Seven Kingdoms of Conquest and Playboy went live at nearly the same time.
Jili Company demonstrated their formidable promotional capabilities: Seven Kingdoms of Conquest shot to the top of every chart almost immediately. Their game content was virtually identical to Invincible Warrior, but the system was nowhere near as elegantly designed.
They probably knew this themselves, and didn’t aspire for the game to last long — it was a one-wave hit, designed to make as much money as possible.
“Their game’s interconnectivity is too strong,” said Zhang Fang. After weeks of fuming, he had finally achieved the composure to study the enemy. “Their in-game currency is universal across all their titles. If a player downloads one game and levels their character to the appropriate rank, they earn currency that can be used in their other games as well. There’s no counter to this — even players who don’t like this particular game will play it for the sake of their other titles.”
A crowd was squeezed into the cramped conference room, with Zhang Fang analyzing the rival camp’s strategy. After so much coaching, his reports had finally taken on a respectable shape.
“But this is their signature approach, and there’s not much we can do about it. The main purpose of today’s meeting is still Playboy…” Zhang Fang brought up their own project and said mournfully, “Team Lead Li, I’m sorry. The company simply has no money left for promotion.”
Zhu Yun: “Not a single coin?”
Zhang Fang said painfully, “To be completely honest — last week we sold the company’s spare monitors and desktop computers just to scrape together payroll.”
Zhu Yun looked wordlessly at Dong Siyang. Had it really gotten this dire?
Dong Siyang sat in his chair with his eyes closed, resting. Beside him, Zhao Teng was slouched lazily in his chair and let out a long sigh: “Even landlords have no grain to spare these days.”
“Hmph.” A single contemptuous snort rang out, unusually sharp in the small conference room.
Everyone turned in unison to look at Hou Ning, who sat unremarkably in the corner. Zhu Yun didn’t know what Li Xun had said to him, but one week after the incident, Hou Ning had shown up to work at Feiyang.
Zhang Fang had never had much patience for newcomers. He pointed at Hou Ning and said, “And what exactly are you smirking about? If it weren’t for the mess you caused a while back, would we be in this frantic scramble right now?”
Hou Ning’s face went pale under the accusation. He retorted, “What does that have to do with me? Yes, I breached the system — but I didn’t end up destroying any data.”
Zhang Fang roared, “You’d dare destroy the data?!”
Hou Ning went even paler, lips trembling. “What’s the big deal anyway — it’s just money, isn’t it? Name your figure.”
At that, everyone turned their heads to look at Zhu Yun again. She had grown nearly immune to his remarks at this point and couldn’t be bothered to speak. She raised her hand and pointed at the wall at the back of the conference room.
A banner hung on that wall, which Zhu Yun had put up on the day Hou Ning joined the company.
Given that nearly half the people in the company had served five or more years in prison, and given Hou Ning’s longstanding habits, and given Dong Siyang’s earth-shattering methods of resolving problems — Zhu Yun felt the constant reminder was necessary.
She had taken the sixth of Google’s “Ten Commandments” and hung it on the wall:
“You make money without doing evil.”
From then on, the nickname “Political Commissar Zhu” spread throughout the company.
Hou Ning bowed his head and said nothing. Zhang Fang deflated and sank back into his chair. Only Li Xun, completely unconcerned, lit a cigarette.
“Don’t worry about my project,” he said.
Zhang Fang: “Even the best game is worthless without promotion.”
Li Xun: “I said don’t worry about it.”
Zhang Fang: “You’re not thinking of going to Zhao Guowei again, are you? She can’t help with promotion — a sixty-year-old woman trying to—”
“Are you done?” Li Xun looked at him. Zhang Fang instantly fell silent.
Li Xun got up and left the conference room.
Zhang Fang banged his forehead on the table. “What are we going to do — I can’t communicate with him anymore. I don’t even dare talk to him…”
“It’s fine,” Zhu Yun reassured him. “He said not to worry about it — just take him at his word. If something goes wrong, it’s on him.”
Zhu Yun said this half-jokingly.
She wasn’t worried. Li Xun never made empty promises. If he said he had a plan, he had a plan.
And Li Xun had indeed found a promotional solution. Three days later, Zhu Yun saw Ren Di at the office.
That day Zhu Yun arrived early as usual. When she walked in, she found Li Xun sitting in his chair as always, and leaning against the desk in front of him was a lean, sharp-edged silhouette.
Ren Di wore a white button-down shirt, one hand tucked in her trouser pocket, the other holding a cigarette. Her skin was startlingly fair, which made her slender brows appear starkly dark. Her hair was loosely tied back with many loose strands falling free. The hand holding the cigarette was slender and long. The smoke drifted through the air as still as the room itself.
The way she looked at Li Xun was exactly the same as it had been at the start of their freshman year — mutual scorn and rivalry, with just a hint of grudging kinship.
With all three of them in the same space, Zhu Yun felt a strange dislocation in time. She could feel how much things had changed — none of them were young anymore. The years had left indelible marks on each of them, especially after everything they had been through. The traces of youth on each of them were growing fewer.
But at least there were moments of reunion like this.
Li Xun looked toward the door. Ren Di noticed and turned around. She raised her cigarette toward Zhu Yun with a slight smile. The white shirt caught the light behind her, and she looked impossibly cool.
Zhu Yun walked over, and Ren Di opened her arms and pulled her in. Ren Di’s hands weren’t entirely well-behaved — she grabbed at Zhu Yun a few times, then looked over Zhu Yun’s shoulder at Li Xun with a provocative expression.
Li Xun twisted the corner of his mouth and let out a cold, short laugh.
Zhu Yun straightened up. “Weren’t you in Beijing? When did you get back?”
Ren Di: “Last night. Someone made me come back.”
Zhu Yun looked at Li Xun — she understood that he had called Ren Di in for promotional purposes. At that moment, voices came from the door: Zhang Fang and Zhao Teng had arrived, deep in lively debate about what to have for lunch. Zhang Fang walked in, noticed an unfamiliar person with a distinctly refined presence, paused for a moment — and then suddenly recognized who it was, covering his mouth with a sharp intake of breath.
“Am I seeing things…” Zhang Fang whispered to Zhao Teng, “that’s the lead singer of Qinghong, right?”
Zhao Teng was a little dumbstruck too. “Should be. We can’t both be hallucinating at the same time.”
Ren Di asked Li Xun: “So the requirements are what you just told me?”
“Right,” Li Xun said. “You’d better try to convince Jin Cheng. No need for an obvious ad — just take a photo of him playing the game and post it. Don’t mention the game in the caption. Just say he’s relaxing, taking a break. People will naturally dig into the details themselves.”
Ren Di snorted coldly. “You certainly know how to orchestrate things.” She pressed her cigarette out in front of Li Xun and pulled Zhu Yun aside: “Come chat with me for a bit.”