After the 99th Confession, The Cold School Beauty’s Personality Collapsed - Chapter 111:

Chapter 111: High-Return Investment:

At noon.

Qin Luo met with the person in charge of Black Myth: Wukong at a modest Chinese restaurant. After exchanging pleasantries and confirming Qin Luo’s intention to invest, the person in charge presented his proposal with a calm and confident demeanor.

“I can see you’re a discerning investor,” the man began. “It’s an honor that you’re interested in our game. May I ask how you plan to invest?”

Qin Luo got straight to the point. “First, I need to understand your company’s structure and equity distribution.”

“Of course,” the man replied, pulling out a stack of documents and placing them on the table. “I’ve brought all the relevant materials for your review.”

Qin Luo flipped through the documents, his mind running calculations as he absorbed the details.

The game, Black Myth: Wukong, was being developed by Game Science Studio, a company founded by former employees of the national gaming giant Penguin Group. The studio’s credibility and technical prowess were undeniable.

Currently, Game Science had three main stakeholders, and one of them was sitting across from Qin Luo. The fact that this person had come prepared with such thorough documentation showed a high level of sincerity—and urgency.

It was clear they were in dire need of funds.

Developing a standalone AAA game like Black Myth: Wukong required immense financial resources. The studio aimed to achieve the highest standards in modeling, special effects, screen rendering, and lighting. If successfully released, the game would undoubtedly make waves in the gaming industry.

But therein lay the challenge: the game was still in its early stages, and the development process was riddled with delays due to financial constraints. The studio couldn’t afford to hire top-tier talent, further slowing progress.

Qin Luo weighed the risks. The potential returns on investment were high, but the timeline for those returns was long, and the upfront costs substantial. Injecting capital into such a project meant facing the possibility of sinking money into a venture that might only bear fruit years down the line.

After reading through the documents, Qin Luo looked up and asked, “How much funding are you seeking?”

The person in charge’s eyes lit up. “The more, the better. More funds will allow us to recruit skilled developers, enhance the game’s quality, and expedite its release.”

Qin Luo nodded thoughtfully. “My proposal is this: I’ll invest 20 million yuan upfront in exchange for acquiring the shares held by you and one other stakeholder, giving me a total of 36%. What do you think?”

The man’s expression shifted instantly. “That’s impossible!” he exclaimed, before catching himself. He quickly bowed his head in apology. “I’m sorry for my outburst. Let me explain.

“Game Science was built by the three of us, and from the very beginning, we agreed never to relinquish our shares to outside investors.

“Our goal in founding this studio was to create high-quality, original games. Unfortunately, the business world is rife with impatience and shortcuts.

“I had a friend who started a studio much like ours. He spent five years developing a game but had to accept investors due to financial difficulties. Once the investors came on board, they prioritized quick returns over quality, forcing him to cut corners and rush the release.

“The game fell far short of his expectations, and though the investors made some profit, my friend was heartbroken. He left the industry entirely.”

The man paused, his tone softening. “I’m not suggesting you’d do the same, but past experiences have taught us to be cautious. To us, Black Myth: Wukong is like our child, and we refuse to let external influences compromise its development.

“That’s why we can accept investment dividends but will never agree to sell shares.”

The man’s words carried an unmistakable resolve, leaving no room for negotiation.

Such a rigid stance might seem unprofessional in a business discussion, where flexibility is often key. But the man’s attitude spoke volumes about his commitment to the studio’s vision.

Qin Luo wasn’t offended. On the contrary, he respected their passion and dedication. Their unwavering stance in a fast-paced, profit-driven world was admirable. However, business is business, and Qin Luo’s priority was profitability.

“I understand your concerns,” Qin Luo said. “But I can assure you that I have no intention of interfering with your creative process. We can put that in writing in the contract.”

The man shook his head. “I appreciate your understanding, but we won’t compromise. We cannot accept investment as shares.”

Qin Luo sighed. “Alright, let’s leave it at that for now. I hope you’ll reconsider after some thought.

“I genuinely admire your work, and I look forward to seeing your game succeed. But we both know that creating a high-quality AAA title requires a significant financial commitment.

“You need funding, and I have the resources. It could be a great partnership, but I respect your position. Let’s enjoy our meal today, and perhaps we’ll have another opportunity to discuss this in the future.”

The man nodded, his expression conflicted. He knew Qin Luo wasn’t interested in simple dividends—what Qin Luo truly valued was the studio’s long-term potential, not just this single game.

Yet, the studio’s founding principle of not selling shares was non-negotiable. Even so, the man couldn’t help but hope for a future collaboration. Game Science desperately needed funds to continue development.

…

In the evening.

Qin Luo attended a dinner meeting with the person in charge of Yuan Shen at a high-end restaurant.  

Qin Luo’s dinner meeting with the person in charge of Yuan Shen immediately felt different from the earlier ones. The person across from him was younger than the others he’d met, appearing no older than thirty.

Though the man tried to exude confidence as he entered the high-end restaurant, it was clear he hadn’t spent much time in such places. His eyes darted to the opulent surroundings, and when the upscale dishes arrived, he instinctively swallowed hard. Despite his apparent curiosity and hunger, he resisted the urge to pick up his chopsticks, knowing this was not the time to show weakness.

Qin Luo observed his every move. It was evident that this man, Liu Dawei, was a technical genius with limited experience in social or business dealings. His simplicity and lack of guile made a favorable impression on Qin Luo, who appreciated his earnestness more than the polished fronts of seasoned negotiators.

Once they were seated, Qin Luo introduced himself with a friendly smile. “Hello, I’m Qin Luo.”

Liu Dawei hastily stood up to shake hands. “Mr. Qin, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Liu Dawei, but you can call me Xiao Wei.” His tone was respectful, almost stiff, as though unsure how formal he should be.

Qin Luo chuckled as they shook hands. “You seem quite young. Did you just graduate recently?”

Liu Dawei nodded. “A few years ago, yes. But compared to you, Mr. Qin, I think I still have a long way to go.” He hesitated before adding, “You… you still look like a university student.”

“I am,” Qin Luo replied. “I’m currently in my third year at the University of Finance and Economics.”

Liu Dawei’s eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, comparing his own struggles to Qin Luo’s accomplishments.

At their core, they weren’t so different—both young men in their twenties—but their circumstances couldn’t have been more different. Qin Luo, with his wealth and talent, was already in a position to invest in ventures. Liu Dawei, on the other hand, was struggling to keep his dream alive.

Over the meal, Liu Dawei opened up about the challenges he and his team faced. He explained how the idea for Yuan Shen had been born during his high school years. Upon entering university, he shared the concept with his two roommates, and the three of them had worked tirelessly to develop the idea over four years.

After graduation, they established their studio, “Mihayou,” and began recruiting a small team to bring their vision to life. But running a studio proved vastly different from brainstorming in a dorm room. Without financial backing and with constant expenses piling up, the trio quickly found themselves in dire straits.

“We’ve hit a dead end,” Liu Dawei admitted. “Most investors lose interest the moment I tell them it’s a ‘next-generation online game.’ They only want mobile games—quick to develop, cheap to make, and with fast returns. No one is willing to gamble on something more ambitious.”

Liu Dawei’s frustration was palpable. He described the state of the gaming industry, where developers prioritized profits over innovation. Many churned out derivative mobile games, reusing mechanics and visuals to maximize earnings with minimal effort.

“Players are losing faith,” he continued. “The industry’s creativity has stagnated. But we want to change that. We want to create something that excites players again, something they’ll remember. That’s why we’re so committed to Yuan Shen.”

The problem was that Yuan Shen didn’t fit the mold of what investors wanted. Its high-quality graphics, immersive world, and ambitious mechanics were precisely what made it a risky and expensive venture.

“Most investors see our game as a bottomless pit,” Liu Dawei said with a bitter laugh. “They think we’re crazy to attempt this. Even though they admit the game could be groundbreaking, they’re too focused on short-term gains to care.”

Despite his obvious frustration, Liu Dawei remained hopeful. “This game is our dream,” he said, his voice softening. “We’ve poured years of effort into it. We just need someone to believe in us.”

Qin Luo listened quietly, eating as he absorbed every detail. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly in amusement as Liu Dawei continued talking.

It was clear that Liu Dawei wasn’t a polished negotiator. His sincerity and lack of business acumen made him an easy target for shrewd investors. If someone else were sitting across from him, they would likely exploit his naivety for maximum gain.

But Qin Luo wasn’t like most businessmen. While he wasn’t above taking advantage of an opportunity, he believed in striking a balance—helping while still profiting.

As Liu Dawei became more animated, he began sharing deeper insights about the game. His passion was evident as he described the painstaking effort he and his team had invested in crafting every detail of Yuan Shen’s world.

“This game has been our dream since high school,” Liu Dawei said, his eyes gleaming with pride. “During university, my roommates and I spent every spare moment refining the concept. By the time we graduated, the foundation was solid, and we knew we had something special.”

But turning their dream into reality had come at a cost. “Starting a studio is nothing like working alone,” Liu Dawei explained. “The expenses are constant, and the income… well, there isn’t any yet. None of us come from wealthy families, so we’re running on fumes.”

Qin Luo nodded, understanding the weight of Liu Dawei’s words.

Liu Dawei leaned forward slightly, his voice earnest. “Mr. Qin, we’re willing to make compromises. We can offer shares, or even allow you to have input on the game’s direction if it helps secure funding. All we need is enough money to keep the project alive.”

Qin Luo maintained a calm demeanor, though he couldn’t suppress a small smile at Liu Dawei’s openness. This guy’s an open book, he thought. He’s practically spilling everything without realizing it.

While Liu Dawei’s straightforwardness might have been a liability in a typical business setting, Qin Luo found it refreshing. It was clear that Liu Dawei’s sincerity came from a genuine passion for his work, not a desire to manipulate or deceive.

As Liu Dawei continued speaking, Qin Luo weighed his options. He admired the team’s dedication and believed in the potential of Yuan Shen, but any investment needed to align with his goals.

For now, he simply listened, letting Liu Dawei share the full scope of his vision. The young man’s passion was infectious, and Qin Luo could see why he and his team had come this far despite the odds stacked against them.

By the end of the dinner, Qin Luo had a clear picture of the challenges and opportunities surrounding Yuan Shen. While Liu Dawei’s sincerity had left a strong impression, Qin Luo knew there was still much to consider before committing to such a high-stakes investment.  

The development of the game had hit a bottleneck. Funds were so tight that even the wages Liu Dawei and his friends earned from part-time jobs barely made a dent in their financial needs. Despite pooling every penny, it wasn’t enough. Left with no other choice, they reluctantly laid off their employees, further delaying progress.

Still, the trio never considered giving up. To them, it wasn’t about whether the game would turn a profit or spark a wave of reactions upon release. Their only goal was to see the game completed—a culmination of their passion and dreams.

“Mr. Qin, your interest in our game shows your sharp insight,” Liu Dawei said, trying to mask his nerves. “I believe, as fellow young people, you understand our vision and the confidence we have in this project.”

He continued enthusiastically, “The game is set in the world of Teyvat, a continent ruled by seven gods, each governing a unique element and maintaining their own kingdoms.

“But it’s not just about the gods. Certain individuals, wielding the ‘Vision,’ a divine artifact, can control elemental powers too. Some may even rise to become new gods themselves.

“The world of Teyvat is filled with diverse races—intelligent humans, Qiqiu tribes with lower intelligence, elemental slimes, ancient mechanical constructs, and the enigmatic Fatui organization disrupting the balance.”

As Liu Dawei delved into the intricacies of the game, his passion took over. His voice grew animated, his face flushed, and the untouched dishes on the table became an afterthought.

Qin Luo nodded occasionally, listening intently. While he was genuinely interested in the concept, he wasn’t there to dissect game mechanics. As an investor, he prioritized the business aspects.

Noticing Liu Dawei’s enthusiasm spiraling, Qin Luo interrupted gently, “Mr. Liu, I can see this is a fantastic project. But we’re here to discuss collaboration—perhaps we can save the game details for later.”

Realizing he’d gone off track, Liu Dawei scratched his head in embarrassment. “You’re right, Mr. Qin. I tend to get carried away when talking about this game. My apologies.”

“It’s fine,” Qin Luo replied, waving off the apology. “I’ll be direct. I’m very optimistic about this project, and I’m interested in investing through shares. What are your thoughts?”

Liu Dawei’s response was immediate. “No problem!”

Qin Luo raised an eyebrow at his decisiveness. While Liu Dawei’s enthusiasm was refreshing, his unhesitant agreement seemed overly simplistic.

“But,” Liu Dawei added after a moment, “this is just my personal opinion. I’m fine with selling shares as long as it doesn’t interfere too much with game development. However, my two partners might think differently.”

“They don’t want investors to buy shares?” Qin Luo asked.

Liu Dawei hesitated. “I’m not sure. I can’t give you a definite answer right now. If you’re serious about buying shares, I’ll need to discuss it with them first.

“We’re desperate for funds. We’ve had to halt development and lay off employees, so we urgently need money to restart. Personally, I’d agree to investment dividends or shares, but I have to consider my partners. I hope you understand.”

Qin Luo nodded. “I understand completely. Contact me once you’ve discussed it with them.”

“Of course,” Liu Dawei said, his tone eager. “I’ll bring it up with them tonight and get back to you as soon as possible. By the way, Mr. Qin, how many shares are you looking to buy?”

Qin Luo replied casually, “The more, the better. If all three of you are willing to sell your shares, I’d happily take them all.”

Liu Dawei blinked in surprise. “Uh… Mr. Qin, it’s not that I doubt your intentions, but our studio has yet to generate any income. We’ve invested heavily, so a full buyout wouldn’t come cheap.”

Qin Luo smiled. “Don’t worry about the price. Let’s focus on the discussion with your partners first.”

Relieved, Liu Dawei nodded quickly. “Understood, Mr. Qin. Let’s eat, and I’ll contact you with their decision soon.”

The two shifted to lighter conversation over the meal, mostly discussing games. Liu Dawei eagerly shared additional ideas and features planned for Yuan Shen, dreaming aloud about its potential to become a groundbreaking, globally successful title.

Qin Luo listened with quiet amusement. He appreciated Liu Dawei’s passion but remained grounded. While Yuan Shen had potential, he was equally excited about Black Myth: Wukong. As for Blue Moon, it felt more like a cash-grab tool for capitalists, something he despised even if it promised quick returns.

…

When the bill arrived, both had indulged in plum wine, a low-alcohol drink that loosened their spirits without overwhelming them. Liu Dawei, clearly in high spirits, grabbed the bill. “Let me take care of this!”

Qin Luo didn’t object. A meal wasn’t a major expense, and he didn’t mind letting Liu Dawei settle the bill.

But as Liu Dawei glanced at the total, his expression shifted awkwardly. His face flushed as he fumbled with the receipt, hesitating. Finally, he blurted out, “Ah… I just realized my phone is out of battery. I’m sorry, Mr. Qin.”

Qin Luo suppressed a chuckle. He took the bill and glanced at the total—1,988 yuan. The price wasn’t unreasonable for a high-quality Japanese restaurant with delicate dishes, but it was clear Liu Dawei’s hesitation wasn’t due to a dead phone.

His financial struggles were painfully apparent.

“It’s fine,” Qin Luo said, paying the bill without comment.

As they walked out, Liu Dawei repeatedly apologized. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Qin. I messed up this time. Please give me another chance. Next time, I’ll treat you, anywhere you like!”

Qin Luo placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Relax. It’s just a meal. It has no bearing on our business. I see potential in you and your project, and a small expense like this is nothing compared to what we’re working toward.

“Everyone faces setbacks. The important thing is that this is only temporary. When your game succeeds, this meal will be insignificant.”

Liu Dawei’s eyes shone with gratitude. He almost reached out to shake Qin Luo’s hand again, overwhelmed by Qin Luo’s encouraging words.

If they were still seated, Liu Dawei might have toasted Qin Luo with an entire bottle of wine on the spot.

As they descended to the first floor, Qin Luo noticed two familiar figures at the front desk. They seemed to be arguing with the staff, drawing a small crowd.

Qin Luo glanced at Liu Dawei. “Did you drive here?”

Liu Dawei scratched his head. “No, I came by subway.”

Qin Luo checked the time. “The subway’s still running. I have something to take care of here, so I won’t see you off. Please speak with your partners and let me know their thoughts soon.”

“Of course,” Liu Dawei replied, his tone earnest. “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

With that, Liu Dawei left, clearly invigorated by the meeting.

Qin Luo, however, remained in the restaurant, walking toward the commotion at the front desk.