Chapter 110: President Pei's Marketing Strategy
Chapter 110: President Pei's Marketing Strategy
After listening to Bao Xu's words, Lu Mingliang felt both excited and heavy-hearted.
He was excited because he realized he was participating in a truly great endeavor—a game of historical significance that could one day become a landmark in the development of the domestic gaming industry!
But he was also burdened by a deepening worry about the game’s future.
Could a game that didn’t pander to players and wasn’t designed to be "fun" in the conventional sense really achieve commercial success?
Even the slightest misstep could lead to failure both commercially and critically—this was an incredibly risky endeavor!
‘I didn’t expect President Pei to make such a life-or-death decision so casually while chatting.’
‘If this game flops, that’s millions down the drain—and he might even get scolded by the public!’
‘If it were me, I probably wouldn’t even be able to sleep from all the anxiety…’
‘But President Pei is still calm as ever. He truly is someone capable of great things!’
With a heart full of admiration, Lu Mingliang returned to his desk, ready to resume testing the game.
Just then, Bao Xu raised a question: “By the way, how is this game going to be marketed?”
He wasn’t worried about Game Producer flopping, he was simply curious!
Once again, President Pei was about to deploy a new, ingenious strategy to promote his game. That alone made it worth looking forward to!
Lu Mingliang froze for a second. “Uh… I haven’t asked. I’ll go find out.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
In Pei Qian’s Office
Lu Mingliang subtly observed President Pei’s expression.
There was no sign of nervousness!
Was this a case of transcending worldly concerns?
Or was it supreme confidence and certainty?
Whichever it was, it was admirable either way!
Pei Qian was lost in thought.
Lu Mingliang had come to ask how Game Producer should be promoted.
At first, he hadn’t thought much of it and figured it’d be best not to promote it at all.
But after thinking it over more carefully, he realized that would be a huge mistake!
One must look at things from a developmental perspective and not cling to outdated thinking.
Back when games like Lonely Desert Road and Ghost General were developed, Tengda was still a no-name company. Back then, not promoting a game was an effective way to lose money.
But now? Things were completely different!
With the fame earned from Ghost General and Sea Fortress, even if he didn’t lift a finger to promote Game Producer, players would still find out about it on their own.
There was no hiding it!
Given that, then why not… “promote it a little”?
That would at least give him a chance to spend more money!
But he had to be very careful about how it was promoted.
If he used conventional marketing strategies and accidentally hyped the game up too much—what then!?
So the best option was to spend money while not actually achieving any meaningful promotional results.
Even better if it resulted in negative publicity!
Currently, the available promotional methods were more or less limited to a few standard options:
Buying placement spots, paying for ads, hiring spokespeople...
But he absolutely wouldn’t go for those.
Those methods had far too high a chance of making money!
These were the most traditional marketing channels. Their conversion rates varied, but for a game like Game Producer—with its unique and eye-catching art style—these would definitely draw attention.
It’d be like those infamous clickbait web game ads—buying aggressive banner placements and slapping on stolen video clips, or paying a fortune to get a celebrity to awkwardly deliver meme-worthy lines.
Sure, they cost a lot, but even these cringeworthy ads had a huge viral impact.
Even something as silly as raising a kun (giant mythical fish)? Just a simple image, some crude cutouts and shoddy editing—if the website has enough traffic, it could still attract a ton of players!
And if that kind of stupid ad actually went viral, he would have no place to cry.
He absolutely couldn't take that risk.
So, he firmly ruled out all those typical, high-risk-high-reward methods—the potential for profit was simply too high.
After a moment of consideration, he said,
“Let’s go to video platforms and work with content creators to promote the game.”
“Content creators?”
Lu Mingliang blinked, caught off guard.
He hadn’t even considered that option.
Mainly because, compared to other marketing channels, video creators doing sponsor segments had the lowest cost and often the worst performance. It didn’t seem like something on President Pei’s usual level of strategic thinking.
It was still 2010, and many somewhat popular video creators—like Qiao Liang—were barely scraping by.
Take Huang Sibo and their project President Pei’s Daily Life, for instance. Despite accumulating millions of views, they were only getting some pretty trashy sponsorships. No one was even touching the idea of “premium custom videos.”
Not because people didn’t recognize quality, but because the actual return on investment for video ads just wasn’t there yet.
If you had money to spend, you were better off buying ad placements directly from the site for targeted exposure.
A player clicks on a game-related video, and a commercial runs before it starts—that might grab a huge number of viewers. Way more effective than some low-budget sponsor segment.
So at first, Lu Mingliang didn’t get it.
But then something clicked.
“Ah, I get it! President Pei, you mean we should have Huang Sibo and Director Zhu make a custom promotional video for our game, right? Leverage the buzz around President Pei’s Daily Life to promote Game Producer?”
Pei Qian: “???”
When did I ever say that?!
Don’t twist my words!
There was no way he’d ask Zhu Xiaoce’s team to make a video—absolutely not!
Because that would be way too cost-effective.
Feihuang Studio was a wholly owned subsidiary of Tengda. If he gave them 100,000 yuan to produce an ad for Game Producer, that money would just circle back as profits for the same company—like moving money from one pocket to another. Total waste of a golden opportunity to bleed funds.
Not to mention—Zhu Xiaoce was a genius director.
And the theme of Game Producer aligned too perfectly with President Pei’s Daily Life. If he accidentally created another viral hit?
That would be double the tragedy.
Both President Pei’s Daily Life and Game Producer going viral at once?
He might just collapse on the spot!
Thinking of this, Pei Qian shook his head.
“No. Don’t go to Huang Sibo and the others. Right now, President Pei’s Daily Life is still in a crucial period of building reputation. We can’t ruin its image by stuffing it with game ads and messing up their growth plan.”
“Understood.” Lu Mingliang nodded seriously, inwardly berating himself for lacking a broader perspective.
President Pei was absolutely right. Feihuang Studio needed to build momentum, not cash in too hard too fast.
Especially since the two teams were so closely linked—they needed to avoid any hint of favoritism.
“Then… should I contact some well-known video creators with large followings on the market?” Lu Mingliang asked.
Pei Qian thought for a moment.
“Here’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a list of creators, a script, and the payment rates. Just follow it exactly.”
“Got it, President Pei.” Lu Mingliang nodded solemnly.
‘Sigh… as expected, President Pei still doesn’t trust my capabilities. He personally oversees everything. I really need to work harder…’
Lu Mingliang couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed.
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