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At eight o’clock the next morning, Huang Ping was already waiting outside the studio.

When Fang Cheng arrived and opened the door, Huang Ping couldn’t wait to come in, turn on the computer, take his seat in one go, and meanwhile brewed some tea before he started his work for the day.

The day before, Huang Ping had just started his job and received a reward of forty thousand yuan, instantly relieving his financial pressure.

But what was even more surprising was the tea and essential oils from yesterday.

The tea leaves looked a bit like dried chives, but a small amount brewed in hot water emanated a fragrant aroma. A small pinch was enough for a large pot of tea, and you could add water four or five times before the tea flavor began to fade.

The taste of the tea was refreshing. After drinking it for a while, a delicate sweetness lingered in the mouth, and his mind became exceptionally sharp. Even Huang Ping, who was not fond of tea, grew to like it.

Once he was ready, he was about to start working when he heard Fang Cheng say, “Huang Ping, you don’t need to come so early in the future. It’s okay to sleep a bit more at home.”

“Boss, work has become my hobby.”

“Find a better hobby. Working all the time will only harm you.”

Huang Ping nodded noncommittally, but in his heart, he was thinking about how he could stay at work a little longer.

If he could get lunch done in ten minutes, he should be able to save eighty minutes.

Giving up smoking would save another forty minutes a day.

Having a large water cup would save a bit of time fetching water.

And finally, by getting a pack of adult diapers…

Huang Ping’s wandering thoughts stopped abruptly as the game started, then he immersed himself in the game time and began constantly drafting documentation for the game system.

Immersed in his favorite work, Huang Ping felt time flew by.

Three days later, on Thursday morning, Huang Ping looked at the documentation he had completed with satisfaction, thinking to himself how incredibly skilled he had become at drafting documents.

Although the game didn’t need too many systems, most were focused on details adjustment. But having finished the related documents so quickly still surprised him.

Fang Cheng Studio didn’t allow overtime, but Huang Ping felt his work efficiency was surprisingly high, even double or triple that of his time at Tianyi. But thinking about it, it made sense. At Tianyi, he had always assumed he would work overtime, so he was prepared with various strategies to slack off from the start.

Even during the times when overtime was at its worst, he would find all sorts of ways to skive off.

Having a cigarette every hour was normal, hiding in the bathroom for half an hour when others weren’t looking was a basic skill, minimizing the interface window to read a novel was routine, and he had even seen a planner pretend to be working on a spreadsheet while actually writing a novel in Excel.

But at Fang Cheng Studio, he had no desire to slack off at all.

The planners’ proactive initiative flourished with the stimulation of interest and salary, and the policy of no overtime made him strive to make every second count, which ultimately resulted in a significant boost in efficiency. In three days, he had crafted his own proposal.

Combining his understanding of Fang Cheng Studio, he adopted a buyout plus micro-transaction system, where players who buy the game would only need to purchase a pass each month to meet most of their resource needs.

Of course, big spenders could lavish unbegrudgingly, with no cap on spending.

Players could still obtain all rewards without spending, but it would take a long time. However, the longer they played, the more desperate they would become, thus more likely to pay.

Plus, the game itself required a purchase, meaning this portion of players inherently had the potential to pay. Before they were caught by subsequent paid features, the average spender could contribute around 600 yuan.

Based on the sales of “Princess Dungeon,” the revenue from this game could potentially break a billion yuan.

Pleased with his work, Huang Ping flexibly moved his fingers before sending the document to Fang Cheng.

After receiving the document, Fang Cheng opened it and read through carefully, then nodded.

As expected of a planner with nine years of experience, the proposal was comprehensive and could serve as a model in a training center.

He also made a schedule based on timeline, as well as future functional planning, even considering production and testing time for various systems. However, what puzzled Fang Cheng was that the other party seemed to have added quite a lot of conflict and competitive content to the “Quiet Cultivation” gameplay he wanted, but Quiet Cultivation was still an important part. So those additions were not of concern.

There was only one aspect that left Fang Cheng somewhat dissatisfied, and after some calculation and extrapolation, Fang Cheng even felt that this part made the game less fun to play.

Ten minutes later, Fang Cheng called Huang Ping over, then pointed to Huang Ping’s plan and asked, “Is this payment model fun to play with?”

This question stumped Huang Ping.

He had prepared himself for questions about the payment philosophy or inquiries about cash flow, but he had not expected Fang Cheng to directly ask him whether it was “fun toplay.”

Could a payment model be described as fun?

Isn’t it better the more one pays?

Huang Ping pondered for a moment, then seriously said, “The payment model can’t be described as fun. The microtransaction model I’ve adopted is designed to keep players constantly in a state of craving and dissatisfaction, so that after they purchase the game itself, they will continue to spend more to increase revenue.”

“So, the fun in this process isn’t because of the game itself, but because spending money brings additional convenience. Can I understand it that way?” “…Yes.”

“Spending money can often bring happiness, so what unique pleasures does this game offer? Moreover, since the wealthy are in the minority, doesn’t your proposed model actually create a lot of unhappy people, who then become the source of happiness for a very small number? Is that correct?”

After thinking it over for a long time, Huang Ping faltered and said, “That’s correct, but my main consideration was the revenue.”

“I see, so you made it this way not for it to be fun, right?”

“That’s right, but…”

“Then, is it really necessary for the game?”

At that moment, Huang Ping had an epiphany.

Looking at Fang Cheng before him, Huang Ping only wanted to say one thing: what a grand vision.

No wonder he had succeeded.

The only standard to measure a game should be its fun factor, but he had been at Tianyi for too long, blinded by the dust, and the various aggressive monetization tactics had made him forget his original intention.

He took a deep breath and said to Fang Cheng, “Thank you, boss. I’ll go back and make changes.”

“Okay, take your time. Think it through before coming back to me.”

Watching Huang Ping leave with determination, Fang Cheng nodded in satisfaction.

This young man could be taught.

By that afternoon, Huang Ping presented another version, making fun the sole standard for his game design.

Although a few settings still did not feel fun to Fang Cheng, as long as the essential element of “meditation” remained, Fang Cheng felt that the game would not go astray.

After running a simulation, Fang Cheng found that the annoying part of the plan had disappeared, and the rest seemed fine. Satisfied, he swiftly granted Huang Ping and Xiao Douzi full permissions to team up and design the gameplay.

As a “programmer,” he then began to adjust the game according to Huang Ping’s requirements, tweaking the Heavenly Dao Laws of the corresponding world to align with Huang Ping’s vision.

Half a month later, the test version of “Quiet Cultivation” was complete.

Since the game was a test version, Huang Ping suggested not charging for it yet, but instead offering the test as a free Early Access version on the Steam platform for testing, with plans to charge once the official version was out.

At the same time, the Early Access version also served as a form of advertising, facilitating player-driven promotion in anticipation of the game’s official release.

With a rather indifferent concept of money and the studio’s ample cash flow, Fang Cheng readily agreed.

The test version access was distributed via activation codes, and players who had purchased “Princess Dungeon” could apply for and obtain an activation code for free through the Steam page of “Quiet Cultivation.”

The first batch of activation codes totaled 10,000, which Fang Cheng thought would be sufficient, but he underestimated the players’ enthusiasm.

In just three hours.

9,999 activation codes had all been claimed.