Chapter 34: A Man Among Men!

It was already past three in the afternoon.

The employees working on the mystical game continued to immerse themselves in playing. Those who progressed quickly had already completed the game and were eager to start a second playthrough. There was a slight, almost imperceptible addiction forming.

By merging all the renowned characters from the novels of Gu Yong and Jin Long, an unprecedented thrill was created. Players could collect martial arts skills, form companion teams, and experience a variety of event changes, all vastly enhanced. One could even pit Guan Yu against Qin Qiong or have an undefeated Westerner battle five Wheel Dharma Kings.

Although the version everyone at the company played was only a small-scale demonstration, the enjoyment far surpassed that of martial arts enthusiasts playing “The Legend of Jin Yong Heroes” for the first two-thirds.

Yet, since everyone had undergone professional training, it wasn’t true addiction—it was merely work. Yes, that was the case.

Currently, the little game contained few war elements; it mostly followed the protagonist’s original storyline, with the war-related aftermath still unmade. However, the existing content was already abundant—Gu Meng had directly incorporated over twenty original martial arts novels, and after system optimization, the branching storylines were numerous.

Because the source material was original, there was little need for additional writing. Gu Meng only needed to script the male lead’s segments and specify his requirements; the system would then generate the branching “if” narratives on its own.

After the protagonist completed the tutorial, there were countless choices for development. Fortunately, the “Heavenly Book” system helped collect as much as possible, ensuring no opportunity to alter the tragic points of the original story was missed.

This was merely a prototype, showcasing roughly what the early to mid-game experience of the planned full game would feel like… Essentially, this game was Gu Meng’s PowerPoint, using the game as a substitute for presentations.

At the grand finale, when the protagonist was unmatched in the Mount Hua Sword Summit and sighed in the manner of a solitary warrior seeking defeat, if enough “Ancient and Modern Heavenly Book” tasks were completed, the Heavenly Book could open a portal to return to the modern world.

This ending felt like a fleeting dream, yet the protagonist seemed to retain martial arts prowess.

Recalling a passage in text: before time travel, the protagonist was in poor health, but upon returning, his body was strong.

There was also a simple sketch of the protagonist clenching his fist in contemplation—an open ending.

One could interpret that the protagonist still possessed unparalleled martial arts or that his body was merely healthier, wistfully remembering lost supernatural skills.

In reality, it seemed possible to encounter friends from the martial arts world reincarnated. The protagonist met several new roommates, and the names on the rental contract corresponded to the closest friends from the game, ranked by intimacy, which was determined by the time they joined the team.

If the protagonist chose not to return to the modern world, a prompt would suggest staying behind—either retiring in seclusion or dying exhausted in a heroic last stand, akin to Guo Jing’s fate.

From this little game alone, Gu Meng’s inner conflict was evident.

On one hand, he hoped players would choose to stay, so the system could craft a high-quality storyline filled with passion and grandeur, embodying true heroism.

Judging by the intense texts, the protagonist’s unyielding spirit made it clear this was the real ending.

But Gu Meng was unwilling to alienate players. Even the branch ending where the protagonist returned to the modern world was designed as a preferred conclusion, not a tragedy.

The truly poor endings were those players chose themselves—becoming the despised outcast of the martial arts world, living a lonely old age without friends, or dying prematurely without victory.

The game provided hints about choices affecting the ending, and if players opted for the darker path, that bad end was not Gu Meng’s way of upsetting anyone.

So far, no one had noticed Gu Meng’s dilemma. Everyone was still marveling at his genius, wondering how he could type so fast.

Writing so much text was absurdly impressive.

Some of the content was original plot, but there was plenty of new material as well.

Players could choose various sects, and just by glancing at colleagues’ screens, one could see how each sect’s martial arts and events were completely different.

There was no sense of sloppiness—only the impression that if a passionate creator wanted to develop every branch fully, it would be a colossal undertaking.

Unbelievable!

Gu Meng was truly a war god!

Even if he slept at the office like a 007 agent, he couldn’t have produced so much content so quickly...

Those close to Gu Meng began to suspect whether he had helpers or had experienced extraordinary events—like alien assistance.

But such thoughts were twisted by the system into invisible admiration:

“As expected of Gu Meng, he’s incredible!”

A powerful anthem played in their minds:

Gu Meng! Gu Meng!

A man among men!

The dominant alpha!

Master of the game world!

Ruler of games!

Lord of games! The game’s ultimate conqueror!

Dragon King! Grandmaster! God of War and Emperor!! Demon Lord!

Inhuman omnipotence!

An immortal pinnacle in human game design history!

His mere existence stirred the souls of all men,

And gnawed at the teeth of every rival!

All geniuses bowed to his ultimate insult!!

...

Within the company, doubts about Gu Meng’s humanity arose, accompanied by strange suggestions in their minds.

Gu Meng was simply gifted, with fast fingers, and he definitely wasn’t cheating!

“What a bold design. Gu Meng, how on earth did you think of creating every martial arts character?”

Lupa paused halfway through his second playthrough to eat.

“It’s probably from watching too many time-travel dramas. Plus, there are infinite-loop novels now where characters travel through different worlds continuously. And Hong Kong variety shows are quite popular, so why not do the same with martial arts?”

“Wouldn’t that get confusing?… No, when I played, it didn’t feel chaotic. It felt coherent. Many things connected well. The power levels, territories, and altered plotlines all made sense.”

“Exactly.” Gu Meng patted Lupa on the shoulder, nodding affirmatively.

“Usually, it’d be a mess and fall apart under scrutiny.”

“Even if I added the Heavenly Book setting to separate some impossible-to-sew side quests into other timelines, it’d be just as difficult—for example, expanding Shaolin and Wudang with so many masters is hard to control.”

“But that’s just ordinary cases. As long as one is dedicated, there are ways to avoid issues. We can even add settings to change cause and effect—it can be made consistent.”

“There’s a saying in Journey to the West: ‘Nothing in the world is difficult for one who is determined.’”

“I once read a novel called ‘Cute Girls Martial Arts World,’ where everyone was transformed into girls, an utterly outrageous concept, and the world-building was secondary—but the author stitched it together well. Compared to that, I’m only a little bit impressive.”

Gu Meng made a Korean-style ‘breaking defense’ gesture: “Just a little bit.”

Meanwhile, Lupa glimpsed the universe through the gaps between his fingers.

Novelists only write plot.

But Gu Meng had written hundreds of thousands of words in just a few days, and still found time to develop the game!

And aside from programming, which was the most laborious part, he created the images and background music himself. Was he even human?

And he had the nerve to say, “I’m not that impressive.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain pricked the mind.

Faintly, a song seemed to echo in the brain...

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