Chapter 35: The Legend of Heroes: Zero Given Away for Free

China, Handong City.

Qi Tongping’s talent for game design was unremarkable, yet he had somehow landed the role of head judge for the "China Wuxia: The Great Hero" competition.

Long ago, it was pure passion that had driven Qi to choose the field of game design, defying his family’s objections and their view of it as a "crooked path." Back in his youth, he held an incredibly sincere love for games, especially those of the Wuxia genre. He would lose himself in those simple role-playing adventures.

What child hasn’t shouted out the names of the "Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms" or the "Nine Yin Bone-Claw"? Qi didn’t just shout them; he acted them out in-game, playing as the heroic Chief Qiao to unleash those palms, or stepping into the shoes of Ximen Chuixue to ascend the peak of the sword. He lived through their respective fates.

For instance, while playing *Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils*, he was shocked to discover that he—the hero fighting against the Liao—was actually a Khitan. He couldn’t be the Beggar Sect leader; after leaving, he found himself framed, with death following everywhere he went. His old friends and acquaintances all saw him as a villain. He broke his vows during a siege and became notorious. On the road to find his enemy, he was deceived by a wicked woman and ended up killing his own lover by mistake. After much wandering and a soul-stirring battle, he finally tracked down the man who killed his father, only to realize that his own biological father was the murderer. And then, there was the suicide at the end. He had even cried when he finished that game as a child.

But that was the past. Today’s Qi Tongping had long since become desensitized. And why wouldn't he be? It had been twenty years! The games were still turn-based, still using the same pixel art! And the plot was always the same! Did they think he didn't know what would happen next? Of course he knew the mastermind was Murong Bo, and the "Big Brother" was Xuan Ci—who didn't know that by now? At least television dramas had fight choreography and the vivid performances of actors; these games had nothing. Chinese Wuxia games were all cut from the same cloth. If things continued this way, they would never catch up to international masterpieces, destined only to linger on as minor, struggling titles. He remembered that when Wuxia games were in their prime, the gap between them and the world’s best was certainly not as wide as it was now. Damn it, how did Wuxia become like this?

In truth, Qi understood why. He had made games himself and hit countless walls before his true identity was exposed. After all, the Chinese gaming environment was not friendly to single-player titles. Because foreign games had risen much earlier, the truly advanced technology and top-tier talent were all abroad. The current thriving domestic market was mostly supported by mobile games, along with those "borderline" interactive movie games that grew more robust as the entertainment industry increasingly dipped its toes into gaming—they didn't need such advanced technology.

Furthermore, once a mobile or online game project started making money, it could sustain itself for a long time without reckless management. In the single-player world, only the most classic masterpieces enjoyed such treatment. For an average single-player game, once the initial hype faded, sales would quickly drop to a negligible level—it was a one-off transaction. It would only see a spike during deep-discount events. If it wasn't at its lowest historical price, even a sale would draw complaints about a lack of sincerity. How could it compete with the allure of a 648-yuan microtransaction pack? Just by releasing new characters and skins, you could rake in money endlessly, one banner rotation at a time. Meanwhile, if a single-player game released DLC, a smaller volume of content would inevitably damage its reputation, with players labeling it as greedy. If Qi were an investor, he would also prioritize mobile games, which looked easier to monetize and had plenty of successful domestic examples.

Qi Tongping had eventually leveraged his status to secure investment within a state-owned enterprise to make *Blood Coagulation*, but the final outcome wasn't exactly pretty. Because both his identity and the funding were strictly regulated, he could only make a "proper" game. The reception was that it was decent overall, but fell short in every aspect, and with high production costs and no "wow" factor, it wasn't a profitable venture. He was just thankful he barely managed to recoup the investment. From a market perspective, making games was about making money; you had to earn money first before talking about anything else. In truth, Qi longed to make money too—but he wanted to earn it with dignity.

In his view, if domestic Wuxia games were to grow and shine again, the best way would be to follow the film industry twenty years ago: invest massive amounts of capital into large-scale productions. But that was just his personal opinion. His last investment had been significant and barely broke even. He could go back to making small games, but large-scale Wuxia single-player projects, which required tens or hundreds of millions in investment, were now extremely difficult.

Qi remained in the industry not out of personal desire, but because over the last decade, gaming had gradually become "respectable." His family had changed their attitude and hoped he would continue. He now held a rank and was even a vice-chairman in the Gaming Association. He continued, half-willing and half-pushed. He thought that perhaps the future of Chinese gaming would improve; there would always be young people full of passion. Last time, Gu Meng's *Pure Love Fighter Simulator* had been a great game.

"Mr. Qi, we just received another competition entry from a company."

Interrupting his thoughts, Qi glanced at his assistant. "Just handle that yourself."

"The situation is a bit special. You should play this game first."

Qi frowned. "What's special about this company?" A connection?

"It's that 'Gu Meng Games' you often mention. They've changed their name to 'Game Metaphysics,' and they want to enter the competition with a new game."

"They're making a Wuxia game too?" Qi was pleasantly surprised; he had held high hopes for Gu Meng.

As everyone knew, the Chinese gaming industry generally didn't pay attention to who the designers were. The truly famous developers in the gaming world were almost all abroad. Gu Meng was already among the most well-known designers domestically, and considering the bonus of his "Dragon King" identity, his fame was far ahead of the rest. Personally, Qi also admired Gu Meng’s resourceful and courageous nature.

"You said I should play it first... is their new game already finished? In that case, let me give it a try."

Qi opened the game his assistant had already installed on his computer: *Legends of Ancient and Modern Heroes: Zero*.

The simple opening animation began, with the Eastern Heretic, Western Venom, Southern Emperor, and Northern Beggar appearing one by one.

"Oh? Is this *The Legend of the Condor Heroes*... no, *The Return of the Condor Heroes*? This... Six-Pulse Divine Sword? *Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils* is in here too?"

"Huh? So it's this kind of game? Wuxia games can be made like this?"

"A genius. Truly a genius."

***

"President Gu, are we really going to release this game for free? Isn't that a bit of a pity? We could definitely sell it if we set a low price. And if it's free, what if our main game doesn't meet expectations? It might affect sales..."

At the Game Metaphysics president's office, Wu Mengyou was whispering to Gu Meng.

This little game was far too addictive. Although she didn't know much about game design, she knew very well that many employees were already obsessed with it—and these were trained professionals. If the company spent months making a game that turned out to be less fun than this free one that President Gu had finished in a few days, players might not be willing to pay for it.