Chapter 118: How to Turn the Tide of Public Opinion
Note: Chapter 117 is just the author giving a list of stories that he recommends to his viewers.
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Chapter 118: How to Turn the Tide of Public Opinion
April 3rd.
Tengda Network Technology Co., Ltd.
Bao Xu, Lu Mingliang, and all the other employees were closely watching the situation surrounding Game Producer.
The atmosphere in the office was heavy; no one looked particularly cheerful.
Three days had passed, and from every angle, the launch of Game Producer was looking like a disaster.
The initial marketing campaign hadn’t just failed to generate positive buzz—it had actually scared off a lot of potential players.
And the first batch of players who experienced the game? Their feedback wasn’t great either. It was a mixed bag at best.
Unlike previous games, Game Producer launched with considerable attention, thanks to the popularity built up by Ghost General and Ocean Fortress. A lot of players flocked to it right away.
But if you scrolled through the reviews, you'd quickly realize most players didn't grasp the deeper meaning of the game. They barely scratched the surface before slapping a bad review and leaving.
“What the hell is this? Totally not fun… Are we sure this is from the Ocean Fortress devs? The drop in quality is shocking!”
“The only good thing is the graphics. The gameplay is boring, totally one-dimensional. And that narrator—was he designed just to piss people off?”
“I feel scammed. Definitely not my type of game.”
“I don’t get it. Was this designed by elementary school kids?”
“Did the dev team get cocky, or are we just bad at games now? Was Ocean Fortress so successful it made you think you could release anything and make money?”
Comments like these were everywhere.
And most of the player complaints were focused on the early-game experience. The few who stuck with it long enough to see the game’s depth? They were a rare breed.
This led to Game Producer receiving extremely polarized reviews—tons of 5-star ratings and tons of 1-star ones.
Lu Mingliang felt like a mountain of pressure was crushing him.
Was the first project he led after taking over from Huang Sibo already doomed?
How was he supposed to explain that to everyone?
He instinctively looked toward Bao Xu—but the expression on Bao Xu’s face made him feel even worse.
Bao Xu had that classic “just as expected” look.
Back when the two had discussed the game, Bao Xu had said outright: there would be only two outcomes.
Either the game would become a legend… or it would crash and burn.
Because it was ahead of its time—too abstract in concept, too subtle in meaning. The average player was likely to lose patience long before they uncovered what the game was really about.
Seeing that expression, Lu Mingliang grew even more anxious.
“Brother Bao… What do we do now?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.
Bao Xu let out a soft sigh. “We wait.”
“I’m sure President Pei already anticipated this.”
“For now, all we can do is our part and leave the rest to fate.”
“If it really comes to the worst… we’ll ride this out with President Pei.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Meanwhile…
Qiao Liang watched his newly completed video from beginning to end.
He was very satisfied!
Because of how deeply the game resonated with him—and how rich its meaning was—Qiao Liang had been filled with motivation while making the video.
He’d gone all in for three straight days, even reworking the content several times to make it perfect.
This episode would be uploaded in a brand-new channel: “Masterpiece Showcase,” and this would be its very first episode.
Qiao Liang had a strong hunch this channel was going to blow up—possibly even more than his “Trash Game Roast” channel.
But before he hit upload, there was still a problem he needed to solve.
How was he going to explain the previous video?
After all, he’d just released two videos in a row about Game Producer. That alone was bound to raise suspicions.
The first one was clearly a paid promotion, but the second was from the heart—genuine, full of insight, and bursting with passion.
The problem was… would his audience believe him?
To fix that, Qiao Liang had been racking his brain.
He knew very well that if this issue couldn’t be resolved, then even if he released the second video, it would be completely useless. Most viewers wouldn’t bother watching it carefully—they’d just tear him apart in the comments.
But… if he could handle it properly, even the first video could be instantly redeemed!
Then, both reputation and views—maybe even profit—would come rolling in. Wouldn’t that be amazing?
How to completely flip the narrative?
Qiao Liang racked his brains for a long time—until suddenly, he slapped his thigh.
He had finally thought of the perfect angle!
The first video had been released on April Fool’s Day.
That was Timing.
Fanshu.com was his home base, where most of his loyal fans hung out. They were more likely to listen to his explanation.
That was Location.
And most importantly, it wasn’t just he who had uploaded such a video. Many other content creators had done the same—using identical scripts!
That was People.
With timing, location, and people all aligned, only one key question remained:
Why would President Pei from Tengda do something so thankless and easily misunderstood?
After thinking for a long while, Qiao Liang finally arrived at one possibility.
This was likely a large-scale piece of performance art released on April Fool’s Day!
By definition, performance art is a modern art form involving the artist’s direct participation. It’s deliberately planned and executed, involving real people and unfolding step-by-step through interaction to produce a meaningful experience.
This whole incident fit the definition perfectly.
All the content creators had produced identical videos, based on a unified script—and that script had come directly from President Pei.
Once published, the videos massively upset fans and viewers, becoming a textbook case of a “failed promotional campaign.”
In this scenario, President Pei and all the paid influencers were participants in this performance art.
And the impact of this performance… was profound.
Thinking along those lines, everything suddenly made sense.
All the previously illogical behavior now seemed completely rational!
But that was only the initial push.
Qiao Liang needed more evidence.
To verify his theory, he logged into Fanshu.com, ignored the barrage of DMs and hate comments, and started hunting for supporting arguments.
He discovered that after three days of relentless exposure and fermentation, a new meme was spreading rapidly—
A meme called “Qiao-speak”, or “Qiao-ism” (乔言乔语 / 乔学)!
Many people were now uploading their own videos, spontaneously organizing imitation contests!
The mixed use of English and Chinese, catchphrases like “waaaooo~”, “awesome!”, certain tones and onomatopoeia…
All of it had become a meme.
And especially in tech unboxing and digital review videos, the “Qiao-ism” had become wildly contagious.
On one hand, Game Producer was struggling.
On the other, “Qiao-ism” was rising explosively, sparking celebration among countless netizens!
Qiao Liang’s hands trembled slightly from excitement.
I was right!
This really is a large-scale piece of performance art—and a wildly successful one!
President Pei… I see your vision now!
He immediately opened his video editing software, and added a new introduction to the beginning of the completed video.
Only after making this final adjustment did Qiao Liang feel truly satisfied as he uploaded the finished video.
“Yep, now this video truly deserves to be under the ‘Masterpiece Showcase’ channel!”
Even though Qiao Liang was currently going through the biggest crisis of his career, he was absolutely certain that within just a few hours, public opinion about him online would do a full 180!
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