Chapter 33: New Project, "The Chronicle of Heroes Through the Ages"

Gu Meng is the type of gamer who rarely bothers with plot details. Unless it is a narrative-driven title—like *The Last of Us*, a TGA Game of the Year winner—he simply won’t savor the story.

Tch.

Furthermore, many modern AAA games lack immersion. Why would he want to project himself into a mold spore? Gu Meng isn’t sick; why would he want to inhabit such humanoids? He used to love fantasy, but after playing so much of it, he’s become desensitized. Now, he just wants pure, unadulterated excitement.

Kill!

For titles like *Battlefield* or *Call of Duty*, he skips the opening cinematics and immediately lands on the ground to slaughter every killable enemy in sight. His mind is filled with only one thought: "Pure, mindless fun."

As for mobile games, he barely glances at the character card information before licking the art. What is a "plot"? They are usually long, tedious, pseudo-intellectual, and periodically plagued by bouts of madness, feeling like something written by someone without the talent to even write a web novel. If a game has too many unskippable cutscenes or lacks a fast-forward feature, he deletes it immediately.

Before his transmigration, he never quite grasped the essence of mobile gaming. Knowing yourself and your enemy is the key to victory; even if Gu Meng wanted to dabble, without knowing anything, even having a system wouldn't guarantee he could beat the competition. It’s not like having a system optimization that boosts graphics or frame rates automatically makes you superior. The only way Gu Meng could think to compete was through more aggressive "borderline" content, but he didn't want to play that game anymore.

A logical loop.

Forget it. He decided that in this gaming metaphysics, he would neither make mobile games nor "borderline" games. That was the happy decision he made. Unless, of course, something unexpected happened.

...

Elsewhere, in Donghua City, Peak Game Company.

Wang Feng had already given the money to his son, Wang Jian, to start the "foot fetish" game he had been dreaming about.

He was worried.

He knew his shut-in son loved to lecture about the world and might have some high-minded opinions on ACG games. Wang Feng had indeed been persuaded to support him over the past few days, investing a significant sum. He was even planning to pull in more investment to spread the risk. But his son had no practical experience! He didn't have any reliable talent on his team, only a bunch of online hobbyists; everyone else had to be hired from scratch. Could he really succeed?

Well, if his son failed, he would just have to swallow his pride and seek advice from Gu Ritian’s son. That young man, Gu Meng, was undoubtedly a master of games. Even if he hadn't made an ACG game, he had to be an expert. The grievances belonged to the older generation; the police had investigated for so long, which should be proof enough that he wasn't the one who killed his father.

Years ago, when Gu Ritian and Wang Feng were younger, they had actually worked on the same film crew. They had a decent relationship back then, feeling like kindred spirits, both sharing a mutual appreciation for "borderline" content. Unfortunately, they later became competitors in the same market, so it became a matter of who had the better skills.

If his son failed, learning from Gu Meng was an option. That was someone else’s son—far too excellent. If Wang Jian could partner with him to develop a mobile game, it would be foolproof. The only concern was that Gu Meng might value his reputation too much to touch such a genre.

Wang Jian had found an artist online who perfectly matched his preferences, but he lacked other professional talent. To someone like Gu Meng, whose technical prowess was incredibly high, Wang Jian’s ideas about game design would likely be trivial problems easily solved.

Ah, the stereotypical hierarchy—the assumption that someone who can make a solo-player game can also make a mobile game. Even though Wang Feng had just started making interactive movie games and was effectively an entertainment industry person, he subconsciously felt that Gu Meng’s ability would be a "dimensional strike" against the mobile gaming circle. Donghua City wasn't like the neighboring Magic City; there were no major domestic tech giants here, just clusters of short-video and interactive movie companies. The city's most formidable producer was undoubtedly Gu Meng. If there were any other "newbie village" bosses—like those two work-hardened saints who could pump out twenty thousand words a day for *Palworld*—they were all Gu Meng’s subordinates.

...

Back to the present. The employees were still playing the mini-game *Legends of the Ancient and Modern*. They were becoming increasingly hooked; it was already noon, yet no one thought to eat.

Gu Meng had woken up early, and he was ready to eat. He slurped his seaweed egg drop soup, which had half an egg in it, and pondered.

*Slurp, slurp.* A bit too salty.

Last time, he had accidentally disgusted the players. The "simp" protagonist was just how the demo had turned out; he hadn't had time to change it. Moreover, Gu Meng had never made a game before and was afraid of committing the sin of a layman telling experts what to do. He wasn't interested in the romance arcs, either; he just found the management and money-making aspects fun. He even assumed the heroine was a pure maiden at the end, having no idea that Meng Juju had buried a massive "landmine" in the plot.

He wouldn't make that mistake again. This time, he would be deeply involved in the project from start to finish.

He had been secretly observing. When the staff flipped through the design document and reached the part about elevating the spirit of the "Great Hero," some of them had strange expressions. Did they have objections?

It didn't matter. Gu Meng was a domineering CEO.

"Between heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one!"

He didn't care how they felt; he cared about how *he* felt. Gu Meng didn't have high social-awareness skills. He didn't know if his employees were truly against the idea—perhaps thinking that making the protagonist protect the country in a martial arts world strayed from the essence of the genre—or if they just looked pale from staying up late the night before.

If Gu Meng asked directly, they would certainly say they had no objections. He only feared some might be secretly causing trouble... but that could be controlled. Gu Meng had awakened his workaholic nature, and he had Secretary Wu to help manage things.

Gu Meng decided to carefully check every single piece of text and art asset this time! He couldn't find the text generated by the system's final optimization, and there might be hidden content in the game that even he wouldn't know about before release. But he could certainly dig out all the base materials provided by the staff.

He would read every line of text, inspect it thoroughly, and point out anything wrong. He couldn't afford to worry about a layman interfering with experts anymore. Last time it was a romance game, and he didn't understand that—he hadn't watched a cheesy romance drama in ages. This time it was martial arts, so he would treat it like reading a wuxia novel.

For example, in this world’s martial arts fiction, there was a work where the heroine of the Ancient Tomb Sect was defiled by a man named Zhen Zhijing. Gu Meng was determined to ensure the protagonist could protect her chastity. This wasn't the last century; writing like that now would lead to trouble. Perhaps those games that "respected the original work" were exactly why they couldn't stand out. The players already knew the plot; why bother with that old trope? Besides, if the graphics and combat were poor and the plot couldn't be changed, why would anyone play it?

In this world, the martial arts games with better reputations were those that altered the original plot. Because it was a game, you could choose to let the protagonist respect the original story or intervene, and the purists couldn't complain. Even fans of the original novels were desperate to change those key turning points.

Gu Meng decided that the reward for defeating Zhen Zhijing should be set extremely high, with no subsequent penalties. As long as certain prerequisites were met, the Quanzhen Sect should even thank the protagonist. He would absolutely not disgust the players or force the protagonist to suffer.

Gu Meng was even considering whether to allow the protagonist to change the tide of history and preserve the Song Dynasty era. However, he had heard about "historical nihilism," and the idea of forcibly changing history seemed a bit controversial. It wasn't that he couldn't do it—games in this world weren't that strictly regulated—but it might affect their chances of winning the championship. Gu Meng was still hesitant about whether to include that path... perhaps he could create an open ending?

Besides, the Song Dynasty... was it really worth saving?

Gu Meng’s hesitation was reflected in the design document; many points lacked a concrete conclusion. He could always change them later.