Horror Game Designer

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Gao Ming, a game designer at Nightlight Studio, firmly believed that their latest horror game was destined for success. He was convinced that players would soon recognize that they were engaging in more than just a game; it was a thrilling strategy for survival. With conviction, he proposed a bold idea during a team meeting, “If there’s still concern, why don’t we extract Xuan Wen’s storyline, refine it, and release a test version? This way, we can gauge player reactions firsthand.”

As he presented his innovative design plan on the big screen, he emphasized, “I have unwavering faith in our team’s abilities. However, our clients seem less convinced. Blindly adhering to their whims could strip our game of its unique essence, turning a potentially groundbreaking game into something utterly mundane. Let’s let the market be the judge.”

Wei Dayou, another team member, chimed in, removing his headphones and giving Xia Yang a nudge. “Considering our tight schedule, why not give Gao Ming’s suggestion a shot? Xia, what are your thoughts?”

Looking intently at the big screen, Xia Yang was familiar with and surprised by Gao Ming’s intricate horror game design. It was so detailed that it felt like he had been plunged into a real-life paranormal encounter. “How did you come up with such intricate designs?” he inquired.

With a hint of humor, Gao Ming replied, “Three days of eating cake with my parents sparked an epiphany.”

Manager Gou, overseeing the team’s preparations for the large-scale project, remained hesitant. As an industry veteran, he appreciated the creativity in Gao Ming and Xuan Wen’s designs and recognized Nightlight Studio prowess in horror games. Yet, he had committed to the client that they would produce a romance game to cater to market demands.

Standing confidently with Wei Dayou and Xuan Wen backing him, Gao Ming reassured Manager Gou, “Trust us on this. Suppose the test version that’s focused solely on Xuan Wen’s storyline fails to resonate with the audience, we will scrap it and revert to the standard romance game format.”

After considerable persuasion, Manager Gou reluctantly agreed to their plan.

Despite operating efficiently, a sense of unease hung over Nightlight Studio. The walls were plastered with old news articles about a murder case researched by Gao Ming, overshadowing the romance game’s promotional material. The team delved into the case details, striving to create the most authentic experience from the victims’ perspective.

“Our edge lies in our female lead’s distinctive character,” Gao Ming explained, unveiling his latest character design. “I’ll tweak it further to give her an even more ghostly aura. I want players to feel like they’re encountering a real ghost.”

Overwhelmed by the unconventional approach, Manager Gou could only respond, “Are you even speaking human language?”

Gao Ming confidently declared, “That’s our specialty!”

The game’s male protagonist, designed by Gao Ming, reflected his own real-life paranormal experiences. He proposed intense gameplay mechanics: “Choosing to flee results in instant death. Silence means death. Resistance is futile. Paid items are useless. Failure to make a choice within a minute leads to death! We must amplify the difficulty!”

He insisted on a shockingly realistic depiction of the ghost: “Her face shouldn’t just be pale; it needs to be bloody and mangled. The kind of shock you get when you wake up in the middle of the night to a dead face mere centimeters away, blood almost dripping into your eyes.”

The team, reinvigorated by his passion, dived into the development with renewed vigor. Manager Gou, contemplating the project’s direction, decided to inform an investor about the change in plans.

“Mr. Zhao, rest assured, the game is progressing well. After a thorough market analysis, we’ve opted for a slight innovation,” Manager Gou explained over the phone, cautiously preparing the client for the unexpected pivot.

By 4 PM, the initial version of the love game, set against the backdrop of the male protagonist’s harrowing escape, was ready, enriched by Gao Ming’s personal experiences. The game not only terrified players but also sent shivers down the spines of the Studio own staff.

The team leader Xia Yang suggested a controlled testing approach: “Let’s distribute test versions among a familiar player group to gauge reactions within a manageable scope. If things go south, we can halt immediately and have a valid explanation for the client.”

Manager Gou agreed, but Gao Ming objected, “We shouldn’t hold back. Let’s fully leverage all promotional channels and invite everyone interested to play. If needed, we can even pay players to try our game!”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Gao Ming’s leadership and dedication were evident. He was deeply invested in the company’s success, treating its fate as his own.

“This is our only shot. We need to give it everything we’ve got!” Gao Ming declared, revising the game’s title from the client-provided “To Our Love That Will Eventually Perish” to a more ominous “To Our Love That Will Eventually Die.”

Bypassing the client, Nightlight Studio began player testing. Being the lowest-ranked studio at Motu Technology, they had limited resources, making the quality of their game crucial.

…

At 4:30 PM, Mr. Zhao, having discussed the project with Manager Gou, was concerned about his investment and requested a personal review of the game.

Reflecting on his long-standing relationship with Gou, he wondered, “Nightlight Studio hasn’t produced a hit in a while, but Gou wouldn’t let me down, right?”

After the call, Mr. Zhao checked the largest industry communication platform for any news on Nightlight Studio. He noticed several popular posts in the horror section about the studio daring to develop two games simultaneously.

Curiosity piqued, he clicked on a post about Nightlight Studio releasing a test version of their game for free. The reviews were sharply divided, with an equal number of one-star and five-star ratings.

Intrigued by the extreme polarization, Mr. Zhao downloaded the game, noting its title, “To Our Love That Will Eventually Die? Isn’t this similar to my game’s concept?”

The game started with a gentle, unassuming male protagonist living alone in a seemingly peaceful house, which was actually a murder scene. As night fell, the game’s atmosphere transformed drastically. Mr. Zhao’s character died before he could fully grasp the situation.

Glued to the screen, he watched the protagonist’s corpse being dragged away and instinctively restarted the game. Each decision led to a unique and terrifying death: strangulation from behind while sitting on the sofa, a murderer breaking into the bathroom, cabinets that turned into man-eating traps, a horrifying face under the bed, and even emails that drove the protagonist insane.

The game’s immersive and emotional engagement was intense, leaving Mr. Zhao feeling like punching the screen in frustration.

As the test promotion continued, player comments flooded in:

“I’ve died seventeen times in a love game! Seventeen!”

“The realism is unnerving! It seems all the budget went into crafting the dead female lead. Who’s the unlucky investor behind this?”

“Can anyone survive past the seventh day? It’s like a survival simulator with a twist!”

The game began to gain traction, first in the horror community and then catching the attention of niche gaming YouTubers, gradually widening its reach.

By 5:40 PM, after numerous attempts, Mr. Zhao reached the eleventh night in the game. As he pondered the identity of the murderer, Manager Gou entered his office with an awkward smile, bearing two cans of Mr. Zhao’s favorite tea.

Gou attempted to divert the conversation away from the game, but his eyes involuntarily drifted to the game screen on Mr. Zhao’s computer, freezing upon recognizing it.

“Out of trust and the hope of assisting you, I entrusted this project to your studio. Weeks have passed, and I need to know where my investment went. How’s the love game progressing?” Mr. Zhao asked, his focus still on the game.

Manager Gou, choosing his words carefully, finally admitted, “Actually, you’re playing it right now.”

The sound of the keyboard ceased. Mr. Zhao looked up, pointing first at the game screen and then back at himself, a mix of surprise and inquiry in his expression.

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