Chapter 31: Pal Combinations

Every workstation at Xuan Games now features that 4399-style version of "Legends of Heroes: Past and Present." It is rather rough, turn-based, and the visuals are quite simple—reminiscent of "Jin Yong Heroes 2" or "Jin Yong Heroes 3."

However—

"This is, this is incredible! Is Mr. Gu really this amazing? He actually made this game in just a few days?"

Lu Pa, an outstanding newcomer handpicked by Gu Meng, couldn't help but exclaim. Having scored highly on all the system-generated tests—showing proficiency in everything and possessing experience in developing two indie games solo—Lu Pa was a rising star. He had once worked with his close friend, Huan Shou, on a martial arts game that, while not a commercial hit, sold tens of thousands of copies—a significant achievement for a newcomer.

Gu Meng thought they were quite talented too; he had played their game, and for a two-man workshop, the level of polish was impressive. Their game used a pixel art style; ignoring the plot, the quality was far superior to "Tales of Wuxia" from his previous life, though slightly behind "Sword and Fairy: Together Forever." Gu Meng knew his own standing: he was a cheater using a system, whereas they were the ones with genuine talent.

Because Lu Pa had built games himself, he understood exactly what it meant to produce a fully functional, potentially hit-worthy game like "Legends of Heroes: Past and Present" in mere days. It wasn't just the creativity; the game felt far too substantial to be a mere demo for Gu Meng’s vision. The numerical balancing, the various plot scripts, the maps, the characters, the skill effects—the sheer volume of work was staggering.

"Perhaps this is the gap between true geniuses and the rest of us. There is a thick, impenetrable wall between us," remarked Huan Shou, who sat next to Lu Pa. He, too, was filled with awe. "You have to realize, even for 'Pure Love Warrior Simulator,' the development cycle was six months. Mr. Gu has had less than half that time, and he had to deal with the affairs of the former Mr. Gu in between. I heard the final product of that game was almost entirely the work of Mr. Gu alone."

"The workload contributed by Mao Dou was actually just the voice acting and a portion of the script."

"I asked colleagues for the demos that the others at Mao Dou worked on for the main body of the game, and they were an absolute mess. You couldn't even call them 'irrelevant'—you could barely recognize them as a game at all."

"No wonder Mr. Gu fired them all. 'Salary thief' doesn't even begin to cover it; they were fraudsters. The two of us could have done a better job than all of them combined."

Huan Shou’s eyes sparkled as he spoke of the brilliance of "Pure Love." Lu Pa grew excited as well: "Only after joining the company did I realize that Mr. Gu’s work speed is at least ten, maybe even nine times faster than what we imagined for a world-class producer. His speed is simply not human."

The "Pal of Illusions" duo had joined the company at the same time. They were childhood friends and neighbors who had attended the same elementary, high school, and university, and had even shared an apartment after graduation to develop games. After "Pure Love," Gu Meng was showered with praise from both inside and outside the industry. His intelligence, ability, and professional attitude were rock-solid. With just one project, he had become a living legend, a young emperor of the industry. They had both become his fans. They had originally planned to continue making indie games, but on a whim, they submitted their resumes to Xuan Games and moved all the way from Zhuhuang City in the south to Donghua City.

Gu Meng valued them highly. They were "super-worker" types who could develop games at lightning speed. Each was a jack-of-all-trades who lacked no confidence, and they could each do the work of five people. When working together, their "friendship bond" bonus made them even faster, essentially functioning as a small, high-efficiency studio. But after seeing Gu Meng, they were humbled.

When they first entered the company, Gu Meng had shown off by finishing that 4399-style mini-game in front of the newcomers. His keyboard speed was practically supernatural—a constant, rhythmic clatter. They felt like authors who updated two thousand words a day watching someone write two hundred thousand, shouting that he was invincible. Their own two-thousand-word daily output required their absolute best, and even then, it was often bloated with repetitive content. Meanwhile, his two-hundred-thousand-word output was at the level of a classic masterpiece, with not a hint of sloppiness. Seeing him write it with their own eyes, the duo felt as if their understanding of reality was crumbling.

The system had a fail-safe mechanism, so no one suspected Gu Meng was a transmigrator with a system. Ultimately, all the newcomers viewed Gu Meng as a god among men, an emperor of the industry, bowing their heads in reverence. How could such a stunning genius exist in this world!

"True enough, after all, it’s Mr. Gu..." Lu Pa nodded. Though it was magical, since it was Mr. Gu who did it, it was no longer surprising.

...

In this world, the novels of Gu Yong and Jin Long differed slightly from the Jin Yong and Gu Long novels of his previous life, but they were mostly the same. Gu Meng adopted some of the settings from the "Jin Yong Heroes" of his past, stitching together a large number of works onto a single map while giving the protagonist a mechanism to travel through time.

The premise was simple: a modern person transmigrates into a world where many famous martial arts stories are about to unfold, eventually becoming a great hero. Through an item called the "Book of Past and Present," the protagonist can travel from the main martial arts world into smaller, self-contained story maps. After a series of events, the player chooses whether to return to reality or merge with that world, becoming a beacon of fire that consumes itself to illuminate that era, becoming a true "Great Hero."

The team hadn't finished the game yet; they had only played the beginning, up to the sect-selection phase. The ending was detailed in the thick design manuscripts on the desk—the fruits of Gu Meng’s frantic, sleepless overtime. Much of the text was written by Gu Meng himself, copying the original works of Gu Yong and Jin Long, interweaving them with the modern protagonist’s lines, and having the system generate the key narrative passages where the protagonist integrates into that era. By only having the system generate the critical text, the cost was minimal—even cheaper than optimizing audio. The main expense was in visual optimization.

If the system-generated text hadn't been of such high quality—rivaling the masters of the genre—he could have saved even more money. In reality, advanced AI could write decent short stories, but it couldn't match the convenience of the system for high-quality, long-form narratives. If he fed the system eight hundred thousand words of scattered plot points and side stories, it could synthesize them into a complete, coherent narrative with polished prose.

The design manuscripts also emphasized that the game’s theme had to align with the "China Martial Arts: Great Hero" producer competition. The "Great Hero" ending was the true ending, while the "return to modern times" ending carried less weight, or served as a secondary true ending. Emotionally, the game was designed to make the player feel that staying in the ancient world was the better path. The branch ending where the protagonist sacrifices himself to defend the country was crafted to be stirring, promoting patriotism.

As Lu Xun once wrote, "If there is no beacon of fire, I shall be the only light," and "A true warrior dares to face a bleak life and confront blood-stained reality." In this parallel world, the classical literary figures remained much the same; these quotes were indeed attributed to the Lu Xun of this world. This was the core value: defending one's country could never be wrong. By depicting the enemy’s slaughter of civilians, the game ensured that history would be remembered.

It would likely be easier to win awards this way—he had already committed to the "Great Hero" theme. If this world also valued unity... it didn't matter. Remembering history and refusing to sugarcoat it was paramount. If he didn't win the championship, it was just a minor setback; in the face of certain principles, that wasn't what was most important.