You said you were going to make games, how did you become the richest man without doing anything?

"There are so many things to change today... I dreamt last night that the NPCs went on strike and said, 'We reject emotional exploitation.'"

Old Yu was the last to stroll in, carrying a bag of tofu pudding and fried dough sticks. As he walked, he shouted, "You artsy young people, always so full of bitterness and resentment, can't you have some everyday life?"

"My suggestion today is—to open a breakfast stall in the game!"

The crowd burst into laughter.

Lu Yu simply smiled and nodded: "Sure, write a side story: 'If you come to eat the stall owner's tofu pudding every day, he will tell you a secret on the seventh day.'"

He didn't say what the secret was.

But everyone knows—it must be a story that touches the heart.

This is the "morning assembly" in Taoyuan Township.

There were no reports, no performance evaluations, and no forms.

Only a group of people are willing to tell a new story about life when they wake up in the morning.

Shen Li, editor-in-chief of the magazine "The Way of Management," wrote the following in her column:
"When I first walked into the Taoyuan Township Studio, I almost thought I had gone to the wrong place."

"There are no glass partitions, no meeting minutes, and no workstation numbers."

“There isn’t even a ‘boss’s office’—Lu Yu is sitting at the same table as everyone else, with his meeting notes on the cat’s bed.”

“He didn’t manage them.”

"He was just living with them in the digital world they had built together."

“I finally understand why they were able to make ‘Don’t Play This Game’ – because they themselves are the place where ‘you don’t need to win to stay.’”

"...So, we're really not here to invest money this time."

The middle-aged partner sat at the coffee table, watching Lu Yu slowly brew tea, his tone more sincere than ever before.

“We just want to talk about your perspective on ‘growth’.”

Lu Yu looked up, his eyes clear.

“Growth is not a bad thing, but it shouldn’t be the only thing.”

“We’ve seen too many projects that have lost their original purpose while growing.”

"We want to create a place where we can survive even if nothing grows."

"Then how do you make a living?"

Lu Yu gently picked up his teacup: "Rely on not giving up."

He paused for a moment: “By believing that what we are doing is ‘right’.”

After a long silence, the venture capital partner suddenly stood up and bowed deeply.

"Thank you for still doing the right thing."

“I’ve worked for Mr. Lu for two years. The salary isn’t high and I don’t get many holidays, but I never wanted to leave.”

"He's the kind of person who would walk around the rooftop with you when you have insomnia."

“He doesn’t encourage you to work overtime, but he’ll pat you on the shoulder and say ‘you’ve done a great job’ when you’re feeling guilty.”

"He doesn't demand that you treat your work like your life, but he makes you willing to stay up all night for a pixelated character."

"I used to think that bosses were meant to be feared."

"But he is the kind of person I want to become."

When the second chapter of "Peach Blossom Spring" "Chronicles of the Old Town" was released, players discovered that each NPC has their own independent life trajectory. They will go to cafes, bookstalls, and riverside to daydream at fixed times, and will even change the tone of their dialogue based on the player's attitude.

Someone posted a comment on the forum:
"This is not a game, this is life."

But few people know that this NPC behavior system is a "growth task" that Lu Yu designed specifically for new programmers.

“Make every NPC a ‘person’,” he told the new employees.

"You don't need to write a brilliant plot, you just need to give them a little bit of real life."

"The more seriously you write, the more others can feel it."

"We're not writing code, we're planting a peach blossom garden."

This system was later hailed by the magazine "Interactive Boundaries" as a "Chinese breakthrough in interactive narrative" and has been used as a case study by digital art and design programs in many universities.

Is it cunning and calculating, or insightful understanding of human nature?

The book "One Hundred Interviews on Management" features a lengthy article of over 10,000 words on Lu Yu's management style.

One detail in particular has been repeatedly cited by countless commentators:

"He never publicly praises any particular employee."

"But he would secretly order takeout for that person at one in the morning, and then write in the notes: 'You wrote really well today.'"

This is not a management skill.

This is a natural, almost instinctive insight into human nature.

He knows when people are most vulnerable, when they most want to be recognized, and when they most need to be seen.

He never loudly proclaims "You're great," but he always tells you in the gentlest way, when you're at your most insecure:
“I saw you.”

[Chairman's Office, 39th Floor, Headquarters of Longteng Group, Beijing]

At 2:30 a.m., the capital city was already shrouded in darkness.

But in the top-floor office of the Longteng Group headquarters, the lights were still on, the light as cold as a knife, casting sharp shadows across the large black walnut desk.

Pei Shengnan sat in a leather executive chair, dressed in a well-tailored dark black suit. The collar of his white shirt was slightly open, his tie was loosened by half an inch, but his cufflinks were still fastened meticulously. His fingers tapped lightly on the keyboard, and the dense data charts on the screen kept jumping around, like a financial building about to collapse, teetering on the verge of crumbling.

Before him was the latest market data analysis report from "Peach Blossom Village".

Steam's number one global sales ranking.

TapTap has a rating of 9.8 and over 100,000 reviews.

The number of topics on social media platforms exceeds 100 million per day, and user-generated content has formed a complete ecosystem.

At the heart of all this is a pixel-style game with no combat, no numerical values, and not even the concept of "victory".

He stared at the screen, his body stiffening slightly.

His gaze was like a needle, sharp yet deadly.

Pei Shengnan's eye twitched.

It was a very slight, almost imperceptible nerve reflex, yet it appeared particularly striking against his cold and composed face.

His brows furrowed slowly, like a flawless painting being torn in the middle. His gaze shifted from indifference to a bewilderment somewhere between shock and disbelief, the cold light in his eyes beginning to wander, as if trying to find some explanation, but unable to find a foothold.

His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

That was a moment of brief speechlessness in someone accustomed to being in control when faced with unexpected chaos.

His pupils contracted slightly, his eyes reddened, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, yet he hesitated to swallow.

He couldn't understand why a game that "lacked any commercial value model" could achieve such a devastating impact on the entire casual and mid-core game market in just two weeks.

His sanity was teetering on the brink of collapse, yet his face maintained an almost pathological calm.

Pei Shengnan slowly reached out and picked up the cup of black coffee that had gone cold from the corner of the table.

The rim of the cup trembled slightly at his fingertips, as if even the ceramics sensed their owner's unease.

He took a sip, his brow furrowed slightly, and then put the glass down. However, his fingers had pressed too hard, and with a "smack," the bottom of the glass slammed heavily onto the coaster, making a dull thud that sounded abrupt and jarring in the quiet office.

He got up and walked to the French windows.

His steps appeared steady, yet carried an undisguised urgency. He slipped his hands into his pockets, only to pull them out again a second later, as if he couldn't even find a place for his own body.

Standing by the window, he gazed at the brightly lit office buildings in the capital city at night, his eyes empty and cold.

He suddenly reached out and unbuttoned his suit jacket, even tearing off his tie as if trying to break free from his restraints.

He never allows himself to behave in any "unrefined" way in the office.

But at this moment, he could only use these actions to mask the intense turmoil in his heart.

impossible.

This game has no chance of becoming popular.

That was his original thought.

"Peach Blossom Spring" is a pixel-art game with no combat, no social interaction, no pay-to-win elements, and no recurring "satisfying" gameplay.

It's a product that completely defies all business logic.

Before launching, he reviewed the demo and his assessment was that it had "high emotional value but low replayability, short lifespan, and no potential for platformization."

He even personally made the final decision at an executive meeting, stating: "In this kind of game, there will be no second week's data."

But now——

This kind of game not only has data from the second week, but has even created a phenomenal phenomenon on a global scale.

His business logic collapsed.

His big data modeling failed.

His experience accumulated over the past decade in the gaming industry was completely shattered for the first time by a game that "shouldn't exist."

How exactly did Lu Yu manage to do that?
Why would players stay for an interaction that offers no reward?

Why is it that on social media platforms, everyone discussing "Peach Blossom Spring" seems to have discovered an "emotional refuge"?
Why did even the Apple Store create a special feature for it with the title: "Games can also just be something to keep you company for a day"?
Pei Shengnan's mind was filled with countless questions, but none of them could give him an answer.

That feeling of being out of control was like a train derailing at night, violently impacting his nerves.

"how is this possible?"

Pei Shengnan finally spoke, his voice low, hoarse, and cold, like a thick fog squeezed out from the depths of his throat.

"This is unlikely to be a hit."

He turned abruptly, looked at the latest industry analysis report on the table, and his tone suddenly rose:

"What did the report say? Emotional games have unstable lifecycles, high user churn rates, and high immersion costs... You all told me this thing wouldn't last seven days!"

He stared at the data his subordinates were sending him, emphasizing each word: "But now, it's topped the global list."

silence.

Dead silence.

The secretary stood at the door, not daring to make a sound.

He suddenly let out a cold laugh and muttered to himself:

"I used to say that Lu Yu was an idealist, a poet who didn't understand the market."

"Looking back now... I'm just getting old."

"I just can't understand this world anymore."

—

The entire office was bathed in cold white light, like an operating room, precise and icy.

On the huge LED screen on the wall is a real-time user heat map of "Peach Blossom Spring," which looks like a burning map with red dots spreading continuously, sweeping the globe like a virus.

The smart speaker on the desk is softly broadcasting:
"Steam's peak concurrent online users have surpassed 120 million, user reviews continue to rise, and community discussion continues to gain momentum..."

Pei Shengnan was facing away from the light, and the outline of his profile was elongated in the shadows.

His shadow fell on the carpet, like a trapped beast.

He stood there as if the whole world was mocking his understanding of the "market".

The camera slowly zooms in, focusing on Pei Shengnan's eyes.

Those were eyes that had seen through people's hearts countless times at the negotiating table, but now they were bloodshot, and an indescribable weariness was showing in their depths.

The scene shifts to the crumpled internal assessment document on his desk.

The title boldly proclaims:

Risk Assessment Report for Taoyuan Township Products

The conclusion section is marked in bold:
"It doesn't have the potential to become a hit, so we suggest ignoring it."

The camera zooms out again, showing Pei Shengnan standing by the window, with industry news scrolling behind him, and a voice-over saying:

“In this fast-paced, data-driven era, Taoyuan Township has redefined the meaning of games in an almost ‘anti-commercial’ way.”

Pei Shengnan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It was as if he was trying to swallow those words—along with his pride.

—

As the first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone on the glass curtain wall of Longteng Group's headquarters, the offices remained brightly lit.

Pei Shengnan stood alone in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his expression shifting from initial shock to a near-calm contemplation.

He didn't smash the cup, didn't berate his subordinates, and didn't shirk responsibility.

He simply stood there quietly, re-examining the world he thought he had already seen through.

He suddenly realized that the logic he had adhered to for many years—that "players are data"—may be outdated.

Lu Yu did not defeat him.

It was this era that chose Lu Yu.

And he missed it.

[Strategic Conference Room, 39th Floor, Headquarters of Longteng Group, Beijing]

There was an indescribable sense of oppression in the air.

It was early spring, and the sky outside the window was clear and bright, with sunlight shining on the glass curtain wall, but the conference room seemed to be shrouded in an invisible cloud.

Pei Shengnan sat in the main seat, dressed in a well-pressed dark gray suit and a tie that was perfectly tied, as always. However, his eyes, which were usually so insightful, were now fixed on the projection screen, his gaze as still and vacant as a frozen lake.

On the screen is a summary of market data for Voidbound over the past three weeks.

Downloads plummeted, TapTap ratings dropped from 8.5 at launch to 6.2, daily active user churn rate reached 78%, and Steam refund rate hit a record high for the company.

Even more glaring was the small print in the upper right corner of the screen:
"Compared with the same period: The user retention rate of 'Peach Blossom Village' has remained above 83% for three consecutive weeks, and the community activity has exceeded expectations by 300%."

The entire conference room was completely silent.

The marketing director, head down, flipped through the slides one by one, his voice hoarse: "We've tried adjusting the numerical curves, optimizing the combat experience... We've also done A/B testing on the new player tutorial, but after the latest 3.2 patch went live, player feedback... is still not good."

"Many people say that the game is 'all show and no substance', 'has a 'template-like plot', and 'is like playing a shell designed by an algorithm'."

"Some people even directly complained: 'This isn't a game; it's a demonstration of a process manipulated by data.'"

The air seemed to freeze as soon as the words were spoken.

Pei Shengnan remained silent. (End of Chapter)