Chapter 214: Completely in Line with President Pei's Expectations
Pei Qian waited for a few minutes. Since Lin Wan didn't raise any questions, he knew the matter was settled.
In truth, Pei Qian himself was well aware that the advertising plan he had given really was the most effective type of promotion for traditional browser games.
It couldn't be called the most cost-effective, but the results definitely wouldn't be bad.
For browser games, the most cost-effective approach should be directly ripping assets from other games, or making some bizarre joke videos—basically, whatever could maximize click-through conversion.
But doing that was actually illegal. Art resources couldn't just be used at will—one lawsuit would absolutely stick.
Obviously, Pei Qian couldn't do anything illegal.
So the only option left was to hire celebrities.
Traditional browser games mainly targeted middle-aged players—those wealthy successful types, private business owners, coal mine bosses, and so on.
These people tended to really like Hong Kong and Taiwanese film stars. At the same time, they weren't that picky about game graphics, had plenty of money, and enjoyed being surrounded by a bunch of underlings in a game.
So, when making advertisements for this crowd, the ads naturally came out looking like this.
Using Hong Kong and Taiwanese stars increased the appeal and sense of connection for this demographic. The promotional slogans were delivered in the simplest way possible, highlighting exactly what appealed to this player base.
Selling gear for profit, free trading, national wars—these were all things browser game players loved.
By cramming all these selling points into the ad, the result was simple, effective, and created an excellent brainwashing effect. From a marketing standpoint, it was actually quite cost-efficient.
If that was the case, then why did Pei Qian still go ahead with making this ad?
The reason was very simple: if the target audience was wrong, even the best results were useless!
From the start, this entire campaign was designed to attract traditional browser game players—and to be scorned by ordinary players.
The name "Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition" was built on the same principle.
This way, even though a huge amount of money was spent on advertising and the game did gain visibility, what it actually attracted was a flood of traditional browser game players.
These players had a clear pattern: they didn't care about graphics, they just wanted to spend money to cut down enemies, recruit underlings, and enjoy that feeling of being worshipped.
But what was Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition actually like now?
It required almost no spending. Everyone could only buy stamina potions. The ones dominating the battlefield were chosen randomly by the "Chosen One" system—
Even the game format had been changed—from a traditional browser game into a micro-client version, just to improve graphics!
In other words, these players had to wait for a client download, couldn't just hop in instantly, and their office computers might not even run the game. On top of that, the improved graphics weren't something they particularly cared about.
Once they realized this wasn't the kind of game they wanted, they'd definitely curse it out and quit at lightning speed.
How could the game not flop?
Spending huge sums on celebrity endorsements and blasting ads across all the major sites, only to get poor promotional results and see players leaving in droves…
A guaranteed loss!
So who should be the real target audience for Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition?
It should have been aimed at broke students, office workers, or ordinary players who liked the old browser-game style but didn't have the money to spend heavily. Even players of traditional PC or mobile games could have been included in the mix.
The problem was that most of these people would be immediately driven away by the game's name and its advertising.
Just like how Pei Qian could recite the ad slogans by heart, but never once thought of actually trying the game himself.
So in truth, the game itself had no major issues, and the advertising method also wasn't fundamentally flawed.
But the problem was that the game itself and the advertising were aimed at completely different groups of players. That was the real issue!
On top of that, the game had swallowed up a huge investment. Development and promotion combined had cost at least seven or eight million. With such a limited player base and only a single monetization point, even if some players trickled in, there was virtually no way to make back the costs.
Pei Qian let out a long breath of relief. For now, it seemed that Shangyang Games could be left alone.
Next up was Tengda's own project—Turn Back Before It's Too Late.
Just a couple of days ago, Pei Qian had discovered that Terminal Chinese Web was actually serializing an official novel for Turn Back Before It's Too Late, which had given him quite a scare.
After the incidents of the past few months, he was now on constant high alert. Even the slightest disturbance would not escape his notice.
So of course, this matter of Terminal Chinese Web serializing the Turn Back Before It's Too Late official novel hadn't slipped past him either.
But after checking the reader's feedback, Pei Qian relaxed quite a bit.
Terminal Chinese Web's growth has been very slow so far. Although its generous pay structure had attracted some web authors, the library's content was still far too poor, and user growth was deeply worrying.
Up to this point, the site's daily active users barely reached over two thousand—and that even included those who popped in out of curiosity, only to leave forever after a single glance.
Even so, a few hundred people had read the Turn Back Before It's Too Late official novel.
After all, the novel had been placed prominently on the website's front page, so most visitors would notice it.
Yet beneath it, the comments were filled with nothing but scathing reviews.
"What kind of garbage is this? Totally incomprehensible."
"Three chapters in and I still can't figure out who the protagonist is!"
"Everything's just worldbuilding? My head hurts reading this."
"This kind of writing gets front-page placement? Just how bad must this site be?"
"Turn Back Before It's Too Late? What kind of trash title is that, doesn't mean anything!"
"I'm convinced this author has connections. There are so many books better than this, and none of them got such a good recommendation slot."
"If it really is a case of connections, then that just proves this site has no future!"
The Turn Back Before It's Too Late game was still in development, with zero promotion at this stage, so Terminal Chinese Web hadn't openly advertised the book as the official tie-in novel. They weren't even trying to piggyback on Tengda's name.
Ma Yiqun and Zhu Anxing's original intention in publishing the official novel was simply to entertain themselves a little, while also getting some honest feedback from players.
If the only readers had been Tengda's diehard fans, they might have ignored the content entirely and started showering it with blind praise. In that case, the over-the-top flattery could have left Ma Yiqun and Zhu Anxing dizzy with compliments, unable to keep a clear head, which would in turn affect the later storyline.
As it turned out, the reader's feedback couldn't have been more brutally honest…
Pei Qian skimmed through two chapters of the novel himself and found that the readers' criticisms were completely justified.
Zhu Anxing and Ma Yiqun being scolded like this wasn't undeserved at all…
The book had been written by Zhu Anxing, while the others only contributed ideas and suggestions.
Ma Yiqun had to manage the website, so he didn't have much time for creative writing. Besides, he felt his thinking had been too heavily influenced by webnovels. If he tried to write, he might veer off in the wrong direction, so he handed the task to Zhu Anxing instead.
But Zhu Anxing had absolutely no foundation in webnovel writing. For the official story and worldbuilding, he naturally looked toward foreign game narratives for reference, including original novels and official setting collections from big overseas AAA titles.
The result was obscure, foggy, and utterly baffling.
As narrative material for in-game storylines, it worked fine. But published on a webnovel site? It stuck out like a sore thumb.
Once this official novel was pinned to the Terminal Chinese Web homepage, who knew how many potential readers it scared away.
Most new users visiting the site would naturally click on the most prominently placed book first, since that spot usually represented the platform's highest standard.
But the moment they opened it, they thought: This is it?
They would be instantly turned off, they wouldn't bother trying a second book.
Pei Qian quietly watched all this unfold from behind the scenes, secretly delighted.
Excellent—Terminal Chinese Web really hadn't let him down!
A writer with a first-book subscription count of thirty, combined with a group of complete outsiders who had zero understanding of web literature—this outcome was finally in line with his expectations!
As for the matter of Turn Back Before It's Too Late's official novel being pinned on the homepage, Pei Qian had no intention of interfering. After all, the novel so far hadn't just failed to attract any new readers—it had actually driven a large number of them away.
That was practically a blessing!
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