Pei Qian clicked on the video.
Teacher Qiao's uniquely long-drawn, slightly raspy voice with a hint of a regional accent left a deep impression.
"Hello, my dear daddies! As always, it's me, your familiar 'Godfather of the Gaming Channel,' Teacher Qiao."
"Recently, people have been urging me every day, asking why I haven't uploaded any roasts of ridiculous games. I promise it's not because I'm lazy—it's because I couldn't find any garbage games classy enough to roast—"
"But finally, my hard work paid off. After searching tirelessly through piles of garbage, I finally found this shining turd—oops, I mean this golden masterpiece—exactly the one you're seeing now: 'Lonely Desert Road!'"
"This is a fascinating game that offers you a truly philosophical journey that lasts a full eight hours!"
"It's an incredibly realistic driving simulator! You can not only drive, but even honk the horn, listen to music, and enjoy the ever-changing scenery of the desert!"
"Indeed, even though it's just endless sand with nothing interesting to see, trust me—those ever-changing sandstorms outside your window provide you with a completely unique view every single second. And after staring at it long enough, you'll even start seeing mirages!"
"What, you didn't see any? Don't worry—if you persist through the full eight hours, you'll definitely see them!"
"Moreover, this game even has a high-tech leaderboard system that tracks how many times you've finished the game and how many hours you've wasted—I mean, spent!"
"Oh, my God! What a remarkable feature. It's a constant reminder of exactly how much of my life I've wasted on this game—"
"Ahem. Alright, you probably realize by now I was being sarcastic. In reality, this game fully deserves the title of 'The Most Boring Game Ever Created'—bar none!"
"Yes, you heard me right! Past or future, domestic or international—there'll never be a driving simulator more boring than this one!"
"The journey lasts eight full hours, requiring your constant, undivided attention. Every few minutes there's a turn, and if you miss it—even just slightly—well, sorry, you lose, and it's back to square one!"
"Don't ask me why I didn't pause or save the game—because this game simply HAS! NO! PAUSE! BUTTON!"
"The only 'fun' thing you can do is honk and listen to the radio. But there's a catch: you can't pick your favorite songs or change stations, and the playlist is nothing but obscure, niche, or terribly outdated tracks. Even if an annoying song plays, there's no way to skip it!"
"But the cherry on top—the single most shocking feature—appears at the very end of the game. After you complete the journey, the game actually MOCKS you with a line of text: 'Congratulations, you've successfully wasted 8 valuable hours of your life!'"
"That's right! This game promises to make you reflect on life, and it delivered on that promise!"
"It taught me how incredibly valuable my time is, and how truly meaningless playing games can be!"
"If I could rate this game's boredom on a scale of 1 to 10, I'd gladly give it a 100!"
"Of course, even a game like this isn't perfect."
"As the first player ever to finish this masterpiece — leaderboard proves it! — I strongly recommend adding the following features—"
Pei Qian stared blankly at the screen, speechless.
He had officially found the culprit responsible for all this chaos.
"First: Why does the game end when you reach the finish line? I strongly suggest allowing players to turn around and drive all the way back—thus creating an 'Endless Mode'!"
"Unless you complete at least ten round-trips, how could you claim you've conquered this masterpiece?!"
"Secondly, I strongly recommend adding multiplayer support, allowing other players to join your car, enjoy the scenery, or interact with the driver!"
"I sincerely hope the developer considers my suggestions and releases updates accordingly. This will undoubtedly make the game an even greater success!"
"Alright, that's it for today's roast episode. The remaining eight hours are my full gameplay recording. If you're particularly bored, try watching the entire footage without skipping."
"Trust me, afterwards, you'll definitely gain some profound insights into life!"
Pei Qian dragged the progress bar forward and was amazed to find that the video truly contained Teacher Qiao's entire eight-hour gameplay session.
The comment section was exploding with activity as viewers eagerly interacted:
"I watched the entire 8-hour footage without skipping, and now I'm genuinely questioning the meaning of life…"
"Teacher Qiao truly sacrificed himself for this. He literally spent his life force on it!"
"Teacher Qiao, please stop! Your hairline can't handle this anymore!"
"Is making videos these days really this life-threatening?!"
"I've already downloaded the game. I believe I'll find the meaning of life in that desert!"
"Above commenter, take me with you!"
"The full name is 'Lonely Desert Road.' Search for it on the official game store. You're welcome—I'm just that helpful!"
"Take me along +1!"
"Let's form a tour group!"
. . .
Reading through the comments, Pei Qian was completely stunned.
Something was fundamentally wrong with this world!
He'd made an intentionally terrible game, yet somehow a video creator found it worthy material for a roast—and even managed to make it incredibly popular?!
Though still bewildered, Pei Qian roughly understood how things had spiraled to this point.
His miserable game had been discovered by "Teacher Qiao," a content creator specializing in roasting bad games. Inspired, Teacher Qiao made an entire episode dedicated to this travesty.
With excellent writing, meticulous editing, and a large existing audience, the video quickly gained popularity.
Soon after, a large number of curious viewers arrived, eager to see just how terrible the game actually was.
Most of these players quickly gave up due to sheer boredom—but crucially, none of them really cared about the measly one yuan, so very few bothered requesting a refund.
Even worse, some players, driven by the leaderboards or pure mischief, began spreading wild rumors about hidden easter eggs and secret rewards:
"At the fourth hour, stare into the desert and you'll see a hidden easter egg!"
"Complete the game three times in a row, and you'll unlock a secret level!"
Even worse, countless viewers were asking permission to repost or re upload the video elsewhere.
Pei Qian felt a growing dread—his game was becoming dangerously popular.
Could it be… he was about to make profit?!
"I absolutely can't let this happen. I have to do something about it…"
He wasn't about to sit back and let disaster strike—he had to save himself!
If this game truly took off, Pei Qian would lose everything he'd worked toward!
He suspected his game's description was too vague, unintentionally misleading players.
He had to be more honest—more direct—in order to dissuade potential new players from wasting their money!