized that increasing revenue was the most important goal of the game, so we had to add more pay-to-win elements. This is the result.”

Seeing Huang Ping standing at the door like a petrified chicken, KongKong’s expression showed no change, and he casually said to Huang Ping, “Huang, your timing is perfect. Explain to Boss Zhang what you were thinking back then?”

“It’s fine, just tell the truth. Even though it has caused a major operational incident, it doesn’t matter. As long as you admit your mistake and then we work quickly to adjust, we can still mitigate a lot of the damage.” Hearing KongKong’s shameless words, Huang Ping’s ears buzzed, and his mind went blank.

How could there be such shameless people in this world!

Although he wanted to explode with anger, thinking of all the debts and liabilities he was shouldering, Huang Ping could only force a bitter smile.

“Huang.”

There was no choice, being the scapegoat was part of a designer’s duty, and the salary paid included these responsibilities.

“Huang! Are you listening to me?”

As usual, he’d bow his head, apologize, and then continue to collect his salary and carry on like a zombie.

“Huang, let go! Stop fighting! You’ll kill someone if you keep this up!”

Only then did Huang Ping come to his senses, realizing he was straddling KongKong, his hands covered in blood.

Two colleagues were pretending to pull him back, yet Huang Ping didn’t feel a thing.

Beneath him, KongKong was beaten to the point of incoherence, blood continuously flowing from his nose like from a faucet that wasn’t closed properly.

Upon realizing what he had done, a sense of peace washed over Huang Ping’s heart.

All emotions had been vented moments ago, leaving Huang with a stark clarity. After wiping the blood from his hands onto his body, he stood up, and said to Zhang Ping in the corner with a livid face, “Boss Zhang, if you check the emails between KongKong and me, you will see our true intentions. It’s my fault this time, but I’m sure you can also find out how KongKong had previously forced overtime. I have evidence of the enforced overtime, and I’ve recorded incidents of KongKong abusing the staff. Let’s just say today’s incident is retribution; let’s all take a step back and call it even.”

After a pause, Huang Ping looked around at the people present and, with a bowed head, said, “Thank you all for your company over these nine years. I deeply regret making such an irrational act at the end. Consider my salary for this month as medical compensation. Once again, thank you all for your support and encouragement. I’m leaving.”

After he finished speaking, he turned and left.

His steps were slow but steady.

The hunch in his back straightened with each step, and at last, he stood erect like a human being, striding out of Tianyi.