The executive boardroom on the 50th floor was designed to intimidate. It was a cavernous space with black marble walls and a ceiling that simulated a starry night, a stark reminder of the vast, empty cosmos that humanity had once looked towards with hope, and now viewed with caution.
Today, the room felt like a coliseum.
At one end of the long table sat the board of directors, a collection of stern faces and expensive suits. At the other end stood the gladiators.
On the left, Zhou Kai stood confident, his *Frontline Duty: Oblivion* logo glowing impressively behind him. He had the swagger of a man who held all the cards. He knew the industry. He knew the shareholders. He knew that fear sold better than hope.
On the right stood Zhong Ming. He looked small. His suit was cheap, his face pale from lack of sleep, and his team had been gutted by Zhou Kai's HR raids.
"The numbers are clear," Zhou Kai said, his voice projecting smoothly through the surround-sound system. "Market analysis shows a 12% year-over-year increase in demand for 'Hardcore Tactical Simulations.' The demographic is predominantly male, aged 18-35, with disposable income. *Oblivion* delivers exactly what they want: better graphics, larger maps, and more realistic ballistics."
He clicked a button. The screen exploded with a montage of explosions, screaming jets, and hyper-realistic blood splatter.
"We are giving the players the power they lack in their daily lives," Zhou Kai declared. "In a world of rebuilding, the player wants to be the Commander, the Destroyer. We project a 300% return on investment within the first quarter."
The board members nodded appreciatively. It was safe. It was quantifiable. It was business as usual.
Zhou Kai turned to Zhong Ming, a predatory grin on his face. "Now, Mr. Zhong. I hear your team has been... struggling. A high turnover rate? Losing your lead writer so close to the deadline must have been devastating. Are you sure you're ready to present?"
A murmur went through the room. The sabotage was an open secret, framed as incompetence.
Zhong Ming didn't flinch. He didn't look at his notes. He simply walked to the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Devastating?" Zhong Ming asked, his voice quiet but steady. "No. It was clarifying. It forced us to strip away the excess. We didn't build a game for a demographic, Producer Zhou. We built a game for a species."
He gestured to the screen. "Change input."
The screen flickered. The explosions vanished. In their place appeared the logo: **Green Valley**.
The font was hand-drawn, whimsical. The background music was a simple, acoustic guitar melody—gentle, calming.
"I present to you, not a product, but a sanctuary."
Zhong Ming didn't give a PowerPoint presentation. He didn't show graphs.
"I want to propose a different theory," Zhong Ming began. "Producer Zhou says the market wants power. I say the market is exhausted. Look around this table. Look at the city outside. We are a society suffering from collective PTSD."
He pointed to the CFO, Robert.
"Sir, yesterday you mentioned you play a gardening app to relax. Why?"
Robert adjusted his glasses, looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, it... it helps me think. It's quiet."
"Exactly," Zhong Ming nodded. "The current market is a 'Red Ocean'—sharks fighting over the same bloody meat of the hardcore gamer. We are fighting for the same 18-35 demographic, spending millions to out-graphic each other. It is a war of attrition."
Zhong Ming pulled a high-end handheld console from his pocket. He didn't play it; he handed it to the oldest board member, a man known for his strict adherence to traditional values and his disdain for "childish" entertainment.
"Sir," Zhong Ming said respectfully. "Could you please hold the 'A' button for ten seconds?"
The old man frowned but took the device. He pressed the button.
On the screen, the pixelated character tilled the soil. *Chunk. Chunk. Chunk.*
"The sound," the old man muttered.
"It's satisfying, isn't it?" Zhong Ming asked. "It's the sound of order being created from chaos. It doesn't require reflexes. It doesn't require rage. It requires patience."
Zhong Ming looked at the board.
"Zhou Kai's game targets the *Adrenaline* gland. My game targets the *Dopamine* and *Serotonin* systems. We are not competing for the same time slot. When a player finishes a stressful match of *Frontline Duty*, shaking from a loss, where do they go? They turn off the console. They are burned out."
Zhong Ming paused for effect.
"But *Green Valley* is the game they play *after*. It's the game they play before bed. It's the game they play when they are sad. It is the 'Blue Ocean'. We are targeting the non-consumers. The grandmothers. The exhausted salarymen. The children who are too young for violence but have nothing to play."
Zhou Kai laughed loudly. "So your strategy is to be a placeholder? A nightlight? We are a game company, Zhong Ming! We make entertainment!"
"Happiness is the ultimate entertainment," Zhong Ming countered. "And let's talk about the business model. *Oblivion* costs 50 million credits to produce. It requires a subscription. It requires high-end hardware. If it fails, it bankrupts the division."
Zhong Ming pulled up a single slide. It was a spreadsheet.
"*Green Valley* cost 2 million credits. It runs on a potato. It is a one-time purchase with ethical, optional cosmetic DLC. We break even at 50,000 sales. Zhou Kai breaks even at 2 million."
He looked at Lin Wan.
"Director Lin, you asked for a Flagship title. A flagship leads the fleet. *Frontline Duty* is a battleship—heavy, slow, expensive. *Green Valley* is a speedboat—agile, fast, and capable of reaching islands the battleship can't touch."
Zhou Kai slammed his hand on the table. "Enough with the metaphors! Show us the game! Show us the retention!"
"I intend to," Zhong Ming said. "But not with a bot. With a human."
He looked directly at Robert, the CFO.
"Sir, if you would. The handheld is still in your hand. You tilled the soil. Now, plant the seed."
Robert looked down. He navigated the simple menu. He planted a parsnip.
*Plop.*
"Now water it."
*Splish-splish.*
Robert stared at the screen. "It... it sparkled."
"That's the feedback," Zhong Ming said softly. "You did something good, and the world smiled back at you. How does it feel?"
Robert was silent for a long moment. The room held its breath. The CFO, a man who dealt in billions and cold hard cash, didn't answer immediately. He stared at the little patch of virtual dirt.
Then, he looked up.
"It feels... productive. Clean."
"Keep playing," Zhong Ming said. "Just for two minutes."
Robert played. He walked the character around. He met the NPC, Penny. He listened to her short dialogue about reading a book. He didn't skip it.
Two minutes turned into five.
The board members began to shift in their seats. Some looked bored, waiting for action. But others—the older ones, the ones with families, the ones who looked tired—they watched Robert. They watched the tension in his shoulders drop. They watched the slight relaxation of his jaw.
Zhou Kai scoffed. "This is nonsense. It's a screensaver. Board members, are you seriously going to give the holiday slot to a... gardening chore?"
Lin Wan stood up.
She walked over to Robert and looked at the screen. The sun was setting in the game. The crickets were chirping.
"Robert," she asked. "Will you buy this?"
Robert hesitated. He looked at Zhou Kai, then at Zhong Ming. "My daughter... she hates the war games. She says they are scary. She likes the little chicken sprite in the corner."
He looked at Zhong Ming. "Is there multiplayer?"
"Not yet," Zhong Ming said. "But it's on the roadmap. A farm visitation system."
"I would buy this for her," Robert said, placing the handheld on the table. "And... honestly, I would play it on the train. It's quiet."
Lin Wan turned to the board.
"The decision is made."
The room fell silent.
"The holiday market is saturated with conflict," Lin Wan announced. "If we release *Oblivion*, we fight for second place against the other three shooters launching in the same window. We cannibalize our own user base."
She turned to Zhong Ming.
"Zhong Ming. *Green Valley* is risky. It's unproven. The art style is... niche. But your cost analysis is undeniable. And your logic regarding the 'Burnout Market' is sound."
She looked at Zhou Kai, whose face was slowly turning a shade of purple.
"Zhou Kai. *Oblivion* is moved to Q2 release. We cannot afford a flop in Q4. Refine the engine."
"Q2?!" Zhou Kai sputtered. "But the marketing deals! The contracts!"
"Renegotiate," Lin Wan cut him off coldly. "Your budget is slashed by 30%. Efficiency is the new directive."
She turned back to Zhong Ming.
"Zhong Ming. You have the Holiday Slot. You have the marketing budget for Districts 1 through 16. Full global release."
Zhong Ming let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt the vibration on his wrist.
**[Mission Complete: Secure the Flagship Slot.]**
**[Culture Points: +100]**
**[Current Balance: 250 Points]**
**[New Title Acquired: Visionary Producer.]**
**[System Alert: Reputation with 'Lin Wan' increased to 'Trusted'.]**
**[System Alert: Reputation with 'Zhou Kai' decreased to 'Nemesis'.]**
Zhong Ming bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Director. I won't let you down."
"See that you don't," Lin Wan said, gathering her papers. "Because if this 'Blue Ocean' turns out to be a dried-up puddle, there won't be a basement for you to crawl back to. You'll be out on the street."
She walked out.
Zhou Kai stormed past Zhong Ming, knocking his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
"Enjoy your win, Zhong Ming," Zhou Kai hissed, his voice low and shaking with rage. "Because when your little farm sim flops because it has no 'endgame', I will be there to pick up the pieces. I will take your team. I will take your tech. And I will delete your name from the credits."
He stormed out.
Zhong Ming stood alone in the center of the room. He rubbed his shoulder.
"Delete my name?" Zhong Ming whispered to the empty room. "You can't delete a legacy, Zhou."
He looked at the handheld console Robert had left on the table. The screen had gone dark, but the reflection of the city lights danced on its surface.
He had won the battle. The holiday season belonged to *Green Valley*.
But as he walked out of the boardroom, his mind was already racing ahead. He had sold them on the concept. Now he had to build the reality. He had three months to turn a tech demo into a world-beating masterpiece.
He needed more than just farming. He needed magic.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Li Wei.
"Li Wei. Wake up Su Qing. We're not just making a farming game anymore."
"Boss? What do you mean?"
"I mean we're adding the 'Secrets' feature. The hidden puzzles. The ancient ruins beneath the farm. We need to give the players a mystery to solve. We need to give them a reason to stay up until 3 AM."
"Ruins? But we don't have the assets!"
"Then we'll make them. Get to work, Li Wei. The holiday season starts now."
Zhong Ming ended the call and stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, sealing him inside. As the elevator descended, he watched the floor numbers tick down.
*50... 49... 48...*
He wasn't just going down to his office. He was going down to make history. The Empire of Dreams was rising, one pixel at a time.