Chapter 33

Not just NetDragon—all external factors were forcefully swept aside in one go. Now, no one could steer the direction of public opinion anymore.

From this point on, it would be a fair battle of public perception between NetDragon and CloudDream! In the massive, chaotic discussion that followed, where public sentiment would ultimately land depended entirely on netizens’ own opinions.

As for the fact that the Princess was seen playing Lin You’s game—how much goodwill that would generate…

Well—she was caught off-guard in the footage and never publicly declared support for anyone!

That’s perfectly fair!

Anyone who dares say it’s unfair will have their head knocked off by the Princess’s devoted mom-fans.

Netizens had also experienced a rollercoaster of a day.

First, they rushed home in excitement to download and try the demo, eager to experience the charm of Lin You’s virtual reality game—only to end up utterly baffled while playing.

Just as they were wondering what was going on, “Game Time” came out with an explanation: Oh, so Lin You was a scientific genius, not a game design genius—he didn’t actually know how to make games! Then NetDragon announced the imminent release of Blazing Flame 3, and players were happy again. Sure, Journey was disappointing, but at least there was a promising game to look forward to—that was something!

But before they could celebrate for long, news broke that Qin Songyun, the “Father of Blazing Flame,” had joined CloudDream Studio, making them worry about Blazing Flame 3’s quality.

Before they could even figure out whether Blazing Flame 3 would be any good, the Princess suddenly appeared, taking the rare step of publicly endorsing Lin You’s Journey…

So what the hell was going on? Had an entire year’s worth of gaming industry news been crammed into a single day? Were they hitting their annual KPIs in one go and then coasting for the rest of the year??

“Can someone please just tell me—is Lin You’s game any good?! Or is Blazing Flame 3 any good?”

“I’m exhausted. Just end it all already.”

“I get it now! Lin You can’t make games, so he poached NetDragon’s top talent, bringing in a master game designer to help create virtual reality games!”

“So even if Journey isn’t great, the next VR game—designed by Qin Songyun—will definitely be amazing. Is that what this means?”

“Got it. Buying Blazing Flame 3.”

“You don’t get shit!”

…

Netizens still had all sorts of wild theories.

By the time this round of internet debate settled, Lin You’s Journey hadn’t actually achieved an overwhelming victory.

In terms of praise and discussion, it was off the charts—the sheer power of Zhu Cixia’s fans was undeniable.

But among these people, the proportion of actual gamers wasn’t high. Most of them shared one thing in common with the Princess: they weren’t particularly interested in violent combat, whereas most games up to that point had been exactly that.

If Lin You’s game had been about fighting and killing, fans might’ve even accused him of corrupting their little Princess.

In the discussions about Journey, there were even comments like “Bought 10 copies already—my kid loves it!”

In the end, most serious gamers still leaned toward buying Blazing Flame 3.

The truth was, they’d never seen a game like Journey before, and Lin You hadn’t proven himself as a game designer.

Meanwhile, the Blazing Flame series and Qin Songyun’s skills had already been proven twice—both in terms of genre and reputation, they were far more convincing.

Hu Rong and Zhang Heying breathed a huge sigh of relief. In their eyes, they’d won this battle—and decisively.

After all, the players who actually bought games were leaning their way, while the masses loudly praising Journey weren’t likely to purchase it anyway. Game companies never cared much about the opinions of non-paying users.

Users who wouldn’t spend money might as well not exist.

“This isn’t good…” Zhu Cixia, seeing all her efforts lead to this outcome, couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She pursed her lips, her mood sinking.

Beside her, Shuihua tried to comfort her: “It’s okay, you did your best. Besides, with so many people seeing and talking about this game, perhaps many people who have never played games before will buy it now.”

“Really!” Shuihua nodded firmly. “Look—you never played games before, and neither did I, but we both love Lin You’s Journey. There must be tons of people just like us!”

Zhu Cixia nodded half-heartedly, then clenched her small fist and cheered herself up: “There definitely will be!”

Lin You, meanwhile, had spent the afternoon with He Peng, broadening his horizons. He’d handled all sorts of firearms, even firing live rounds from many of them.

Weapons that would never be available at a regular shooting range—anti-materiel sniper rifles, mounted machine guns, even various grenades and flashbangs—were all specially permitted for him to try. Of course, three safety officers watched his every move without blinking.

The next day, he’d travel even farther to experience larger weapons stationed outside the city.

Tonight, he needed to hurry home and have Xiaomeng help translate these sensory experiences directly into code, ready to take with him tomorrow.

On the way back, he finally saw the huge commotion Zhu Cixia had stirred up and called her to express his sincere gratitude.

Even though the Princess wasn’t confident about the impact of her “advertisement,” he knew its value was immeasurable.

The only reason casual games hadn’t taken off in this world was because the gaming landscape was so homogenous, leading to an equally homogenous player base.

But that didn’t mean casual games couldn’t become popular.

Once they did, their sales and ability to expand the player base would be second to none.

Just think—how many players did Minecraft have? Super Mario?

How many people who never played games were pulled in by It Takes Two or Animal Crossing?

Inspired by this, he even began considering whether to make another casual game—something to keep players entertained while they waited for bigger titles.

It would also give players a way to interact, ensuring their devices didn’t just gather dust after finishing Journey.

After all, making big-budget games took serious effort, while casual games were much simpler.

But this wasn’t urgent—hardware was the real foundation.

Fortunately, Qin Songyun was exceptionally capable. He’d already compiled the advantages of five unmanned factories, along with the preferential terms he’d negotiated, into a clear, organized table for Lin You.

To Lin You’s surprise, three of these factories weren’t using the standard “deposit → production → delivery → final payment → next deposit” model he’d expected.

Instead, it was “deposit → production → delivery → sales → final payment for last batch + deposit for next batch.”

The first model was what he’d anticipated: investing the entire 500 million interest-free loan to produce 100,000 units initially. After selling out, the profits would fund the next batch of 200,000 units, then 400,000, and so on.

But Qin Songyun’s model was: Start by paying a deposit for 200,000 units, then only pay one-third of the cost upon delivery.

At that point, there’d be no money left to cover the remaining balance.

However, once the units were sold, the profits would cover the balance of the previous batch and the deposit for the next batch.

Better yet, with trust established after one successful cycle, the next order could jump straight to 600,000 units, with only a quarter of the payment due upon delivery—the rest payable after sales and cash flow stabilized.

Then the cycle would continue…

Lin You, the inexperienced newcomer, was stunned: You can do that?!

Honestly, this model had only one flaw: if the products didn’t sell and piled up in inventory, the cash flow would collapse, and both sides would be ruined.

But was there any chance VR equipment wouldn’t sell?

Impossible. Absolutely impossible!

（End of Chapter）