Chapter Thirty-Two: I Have a Dream

Parallel world, July 2020.

A few days ago, after recruiting the first batch of new employees—whom Gu Meng privately dubbed the "Youxuan First Generation"—he delivered a speech to all the staff, both old and new, at Game Metaphysics. This address would later be hailed by the Chinese gaming community as their "Bible," famously titled "I Have a Dream."

Gu Meng’s dream was to create games that he loved and that Chinese players would also enjoy. If he were to pull a firearm-related module from his mysterious treasure chest in the future and produce a shooter, he would certainly not focus on the American military. Instead, he would prioritize the War of Resistance Against Japan. Only after that would he consider other settings like science fiction, post-apocalyptic, foreign, or space-war shooters. This was because other genres were already saturated with masterpieces, while he might be the only one willing to tackle the War of Resistance.

Gu Meng wanted to try his hand at depicting the Hundred Regiments Offensive or the bloody Battle of Taierzhuang. The protagonist could be someone from that era, or perhaps a time-traveler from the future. Of course, it would be difficult—not just in terms of game design, but also due to censorship, public opinion, and the risk of being labeled "historical nihilism" if the portrayal was deemed too exaggerated, overly dramatic, or if it altered historical events or the outcomes of battles.

Gu Meng planned to first build his industry influence with a few major titles. If he could gain official approval, he would depict the perspective of ordinary soldiers or commanders within that grand historical backdrop. If he couldn't secure permission, he would focus on small-scale guerrilla warfare. Players could build their own small units to defeat waves of invaders without changing the history of the fourteen-year war; that would be equally satisfying. In a single-player game, after all, a player couldn't possibly kill that many Japanese soldiers alone.

If there were a realistic sports module or more advanced VR/AR technology available, he would even consider making a high-end table tennis masterpiece, even if it meant setting it in an alternate universe. The reason was the same: if Gu Meng didn't do it, perhaps no one else would. "If there is no torch, I shall be the only light." Players could take on the roles of figures like Zhang Yining, growing into "demon kings" and working with teammates to suppress an abnormally powerful Japanese team. In his previous life, he had felt the Japanese team growing stronger, though that wasn't the case in this world yet. Making such a table tennis game here might seem like a comedic premise to players, but it could also serve as a warning. In this world, China was nearly identical to his previous life, and table tennis remained the national sport, yet no major game centered on it had emerged. To be more precise, there were very few sports-related games in China at all.

Actually, to be even more accurate, the current Chinese gaming market consisted only of mobile games. All the major Chinese companies focused on mobile, leaving only small and medium-sized firms to develop single-player titles. Generally speaking, most mobile games failed to represent the cutting edge of gaming productivity. Since Gu Meng had arrived in this world, it was time to show everyone what a truly great game looked like.

"System, assist me! And you, the talented people of this world, come and assist me too!"

Gu Meng also shared his "Four Great Classics" project. Because he hadn't even prepared a PowerPoint presentation, the team only felt a brief moment of excitement, and then that was it. When the speech ended, only the die-hard fans in the company truly believed in him. The others didn't doubt his sincerity—Gu Meng had no reason to lie, and there were no investors in the company to appease—they simply didn't believe he could succeed. It felt like a "lifetime series" project; many felt that an ambitious boss wasn't necessarily a good thing. No matter how strong the boss was, he was only one person and couldn't possibly grind out that many games. Besides, the company was started to make money, not to chase dreams. Didn't mobile games make money? They understood the logic, but could the boss’s romanticism, idealism, personal charisma, and astonishing talent combined defeat realism? It seemed highly unlikely.

"Innate Gaming Saint" or not, one couldn't flip the entire world. In China’s current market, if you wanted to make big money, you stuck to ACG mobile games and "pay-to-win" online games. As for gameplay, plagiarism was the primary productive force! Youxuan was truly unique in that the boss insisted on original work and didn't care about successful precedents. If another company were making a major title, they would surely benchmark it against successful industry examples to see what they could copy. If there were none, they wouldn't greenlight the project. Even abroad, sequels and remakes were becoming the norm, whereas Gu Meng possessed a spirit of daring to be the first. He wasn't just talking; he had abandoned the sequel to *Pure Love* because he said, "It is already complete." Walking away from easy money like that—it had the air of an artist.

Currently, the "Moth," "Spider," and "miHoYo" equivalents were the most profitable gaming companies in China, all relying on monetization. It was merely a difference in the gacha model—some with pity systems, some without. Even if one had to insist on a premium action masterpiece, why choose *Journey to the West*? Were there any existing masterpieces in the Four Great Classics to copy? A fantasy background would be more reliable and easier to borrow from peers; after all, there were no AAA titles with a Chinese background in the world.

As for realistic games like shooters, racing, or sports, the domestic gaming circle had their own concerns. Racing? Street racing in China was pure fantasy; don't even think about it. Would they make a game about obeying traffic laws? Or perhaps a Wuling Hongguang overtaking everything in sight? The same went for shooters. A domestic-set shooter was even more fantastical—this wasn't the "Free America." If it wasn't modern, but set during World War II, it felt like it lacked the prestige of the European theater—partly because "idol dramas" had soured the image. Sports? The world's number one sport was undoubtedly soccer. Chinese soccer? Haha, better to make a shooter. The War of Resistance was quite promising. As long as Boss Gu didn't make a Chinese soccer game, they were willing to try anything else.

At the time, after the speech ended, given the massive gap, even if Gu Meng had channeled his predecessor’s level of rhetoric, it only stirred spirits momentarily; many didn't take it seriously. Gu Meng understood, but he would never change his original intention. Now that he had a system, shouldn't he be able to do as he pleased? He was already bored with games set in foreign backgrounds. His system wasn't a "transporter" system, so he didn't need to simply copy the masterpieces of his past life—though, of course, that standard could be flexible, as Gu Meng did need capital.

In fact, when he saw the duo of Huan Shou and Lu Pa enter the company, Gu Meng had already made up his mind. This world also had *Pokémon*, a super IP from the "So-Heaven" camp. But there was no *Palworld* yet... Just because Gu Meng wouldn't copy it didn't mean his subordinates couldn't. Honestly, the initial hype for that game was clearly linked to *Pokémon*; making it would certainly invite ridicule. Gu Meng wanted the money from *Palworld* but didn't want to lower his own standards... He could simply inspire others in the company to lead such a project. He would offload these profitable but potentially low-brow projects to others, offer a suggestion, and then have no name attached to them. Of course, it was too early to say; he had to wait for the newcomers to grow.

Additionally, Gu Meng had considered mobile games when the system demanded capital. Mobile games had a bad reputation; the more they earned, the worse the reputation became, especially pay-to-win ACG games. Did players in his previous life truly respect miHoYo? Not necessarily. And the "snobbery chain" was well understood by both the public and the developers. Console games, with their long history and the invention of most gameplay mechanics, were at the top of the chain. PC games, which predated consoles in the strict historical sense and had recently surpassed them in performance, represented advanced productivity and also sat at the top.

Online games were in the middle. When *World of Warcraft* was first released, utilizing the latest technology and being genuinely fun, it was undoubtedly a powerhouse at the top of the chain, and its subscription model was seen as more respectable. Paid games always had a better "look" than "free-to-play" games, because "free" was too expensive and lacked "fairness." A fair game narrowed the gap between people, allowing all players to enjoy the service equally. In the world of such games, an ordinary worker enjoyed no less fun than a CEO player; everyone was a savior. But in a free-to-play game, a rich savior was more noble than a poor one.

Though it wasn't perfectly fair—in his previous life, many players lacked high-end equipment—in this world, most Chinese families possessed high-end computers because gaming had become dominant. There were still some places, like the "Male Model Birthplace" Gu Meng liked most, where there wasn't much gaming equipment, but it was relatively fair. "Unfair" games, like most browser games, pushed this to the extreme. A poor savior might even be part of the gaming experience for a rich savior.

Free-to-play gacha mobile games sat just above browser games in the snobbery chain—and this was only because browser game players rarely spoke up; otherwise, they might be sitting at the same table. History? They couldn't compare. Gameplay? Already developed by their predecessors. Their "look"? Very ugly. Technical prowess... the highest technical prowess was the artist. When *Genshin Impact* was making money, the attitude of mainstream society... was certainly not praise. *Genshin* did promote Chinese culture, but if it hadn't, its reputation would have been even worse. Because, frankly, the merit didn't match the reward. Some games were visibly strong or pioneered new mechanics, showing the talent and effort of the team, and people felt it was normal for them to make money. Other games, at first glance, didn't seem that strong, and the money felt too easily earned.

Gu Meng wanted to have his cake and eat it too; he was a man who cared about his image. Therefore, he was resistant to personally making the most predatory pay-to-win mobile games. Moreover, he was an amateur in his past life. For games that looked truly impressive—including small games like *Plants vs. Zombies*—he knew what made them strong and could feel why they were interesting. But with many pay-to-win mobile games, he would play for years, neglecting sleep and food, without knowing why. Gu Meng wasn't even a "plot-focused" player; he didn't understand what made the games great. He felt the early chapters of *FGO* were mediocre, worse than watching anime. Except for the sixth chapter, he skipped every bit of the story.

Deep down, he would play gacha games while despising their predatory nature, all while hating himself for being unable to quit his addiction. The most enjoyable part of *FGO* was only the moment of spending money to pull a rare character; everything else was essentially... long-term grinding of events in and out of the game, working in reality, and making offerings to the gacha pool like a "tribute boyfriend." All to harvest the momentary pleasure of gambling-style rewards without a pity system.

The fourth wall had been broken. Earning money just to bring a female Heroic Spirit home, even though nothing could ever truly happen. He even had to worry about hidden lore settings—that a character, even after maxing out their bond, might suddenly get an official CP (couple) introduced later. After all, "characters have their own lives." Gu Meng was a Chinese server player; some characters were too "suggestive" and would have their card art censored. Other ACG games had this pain too; the overseas versions of miHoYo games might have been more explicit.

So everyone had their own "NTR Simulator"! Great, it was NTR, we were saved. Tsk, might as well just gamble. Haha, what a bunch of stupid anime fans.

He was cursing himself.