Starting as a Manga Editor

Chapter 111: Let’s Wait and See

Si Jinliang headed over to the operations team—he was going to help Avalon Studio recruit some of the former staff from Mingyu Tech…

Tang Yao didn’t rush to leave either. She still had to wait for news from that side.

So she pulled Li Xue along and found a spot nearby to sit down.

If Mingyu Tech lacked anything, it sure wasn’t empty desks.

After they sat down, Tang Yao started thinking about the second game. Even though she’d just told Si Jinliang that there wouldn’t be many resources allocated at first, that only applied to resources—as the boss, she still had to put in real effort. After all, why had she chosen Mingyu Tech’s game in the first place? Wasn’t it all about saving time?

And if they were going to race against the clock, then the second project team led by Si Jinliang needed to get the core gameplay and workflow sorted out even before getting extra resources. That way, once Fate/Grand Order stabilized, the studio could immediately shift people to the second project and finish it as fast as possible.

Sounds easy in theory—but doing it was a different story.

Mainly because being “the boss” wasn’t exactly easy.

Even though she’d spoken so confidently to Si Jinliang earlier… that confidence came from having a major cheat—she could copy proven gameplay models from her previous life.

That was a massive shortcut. Don’t be fooled by how some games look simple, like anyone could’ve made them just by glancing at the mechanics.

In reality, those seemingly simple but long-lastingly popular games took tremendous time and energy from their dev teams to experiment, iterate, and figure out what players really wanted.

Hearthstone was a textbook example.

So what was game depth?

It wasn’t just piling on complicated rules—depth built on complexity alone would just stress most players out.

A truly fun game is one where players feel like they can easily pick it up but still have room to keep thinking and improving. There’s always space for strategy and skilled play.

That’s what “strategy and operational space” means.

Why did so many Hearthstone players dislike “solitaire decks”? Because those decks basically ignore the opponent’s hand or strategy—they just play the same way no matter what. That completely kills any chance for decision-making or counterplay.

Tang Yao’s biggest edge right now was that while regular devs had to burn brainpower trying to design and test mechanics…

She could just cut straight to the optimal solution.

But the optimal solution wasn’t always the best-fit solution.

Take Hearthstone again—if they were going to make an anime-style version of the game, sure, the core gameplay could be borrowed, but what about everything else?

Here’s a simple example: the DK (Death Knight) class.

Each of the nine core classes in Hearthstone came from World of Warcraft and were iconic. Just hearing Anduin say, “The Light has betrayed me” and seeing the art change instantly brought the vibe.

You can’t exactly slap a line like that on a cute anime girl, right?

…Well, maybe you could.

But it’d still be weird. To make that work, they’d have to reconstruct the whole narrative framework.

And if you change too much, it no longer feels like Hearthstone at all.

So yeah, there was still a lot she had to think about. That’s why she hadn’t rushed to explain things to Si Jinliang.

On the other side—

After sitting down with Tang Yao, Li Xue quickly noticed her mumbling stuff like “storyline,” “art style,” and “depth.”

She chuckled softly but didn’t interrupt. After hesitating for a moment, she adjusted her skirt, stretched out her long, shapely legs so that her high heels wouldn’t dig into the floor, and let out a breath.

“Uncomfortable?”

Just as she exhaled, Tang Yao’s voice popped up.

Li Xue turned her head and saw that Tang Yao had caught her movement.

“A little.”

Li Xue wasn’t shy about it. She leaned back in her chair, stretched her legs again, heels gently tapping the floor, and lightly rocked the dainty heels on her feet. “Normally, I don’t wear heels for more than four hours… It’s been a while since I’ve worn them at all. I used to wear them a lot when I first started working, but yeah, they’re not super comfy.”

“Then don’t wear them.”

Tang Yao couldn’t help laughing.

Even though she didn’t know much about this kind of thing in her previous life, she’d vaguely heard that wearing heels too long was bad.

“And whose idea was it to dress like that again?”

Li Xue playfully bumped her shoulder. “You told me to wear black stockings. You think I could pull that off without heels?”

“And now?”

“I’m wearing them now too.”

Li Xue glanced around and, seeing no one nearby, slightly lifted the hem of her long skirt to reveal a glimpse of her shapely calf wrapped in silky black stockings—just enough for Tang Yao to see.

Today, she wore an ankle-length skirt. Not frumpy, not dragging on the ground. Warm and stylish.

Tang Yao blinked. “...If it’s uncomfortable, just don’t wear them. That outfit would still look good with loafers, Birkenstocks, or even Doc Martens, right?”

“Hm?”

Li Xue turned her head slowly and looked at Tang Yao.

“What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything? Why don’t you try it?”

She eyed Tang Yao’s neatly closed legs and proper sitting posture, then poked her forehead lightly with a finger and said with a sigh, “You keep asking me to wear it. Why not just look in the mirror and use yourself as reference?”

“I am using myself as reference.”

Tang Yao pretended not to hear and changed the subject. “You don’t need to wear it anymore. Even if you do, no one’s gonna see it. If anyone wants a look, they’ll have to sneak around…”

“Who’s sneaking around?”

“Didn’t you just do that?”

“Then come to my place.”

Li Xue blurted out, “I’ll show you fair and square. At home, I don’t even wear skirts…”

“Huh?”

Tang Yao froze.

Li Xue froze too, then quickly caught herself. Her ears flushed red, but she kept a straight face and changed the subject: “Forget it… Anyway, my cousin contacted me.”

“Hm?”

Sure enough, Tang Yao’s attention shifted. As curious as she was about what Li Xue had just said, business came first.

Li Xue briefly recounted how Lin Shuang had reached out. She didn’t hide anything—there wasn’t much worth hiding.

After hearing it, Tang Yao shook her head. “Ignore her. People like that—missing out is the worst pain for them. Regret is inevitable. She’ll probably keep bothering you for the next few days, but don’t respond. She’ll give up soon enough.”

“Hm? She’ll give up that quickly? You just said missing out is the worst pain.”

Li Xue was curious.

She didn’t think her cousin would take it so easily.

Especially remembering that sickening tone she used on the call—it was obvious she was fuming with regret.

Tang Yao didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked, “You told her our game’s first-day revenue, didn’t you?”

Li Xue nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then it won’t take long… She’ll have a bunch of mobile game projects on her desk soon. Once it hits her that mobile games are a wide-open blue ocean—and anime-style mobile games are the blue ocean within the blue ocean—she’s gonna think, ‘If we could do it, then why not others?’ The market’s huge.”

Tang Yao smiled and continued, “And if others can succeed, then there’s no need to keep bothering you. Our game just launched. Sure, it’s had a great start, but it’s only one title. If she makes her own, gets a bigger share of the equity, that’s way better than begging us for a piece.”

“……”

Li Xue furrowed her elegant brows slightly, turned toward her, and said seriously, “Tang Yao, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leak the revenue…”

“No, no.”

Tang Yao laughed softly and cut her off, “It’s a good thing. The more people working on this, the better. A bigger market benefits us. Don’t think you did anything wrong. You’re a shareholder—own it. Be confident.”

“……”

Li Xue hesitated for a moment but didn’t say more. Still, she added, “But I really shouldn’t have told her.”

Tang Yao replied casually, “It’s fine. Even if you hadn’t, she’d have figured it out soon. Everyone in this field is sharp. Sooner or later, someone would’ve handed her a project.”

Back when gacha games started taking off, every kind of clown came scrambling in for a slice of the pie.

“Aren’t you worried?”

Li Xue looked at Tang Yao’s pale profile. “So many people rushing in…”

“Not at all.”

Tang Yao shook her head lightly. “Fate/Grand Order's model is already very unique. Trying to clone it exactly wouldn’t work. And before they even figure it out, we’ll have our second game out… As for your cousin, she’s proud and stubborn. I saw that the moment we met. She doesn’t understand games, and she definitely doesn’t understand anime-style games.”

Meanwhile…

At a venture capital firm.

In the manager’s office.

Lin Shuang had calmed down—much faster than Tang Yao had expected.

Because it took less than two days after her breakdown before someone handed her a new project.

…An anime-style mobile game project.

Looking at the document, which blatantly drew inspiration from Fate/Grand Order, and reading the words “Blue ocean market with massive potential”, she thought back to her cousin’s mention of the game’s day-one revenue.

Her eyes lit up instantly.

That’s right!

Avalon Studio wasn’t anywhere near a monopoly. Their game had just launched!

If they could do it—why couldn’t others?

If they could pull in that much revenue on day one—why couldn’t someone else?

This was a wide-open, promising blue ocean! Right now, Avalon Studio was the only one doing anime-style games!

If they had the resources, why worry? No way professionals in the industry would lose to amateurs!

And just like that—

In an instant—

Lin Shuang’s slump vanished without a trace!