Chapter 238: Every Illogical Detail Hides a Deeper Meaning
'President Pei personally modified part of the game?'
Li Yada was a little surprised.
From what she remembered, President Pei always preferred to give instructions rather than doing hands-on work himself. Normally, he would just tell Lu Mingliang what to change, and Lu Mingliang would handle the actual editing.
So why did he do it himself this time?
Did he… not trust her?
Li Yada thought about it, then shook her head. That made no sense. If President Pei didn't trust her, he wouldn't have made her the lead executive designer in the first place.
Still feeling puzzled, Li Yada went back to her workstation and opened the files to inspect the changes.
There weren't many modifications overall—most of them centered around a single weapon.
The once-forgotten monk's staff now had an enhanced version with a glowing visual effect, along with a newly added special acquisition method.
Li Yada studied the weapon carefully. It was called Pudu (Salvation).
From a stats perspective, it was ridiculously strong for an early-game weapon—its damage was blatantly overtuned.
However, its normal horizontal swings were still slow, with long wind-up and recovery animations, making it difficult to handle.
Of course, as with other two-handed heavy weapons, it retained the jump slash mechanic, allowing experienced players to chain faster attacks with proper timing.
In other words, a skilled player who managed to obtain this weapon could drastically reduce the difficulty of early-game combat.
But at the same time, it had major limitations. Against content unrelated to the Six Paths of Reincarnation ending, it offered little advantage over other weapons—and in a second playthrough, it became practically useless.
Li Yada frowned slightly.
Why would President Pei go out of his way to make a weapon like this?
Could it be… that he simply couldn't beat the game himself, so he made a shortcut for his own use?
Hmm… no, that didn't sound right.
If he thought the game was too hard, he could have just lowered the difficulty directly.
Besides, as the designer, President Pei didn't even need to clear the game personally.
That ruled out the simplest explanation—there had to be another reason.
Could this move have some deeper meaning?
Li Yada thought it over carefully. The current game difficulty was, admittedly, punishingly high for average players. Most enemies could kill the protagonist in just two hits, forcing players to achieve near-perfect, no-damage combat performance.
Even though healing items became available early, the amount they restored was minimal compared to the damage players took—a mere drop in the bucket.
In essence, the game demanded a very high level of mechanical skill.
So perhaps… President Pei's new weapon was intended as a kind of newbie welfare?
A hidden, powerful tool to help less-skilled players clear at least one ending and experience the story without frustration?
Maybe this was President Pei's way of showing mercy.
That seemed plausible.
But then… why hide it so deeply?
Li Yada noticed that the old monk who dropped the original staff had been heavily nerfed—now weaker than an average mob.
And since his location was just outside the main town, most players who reached that point would already have suffered plenty of hardships and fought numerous monsters. There was no reason they couldn't handle such a weak enemy.
Even if someone made a mistake, there was no way they'd die to him six times in a row, right?
Unless they deliberately threw the fight, it was hard to imagine any player dying to that old monk six times by accident.
Moreover, killing him still dropped the regular monk's staff and the prayer beads—a tempting combination of a collectible weapon and a powerful early-game consumable item. For the vast majority of players, that was an irresistible reward.
In short, this weapon—Pudu (Salvation)—was hidden way too deeply. There was no way 99.99% of players would ever trigger it!
If this weapon was meant to be President Pei's way of showing mercy toward less-skilled players, then why bury it so thoroughly that almost no one could ever find it?
Li Yada fell into deep thought.
As Senior Bao Xu often said:
"Wherever something seems illogical, there must be a deeper meaning."
And right now, this weapon setup was definitely illogical!
"Why does the old monk only turn into a friendly NPC after the player dies six times—and only on the seventh visit?"
"What does that number even mean?"
Li Yada searched it up on Qiandu.
She found a variety of explanations, none entirely consistent. She couldn't be sure which interpretation President Pei might have had in mind, but there was a clear pattern.
Of course, deep Buddhist philosophy was beyond her—and beyond Qiandu, and certainly beyond most players. The important thing was to interpret it in a surface-level, accessible way, one that ordinary players could understand intuitively.
Both "seven" and "nine" are significant numbers in Buddhist symbolism. For instance, there's the concept of the Nine Grades of Lotus Platforms—"nine" representing ultimate perfection.
Meanwhile, "seven" carries multiple meanings. It can also represent completion, but in a smaller, more personal sense—a lesser perfection.
Additionally, legend has it that when the Buddha was born, he took seven steps immediately after touching the ground. The first six steps symbolized the Six Paths of Reincarnation, and the seventh represented enlightenment and transcendence.
"Hmm… dying seven times wouldn't exactly represent perfection," Li Yada muttered.
"Technically, it's six deaths."
"So then… the six deaths symbolize the Six Paths of Reincarnation, and the seventh encounter represents awakening?"
"And that's why the weapon can only be used to clear the Reincarnation ending?"
Li Yada pieced together her previous deductions—this seemed to fit perfectly.
Dying six times meant symbolically passing through the Six Paths of Reincarnation. Meeting the monk for the seventh time, receiving Pudu, marked the beginning of enlightenment—the player's entry onto the Reincarnation Route.
From there, players could skip the Underworld's longer segments like the Bridge of Helplessness or the Stone of Three Lifetimes, jumping straight into the Six Paths of Reincarnation boss fight. The weapon itself was purpose-built for this ending.
Naturally, players would respond in one of two ways:
First, those who embrace "Salvation"—delighted by its power, relying on it to breeze through battles and happily finish the Six Paths of Reincarnation ending.
Second, those who reject it—refusing to use the overpowered staff, determined to fight their way through the true endings with their own skill and effort.
Given the game's lore, the Six Paths of Reincarnation ending was a false ending: the protagonist believed they had escaped a world of suffering, but in truth, they had merely entered yet another cycle of illusion.
So clearing that path with Pudu made the message even more ironic.
Choosing Salvation meant choosing escape—avoiding pain, avoiding challenge, clinging to an illusion of salvation.
Abandoning Salvation, taking up an ordinary weapon, and facing the harsher battles head-on—that was the real act of breaking free from suffering.
The more Li Yada thought about it, the more amazed she became.
She practically wanted to slam the desk and applaud.
Originally, that decrepit temple and the old monk were just filler—optional, inconsequential side content. Whether the player engaged with them or not had no real impact on the story.
And the Six Paths of Reincarnation ending, compared to the other endings, had always felt somewhat hollow and flat.
But after President Pei's subtle modifications… everything changed.
The introduction of Pudu, this overpowered yet symbolically loaded weapon, forced players into a meaningful choice:
Would they stay in their comfort zone, chasing a false sense of peace and self-deception?
Or would they step out of it, endure hardship, and pursue the truth behind this world?
This design didn't just deepen the thematic resonance between gameplay and narrative—it gave players a stronger emotional connection and sense of immersion than ever before.