Chapter 7

Gao Yang’s workstation was tucked away in a remote corner, a place few people ever came by. Even so, as he entered the name of the game he’d seen in the search ads, he couldn’t help glancing around nervously.

I’ll just play for a bit, he told himself, just long enough to register, and then I’ll quit.

He consoled himself as he moved his mouse and clicked into the game.

Wow—the moment the webpage loaded, two characters appeared, each occupying one side of the screen, with four large golden characters dominating the center: “Dragon Slayer’s Blade” caught the eye immediately.

Looking to either side, he saw a man and a woman in ornate robes—the man with both hands folded over a massive sword, the blade planted upright before him, his bearing solemn, gaze fixed ahead. The woman mirrored his stance, her robe adorned with intricate patterns, even more refined in appearance.

At first, both avatars were a little dull in color, but as Gao Yang hovered his mouse over either one, it sprang to life, bursting into vivid color and striking a sword-wielding pose. Whether male or female, both looked exceptionally impressive.

Gao Yang looked left, then right, thinking he liked both characters equally.

Back then, the “gender-bending” play style wasn’t popular yet, so Gao Yang naturally chose to create a male character.

Once I get the hang of it, I’ll bring my girlfriend in, have her make a female character and play with me, he thought, entirely unaware that he’d already subconsciously decided to commit to this game.

In the character creation screen, the male stood at the center, beside a vertical selection of weapons.

There were swords, spears, staves, and all manner of arms—the full array of eighteen traditional weapons. Gao Yang clicked through them, trying each in the avatar’s hand, before finally settling on a longsword that best suited his tastes.

Beneath the character was a rectangular input box, and below that, a “Confirm Creation” button.

Clearly, the input box was for naming the character.

It needs a bold name, Gao Yang mused, his hand hovering over the keyboard, unable to type.

Suddenly, he drew a blank.

His eyes drifted aimlessly around, searching for inspiration in his surroundings, when he noticed another button beside the name box: “Random Name,” with a friendly note underneath—You can change your name anytime after entering the game.

How considerate!

He clicked it experimentally.

“Aloof Frostblade” appeared in the box.

Not bad—just the vibe he wanted.

Gao Yang nodded in satisfaction, about to launch the game, but hesitated and clicked “Random Name” again.

Maybe there’d be an even better one.

“Dominates Alone.”

“Thunder God of War.”

“Frenzied Peak Sovereign.”

Wow, each one sounded more imposing than the last—just like the names of those over-the-top protagonists in web novels.

These names fit him perfectly!

Gao Yang felt each one struck a chord, and for a moment, he couldn’t choose.

After much deliberation, he finally decided on “Thunder God of War,” reluctantly hitting the confirm button.

“Sorry, this name is already taken. You may choose another name or purchase a 'Heaven-Defying Name Change Token' to claim this name.”

Below the “Heaven-Defying Name Change Token” was an icon.

Damn, if only I hadn’t hesitated so long!

Heart aching, Gao Yang hovered his cursor over the icon.

Thank goodness for this item.

But I haven’t even started playing—how do I get this token?

Before he could think further, the answer revealed itself—the item window opened before him.

“Heaven-Defying Name Change Token: Allows you to bypass duplicate name restrictions and claim a name once.”

A line of smaller text followed:

"My name is mine to choose, not Heaven's!"

Exactly! My name is mine to choose! Gao Yang felt a surge of pride and continued reading.

“Price: 60 yuan.”

A line was crossed through the 60.

“Special Newcomer Price: 6 yuan,” with a bold, enlarged “90% OFF” next to it.

Had he been told outright the token cost 6 yuan, Gao Yang might not have bought it. It’s just a name, after all—he could always pick another. Who would actually pay for it?

But with the original price displayed, the discount afterward, 6 yuan seemed a steal—almost like not buying it was a loss.

Gao Yang’s gaze flickered between the item description and the price, before finally gritting his teeth.

Buy!

Six yuan—what’s that, when he earned several thousand a month? Why not?

The payment process was smooth and swift. As soon as it was done, the prompt under the name box changed instantly: “This name is taken, but you may still use it. Please click Confirm to create your character.”

Confirm, confirm! This feeling of special treatment put Gao Yang in a great mood.

So what if someone beat me to the name? I can still have it!

This game’s developers really know what they’re doing—so thoughtful!

Gao Yang’s satisfaction with the game grew.

Meanwhile, in the studio.

Jiang Qiubai sat at his desk with several others gathered behind, eyes glued to a computer.

All the ads had gone out. By now, those who saw them on the subway should be arriving at their offices.

Programmer Xiao Yang switched to the backend analytics for user visits.

The numbers were clear: at first, just a trickle, then more and more, soon reaching four digits.

Minutes passed, and the visitor count stabilized at over a thousand, still climbing slowly.

Compared to blockbuster games, this was nothing. But for the staff, who’d had little faith in this project, it was a delightful surprise.

More encouraging still, the backend showed that very few users left immediately after visiting. Most chose to stay and play.

That meant the game was indeed appealing.

With such user retention, Jiang Qiubai was very pleased.

Xiao Yang, unable to hide his emotions, let out a triumphant “Yes!” as the burden in his heart lifted.

No need to worry about a disastrous launch now.

No one chided him; all eyes were on the slowly rising numbers, faces bright with joy, their hearts cheering along with Xiao Yang—restrained, but no less heartfelt.

Stage one was safely passed. Now for the second.

Xiao Yang switched the screen to real-time revenue.

According to Jiang Qiubai’s plan, this was the moment when players faced their first decision about whether or not to pay. Of course, those lucky enough to grab distinctive names might have skipped this step.

“I wonder how many will buy our Name Change Card,” said systems designer Xiao Li, nervously clenching his fists.

“Six yuan isn’t much—maybe…a hundred?” Old Liu guessed, aiming to be optimistic.

“Be bolder. We have four or five thousand players online right now,” Jiang Qiubai encouraged.

“Then…two hundred?” That was the best Old Liu dared hope for.

Two hundred purchases would mean 1,200 yuan!

Jiang Qiubai shook his head.

Too low.

He said nothing more—after all, they’d see the results in a few minutes.

With revenue at stake, everyone’s attention grew intense—they nearly pressed their faces to the screen.

“It’s happening—someone just paid!” Xiao Yang was first to notice the uptick, pointing excitedly.

“Damn, sixty Name Change Cards sold already?” Xiao Li exclaimed.

The number climbed rapidly.

“Two hundred—already! In just a few minutes!”

“Five hundred—do all these people struggle with naming?”

“Eight hundred—almost a thousand!”

The rate slowed but continued to rise.

“One thousand! We’ve sold a thousand Name Change Cards! Boss, you’re amazing!”

It had barely been ten minutes since they’d switched to the income dashboard, and already a thousand cards had sold.

Looking at Jiang Qiubai, sitting calmly in the center as if everything had unfolded according to plan, Xiao Wu felt like kneeling in awe.

As the newly-appointed narrative designer, she’d wondered why he’d only asked her to come up with a dozen names for the random name pool—surely that wouldn’t last long.

As for the Name Change Card, would anyone really pay to change a free name?

Xiao Wu had found it hard to imagine.

Yet reality had slapped her in the face.

Not only did people buy them—a lot did.

Over a thousand, making up one-fifth of the current player base! That meant, on average, one in five players had bought a Name Change Card.

Xiao Wu now had only one thought:

Respect!

The boss lived up to his reputation.

Only Xiao Wang, amid the celebration, muttered, “If we’d known so many would buy in, we should’ve set the price higher.”

“The original price would’ve worked,” he lamented. “A thousand at six yuan is just six thousand, but if we’d set it at ten yuan, that’d be ten thousand! At the original price of sixty, it would’ve been sixty thousand! Sixty thousand—reduced to six thousand just like that!”

“If we’d stuck with the original price, we wouldn’t have sold a thousand—maybe not even ten,” Jiang Qiubai replied coolly.

Why had so many bought it? Because he’d tapped into their love of a bargain.

A product priced directly at six yuan, versus one marked at sixty but sold for six—most people would pick the latter, feeling they’d gotten a great deal.

That was what Jiang Qiubai banked on.

“Let it go—when has the boss ever been wrong?” Old Liu pulled Xiao Wang back before he could ruin the mood.

“Exactly. The boss said the Name Change Card would sell well, and look—he was right.”

“Absolutely.”

With the first revenue rolling in, just as Jiang Qiubai had predicted, everyone except Xiao Wang was now fully convinced.

They stared at the screen with greater anticipation.

Because, according to Jiang Qiubai’s plan, the Name Change Card was just the appetizer.

The real feast was yet to come.

At that moment, Gao Yang had just made his second payment in the game.

And the time between his first and second recharge?

Six minutes.