Chapter Five

"Browser... games?" Everyone looked at each other in confusion, unable to guess what Jiang Qiubai was up to.

They weren’t unfamiliar with such games; in fact, many of them had tried making these back in college. Precisely because of this, they found the suggestion unbelievable—browser games were simple to make, easy to pick up, and perfect for beginners. If they really set their minds to it, they could probably finish one in just a few days.

But because these games were so small, most of them were free. Even when they charged, it was only one or two yuan; anything over three and players would avoid it like the plague, cursing the creators for being heartless before leaving. Given that, how many copies would they need to sell to save the company from disaster?

Would making such a game really be enough to rescue the studio?

Someone couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh, not holding out any hope for this new project. Obviously, the boss was just looking for the fastest way to finish something, not whether the plan would actually work.

They had thought the boss had finally come to his senses, but it seemed he was just being eccentric in a different way.

Silence spread; they didn’t even have the will to ask what kind of browser game Jiang Qiubai intended to make. What was the point of asking? To listen to another one of the boss’s bizarre ideas? Maybe he was planning to turn that old dress-up shooting game into a pure dress-up game. That was exactly the kind of thing he would do.

Only Old Liu, after a moment’s hesitation, asked, "Boss, if we’re making a browser game... how will we price it?"

He had intended to remind Jiang Qiubai not to forget they needed to make money. But Jiang Qiubai, with a calm expression, dropped another bombshell: "We won’t charge. We’ll make a free browser game."

He’s lost his mind!

The boss must have gone crazy! The company was already in this state, and he wanted to make a free game? Was he trying to go under faster?

Those who had decided to stay and see what would happen now regretted their decision, picturing a future where they worked overtime every day without even getting paid.

Jiang Qiubai glanced around, taking in everyone’s expressions before finally speaking slowly, "The game will be free, but the in-game items will require microtransactions."

He then remembered that this world didn’t have the concept of microtransactions yet, so he explained, "That means buying in-game items with real money."

It was a tactic often used by game companies in his previous world: lure people in with the promise of a free game, give them a few small perks, then gradually entice them to make purchases for a better experience.

In the end, players might spend far more than they would on a paid game, despite it being called 'free.' As the old saying goes: 'Nothing is more expensive than free.'

"Spending money on in-game items? Microtransactions?" Li, the systems designer, repeated, the term striking her as oddly fitting.

For a split second, a strange feeling flashed through her mind, but when she tried to grasp it, it was gone. It wasn’t until much later, after the game launched, that Li realized what that sensation was:

The awakening of business acumen.

"Yes, our game will be free to play. Anyone can experience it, but if they want to buy items during gameplay, they’ll need to pay," Jiang Qiubai nodded.

That was... intriguing?

The team's mood, which had hit rock bottom, lifted ever so slightly. They found themselves curious about this new monetization model.

"Will these in-game items affect the balance of the game?" Wang, one of the developers, asked. He’d played plenty of games and wasn’t entirely convinced by Jiang Qiubai’s design.

"To some extent, yes," Jiang Qiubai replied.

If the items didn’t affect the balance, how would they sell?

Wang had expected this answer, and it was the very reason he disagreed. "But won’t that make non-paying players dissatisfied, causing the majority of players to leave?"

There had been a handful of attempts at item-based monetization before, but every attempt had met with disastrous losses. After all, most people in this world didn’t have the habit of spending money in games.

"Our target audience will be satisfied," Jiang Qiubai replied, noncommittal.

"And if they aren’t?" Wang pressed.

"Then they’re not our target audience," Jiang Qiubai shot him a glance. "We don’t need a huge player base for this game. Our focus is on office workers."

He didn’t want a hundred thousand people each giving him a yuan; he wanted ten people each spending ten thousand.

That was the whole point of targeting office workers.

They didn’t have much time, but they had money to spare and were willing to spend it—such ideal customers.

"Office workers? They play games?" Wang blurted out.

"Do you spend all your time in the studio actually working?" Jiang Qiubai retorted.

"Well... uh... ha, so that’s why you chose browser games? Brilliant, boss!" Remembering the countless hours spent browsing random sites on his office PC, Wang quickly switched his tune, wearing an expression of utmost support.

His change of face was faster than a master actor.

"It’s true—browser games are discreet, and you can switch or minimize the window anytime."

"Come to think of it, browser games and office workers are a perfect match!"

"The boss really is the boss; we’d never have thought of this."

Who hadn’t slacked off at work before? Now that Jiang Qiubai had pointed this out, no one voiced any further doubts; the room was full of praise, everyone eager to move the conversation along.

Fortunately, Jiang Qiubai had only brought it up in passing and didn’t intend to say more. "Any other questions about the type of game?"

"No problem!" Assistant Wu, the champion procrastinator, was the first to reply, worried that if she was too slow, her slacking would be exposed.

The other five shook their heads vigorously.

"Then let’s get started." Jiang Qiubai began assigning tasks. "Keep all the original scenes from the previous game, but compress them as needed."

Browser games weren’t large; the scenery couldn’t take up all the space.

"Monsters in each scene should be triggered at fixed locations, and make sure their level is obvious—players should be able to tell at a glance which are the high-level monsters and which are the low-level ones." With only one systems designer left, Jiang Qiubai simply handed this off to Yang and Zhang, the programmers.

"Get started on that. I’ll outsource some assets and they should arrive in about a week. Once they do, you can add in character animations and weapons."

Seeing their dismayed faces, Jiang Qiubai added, "No need to make the animations too detailed; just a few attack moves for the monsters will do."

Then he emphasized, "But you must make sure the combat feels impactful—this can’t be worse than our previous game."

"Understood, boss," the programmers replied, accepting their assignments.

"Li, I’ll give you a spreadsheet tomorrow. Use my numbers as a reference for balancing and planning the microtransaction events," he instructed.

The lead designer and operations manager had already left, so the burden now fell on Li.

"I’ll do my best, boss," Li said, taking a deep breath, feeling as if a heavy weight had settled on her shoulders.

It was her first time designing a microtransaction event; she couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

"Wu, can you write storylines?" Jiang Qiubai turned to Wu, who was trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

"I haven’t, but I did publish a few articles in college," Wu replied after a moment’s thought.

"That’s enough," Jiang Qiubai nodded. "From now on, you’re our story planner. I’ll send you the requirements tomorrow. It’s not too difficult; just write clearly what I ask for."

Wu was left dazed by the opportunity that had just fallen into her lap. One moment she was the assistant running errands for everyone, and the next, she was promoted to an official position with real responsibilities.

Promotion and a raise, just like that.

After a while, she leaped up, clenching her fists with excitement. "Thank you, boss! I’ll do my best!"

What does a sudden promotion feel like?

Wu: Thanks for asking, I’m just really happy right now—so happy I want to pull an all-nighter to prove myself.

"Wang, you’ll be in charge of maintaining the servers and building a new framework for them. Make sure the memory usage isn’t too high, and prioritize smooth gameplay," Jiang Qiubai said, turning to Wang.

"No problem, boss," Wang replied readily.

"And for registration..." Jiang Qiubai paused, deep in thought, then said, "Just skip the registration step. Let players start playing by simply clicking on the web page."

Spoon-feeding the experience.

"…What about accounts and passwords? And if we do it this way, how do we ensure account security?" Wang had so many complaints he didn’t know where to begin.

"Generate account and password as a downloadable file. Let players save it to their desktop," Jiang Qiubai replied, having already considered this. "Let them try the game first. We’ll ask for password changes and phone binding later."

What do office workers fear most? Hassle.

The more information required during registration, the more likely they were to give up out of annoyance. Not only them—most players were like that. That’s why many big game companies set up unified accounts: register once and you can play all their games, making players more willing to try something new since it doesn’t require extra registration.

Jiang Qiubai didn’t have that advantage, so he chose to let players experience the game first. Once they were familiar with it, he’d prompt them to input their information for security, reducing resistance to the registration process.

"That could work." After hearing Jiang Qiubai’s explanation, Wang imagined himself as a player and was quickly convinced.

The rest of the team, eavesdropping, began to regard Jiang Qiubai with newfound respect.

They hadn’t expected the boss to actually know his stuff this time.

"Delete all non-essential fields. Only keep what’s absolutely necessary," Jiang Qiubai reminded them.

He was determined to put in the effort right from the starting line—

The first step to attracting players: no registration, just click and play.