Chapter 273: As Long As the Excuse Sounds Good Enough, The System Won't Say No
After leaving Terminal Chinese Web, Pei Qian returned to Tengda's office area.
With the release date drawing near, everyone looked both excited and full of anticipation.
Even employees like Li Yada were still carefully running through the game.
The game had already been tested. Although a few bugs might still exist, the chances of encountering them were now extremely low. Still, everyone was clearly uneasy—this last round of testing was just like checking your answers before handing in the exam paper. It didn't really change the outcome, but it brought a bit of psychological comfort.
As for Bao Xu…
He was still playing other games, seemingly with no intention of joining in on the testing at all.
Pei Qian couldn't help but nod slightly.
Perfect!
That's exactly the scene I wanted to see.
It seemed Bao Xu had truly seen the light. During his two paid "reflection" vacations, he must have come to some realization. Now, he was sincerely embracing his new life as a professional slacker.
Every time he visited, Bao Xu was either gaming or browsing the web—never once had he been caught seriously working.
That made Pei Qian trust him even more.
After all, when Pei Qian first brought him into the company, the original intent was precisely for Bao Xu to laze around, play games casually, and kill time on the company dime.
Although there had been a few hiccups along the way, the end result was still right on target.
If Bao Xu kept this up, perhaps Pei Qian could even consider assigning him some other "tasks"?
But before that, Pei Qian felt he should observe a bit longer.
With that thought, he walked over to Bao Xu.
Bao Xu quickly turned around. "President Pei, do you need something?"
"Nothing much," Pei Qian asked kindly, "I just wanted to check—how are the feel and control details of Turn Back Before It's Too Late coming along?"
"Ah, that? It should be—"
Bao Xu was about to say "It should be fine now," but suddenly realized—wait, that's not good!
If he said that, the consequences would be disastrous!
He'd been secretly playing Turn Back Before It's Too Late these days, privately sending Li Yada some feedback on small issues—but no one else should know about that.
If he answered this question smoothly and in detail, what would that imply?
It would mean he was very familiar with the game!
And if that happened, all his hard work pretending to be a lazy bum—to avoid being chosen as an "Best Employee" ever again—would go straight down the drain!
Cold sweat immediately broke out down Bao Xu's back. That was close!
He hurriedly changed his words. "Ah, that… you should probably ask Li Yada about it? I'm not too sure about the details."
"Oh, right." Pei Qian nodded and turned toward Li Yada's desk.
Excellent—ever since coming back from Europe, Bao Xu really hadn't been involved in this project much at all!
If this were the old Bao Xu, he'd definitely have played the game dozens of times, tweaking the feel and details even though it wasn't his responsibility.
But now, he'd completely gotten rid of that bad habit.
Truly wonderful!
Pei Qian felt relieved.
Meanwhile, Bao Xu let out a long sigh of relief himself.
That was too close!
He could almost see the grim image of the Sahara Desert, the Nile River, and the Pyramids all waving at him with a cheery "Welcome!" in the near future.
But now, he'd narrowly escaped that miserable fate.
"Guess I can't afford to drop my guard for even a second," he muttered.
He sighed again and reopened his game.
Maybe he should install a privacy screen or get a hood for his monitor, just in case?
The thought that he'd have to keep living this kind of cautious life at least until the next "Best Employee" selection made him feel a faint melancholy.
…
Back in his office, Pei Qian turned on his computer.
He found himself in deep conflict over whether or not to promote Turn Back Before It's Too Late.
Should he?
Every additional player meant an extra layer of risk.
But if he didn't promote it, given Tengda's current level of fame, even without any advertising, the game's attention level wouldn't exactly be low.
And yet, launching a full-scale promotional campaign would at least be a good way to spend money.
After wrestling with the thought for a while, Pei Qian decided—forget it.
The painful lessons from Zhang Zuting and Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition had convinced him that keeping things quiet was the safer move.
Trying to burn a bit more cash while piling on this much risk… it just wasn't worth it.
"Better to stay low-key. The fewer players paying attention, the better."
"Sure, Tengda has plenty of die-hard fans now, but as long as we don't actively promote, fewer people will hear about it."
"As long as there's no deliberate hype, even if the first wave of players starts talking, it should take two or three days after launch for it to trend, right?"
"Each extra day of delay is a blessing."
Muttering to himself, Pei Qian opened Tengda's official platform to check on Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition.
However, the main banner slot on the homepage wasn't showing Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition at all.
Pei Qian froze, momentarily unable to process what he was seeing.
Because Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition had recently earned an official feature spot and had been sitting there for almost a week straight—it shouldn't have been removed yet.
But when he focused on the new banner headline, he saw:
"The Pride of Domestic Games: Tengda's New Masterpiece Launches Soon!"
Pei Qian: "???"
What the hell was this supposed to mean!?
Did I ask for a feature spot? And you just shoved one at me anyway!?
Pei Qian was speechless. Now there was no need to agonize over whether to do early promotion—because the early promotion had already been maxed out for him by the official platform itself!
Forget about "the game gaining traction a few days after launch"—the hype was already brewing now!
All thanks to the platform's early feature slot!
Pei Qian was utterly dumbfounded. What on earth were they thinking?
That homepage recommendation slot was precious real estate—just handing it over to a game that hadn't even launched yet? Were they kidding?
But then, after a moment's thought, he understood.
Turn Back Before It's Too Late had to go through an official content review before release. Only after passing the review could it be published.
And after the review process, the platform staff would naturally have seen the game's detailed content.
Of course, reviewers wouldn't actually play through every route manually—games submitted for review came with internal dev tools and documentation that allowed reviewers to quickly test every ending.
Clearly, the reviewers had noticed the strong infusion of traditional Chinese cultural themes in the game, which earned it a ton of bonus points.
Moreover, as the developer of titles like Ocean Fortress and Game Producer, Tengda had always been one of the platform's favored partners, often showered with prime recommendation slots.
So, with a strong track record behind them and a new game of clear cultural quality, the platform went ahead and gave them an early pre-launch feature spot!
Pei Qian was left staring blankly at the screen.
The official platform… truly never failed to impress.
Even after all this, they still insisted on giving him special treatment?
Couldn't he just quietly be a small, unknown game producer for once?
Sighing with deep melancholy, Pei Qian clicked open the feature banner to take a look.
When Pei Qian clicked the banner, it took him straight to the Turn Back Before It's Too Late game page—though for now, there wasn't much content there yet. Just the game's title, a short description, and a few concept artworks.
The official release date: October 1st.
Yet the comment section below was already bustling with players staking their claims.
"Now that's prestige! The game isn't even out yet and it's already got a homepage feature? Tengda is insane!"
"Well, that's the privilege of being the platform's golden child."
"I bet Tengda's PR team really knows how to stay on the platform's good side."
"Stay on the good side? Please. That's called strength. Game Producer was a literal masterpiece. They've earned this treatment. Other devs jealous? Then make a game half as good, I dare you."
"Man, I'm seriously jealous."
Pei Qian felt his eyelids twitch and his brain start to throb.
Prestige my ass!
Jealous my ass!
He scrolled down further.
"So what kind of game is this one?"
"Judging from the screenshots, looks like a Chinese-style RPG?"
"Is Tengda finally stepping into the triple-A scene? I'm so hyped!"
"Yeah, and since the platform already reviewed it and gave it a feature, it must be good. Definitely worth looking forward to!"
After browsing through the top comments, Pei Qian felt both exasperated and quietly amused.
Everyone was so optimistic.
Heh. If I can't "arrange" the official platform, at least I can arrange you guys.
Right now, Pei Qian felt like a butcher holding a cleaver, while the players were clueless little bamboo rats gnawing on their bamboo shoots, completely unaware that doomsday was right around the corner.
"Forget it. Let them enjoy their happiness for another two days."
"The higher their expectations, the harder they'll crash."
"When they finally play it, they'll definitely be so heartbroken they'll start hurling insults at the game, right?"
Pei Qian pictured the scene in his mind and felt utterly at peace.
"So… I just wait for launch day then?"
"Hmm… still feels a bit unsafe."
"Even if last-minute effort doesn't help much, sharpening the blade before battle can't hurt."
"And it's a good excuse to burn some more money."
Since the official platform had already handled the publicity, there was no point in hiding anymore.
Pei Qian decided to find a new outlet for his spending urges.
He opened the Aili Island website and pulled up Little Fox Reviews.
This time, he was going to hire paid commenters!
Although his last attempt with Little Fox Reviews' "commenter service" had been a complete disappointment, Pei Qian couldn't entirely blame them. After all, those paid posters were just doing their jobs.
If anything, the real fault lay with Pei Qian himself.
Besides, the service had even refunded the full 1,000 yuan afterward, which Pei Qian found extremely satisfying.
With an attitude like that, surely they deserved a second chance, right?
Still, given how disastrous the previous campaign had been, Pei Qian decided to try a slightly different approach this time.
Whether it would change the outcome was uncertain—but at least this time, he wasn't going to spend his own money.
In fact, strictly speaking… this couldn't even be called "buying paid commenters."
Because as long as the justification sounded good enough, the system wouldn't flag it at all!
<+>
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