Chapter 283: Hurry Up and Prepare for the Aftermath
Chapter 283: Hurry Up and Prepare for the Aftermath
In the office, Pei Qian was pacing anxiously, unable to sit still.
“What are those paid commentators doing!”
“They haven’t stirred up any controversy at all—if this goes on, public opinion will completely swing to one side!”
Ever since Pei Qian deployed his paid commentators yesterday, he’d been closely monitoring the trends on forums and Weibo. But after watching for half a day, aside from a few awkward smear posts, there’d been no further activity!
And those awkward smear posts didn’t make any waves—no one paid attention, and they were quickly downvoted into oblivion.
Meanwhile, the “Pudu” meme had exploded in popularity, almost breaking out of the gaming community altogether!
In particular, the meme image “Let Me Deliver You Some Salvation!” was going viral across Weibo, chat groups, and forums, and players were loving it.
Once the meme started spreading, people naturally began asking, “What game is this from?”—which only led to even more people joining the fanbase!
What infuriated Pei Qian most was that many players were even maliciously tricking others into playing the game.
“This game is called Turn Back Before It’s Too Late. It’s a super satisfying hack-and-slash title, a perfect stress reliever—absolutely ideal for anyone who likes calming and easy games. You have to try it!”
Comments like that were everywhere.
Pei Qian could only grind his teeth and curse, “Animals!”
These people were sabotaging other players, sabotaging President Pei himself, and gaining nothing from it—how could there be so many doing such thankless, harmful things? Truly, morals had decayed and humanity had fallen!
But Pei Qian was helpless, there was nothing he could do.
He could even sympathize with the paid commentators. After all, the public tide had already turned. Expecting them to somehow dig up a damning flaw big enough to sink the game was simply unrealistic.
Even Pei Qian himself couldn’t think of any real weakness to exploit—so how could those paid commentators, who barely understood the game, manage it?
Originally, Pei Qian’s trump card had been the game’s difficulty, but that weapon had now become completely useless.
“Forget it, I’d better start preparing for the aftermath.”
Pei Qian silently began calculating how many more Moyu Internet Cafés and Against the Wind Logistics stations he would have to open to burn through the profits this game was bringing in.
There were three weeks left until the settlement date, which meant he only had two weeks of real operating time left.
One way or another, he had to speed things up.
He immediately called Zhang Yuan.
“How’s the Huanyu Sky Street Branch Moyu Internet Café doing?”
Zhang Yuan replied, “Uh… President Pei, we’re still operating at a loss.”
“What’s the seat occupancy?”
“About thirty to forty percent. But don’t worry, President Pei—I’m sure business will improve soon!”
The words “will improve soon” made the corner of Pei Qian’s mouth twitch involuntarily.
Still…
Thirty to forty percent—okay, still within the loss-making range.
He hadn’t expected even that much occupancy, though.
Maybe it was just because Huanyu Sky Street was such a bustling area, with naturally higher foot traffic?
Yes, that must be it—after all, it was the biggest shopping center in Jingzhou City.
If he opened more branches elsewhere, they’d surely perform worse, right?
Time was short, and Pei Qian made a snap decision: “I’ll give you more funding—open two more cafés. No, three! Same setup as the Huanyu Sky Street branch—pick locations inside major shopping malls, got it?”
“You’ve got two weeks. I want all three open and fully operational within that time. Not a single day’s delay. Can you do it?”
Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition was already making money—and a lot of it. Pei Qian was feeling immense pressure to spend quickly.
He had to move fast.
Zhang Yuan froze for a moment, then replied firmly, “Don’t worry, President Pei—I’ll get it done!”
After hanging up, Zhang Yuan glanced at the customers in the internet café—many of whom were playing Turn Back Before It’s Too Late—and couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration.
President Pei was truly a master strategist. He hadn’t even visited Moyu Internet Café lately, yet somehow he already knew that business here was booming.
Could it be that President Pei had foreseen this long ago? That after Turn Back Before It’s Too Late was released, its high hardware requirements would drive a wave of players to internet cafés like theirs?
Thinking back, business had been rough when they first opened. Occupancy had dropped as low as ten percent, and most of the computers sat idle.
But gradually, a wave of new players started showing up—many of them playing Turn Back Before It’s Too Late, others playing similarly demanding games. All of them required high-end PCs.
And so, the customer base kept growing. Lately, occupancy had risen to thirty or forty percent.
It seemed that President Pei had noticed this upward trend and decided to invest more funds to ride the momentum!
Yes, that had to be it!
Convinced of this, Zhang Yuan immediately started reaching out to other shopping malls, looking for new locations to open additional branches.
. . .
After finishing that call, Pei Qian dialed another number—this time for Lu Mingliang—and instructed him to open a hundred new Against the Wind Logistics stations.
Of course, “a hundred” was more of an ideal target. Each station didn’t require a massive investment, but finding office spaces, purchasing shelving, hiring staff, and setting everything up would still take considerable time.
Pei Qian simply told Lu Mingliang to aim for a hundred new stations and open as many as he could manage within the timeframe. As long as it didn’t interfere with the final settlement date, that was good enough.
Once everything was arranged, Pei Qian exhaled deeply.
Now, even if Turn Back Before It’s Too Late became a huge financial success, at least he wouldn’t immediately drop dead from despair.
And even if he did die from it… at least his body would remain intact.
Pei Qian slumped back into his chair, sinking into a deep melancholy.
Melancholy or not, life still had to go on.
He absentmindedly opened the forum and refreshed the page, not expecting much.
Then suddenly—something caught his eye.
“Huh? The paid commentators are finally doing something?”
“So my money wasn’t wasted!”
. . .
While President Pei was busy making calls, the paid commentators were working just as hard.
Even though the situation looked increasingly hopeless, they hadn’t completely given up.
Many of them were still grinding through the game, trying to find flaws to exploit—some had even missed the refund window because they were too focused on their “work.”
But despite playing for hours and making solid progress, they still hadn’t found any serious issues worth weaponizing.
Then, suddenly, a new message in their group chat drew everyone’s attention.
“Hey, check out this post! It says that Pudu only works effectively on certain monsters and only leads to the Six Paths of Reincarnation ending. If you use it against enemies in the Avici Hell or Yama’s Hall of Judgment, its power drops drastically! Think this could be something we can use?”
Hu Xiao blinked in surprise and hurriedly opened the post.
Anything related to Pudu immediately caught his attention, he was counting on that weapon to clear the game himself!
The game has been out for six days now. The weapon “Pudu (Salvation)” had first been discovered two nights ago—and had gone viral yesterday.
Many highly skilled players were already close to clearing the game, and among those using the weapon Pudu, quite a few had reached the later stages.
According to the official design, Pudu could only be used effectively for the Six Paths of Reincarnation ending. If players tried to use it in Yama’s Hall of Judgment or Avici Hell, the weapon’s damage would drop drastically, becoming no better than an ordinary blade.
So, players wielding Pudu would only discover the problem after passing the Yellow Springs Road and the Stone of Three Lifetimes—when they reached the branching routes toward the game’s endings.
But… was that really something worth criticizing?
Hu Xiao couldn’t quite see how.
Many people in the group were also skeptical.
“How are we supposed to make a scandal out of that?”
“Isn’t that just normal game design?”
“No, no, I think this is a trap in disguise! A psychological trick!”
“They give you this overpowered weapon that can only hit a small portion of enemies. It tricks you into thinking the game’s easy—and by the time your five-hour refund window is up, you realize the later stages are still pure suffering!”
“So it’s actually a scam designed to prevent players from refunding! The game’s core hasn’t changed—it’s still built to torture you!”
“…Wait, that works?”
“The reasoning’s kind of flimsy, but hey, it’s definitely better than our last few pathetic smear attempts.”
“Yeah, makes sense! If the devs weren’t doing it on purpose, why would they make this hidden weapon only effective against certain monsters? Why not make it usable throughout the whole game?”
“Exactly! Whatever, let’s run with it—we can’t let the boss’s money go to waste!”
Soon, a new hot post appeared on the forum:
“‘Pudu’ Is a Scam! The Dev Team Has Bad Intentions—Don’t Fall for It!”
“Everyone should know by now that ‘Pudu’ feels super strong early on—it tears through minor enemies like paper. But once you reach the later levels, it suddenly stops working on some monsters and becomes no different from a normal weapon!”
“Worse, it can’t even be upgraded!”
“That’s the sinister part— the devs lure us in with this weapon, then once the refund window passes, it’s too late to back out!”
“I’m convinced the designer is a total sadist who made this game just to torment players. Don’t fall for it!”
“If you hate suffering, stay away! And if you already bought it, refund it fast—don’t get tricked by ‘Pudu’!”
As soon as the post went up, the paid commentators sprang into action.
They replied, upvoted, and reposted as needed, and soon the thread’s popularity began to skyrocket.
Of course, the post still had an air of forced negativity, so it didn’t resonate too strongly with most players.
But thanks to the coordinated effort of the paid commentators, it did have some effect.
At least some players who had been planning to buy the game because of the Pudu hype were starting to hesitate.
If Pudu only worked in the early game and the rest of the playthrough was still brutal suffering, wasn’t that even worse?
To enjoy some brief fun early on only to receive double the suffering later—most players found the idea discouraging enough to back off immediately.
. . .
Pei Qian finally broke into a long-lost smile.
The paid commentators actually did a good job! My money wasn’t wasted!
They’d even managed to come up with a halfway decent smear angle—that’s no small feat!
Pei Qian almost felt like giving them a bonus.
Even if the smear’s overall effect wasn’t huge, highlighting Pudu’s limited usefulness could definitely spook some of the less skilled, more cautious players.
And if even one of those players decided not to buy the game because of it—well, that was an act of great virtue in Pei Qian’s eyes.
He couldn’t help but feel deeply moved.
These paid commentators were worth every penny!
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