Chapter Fifty-Eight: Game Complete

Chapter 58: Game Completed

A month passed swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, "The Adventures of Zhang Gouzi" was completed. With top talents handling everything from planning to art and programming, the result was nothing short of exceptional—both in quality and speed.

Shi Bai tried operating the game and found it ran smoothly, with a strong sense of impact, visually stunning and distinctive skills, and an impressive equipment system. He couldn’t help but nod in satisfaction.

“Excellent! You truly are the best in the industry. With all of you here, how could Happy Works ever fail to rise!” he declared.

Applause rang out from the employees.

“It’s all thanks to your leadership, President Shi. Without you, no matter how skilled we are, we could never have come together like this.”

“That’s right. President Shi has a sharp eye for talent!”

Shi Bai smiled smugly, though inwardly he mused, “Talent is talent—even their flattery is delightful, unlike those guys in the comics department. All they ever say is ‘President Shi is awesome’ or ‘President Shi is unbeatable,’ and sometimes they even talk back. Really…”

The thought made him chuckle to himself.

His employees were a bit puzzled at his reaction, and realizing he’d lost composure, Shi Bai quickly asked the finance department for a financial report.

The company’s accountant, Zhang Xiaohua, was a woman in her thirties. Despite her somewhat plain name, she was the epitome of a capable, fashionable businesswoman—her sharp style and outstanding skills shone through even in a suit and skirt.

“This month, staff salaries totaled four hundred thousand, utilities ten thousand, dubbing and music a million, server fees two million, and bandwidth and other expenses one-point-six million. Altogether, we spent six million.”

Shi Bai calculated silently: that meant he still needed to spend at least another four million to complete his main task.

“No, it’s still not enough.”

Zhang Xiaohua was baffled. “President Shi, what’s not enough?”

“We haven’t spent enough.”

“Huh?”

The other employees were equally confused, unsure what he meant.

Shi Bai pondered a moment, then suddenly announced, “Bonuses! There are twenty of us—everyone gets a hundred thousand bonus! To celebrate our game’s birth!”

The staff were stunned. While it was common for bosses to hand out red envelopes upon a project’s completion, it was unheard of to give out a hundred thousand per person.

“President Shi, you’re so generous!”

Shi Bai smiled calmly. “It’s nothing—you all deserve it.”

The employees could barely contain their joy, itching to jump up and dance in their seats. In this era, the average monthly wage was less than two thousand, and even their high-end jobs didn’t break ten thousand. Yet Shi Bai was handing out bonuses worth nearly two years’ salary elsewhere.

If outsiders heard of this, they’d die of envy!

One after another, the employees silently thanked the heavens for their good fortune.

At this moment, Zhang Laoda spoke up. “President Shi! Our game is finished and about to launch, but there’s one matter we still haven’t clarified. We need your guidance.”

Shi Bai was surprised. “What haven’t we clarified?”

“The payment model,” Zhang Laoda replied.

“That’s what we wanted to ask,” added Qian Yiwei, the head planner. “You’ve had us develop the game all this time, but you’ve never specified how we should charge players.”

“Oh!” Shi Bai suddenly understood. “That? There’s nothing to discuss—it’s free. Completely free!”

Qian Yiwei nodded. “Free-to-play is mainstream now. Games like Dungeon, Jianghu, and Eight Sects are all free. But while they’re called free, their in-game shops are packed with paid items.”

Adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, Qian Yiwei continued, “We could copy Dungeon’s model—equipment drops don’t alter appearance, but outfits in the shop do. Or we could sell only revival potions and other boosters. What do you think, President Shi?”

Shi Bai looked at him expressionlessly. “I think—no shop at all.”

“?”

Everyone exchanged bewildered glances.

“No shop? So, time-based fees? Or maybe selling VIP status?” Qian Yiwei pressed, growing agitated. “That would go against current trends.”

“No, you misunderstood,” Shi Bai replied coolly, sweeping his gaze around the room. “I mean no time-based fees, no shop, and certainly no damned VIP privileges! My game costs not a single cent! I want people to play even if it means losing money!”

A resounding clang seemed to ring in each person’s mind.

“Losing money to let people play? What kind of business strategy is that?”

“Never heard of such a thing!”

“What exactly is President Shi planning?”

No one could make sense of it. All eyes turned to Shi Bai in puzzlement.

“President Shi, your strategy is beyond us. Please enlighten us!” Qian Yiwei begged.

“Yes, President Shi, you must explain, or we really won’t understand,” others echoed.

Shi Bai was at a loss, glancing around to see only earnest faces. He smacked his forehead in exasperation.

“Heavens! Are these what you call top talents? How can they not understand something so simple!”

He suddenly stood, slapping both hands on the conference table.

“I mean exactly what I said—no hidden agenda, no business strategy! Just let everyone play for free! I don’t want a single cent, do you understand?”

The room fell utterly silent.

Everyone stood as if turned to stone.

“If there’s no profit, is this just a customer acquisition tactic?”

“Maybe it’s like a subsidy?”

“Do games even use subsidies?”

“Never seen this before.”

“President Shi!” Qian Yiwei spoke again, his expression grave. “Shouldn’t there be at least one way to pay? Otherwise, how can we prove the game’s success?”

“He’s right!” others agreed. “With no payment channel, we can’t prove player engagement.”

Shi Bai sighed helplessly. Clearly, they still didn’t understand him.

But then again, how could they? Who in this world would go to such lengths just to lose money?

“All right,” Shi Bai said, shaking his head. “A payment option—meaning one paid item, yes? Let’s hear your ideas—what should it be?”

The employees perked up immediately.

“I think revival coins are good—they’re cheap, in high demand, and charging for them is perfectly reasonable.”

“I think outfits are best—no stat boosts, just cosmetics. Buy them if you want, ignore them if you don’t.”

“I still prefer lucky boxes—random draws are addictive and fun.”

...

As the employees discussed, Shi Bai’s frown deepened.

“Stop, stop, stop!” he cut them off. “Have you all forgotten what I said? I want an absolutely free game, not a paid one! Revival coins, outfits—you know how successful those designs are? If we go that route, what if I actually make money?”

The staff were stunned yet again.

“Making money... when did that become a bad thing?”

Finally, Shi Bai waved his arm. “Fine! Here’s what we’ll do—a lucky box for one yuan each, but the box contains nothing. It’ll be called the Useless Box. Make it clear as day: the box does nothing at all. Buying it is a waste of money. Advise players not to buy it!”

Once more, his employees were petrified.

What kind of game was he playing now?