Ma Yang gathered his things and headed out, determined to find books about game design at the nearby bookstores.
Pei Qian wasn't sure if Ma Yang would find anything relevant, but with so many bookstores around, he was bound to return with something—right?
At this point, online shopping platforms and specialized book websites already existed, but many students hadn't caught up with the trend yet. Some slower ones hadn't even activated online banking.
Ma Yang was precisely one of these more traditional students. When it came to buying books, his first instinct was still to visit a bookstore, flipping through pages physically before deciding whether to purchase.
Of course, in the coming years, this habit would undergo massive changes.
Returning to his bed, Pei Qian opened his laptop, contemplating his next moves.
. . .
In the afternoon, Ma Yang returned.
He carried seven or eight thick books, including one especially large volume titled "Advanced Programming Essentials", about two fingers thick.
Aside from that, he had titles such as:
"Survival Guide Beyond the Code"
"Software Development Management Handbook"
"Code Complete"
"Design Patterns"
and intriguingly, "Guide to Cervical Spine Health".
Ma Yang looked quite proud of himself.
Pei Qian browsed through Ma Yang's purchases, his eyes finally stopping on the peculiar "Guide to Cervical Spine Health".
"You really came prepared, didn't you? Even considering the cervical spine problems you'll get in the future?"
"But the biggest threat to programmers isn't cervical spine problems—it's death by overwork!"
"Besides, you're not even a programmer!"
Initially, seeing Ma Yang's seriousness and determination, Pei Qian had almost questioned his decision to choose him.
But after seeing the pile of books Ma Yang brought back, Pei Qian was now completely certain:
Ma Yang was truly the perfect partner for him!
Look at the results: he ran around all afternoon and returned with these selections.
Could you say these books were completely useless? Not exactly—they were somewhat related.
But could you say they were genuinely useful? Absolutely not!
It was the textbook definition of wasted effort.
Pei Qian patted Ma Yang on the shoulder encouragingly. "Ma Yang, we're game designers, not programmers."
"Besides, don't you know that everyone makes games using editors now?"
"Also, with technology advancing so rapidly, most knowledge in these books is already outdated. You can't really apply them to modern games."
Ma Yang's face paled. "No wonder they were on sale! Turns out nobody wanted them!"
"I searched the bookstore for ages but couldn't find anything specifically on game design. Seeing these discounted books, I just bought them thinking they'd help."
"What should I do now? The bookstore won't accept returns on sale items!"
Ma Yang started panicking.
Pei Qian felt incredibly relieved now. Smiling, he reassured Ma Yang, "It's alright. The important thing is you made the effort. If you feel guilty about wasting money, just casually browse through them. Who knows, maybe they'll offer at least a tiny bit of help."
Ma Yang relaxed a bit upon hearing this. "Then...do you want to read them? We can share."
Pei Qian quickly waved his hands. "No need, no need."
Who would want to read these things? Even using them as pillows would be uncomfortable!
Ma Yang laid down in bed, opened up "Advanced Programming Essentials," and started reading.
Within five minutes, loud snores echoed from his bunk.
Pei Qian smiled with satisfaction.
Reliable indeed!
Look at his attitude—100% committed.
Now look at his ability—0%.
Wasn't this exactly the kind of "designer" Pei Qian had been desperately looking for?
Unfortunately, talented individuals like Ma Yang were incredibly rare—and Pei Qian only knew one.
'If only there were a few more people like Ma Yang,' Pei Qian thought, 'losing 300,000 yuan would become a piece of cake!'
. . .
Pei Qian opened up the official ESRO game editor. He sighed gloomily, deliberately ignoring the several thousand new downloads Lonely Desert Road had accumulated today, and began to consider his next move.
As an indie game, popularity tended to come and go rapidly.
Moreover, a game like Lonely Desert Road, devoid of technical merit or any sustainable gameplay, was destined to be a short-lived phenomenon.
In his previous life, Pei Qian had witnessed similar cases—games with crude artwork, repetitive mechanics, and minimal production values inexplicably becoming overnight hits due to bizarre circumstances.
However, such occurrences were exceptionally rare. Among hundreds of similar games, only one or two might experience such unexpected success.
Never in his wildest dreams had Pei Qian imagined he'd personally create such an anomaly!
In the coming weeks, the popularity of Lonely Desert Road would undoubtedly decline rapidly, bringing downloads and revenue back down to earth.
Yet, regardless of how quickly it declined, the damage was already done—the game had already made real money. That was the most painful part for Pei Qian.
After carefully reflecting on this failure, Pei Qian decided to adopt a new approach.
This time, he wouldn't produce another indie game—he had to switch tracks!
Right now, in players' minds, Tengda Network Technology Co., Ltd. had become synonymous with Lonely Desert Road. Pei Qian now faced a difficult dilemma:
If he created another deliberately terrible game, he risked inadvertently replicating the success of Lonely Desert Road. Even if it didn't reach the same level of popularity, making even a small profit would be disastrous for his plans.
On the other hand, if he created a genuinely decent indie game, players might find it worth buying due to improved quality, again leading to unwanted profits.
He was truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Besides, investing the entire 300,000 yuan into another indie game was challenging in itself.
How expensive would the templates and art assets have to be to burn through that much money?
Furthermore, with such expensive art assets, the game might unintentionally attract many players based solely on its visual appeal, resulting in profits again.
After much deliberation, Pei Qian concluded he had to temporarily abandon the indie game audience and shift to another market entirely.
He clearly didn't have enough funds to create a large-scale PC game.
Even though Pei Qian's goal was to lose money, the system rules dictated that a fully playable product must still be produced.
If he spent the 300,000 yuan without creating a functional game that could pass ESRO's review, the system would deem it a violation.
In short, the money had to be spent, and a complete game had to be released.
Pei Qian browsed ESRO's official platform carefully and eventually settled on a new target:
Mobile games!
This choice was out of necessity: his limited budget prevented large-scale PC development, and indie games were currently too risky after his previous unexpected success.
Moreover, mobile game players differed significantly from the indie game audience.
While indie players might recognize "Tengda" due to Lonely Desert Road, mobile gamers wouldn't care less about the developer's previous success.
As long as the mobile game he created was sufficiently terrible, Pei Qian was confident it would attract virtually no attention!
Having decided his new direction, Pei Qian moved on to market research.
He thoroughly browsed the popular mobile games on ESRO's platform, even downloading a few top games to test them himself.
Pei Qian had already noticed that mobile technology in this parallel world was far more advanced than it had been in his previous life.