Chen Xu flushed with embarrassment at Ruan Ningxue's blunt words.
Still, he quickly pulled himself together, coughed lightly to ease the tension, and tried to come up with an excuse.
"Well, there are... multiple reasons," he said vaguely.
Across the table, Ruan Ningxue pouted.Men and their excuses—such lies! she thought.
"But I can accept your conditions," she said, a playful smile on her face. "On one condition of my own."
Chen Xu froze.
He'd spent the entire time trying to think of ways to convince her. Honestly, he hadn't been confident she'd agree at all. He was just hoping to take a shot.
After all, he understood his own situation.
Pay her?Not happening—he didn't have the money. And if he used what little he had, he wouldn't be able to buy the necessary assets for development.
Rely on a 'junior-senior' relationship?Maybe, but she wasn't obligated to help. From her perspective, his plan probably looked like a vague dream wrapped in overconfidence.
But now... was she actually interested?
Chen Xu leaned forward. "Sister, what's your condition?"
"One month," Ruan said. "If the game doesn't sell well, you'll have to come work for me."
"Two contracts, minimum!" she added, eyes gleaming. "Don't worry, I won't exploit you like you tried to exploit me. You'll be paid well—for real."
Chen Xu blinked, then slowly nodded. It wasn't an unreasonable request.
In his previous life, plenty of illustrators were women—famous ones, too. Artists like 'Teak N' and 'Nishizawa 5mm' were well known.(Not that Chen Xu had ever read their work himself, of course. He just heard friends mention it...)
"So what counts as 'poor sales'?" he asked cautiously. "You're not expecting a million copies in the first month, right?"
That worried him. The environment here was different—no piracy, sure, but also no guaranteed market or user base. With no funds for advertising or operations, he'd have to rely solely on player word-of-mouth.
Even back in his original world, many acclaimed indie games only hit big numbers after months, even years.Take The Binding of Isaac, for example—its success was anything but overnight.
If she expected a million in sales, he was better off quitting now.
Ruan tapped on her phone for a moment, then looked up."Eh... 100,000? Hmm, no—make it 50,000. If your game doesn't sell at least 50,000 copies in the first month, you lose."
Chen Xu grinned.
50,000 in a month?Sure, this world's environment was different, and his budget was tight—but for Mirror? That target was practically a freebie.
"Deal," he said confidently. "Then let's get started tomorrow! I'll head back and prep tonight. See you in the morning!"
Before Ruan could respond, he got up, waved, and walked out of the café with purpose.
Leaving her sitting there... a little stunned.
Wait—was 50,000 too low? she wondered.
Frowning, Ruan quickly opened her contacts, scrolled to a number, and made a call.
It rang twice before someone answered.
"Hey, Sister Xin, I need to ask—did you lie to me earlier? Is 50,000 copies in one month really a high sales figure?"
A cheerful female voice responded. "Not at all. But it's all relative. For someone making their first game with almost no budget, and limited access to engine resources? That's hell mode. If he breaks a few thousand copies, it's already decent."
"Really?" Ruan still sounded doubtful.
"Absolutely! That's coming from a seasoned game developer. By the way, Xiaoxue—are you finally making a game? About time! Come work on concept art and character design with me instead! We'll crush it!"
"Signal's cutting out!" Ruan lied, hanging up before Yang Xin could drag her into another pitch.
She set her phone down and smiled to herself.
First game. No budget. Nightmare-level challenge.Chen Xu ticked every box.
So the good news? She'd secured her assistant illustrator.
The only downside was... he wouldn't be officially working for her for another two months.
That night, back in his apartment, Chen Xu sat down at his desk and looked over his laptop.
It wasn't high-end, but it would get the job done—at least for a small project like Mirror.
Of course, developing anything bigger was out of the question for now. Not enough money, and his access to official engine resources was still restricted.
There were two ways to unlock more:
Official Certification – Based on game sales, awards, and reviews.
Cold, Hard Cash – The more you pay, the more you get.
But that didn't matter right now.
For a small-scale game like Mirror, what he had was more than enough.
Chen Xu opened a blank document and began typing.
This was the first draft of Mirror's game design document.
Sure, he was the only developer, and Ruan Ningxue would only be handling art.
But even a solo project needed a clear plan.
Like an outline before writing a novel—it would save time and keep things focused.
Chen Xu's fingers began to fly across the keyboard.
It was time to build a game that could make players feel joy, frustration, and obsession—
—and harvest every last drop of emotional energy