Because Liu Manman and others were around, Xia Yu did not find a suitable opportunity to talk to An Siyao.
Putting this matter aside, on Monday morning, Xia Yu arrived at school.
He also had final exams to take. The exam was scheduled in the afternoon; he came in the morning simply to hang around.
In the class group chat, Xia Yu learned that nearly all the classmates were in the classroom, so he went there.
As soon as he walked in, he saw a group of classmates nervously reviewing their lessons.
“Hey, you finally remember you’re a student,” a teasing voice greeted him.
Looking toward the source of the voice, Xia Yu saw the class counselor.
A few students surrounded the counselor, seemingly asking questions.
“I can’t help it; I’ve been busy too,” Xia Yu casually replied, then sat beside Qin Youliang, who was waving at him.
“We know! An Siyao from the music college hasn’t attended classes for months!” The classmates started teasing again.
Xia Yu didn’t say anything further. He responded with a smile, politely and decisively moving past the topic.
“Got a book? What’s the afternoon exam about? Let me take a look,” Xia Yu asked Qin Youliang.
Qin handed him the bag.
Xia Yu took out the textbook and started flipping through it.
Half an hour later, the counselor left. After he left, the atmosphere in the classroom relaxed.
Qin put the book aside, took out his phone, and opened an app icon.
Xia Yu, who was reviewing, heard a familiar piece of music.
Turning his head toward Qin, Xia Yu saw the familiar game interface again—it was his game.
Qin took out a Penguin Coin recharge card, opened the account interface, and skillfully entered the redemption code. Then he went to the gacha pool, sending money to the game company.
If this scene were drawn in a comic, at this moment, Qin’s head would be popping up [-280][-280][-280], while Xia Yu’s head would be popping up [+280][+280][+280].
This game was a gacha mobile game that Xia Yu had Duan Yi develop, successfully launched half a month ago and currently gaining popularity with positive momentum.
Although it was wrapped in a 3D fighting shell, at its core it was still a gacha monetization game, with all operations centered around monetization.
Xia Yu originally thought players would curse while throwing money at it, but they didn’t. To this gacha gameplay relying purely on luck, the players responded very positively, happily pulling gacha.
This made Xia Yu sigh involuntarily—these “greens” were too self-aware.
“Damn it, still didn’t get it!” After using up one recharge card, Qin failed to obtain the item he desired. With bloodshot eyes, he rushed out the door without hesitation to buy another recharge card at the convenience store.
In a world without online payment, Xia Yu could only use Penguin Coins to let players enjoy the pleasure of spending money. Since the Yu family held shares in Penguin, Xia Yu easily integrated Penguin Coins.
Five minutes later, Qin ran back, entered the recharge card’s redemption code, and started a new round of gacha pulls.
“I got it!” He hit the table hard, visibly excited.
“What? You really got it?” Hearing his voice, several classmates gathered around him; they were also playing this game.
“How much did you spend?” One classmate asked Qin.
“Two times 648.” Only after saying it did Qin realize he had spent quite a bit.
“That much!” another classmate said.
“It’s okay, I can save on transportation fare back home by taking a seated ticket,” Qin replied. “It’s worth the thrill. I didn’t even spend that much. I know someone who’s already spent ten thousand.”
Watching their immersion, Xia Yu didn’t know whether he should remind them—light spending brings joy, heavy spending brings harm.
Before he could decide, Qin started recommending the game to him instead.
“Xia Yu, come play Yin Beng King! It’s playable on mobile phones, super exciting.”
Facing Qin’s enthusiastic display of the game screen and the items he pulled through spending, Xia Yu could only smile.
Fortunately, he was Xia Yu, not Xia Yidan; otherwise, he’d check his wrist and pull out a fully maxed test account with all items, making Qin’s expression shift from pride to confusion.
Just as Qin was enthusiastically recommending the game for Xia Yu to try, Duan Yi timely rescued him.
Pulling Xia Yu out of the classroom, Duan Yi briefly updated him on the company’s recent situation, then looked at Xia Yu uneasily: “Is what we’re doing really okay?”
“What problem?” Xia Yu knew what Duan Yi meant but still asked.
“Because of our game, Penguin Coin recharge cards have sold out in many places,” Duan Yi replied. “Is it okay to make so much money? Won’t we get caught?”
Knowing their own situation, Duan Yi understood how the mobile game truly was—repetitive levels, repetitive monsters, and a bunch of flashy, messy equipment.
All the materials and level designs were ripped from a half-developed failed PC single-player game.
In her opinion, such a game on PC would only be priced at about several dozen to a hundred or so yuan. If compared, it wasn’t even as good as the recently launched “Monkey’s Return” a few months ago. Yet in the past half month, the money it made was roughly estimated at three hundred million!
Duan Yi was originally very puzzled about the game’s success despite its average quality, thinking it merely filled a gap in mobile gaming. But a week ago, after seeing a classmate spend half a month’s living expenses on gacha pulls, eating only two vegetarian meals these days, and even going to work on weekends to earn money for more gacha, Duan Yi conducted an in-depth interview with the classmate and finally understood.
The core of this game wasn’t 3D combat, but gacha pulling—feeling happy when you pulled something good, feeling sad and wanting to pull more when you didn’t.
This overturned Duan Yi’s gaming philosophy. Shouldn’t games be about sincerely designing gameplay and striving to enhance fun? How did it become so unorthodox?
Many games had tried gacha mechanics for random item drops, but they always gave players a few free chances. Never had they tricked players into buying chances.
Watching the gacha players, Duan Yi felt as if she were watching gambling addicts. Although they weren’t exactly the same, those who spent over a thousand yuan on a set of gear—would they buy it if it were priced at a thousand?
If they wouldn’t buy it at that price but ended up spending that much anyway, weren’t they just being scammed?
Seeing Duan Yi’s expression, Xia Yu pondered. He originally thought he could calmly use this method to reap profits, but now, he indeed felt somewhat uneasy.
Otherwise, with his personality, he wouldn’t just refrain from showing off a fully maxed account; he’d create a rich player account just to show off.
His heart still wasn’t ruthless enough.
Rubbing his forehead, Xia Yu said to Duan Yi, “I see. I’ll handle it after the exams.”
“Okay,” Duan Yi felt reassured.
Thinking about this matter, Xia Yu didn’t return to the classroom. He walked in the courtyard, thinking about what to do.
After walking around twice, considering several plans that all failed, Xia Yu suddenly remembered—he was no longer alone.
He called Yu Ningmeng and told her about this.
Yu Ningmeng replied, “I was going to talk to you about this later. The Game Committee has already noticed this game. Tsk, development and promotion cost only over 40 million, and within half a month of launch, it’s already made 300 million. And judging by the trend, it can keep making money for years. This isn’t selling games—it’s robbing money!”
Yu Ningmeng had been following the projects under Xia Yu’s control. Although she felt that any project held tightly by Xia Yu must be strong, she never expected it to be this outrageous.
“What did the Game Committee say?” Xia Yu asked.
“What I heard is that they require mandatory disclosure of gacha probabilities and mandatory guarantees that players must obtain something after a certain number of pulls,” Yu Ningmeng explained slowly.
In this world, various aspects were quite reliable—for instance, the media never dug up rumors or exploited others’ misfortunes for attention. The Global Game Committee, which managed games worldwide, was the same.
“What about prohibiting linking spending money with gacha pulls?” Xia Yu asked.
“Now that yours is the only pay-to-gacha game, if you’re willing, the Game Committee can include this rule. They originally wanted to do so but were concerned about potential negative impacts.”
“Then let’s go with that,” Xia Yu discussed some details with Yu Ningmeng before returning to the classroom door.
Duan Yi was still there, watching Xia Yu.
“It’s resolved. Remove the gacha mechanics, price the items directly, convert previous player payments into equivalent in-game currency, or even refund them in Penguin Coins, effectively giving it away. Whether it becomes popular or survives depends entirely on the game’s true quality,” Xia Yu relaxed.
Duan Yi also felt relieved, but soon she worried about what would happen to their company if this game flopped.
“Start developing Plan 3,” Xia Yu told Duan Yi.
“Plan 3? I haven’t heard of it,” Duan Yi asked, puzzled.
“Because I haven’t given it to you yet,” Xia Yu thought for a moment. “Hmm, the game’s name will be ‘League of the Dead’.”
“No more gacha?” Duan Yi asked cautiously.
“No more gacha. Sell outfits instead,” Xia Yu replied.
“Huh?” Duan Yi couldn’t understand how selling outfits would work.
Patted her shoulder, Xia Yu didn’t bother explaining. He returned to the classroom.
Qin had already put away his phone. Looking at Xia Yu, who was studying the book earnestly, he asked, “You haven’t come to class for months. How are you going to handle the exam?”
“I studied,” Xia Yu replied.
“Oh,” Qin nodded. He knew Xia Yu had entered the university as the top scorer in Jiangsu Province. For such a genius student, it didn’t matter whether there were teachers or not.
He casually asked another question, “How long did you study?”
Xia Yu thought for a moment and answered, “About ten minutes.”
“???”
“Ten minutes?” Qin’s eyes widened.
“I mean, I’m looking at it now. I’ve already been looking for ten minutes,” Xia Yu raised the book in his hand.
“Ten minutes won’t amount to anything! You’re doomed!” Although he knew that geniuses were different from ordinary people, Qin didn’t believe that last-minute cramming would help Xia Yu now.
The exam was in the afternoon, with only half a morning left. Finishing an entire semester’s worth of coursework in half a morning—no genius could do that! This was Huada University, not some third-rate school where you just memorized question banks!
“Don’t worry, everything is under control,” Xia Yu patted Qin’s shoulder. He glanced at the “Exam Preparation” Level 5 in his skill list, indicating everything was fine.
Although Huada wasn’t an exam-oriented school, handling exams required exam skills. Xia Yu only needed to pass.
Qin still didn’t believe him, “You’re good at music, but you’re studying literature. And this is Huada! Have you figured everything out? Won’t there be any consequences? Don’t crash!”
Seeing that the truth wasn’t believed, Xia Yu could only start making things up.
Leaning toward Qin, Xia Yu whispered, “Actually, I’ve already bribed the paper-grading teacher to add points for me until I pass.”
“Really?” Qin’s eyes widened. “But some exams are mostly multiple-choice, graded by machine!”
“…Even the machine’s been bribed!”
“Ah?” Qin’s mouth fell open.
“Machine grading is machine grading, but humans can still manipulate it,” Xia Yu found a suitable excuse.
“Oh,” Qin half-believed him.
After dealing with him, Xia Yu casually flipped through the book. At noon, he went to the cafeteria for lunch, returned to his dormitory to rest a bit, then went to the exam hall with Qin.
Three teachers were supervising the exam, one of whom was Xia Yu’s class teacher.
Xia Yu entering the classroom caused a small stir, drawing the teacher’s attention.
After distributing the exam papers and starting the test, the invigilator came down from the podium and approached Xia Yu.
He wanted to see what kind of performance this student, who had skipped classes for months, could show.
Although Xia Yu had musical talent, music was music, and literature was literature. Music worked in the music college, but not in the literature college.
Those who should fail would still fail; those needing make-up exams would still need them. If they failed again, disciplinary actions would follow.
Thinking about this, the teacher couldn’t help feeling a bit excited—it was the anticipation of a bad student’s downfall.
With anticipation and schadenfreude in his heart, the teacher watched Xia Yu write his name on the paper and then rapidly answer the questions. Xia Yu didn’t even need draft paper or time to think—upon seeing the question, he immediately wrote the answer.
The invigilator’s gaze couldn’t help but follow Xia Yu’s pen moving swiftly. Xia Yu’s writing speed under “Dexterity Level 5” was extremely fast, making it hard for the teacher to keep up.
He kept watching until Xia Yu finished the first page and turned it, giving the invigilator a moment to rest.
He rubbed his aching eyes and took a deep breath. At that moment, he realized he hadn’t seen a single wrong answer?
Shifting his gaze, the invigilator suspiciously continued watching Xia Yu answer.
Xia Yu’s speed remained unchanged, giving the invigilator only time to rub his eyes after each page turn.
Meanwhile, the invigilator also confirmed—there really wasn’t a single wrong answer!
Getting all the answers right was already extremely impressive. What about that answer speed, faster than an old printer!
Five minutes later, Xia Yu finished all the questions. Unexpectedly, he noticed the “Dexterity Level 4,” which had been inactive for a long time, quietly level up to Level 5.
After a final check, finding no missing answers, Xia Yu handed the paper to the nearby invigilator.
He asked, “Teacher, can I go now?”
Holding Xia Yu’s paper, the invigilator still couldn’t accept what had just happened. He waved for Xia Yu to leave and took the paper to another invigilator, hoping he had made a mistake.
But what he received was confirmation that this paper was indeed full marks.
The invigilator sighed.
A student who skipped class for months aced the exam—was this the real genius?
Meanwhile, after leaving, Xia Yu had his car take him home automatically. He clicked the slot and switched to Wen Ziying’s body.
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