Chapter 281: Let Me Deliver You Some Salvation!
Chapter 281: Let Me Deliver You Some Salvation!
Starting a new save file in a hurry, Qiao Liang rushed straight to the ruined temple. After dying several times, he finally obtained Pudu (Salvation).
The moment his character held that gleaming golden staff, Qiao Liang felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him.
“So it really is a hidden weapon!”
“You have to die six times to get it—who would’ve thought of that?”
“Makes sense though. That old monk’s way too weak, even weaker than the mobs in the Graveyard. If it weren’t for that naked-run guy in the group, I’d never have figured it out myself.”
“Could this weapon be a powered-up version of the regular Zen staff?”
“What the hell—?! What’s with this damage?!”
Qiao Liang tried swinging the golden staff at one of the beefier soldier-type mobs—with a single strike, it slammed the poor guy flat on the ground!
Two hits later, the mob’s HP bar was gone.
He clearly remembered needing at least four or five hits from other weapons to kill that same enemy—and that was in the second area of the game, where enemies were much tougher.
In other words, against weaker mobs, this thing could probably one-shot them outright!
The only downside was that this weapon didn’t have a unique skill. Its special attack was the same as the standard Zen staff—just a heavy swing. Powerful, sure, but not exactly flashy.
Qiao Liang had imagined that Pudu would have a combat art like raising the staff and unleashing a radiant Buddha light AOE to smite nearby enemies—but nope.
In terms of visual flair, it couldn’t compare to the Mourning Staff, the weapon dropped after defeating the Black and White Impermanence bosses.
Still, the Mourning Staff was a late-game drop—new players could never get it so easily.
And even then, it probably wasn’t as practical as Pudu, whose base attack power surpassed even that.
Qiao Liang went around smacking a few more mobs and found the weapon downright broken.
While its normal attack animations weren’t the smoothest, it could still perform jump slams and dashing strikes like other weapons, making it much faster in skilled hands.
For a player like Qiao Liang, it was basically a cheat code—long reach, fast swing speed, insane damage, and ridiculous poise-breaking power. Mobs got flattened in one hit, unable to even react.
Those dagger- or knife-wielding enemies couldn’t get anywhere near him—he’d knock them down before they closed the distance.
Even the pitchfork mobs, who had similar attack range, were helpless; dodge once, and it was open season for the player to beat them senseless.
He didn’t even need fancy combos—just spam Pudu slams, and everything died.
Staring at this absurdly overpowered weapon, Qiao Liang felt a mix of awe and despair.
“If I’d known there was a weapon this strong, why the hell did I torture myself so much during the early game!?”
He thought back to his early struggles—crawling through the game with a garbage weapon, terrified of every mob that could one-shot him.
And now? He was casually wrecking the same enemies that once dominated him.
Meanwhile, the fan group had completely exploded.
“Holy crap, I got the weapon too! You just sprint all the way there, die at the old monk’s place, and boom—you get it!”
“This weapon’s insane—killing mobs feels easy as fuck now!”
“This is crazy! Is this an official cheat code or what?”
“Whoever found this needs to post it on the forum right now! You’re probably the first one to discover it!”
“Damn it, I already killed the old monk! I even used the prayer beads!”
“Restart. New save’s quick to make.”
“I declare ‘Pudu (Salvation)’ the strongest weapon in the entire game—no competition!”
Someone had already made a forum post—a hidden weapon like this was definitely major news.
Many development teams, for various reasons, like to design hidden storylines, secret weapons, and Easter eggs in their games—usually to surprise players or enrich the worldbuilding and lore in subtle ways.
And among all of these, hidden weapons always generate the most buzz.
Because unlike hidden endings or obscure lore tidbits, secret weapons typically don’t affect the game’s main story, and they aren’t too hard to find—once enough players start digging, someone is bound to discover them sooner or later.
But Pudu was different.
As a hidden weapon, its stats were simply too good—powerful enough to completely alter a player’s entire experience of the game!
And since it was buried so deeply within the game, that only made it even more sensational once it was found.
Before long, the forum post exploded in popularity. Players across multiple platforms began reposting it, and soon the discovery spread like wildfire!
. . .
Meanwhile, Pei Qian was staring intently at the game’s refund statistics, silently cheering on the army of paid commentators he’d recently hired.
One particular post caught his eye—it was written so perfectly in line with his goals that he almost wanted to tip the author extra money.
The post’s title read:
“Don’t Fall for the Developer’s Trap—Refund While You Still Can!”
And the content:
“The dev team really knows how to mess with players. Extending the refund window looks generous on the surface, but it’s actually a scam!”
“With a longer refund period, people just end up playing longer, which tricks you into getting used to the pain!”
“Then, just when the refund deadline’s near, they throw in those creepy one-liners and tombstone messages—pure psychological manipulation!”
“Once you start thinking ‘I can’t let the devs win,’ you’ve already fallen into their trap! Not refunding means they’ve won!”
“Think about it—why throw away a hundred yuan just to suffer? You could spend that money on anything else!”
“So please, be rational—refund immediately and don’t let the devs fool you!”
After reading it, Pei Qian nearly jumped to his feet.
“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!”
He was so impressed he almost wanted to DM the poster personally:
“Brother, what’s your contact info? With talent like yours, working as a regular paid commentator is such a waste!”
This post was, for Pei Qian, like a warm fire on a freezing night.
Sure, the comment section was an absolute battlefield—half the replies were flaming the original poster—but that didn’t matter. A post with that much engagement was bound to encourage at least a few refunds.
And it wasn’t just that one post—similar ones were popping up on Weibo, major gaming forums, and various group chats.
The water army was hard at work, spreading the gospel of “refund before you regret it”, warning players not to waste their time suffering through the game.
Pei Qian could only nod in satisfaction.
“Money well spent!”
True, there were a few misguided members of the water army who’d gone rogue—posting glowing reviews of “Turn Back Before It’s Too Late”, praising it as some deep philosophical masterpiece. Those had caused Pei Qian a few headaches.
But overall, the situation looked good.
The refund rate hadn’t dropped sharply, but it also hadn’t gone down much further either—which, to Pei Qian, meant success.
It was now unlikely that the rate would ever reach his ideal 35% goal, but maintaining stability was already a win.
As more and more information about the game spread, new players were all going in fully aware that it was a punishing experience. With those expectations set, fewer of them felt compelled to refund after buying.
But thanks to the tireless efforts of the water army, the refund rate remained steady—a small but genuine victory in Pei Qian’s eyes.
He didn’t expect the company to take the game off the market anymore; after all this time, not even a warning had been issued. Clearly, the higher-ups were determined to protect this game to the bitter end.
“Well, as long as I can convince a few more people to refund, that’s a few dozen yuan less profit. Truly, a noble cause!”
Then suddenly, Pei Qian frowned.
“Hmm? That’s strange…”
“Wait, what the hell—why is the refund rate dropping again after just an hour? Are the water armies slacking off? Do I need to top up their pay again?”
Pei Qian frowned. He’d just renewed the water army contracts not long ago, hadn’t he?
He quickly opened up several major forums to see if the public sentiment had somehow shifted.
And then he saw it—a new trending post.
“I found a hidden weapon in the game! ‘Pudu (Salvation)’—it’s totally broken!”
“What the hell???”
Pei Qian felt his blood pressure spike, nearly giving him a heart attack.
What the hell was going on?!
He hurriedly clicked on the post.
The post itself was simple: the author described how they accidentally discovered the hidden weapon Pudu (Salvation). They admitted to being a clumsy player and just wanted to see if they could unlock the nearby Buddha statue teleport point by running around. Somehow, they stumbled into an abandoned temple and got killed repeatedly by the old monk—but eventually got the weapon.
The post even included detailed instructions on how to obtain Pudu (Salvation), several screenshots, and a breakdown of how ridiculously powerful it was.
The comments below had already exploded, with over a thousand replies.
“Holy crap, it’s real! The game actually has a hidden weapon!”
“I got it too! Thanks OP, you’re a lifesaver!”
“This weapon’s straight-up broken—completely overpowered!”
“Even I, a total scrub, can one-shot mobs now!”
“It’s like the game turned into a hack-and-slash!”
“Haha, with this weapon I’ve got the will to keep playing again. I was this close to refunding!”
“This thing’s so busted—where’s the balance?”
“Who cares about balance? Clearly the devs felt bad for us and hid this weapon on purpose so weak players could actually finish the game.”
“Is this… the designers’ mercy?”
“Dev, I take back every insult I ever threw at you. You’re a saint!”
The entire comment section was a celebration—it was like New Year’s had come early.
And that wasn’t all.
Players started making memes.
One meme showed the player character swinging Pudu (Salvation) and flattening three monsters at once, with a caption below:
“Let me deliver you some Salvation.”
Other memes included things like:
“The best thing under the heaven is Salvation,”
“Salvation Alert,”
“The opponent doesn’t want to talk and delivered you some Salvation instead,”
“Forget your cursed sticks and mourning flags, I only need Salvation!”
Pei Qian smacked his forehead.
For crying out loud, how are these idiots so fast at making memes?!
He glanced at the post time—it had only been up for three hours, and there were already dozens of meme formats circulating!
Wait, no, memes weren’t the real issue here!
In that instant, Pei Qian realized exactly why the game’s refund rate was plummeting.
Because more and more players had discovered the official shortcut to Pudu!
Before, players had no choice—they’d die to elite monsters over and over, get frustrated, lose their patience, and refund the game.
But now? With Pudu, they’d found hope!
As long as they could survive the early stage, sprint to the old monk, die a few times, and get the weapon, the game’s difficulty dropped dramatically—and they could actually enjoy playing again!
“Damn it… this is a disaster!”
Pei Qian’s hands went cold. The world as he knew it was falling apart!
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