Translator: Dragon Boat Translation Editor: Dragon Boat Translation
“Got a moment?” The young woman leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and smiled lightly.
Zhou Chi nodded. “Come in. How do you want to contact Yi Hong…”
“No rush,” Shen Wan said as she opened the refrigerator, took out two cans of coconut milk, tossed one to him, and then plopped down on the sofa. “Let’s talk about your game first.”
Zhou Chi caught the can and popped it open, taking a sip that instantly refreshed him. “What’s up with the game?”
“You’re not just writing it for fun, are you?”
“Of course not. I plan to sell it to a gaming company.”
“Which one?”
Zhou Chi mentioned a name that Shen Wan confirmed she hadn’t heard of.
“You probably don’t know, but it’s a small company, not very well-known.”
“Why sell to them?”
“Why not?” Zhou Chi shrugged.
“Have you ever considered larger companies like ‘Xunyi’ or ‘Tengya’?”
“Is there any point in considering? Just because you’re interested in them doesn’t mean they’ll be interested in you.” He wrote this game on a whim, and whatever price he could get for it, he’d take it. It’s just a small game, and he never dreamed of hitting it big.
Zhou Chi had long stopped dreaming. As a vocational school graduate who never attended university, he spent a few years self-learning programming driven by his interests and innate talent. He made a living coding and designing, never aspiring for meteoric success.
Perhaps it was this easygoing attitude that made him less impatient and more accepting than others. Neither poor nor wealthy, he played games, wrote code, and led a comfortable life.
Shen Wan nodded, acknowledging Zhou Chi’s words.
Small companies often had limited development capabilities and might not offer a satisfactory price. Large companies, on the other hand, had strong development capabilities and well-rounded teams, but countless aspiring programmers vied for their attention daily, making it uncertain whether they’d notice an unknown programmer like Zhou Chi.
“If I provide you with a team, do you think you could handle the role of a lead developer?”
Zhou Chi blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever thought about adding competitive elements to this game? Something like ‘Honor of Kings’, with different servers, divisions, and ranks, allowing players to form teams?”
“Whoa!” Zhou Chi gasped, taking in a breath of cool air. “How is that even possible? My initial idea was just about raising foxes.”
“Exactly, raising foxes. As the foxes grow, they can acquire skills to complete tasks. Task rewards can be used for leveling up. The higher the level, the stronger the skills.”
Zhou Chi’s eyes lit up as if a switch had been flipped, setting off an unstoppable chain reaction. “The foxes can also transform into human forms, and have various skins and equipment. Players can even arrange marriages and breed the next generation in the game! The growth process follows the current trend of relaxation, while the competitive aspect is all about strategy! And if possible, we can create a leaderboard among friends, greatly enhancing the competitive fun!”
Suddenly, Zhou Chi furrowed his brow. “But this wouldn’t just be a simple nurturing game anymore. Typically, for action and competitive games like this, high-quality graphics and visuals are required. It involves a significant amount of animation design, artistry, and programming personnel. It’s not something that can be easily accomplished.”
Shen Wan chuckled softly. “That’s why I asked you. If you had a team right now, could you lead them in developing this game, from concept, design, programming, to later stages like operation and maintenance?”
Zhou Chi stared wide-eyed. “You, you, you…”
He stammered, unable to form a complete sentence.
Shen Wan arched an eyebrow and leaned closer. “What’s the matter, overwhelmed with joy?”
“I… I’m not….”
