Chapter 17

Old Liu left the office with an expression that was difficult to describe. Jiang Qiubai, meanwhile, returned to his seat and continued to ponder deeply. As he had mentioned before, this game, though it seemed to be a smash hit at first glance, was limited in scope; eventually, someone would finish everything it had to offer. When that day came, it would mark the beginning of the game's gradual decline in popularity.

He had considered whether he should regularly update with new maps or versions to keep the players engaged and the experience fresh. But inspiration was a finite resource, and one person's design style could become overly familiar and tiresome over time. If only someone's creativity could be endless—wait, perhaps that was possible.

After much deliberation, Jiang Qiubai thought of a way that could benefit both himself and the players. He was still weighing whether to let players set their own prices or to establish a unified pricing scheme himself.

As he was considering the pros and cons, his phone suddenly rang. He was momentarily stunned. It had been over a month since his transmigration; the original owner's parents had died young, and there were no close relatives. When employees needed him, they usually sent messages. This was the first time he had received a call in this world, and it was from an unfamiliar number with a strange area code.

Could something have happened to the original owner’s family? Jiang Qiubai racked his brain for any memories related to the original owner's relatives and answered the call, silently waiting for the other party to speak. At the very least, he needed to know who was calling.

“Someone has their eye on you recently—they want to use the hype around the Dragon-Slaying Blade to promote their new game.” The caller stated the name of the studio and the game. The voice seemed to have been processed, laced with a faint electronic buzz.

“And you are?” Jiang Qiubai tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.

“Just think of me as a righteous passerby,” the other replied, unwilling to reveal more. “They’re already building up momentum for that game, using the same slogans as yours, claiming it's a permanently free game.”

“Righteous passerby, then?” Jiang Qiubai carefully considered the form of address. “Thank you for telling me all this.”

“That’s it? And then?” The caller sounded dissatisfied. “Aren’t you going to do something to stop them?”

“Stop them?” Jiang Qiubai echoed softly. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Their promotional tactics are almost identical to yours,” the caller emphasized. “If you don’t stop them, players will be drawn away.”

“And would you be?” Jiang Qiubai countered.

“Of course I wouldn’t—” The caller replied instinctively, then realized he’d been led into a trap, and his tone darkened. “It’s not about me. You should be thinking about the majority of the players.”

Jiang Qiubai was silent for a moment before finally saying, “Thank you. I’ll take a look at that game.”

The person on the other end seemed a bit unsatisfied but didn’t press further, only reiterating, “You must keep your players, or the next sect tournament will be meaningless.”

Clearly, this was someone who had spent a fair amount on the game.

After these words, the caller didn’t hang up right away. Instead, there was a long silence. Jiang Qiubai also didn’t end the call, waiting patiently.

After a while, a reluctant voice came through, “Will there be any new events in the game later on?”

The caller seemed to realize this was inappropriate and quickly promised, “I’m just curious. I absolutely won’t tell anyone else.”

Jiang Qiubai couldn’t help but laugh. He picked a piece of information he thought would interest the other. “To provide players with sufficient challenge, if a guild wins the sect tournament in a server several times in a row, we’ll consider merging that server with another in the same situation.”

In simpler terms, server merges.

Jiang Qiubai made it sound noble, as if every word was for the benefit of the players. In reality, he had thought of this at the very beginning of the game’s design. As a game progressed, the top guilds in each server would eventually stabilize, and people would inevitably feel the lack of challenge and excitement.

This was an unavoidable trend, and the only way to liven things up was to offer a more stimulating experience. At that point, Jiang Qiubai would merge servers where the top guilds were of equal strength.

Bored of always being number one? Then I’ll parachute in the first guild from another server and reignite your fighting spirit.

That’s how you keep things lively and exciting. This was also why Jiang Qiubai had chosen to open so many servers—he could merge them at will.

“Good, very good,” the caller sounded genuinely interested. “I’ve long disliked the leader of the neighboring server’s guild. If it weren’t for the fact that there are only two guilds over there, would he even be number one? When the servers merge, I’ll be the first to challenge him.”

With that, the call was promptly ended.

Jiang Qiubai put down the phone, his expression darkening at once.

Who was this person, able to obtain his information so easily?

Even if this person seemed to be on his side for now, what if that changed in the future?

If he knew Jiang Qiubai’s phone number, could he also access company secrets?

If any secrets were leaked…

Jiang Qiubai fell silent for a moment.

It seemed, at present, the studio didn’t really have any secrets worth leaking.

Still, it was troubling that he had overlooked this. Clearly, in the future, he would need to strengthen cybersecurity.

He decided to spend heavily on hiring professionals to ensure the studio’s firewall was secure. This caller had come with good intentions, but next time, it might not be so benign.

After emphasizing to Old Liu that they must find capable people to maintain network security, Jiang Qiubai finally turned his attention to the matter the caller had mentioned.

He wasn’t surprised—his game had made three million in revenue on the first day it launched. It had surely made many studios of similar scale green with envy.

Other people might not care, but industry insiders could immediately tell that the production cost of his game was not high.

Low cost, high return—how tantalizing.

Given such temptation, it was only natural that someone would take action. Considering the timeline, from the moment the idea was conceived to the release of a finished product, it would take just about a few days.

Recalling the game name the caller had mentioned, Jiang Qiubai searched it online and immediately found related advertisements.

He was reading through them when Xiao Yang, whom he’d tasked with an update, walked in. He was about to speak, but after glancing at the advertisement, he swallowed his words. “Whoa, boss, isn’t that our game? Someone copied us?”

That was Xiao Yang’s first reaction, and it was hard to blame him. The ad looked almost identical to the ones their studio had previously released, except the background had been changed to a starry sky. Otherwise, it was the same: fighting monsters, loot pouring out, and a bold line proclaiming the game was free.

Jiang Qiubai didn’t respond, but followed the ad to the game’s pre-registration page and glanced at the description.

Then he closed the page with relief.

Nothing to worry about.

Xiao Yang read the description too, looking conflicted but finally asking in a much quieter voice, “Boss, should we contact their studio?”

“Contact them? Do their game’s background and ours match?” Jiang Qiubai asked.

Xiao Yang hesitated. “No, theirs is a space war game, but they have a lot of recharge packs, just like us.”

In his view, this was basically copying their core concept.

“And is the gameplay the same as ours?” Jiang Qiubai continued.

Xiao Yang fell silent again. “…Their gameplay involves leveling up, developing planets, building starships, fighting for control of other planets, but there are still lots of recharge packs like ours.”

The main point, in his mind, was the abundance of recharge packs!

The other side had even listed recharge packs prominently in their description and offered a promotion: pre-register now and get them at a tenth of the price.

“So in your eyes, our game is all about recharge packs?” Jiang Qiubai chuckled and shook his head. “It’s clear they spent time making this game; the gameplay is different from ours. They probably envied our revenue and quickly turned some items into recharge packs. As for the ad, it’s just a way to ride our wave of popularity.”

Though the ad was similar, once you read the description, it was obvious the gameplay was entirely different.

Jiang Qiubai mused inwardly: People in this world still had some integrity—at worst, they just copied marketing tactics.

Unlike in his previous world, where if a game went viral today, several clones would pop up tomorrow.

There was nothing you could do about it, or even if you tried to sue, it was unlikely to have any effect. Everyone in the industry knew that when it came to plagiarism in games, it was difficult to get the desired outcome.

Legally, the most important factor was whether the underlying code was identical, then the text, art, music, or well-known character names. It seemed comprehensive, but there were still significant loopholes.

For example, the most attractive aspect of a game—its gameplay.

You release a “Happy Farm” today, and tomorrow I’ll launch a “Joyful Ranch.” You have a certain feature? So do I. But all the text, sound effects, and visuals are my own.

What can you do about that?

In Jiang Qiubai’s original world, it was common for big companies, upon seeing a promising game from another studio, to contact them for acquisition. If that failed, they’d immediately release a clone, using their traffic to crush the original.

Such things happened all the time. So even when he first thought someone had copied Dragon-Slaying Blade, Jiang Qiubai felt little emotional turbulence.

Nothing new—he was used to it.

Compared to those tactics, a studio using only this mild approach to ride the trend was already quite conscientious.

“Will this affect our player base?” Xiao Yang was still worried, his face creased with concern.

What a loyal employee, Jiang Qiubai thought with approval, then shook his head. “Don’t bother about that game—it won’t cause any waves.”