Chapter 126: Physical Examination
Chapter 126: Physical Examination
Pei Qian closed the game media’s sycophantic reviews.
The only "flaw" they mentioned was actually “part of the game’s design.”
If anyone else read this review, they’d probably think I paid them off!
Aren’t you people supposed to be professional critics?
You can’t even find a single fault?
Pei Qian felt emotionally exhausted.
Forget it—maybe the player reviews will have more criticism. With how picky players can be, there must be some complaints, right?
Pei Qian clicked open the user reviews...
Only to see that the latest scores were all glowing five-star ratings!
All the one-star reviews had been downvoted into oblivion, buried at the bottom.
“The art style is amazing! Those abstract concepts were presented in such a concrete and creative way—it made a dry topic feel really vivid and interesting!”
“Came here after watching Teacher Qiao’s video—classic black humor!”
“Five stars, no question. Anyone giving less just doesn’t get this game.”
“The narrator is hilarious—I don’t even care about making games anymore, I just want to mess with Narrator-kun!”
“Honestly, it’s been a long time since I played a game that moved me. Most games these days are either greedy cash grabs or shallow crowd-pleasers. This one has depth and integrity—rare gems like this are hard to find!”
“It’s a real slow burn. I almost gave up at the start, but on the second try I got hooked—now I’m on my 18th playthrough! Totally addicting!”
“28 yuan? This is way too generous. Can they even break even with that price? This game feels like it took serious investment! I bought three copies—gave two to friends. I just hope the devs don’t lose money!”
Reading through these reviews, Pei Qian was lost in thought.
The guy who bought three copies… can you send me your address? I’ll send you a gift basket of local specialty foods.
This is outrageous…
The content I racked my brains to make off-putting has become the highlight of the game!?
Someone even said they loved teasing the narrator?
Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll have Lu Mingliang debut as a v-tuber tomorrow!
Pei Qian was on the verge of a breakdown. He originally just wanted to look at the reviews to learn from his failure—or at least avoid repeating accidental success.
But… people seemed to love every aspect of the game?
The art? Good. The gameplay? Good. Even that annoying narrator? A fan-favorite!
How the hell am I supposed to summarize any useful experience from this?
What is this, some kind of meta black comedy?
Pei Qian slumped back in his chair, feeling like a salted fish that would never turn over…
. . . . . . . . . .
April 19th, Monday.
At a top-tier hospital in Jingzhou.
Tengda’s employees had just finished their company-mandated physical exams and were now eating breakfast.
Huang Sibo and Bao Xu were sitting at the same table, munching on steamed buns and sipping soy milk while chatting about their check-up results.
“Brother Bao, how’d your results come out?”
“Not bad. Bit of a stomach issue. Doctor said I stay up too late and eat irregularly. What about you, Brother Huang?”
“Got a little fatty liver and slightly elevated blood pressure, but nothing serious.”
“I heard we’ll be doing these physicals every six months from now on? And we’re not allowed to skip?” Bao Xu sounded mildly exasperated.
To him, life boiled down to two things: games, and everything else.
Physical exams clearly fell under “everything else”—something that ate into his gaming time. Best avoided if possible.
Most companies only offer a health check when you first join. The better ones do it once a year.
As it turned out, Tengda actually did physical exams every six months, and employees weren’t allowed to skip them, which made Bao Xu feel a little annoyed.
Huang Sibo sipped his soy milk and said, “Come on, Brother Bao, don’t think like that. These checkups are good for us. If it weren’t for this exam, I wouldn’t even know I had mild fatty liver. I’ve got to start watching what I eat. Yiqun, what about you?”
Sitting beside them, Ma Yiqun replied, “I’m alright. Got a case of mild chronic superficial gastritis—also a gut issue, just like Brother Bao.”
Huang Sibo nodded. “Yeah, that’s kind of expected. Back when you were at Shangyang Games, you were always working late, eating takeout at irregular hours. It’s no surprise you developed this problem. Gotta take better care of yourself now.”
Ma Yiqun sighed with emotion. “Tengda really is the best. Great benefits, and now they even arrange regular health checkups for us… President Pei is truly a thoughtful and compassionate employer!”
Huang Sibo smiled. “No need to say such obvious truths out loud.”
After finishing their breakfast, everyone got up to leave.
That morning was dedicated to the medical exams, and the whole afternoon was off, so everyone just booked their own rides home—on the company’s dime, of course.
“Uh? I think I left my umbrella back at the hospital. You guys go ahead—I’ll go grab it.”
Ma Yiqun realized he had left his umbrella on a chair in the waiting area during the check-up and turned back to retrieve it.
He had just picked up the umbrella and was about to leave when he suddenly heard someone shout behind him:
“Excuse me, wait a moment!”
Ma Yiqun turned around and saw a short-haired girl with glasses jogging toward him—apparently looking for him.
“Hi, are you an employee of Tengda?” she asked, slightly out of breath from running but still managing to speak clearly and professionally.
Ma Yiqun, puzzled, nodded.
“Hello! I’m Hu Yue, a journalist from the Jingzhou branch of Playtime Weekly. I’m currently working on a feature story about Tengda Games. Would you be willing to do an interview?” Hu Yue tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to calm her breathing.
Ma Yiqun was stunned. “How did you know I work at Tengda?”
Hu Yue smiled. “A classmate of mine works at this hospital. She told me Tengda staff would be coming in for physicals today, so I rushed over right away.”
‘Playtime Weekly?’
Ma Yiqun recognized the name—it was a fairly well-known game media outlet. Their written articles and short video programs were both quite popular.
Under normal circumstances, Ma Yiqun would’ve happily agreed.
But… Tengda was no ordinary company.
President Pei had explicitly instructed them: do not reveal his identity or personal information to outsiders, and never disclose details about Tengda’s salaries or benefits!
This Hu Yue had previously called Tengda for an interview, but her request was politely declined.
Sure, she had managed to find the company's address—but since they had already rejected her formally, storming the place would’ve been incredibly rude.
Plenty of reporters had tried and failed just like her, and most had given up.
But Hu Yue wasn’t so easily discouraged. Since her friend worked at the hospital and tipped her off about the check-up, she raced over and actually managed to catch a Tengda employee alone.
Ma Yiqun decided to stick to the rules and politely refuse.
“Sorry, but our company has a policy. We’re not allowed to share information about our boss, and we can’t disclose salary or benefit details. I think it’s best if you try asking someone else.”
With that, Ma Yiqun turned to leave.
“Wait, please!” Hu Yue quickly stopped him.
After all, she had finally managed to catch a real-life Tengda employee—she couldn’t just let him walk away so easily!
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