Chapter Fourteen: The Players' Curses Resound Through Heaven!

As the momentum picked up, even Wang Feng, who had recently been frequently summoned by the authorities, disregarded the risk of increasing suspicion and headed to the station. He ruthlessly commanded the peak players to participate in the siege.

Wang Feng had everything arranged—he didn’t even need to worry about being interrogated again and told the company to keep firing.

“Li Yunlong, you fire—don’t worry about me!”

“Police, if you have the guts, shoot me dead!”

“If we capitalists had the means, we’d even sell bullets to shoot ourselves!”

With the help of rival players, the comment sections across all Maodou accounts had been completely overrun.

Even the comment section under the “Last Words” video had shifted from tearful sympathy to outright disdain:

“Old liar!”

“Such a damn liar, shouldn’t have believed your nonsense!”

“Masterpiece? More like a pile of crap!”

“Your son is indeed more perverse than you—like father, like son, you two definitely $#%@…”—this kind of crude language flooded the comments.

Some even sent direct messages to the “Big Sun Brother” account, ignoring the unspoken rule of respecting the deceased.

Now, the players’ jeers were loud enough to echo to the heavens.

Gu Meng scrolled past the insults and returned to the earliest news reports, searching for the cause.

Of course, rival companies had the ability to fan the flames, but if the game itself hadn’t been flawed, it would never have escalated this quickly.

As Gu Meng traced the news back further, he finally found the source.

He noticed that in the early days, the public opinion was fine—mainstream voices praised “Pure Love Warrior Simulator” because it was genuinely fun.

Previously, China had lacked such a finely detailed urban life simulation game, with a sense of immersion surpassing even major foreign titles.

Until someone—possibly an early access player who broke the confidentiality agreement, or perhaps a speedrunner who discovered the hidden ending and uploaded it—changed the tide.

“Pure Love Warrior Simulator? No, it’s clearly the Green Turtle Simulator.”

On Bilibili, this video’s views were approaching those of Gu Ritian’s “Last Words” video. The uploader was an ordinary streamer with a modest fanbase in the gaming category.

After this video, many others began to jump on the bandwagon, criticizing the game to ride the wave of traffic.

Frowning, Gu Meng clicked on the video.

There was no fluff—the video opened with how to unlock the hidden ending.

It directly revealed the true nature of the so-called “pure love” game’s only heroine.

Gu Meng was shocked to learn that when submitting a bride price and reaching the “happy ending” of marriage, the in-game month allowed the player to return to Youth City University.

There, the player would uncover clues that the heroine had been secretly dating another male student on campus for ten months.

Gu Meng: What? Seriously?

The streamer then controlled the character to find the heroine, now newly engaged, only to be blocked and beaten by the heroine’s lover and five friends.

What?

If the player failed, the heroine would engage in intimate acts with six male supporting characters right before the protagonist’s collapsed form.

What the hell? This plot is insane!

The chat was filled with question marks.

“Are you guys crazy? A 1v6 fight right under the dorm windows? Aren’t you afraid of being seen by classmates? Who the hell wrote this script?”

“This isn’t just disgusting; it’s completely illogical—like forcing feces down our throats!”

Gu Meng, seeing this Easter egg for the first time, posted a question mark in the chat himself.

But it didn’t end there.

If this ending could be dismissed as a failure or a “bad end” that might be somewhat redeemable, the subsequent victorious outcome was even more baffling.

Even if the player defeated the six men, the heroine would spout classic rhetoric about “sexual freedom,” making the whole thing impossible to swallow.

This was maddening.

Both players and Gu Meng were livid.

The protagonist could only choose to “forgive her” to reach the true happy ending.

The ending’s cutscene featured the main character’s vacant yet “innocent” smile, dripping with sarcasm.

All the previous work, grinding, and self-improvement—

Marrying the “pure” college girl and establishing a happy family—

It all turned into a joke, utterly meaningless.

A mere snippet of extra content overturned everything.

Uninterested in the plot and as the nominal designer of the game, Gu Meng had to declare: this game was now a steaming pile of rubbish.

Reading this far, he thought not even system optimization or his own publicity stunt “Last Words” could save it—not even Jesus could save this.

No matter how meticulously wrapped in chocolate, with layers of delicious jam, feces is still feces.

If swallowed before the last layer melts, you might be fooled—but now, someone was telling players, “You’ve eaten shit!”

Truly, a single rotten apple spoiled the whole barrel.

Players immediately lashed out: “Is this designer out to get the protagonist? No, out to get us? Are they trying to disgust us?”

“I f***ing… $#@!@!”

The chat was flooded with vulgarities. A few players still claimed the game was fun or spoke up as loyal Maodou fans, only to be mercilessly attacked.

Truth be told, Gu Meng himself wanted to lash out.

No wonder players threatened to gather downstairs and cross network lines to attack.

This backlash was far worse than the last false advertising scandal, where the game was promoted as a harem but was actually single heroine.

The previous incident was a perfect storm—timing, place, and people aligned, and the game itself was normal, without any “green” scenarios, with multiple factors influencing the backlash.

But this time, it was unquestionably the game’s own fault.

Who was the designer? They deserved a thousand cuts!

Wait—designer? That’s me?

Damn, I deserve a thousand cuts too!

I’m really doomed!

Gu Meng’s mind echoed Meng Juju’s boastful words: “A reversal of perspective and free spirit…”

“Simultaneously satisfying female players and deviant players…”

His head throbbed, the room spun, his blood pressure soared, and he nearly fainted.

He had once dreamed of becoming a god of games—now all hope was lost.

Without surprise, this dark chapter would be forever engraved on the players’ pillar of shame.

Faint sounds came from downstairs—was it a hallucination, or were players actually gathering?

Gu Meng dared not peek, fearing stones would be thrown.

China was no TGA awards ceremony; players here were far less polite.

Speaking of which, it was impressive that TGA managed to save “The Last of Us 2” from a wave of negative reviews to a mixed reception.

Some would argue that although the game was a narrative-driven title with some disgusting elements, its gameplay was excellent; ignoring the story, it was a pseudo-masterpiece, thus a minor god-tier game.

Opponents would say it was a beautifully packaged pile of garbage, a victim of political correctness—wake up; a thrilling pile of shit is still shit!

At least that game had some fighting chance; Gu Meng’s game had none.

Ultimately, a game that lacks clear positioning and disgusts players deserves to be torn apart!

Especially when others might truly have political correctness and powerful dark forces shielding them.

Casual players could somewhat understand that developers might not be malicious but coerced, or simply bungled an elaborate idea—the intent wasn’t necessarily to disgust.

Some major plot flaws might be balanced out, with some players not even finding it problematic.

But “Pure Love Warrior Simulator” had no such protection, and its disgusting plot was far more blatant than “The Last of Us 2.”

Forcing the protagonist into a cuckold ending was pure, unadulterated shit—no excuses.

Gu Meng couldn’t imagine how to justify it.

If he aired Meng Juju’s insane rhetoric about female freedom, waving that flag, the authorities might accuse it of “low-level incitement of division” and forcibly remove the game.

Entirely possible! Deep down, Gu Meng wanted the officials to do just that—this game deserved a ban!

He felt shattered.

He had been careless, wanting to erase his past self.

One misstep, all ruined.

Now, even revisions were impossible.

The demo’s completion was too low, and although this version was said to be made by Gu Meng, nearly all work was done by the system.

To modify it, the system had to approve changes, and it was set to the most expensive—not necessarily the best—standards.

Any later changes would cost astronomical sums, at least nine figures!

Gu Ritian had it tough too, working with these bugs, managing to avoid major scandals until the last few projects spiraled out of control.

The “masterpiece” Pure Love Warrior storyline was a massive failure.

Yet this pile of excrement fell squarely on Gu Meng.

He had underestimated them!

When working with these idiots on games, everything should be checked multiple times!

Those millions of words of text should have been personally reviewed!

Letting so many supportive players eat shit, he truly deserved a thousand cuts!

What now?

…

Just then, the streamer “It’s Dog Trash, Not Xun Yu” released a new game walkthrough video.

…