Chapter 13

At seven in the evening, Jiang Qiubai sat alone in his office, quietly admiring the moonlight.

The trending topic from the afternoon was still lingering, and the most direct impact on the studio was that the official account had gained nearly fifty thousand followers. Of course, not all of them could be considered true fans. Apart from that, the game’s revenue hadn’t declined; in fact, after Meng Fusheng spoke out, it miraculously saw a slight increase. At this rate, it was entirely possible for the daily income to break three million. With just a day’s earnings, Jiang Qiubai could pay off his loans.

Yet he knew well he was only benefiting from the lack of pay-to-win games in this world. If the game continued to operate like this, in less than two months it would inevitably become a dead zone ruled solely by high-spending players. After all, this was the first game he’d created in this world; while making money was important, reputation mattered too. Otherwise, whenever people mentioned Dreamweaver Studio, the first word that came to mind would be “scam,” and that would not do.

It was clear something had to change. From the backend, he noticed that the handful of players who had spent over 200,000 were all establishing their own guilds upon reaching max level. Perhaps, he thought, this could be an entry point.

Jiang Qiubai opened his computer and began typing, then reached out to Xiao Wu once again.

At eight in the evening, just as most people finished a long day’s work and began to unwind, a number of those who usually paid attention to games stumbled upon Luo Big Mouth’s latest rant video, watching with interest as the comments section filled up with more and more complaints about the game.

“This studio might have some tricks up its sleeve,” some thought, and a portion clicked into Dreamweaver Studio’s official account. The latest post there was still the announcement from the game’s launch, already surrounded by angry comments.

“Open up! Don’t hide in there and stay silent! I know you’re home!” read one reply, heavily liked by the crowd.

Just as everyone thought Dreamweaver Studio would keep playing dead, an image suddenly appeared in their feeds.

Dreamweaver Studio V: [Image]

It was a long image, filled with thousands of earnest characters. First, it sincerely admitted its mistakes—though it carefully avoided mentioning how outrageous the gift packs were—simply stating that the leveling process had indeed been cumbersome. Over the next two days, they would push out continuous updates without server downtime, aiming to make it possible for players to easily reach max level within a week under any circumstances, to experience the world beyond. They would also gradually unlock more maps for exploration. Some in-game items would become unbound drops from monsters, facilitating player-to-player trading. Additionally, they would increase the benefits for members of winning guilds in the guild tournament, such as custom guild emblems and special nameplate effects.

Lastly, as compensation, after the first guild tournament—which would conclude in fifteen days—they would release a free single-player mini-game. Players could pre-register via a link and receive exclusive rewards afterwards.

In summary: “We were wrong, we’re lowering the difficulty and increasing rewards, and we hope you’ll keep an eye on our new game.”

The players who had been complaining were delighted; in their eyes, this announcement was proof that their criticism had been acknowledged! The changes were thanks to them! New players, take note—if not for our righteous complaints, things wouldn’t be this easy for you! The company’s attitude seems decent enough, so… I guess I’ll keep playing.

High-spending players like Meng Fusheng were also satisfied. The updates hadn’t reduced their rewards; items formerly exclusive to the shop could now drop in-game, saving them some money. More importantly, the new guild benefits were unique and impressive—they were pleased! As guild leaders, this mattered to them most.

Players who hadn’t tried the game were equally satisfied. With the changes, they could reach max level without spending money, and with some luck, even earn valuable drops to sell. Why not give it a try?

Jiang Qiubai, naturally, was also pleased—after the announcement, the player count shot up into five digits. The future looked bright.

A situation had emerged in which everyone felt they’d won something. Satisfied, the players magnanimously clicked the pre-registration link for the second game. Since the studio had admitted its mistakes and made amends, they’d show some support.

To put it kindly, the pre-registration page was minimalist; to be honest, it was crude. The rough lines and disproportionate characters screamed unreliability. Clearly a last-minute attempt to appease everyone. Forget it, let’s move on.

But as these skeptical players read the registration blurb for the second game, they were taken aback.

“Note: Players with high blood pressure, please do not enter the game. Others should control their emotions while playing to avoid unnecessary distress.”

What kind of game could provoke illness? Some immediately bookmarked the pre-registration page out of curiosity. They wanted to see what kind of medicine this studio was selling in its gourd.

Among those who bookmarked it was Luo Big Mouth, who had previously lambasted Dreamweaver Studio. He was more invested than most. At first, he just wanted to vent his frustration, and the surge of new followers from his rant video had been an unexpected bonus.

But having tasted the fruits of increased traffic, his goal began to shift. Given the nature of “Dragon Slayer Sabre,” this “free” game would surely have its traps! Then, once again, he could don his mantle of justice and lead the charge against the studio. Perfect!

Luo Big Mouth noted the launch date in his memo, determined to jump in as soon as the game opened, record material, and edit another rant video.

Almost everyone was satisfied with this outcome.

Except for Xiao Yang and Xiao Zhang, who learned the next day that they had two days to overhaul the program, launch new maps, and push out updates without shutting down the servers. For the sake of their future bonuses, they gritted their teeth and, after a full demonstration of human potential, delivered the updates right on time.

Taking advantage of the update, Jiang Qiubai also had Xiao Yang lift the restrictions on minors. After all, once the update was live, anyone willing to put in the time could play without spending money.

As for how the free-to-play experience would be? Well, as long as the game was playable, what more could they expect?

Of course, there were still players who, after the update, continued to vent in the comments, complaining that after reaching max level, they couldn’t beat anyone but monsters, and that one hit from another player would lay them flat.

A kind-hearted player would toss over a gear template, saying, “Follow this template and you’ll be able to withstand at least two more hits.” The complainer, touched, opened the template—only to be overwhelmed by the dense text and images, quickly closing it again.

The helpful player insisted, “If you don’t spend money, you’ll just have to put in more time. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Did you think a guild would just take you in and hand you gear?”

The complainer, however, took the words to heart. He remembered that there was a guild on his server constantly recruiting, advertising that anyone who joined would receive top-tier gear.

He hurried back into the game and contacted the guild’s recruitment officer. After inspecting his equipment, the officer asked, “Can you switch to a better set? Your damage is too low.”

That’s why I came to you for new gear, he thought, replying, “I haven’t spent any money, this is all I have.”

“Can you be online consistently for four hours a day to farm materials for the guild?” the officer pressed.

Am I just here to be exploited? he thought, bluntly replying, “I don’t like grinding.”

“Then can you promote our guild on major websites and help recruit?” the officer asked again.

“No.” This time, he didn’t even bother with an excuse.

“If you can’t do any of that, why should we accept you into our guild?”

He made a valid point—there was nothing to refute.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. After the update, especially in the earliest servers, several guilds, vying for the top spot, were recruiting aggressively—today one offered legendary gear, tomorrow another promised weapon upgrades, the next day someone else covered full armor enhancements. It was a show of strength, with each guild flaunting its power.

The perks grew ever more extravagant, but so did the requirements. To gain entry, players had to make considerable efforts to boost their power.

In this environment, those unwilling to spend—aside from a few professional traders farming items for profit—were mostly casuals with no interest in guilds, simply whiling away their time.

The game began to develop its own ecosystem, with player numbers and revenue stabilizing at last. This was exactly what Jiang Qiubai had hoped for.

He finally relaxed, handing the game over to Old Liu after outlining the overall direction, and started work on the second game.

At the thought of its content, a smile played about Jiang Qiubai’s lips. He could hardly wait to see how players would react.

With the lessons learned, everyone cooperated fully this time, offering no objections. The game and the official website were ready before the guild tournament began.

Time flew by. Thanks to the revenue during this period, the studio finally escaped the shadow of bankruptcy, even turning a modest profit. This, of course, was largely thanks to the unwavering support of those guild leaders determined to claim first place. Thanks to their efforts, the first guild tournament concluded perfectly.

The winning guild leaders were delighted with their privileges, getting creative with server names—some for recruitment, some to taunt the runner-up guild, some even for public confessions. As long as they didn’t violate any rules, Jiang Qiubai approved them all.

Guild members basked in collective pride, parading their dazzling effects across the game world. Not content with just in-game bragging, and with plenty of money to spare, they commissioned commemorative videos to show off on various platforms.

Thanks to this peculiar form of publicity, the game experienced another surge in popularity, and Jiang Qiubai took the opportunity to launch the long-prepared second game.