A quiet neighborhood in the heart of the magic capital.
Yang Xin lounged on the sofa, her legs casually propped up on the coffee table, glancing over at Ruan Ningxue, who sat nearby, focused on coloring a manuscript.
"Xiaoxue, are you really not interested in gaming with me?" she asked, a playful grin on her face.
Ruan Ningxue didn't even look up. "Sister Xin, your game studio is literally sinking."
Yang Xin coughed, waving her hand. "It's just a rough patch! And hey, I still have three employees. Can you even call what you have a 'studio'? You're working solo. What kind of studio is that?"
"At least I'm profitable." Ruan Ningxue arched a brow. "And weren't you employing eight people just three months ago?"
"Everyone has their own dreams," Yang Xin said with exaggerated solemnity. "I had to let them go follow theirs."
Then, quickly changing the subject, she asked, "Speaking of which—how's your apprentice's game doing?"
"I haven't really checked," Ruan Ningxue replied. "Probably not great."
Yang Xin tilted her head. "So that means your studio will go back to being just you again soon?"
"Most likely," Ruan Ningxue sighed. "He's probably pretty upset right now."
She hadn't contacted Chen Xu recently—not since development wrapped up. After all, she had talked to Yang Xin about it, and her verdict wasn't exactly hopeful. And although her sister had released three games before, the budget was almost always tight. Still, Yang Xin was a professional. She knew the risks.
But during that intense month of co-developing the game, Ruan Ningxue had felt Chen Xu's passion firsthand. He wasn't just excited—he was completely immersed. That energy was contagious. For the first time, she really understood why someone would want to devote themselves to making games.
Still, after launch, she didn't ask about the results. Not even when he said he'd pay her as soon as the game recouped its costs. She hadn't brought it up—not because she didn't care, but because it didn't feel right. It wasn't about the money. Besides, she'd been swamped with her own comic deadlines.
She figured it was best to give Chen Xu time to recover. Let him cool off. Later, they'd talk.
From the sidelines, Yang Xin let out a silent sigh.
"New devs always think 18+ games are easy," she said eventually. "But game development is never simple. Even if the risk is lower, it's still work."
She tapped her phone. "What's your junior's game called again? I'll look it up."
"Magic Mirror," Ruan Ningxue said. "But I think he only released it on the overseas platform."
Yang Xin blinked. "Magic Mirror? That name sounds... weirdly familiar."
She frowned, then grabbed her phone and searched the game up on the overseas store. A second later, her jaw dropped.
She turned slowly, staring at Ruan Ningxue in disbelief.
"You said the results weren't good?"
"Uh… yeah?"
"Are you messing with me!?"
Yang Xin practically shouted.
She had definitely heard of this game—she'd seen it discussed in the forums, people raving about how unexpectedly good it was.
Now, staring at the game page, she saw it in black and white:
Rating: 9.6Number of reviews: 1,724
She was stunned.
Sympathy? Understanding? What kind of struggling newbie racks up over 1,700 reviews in just a few days?And with a 9.6 rating!?
"Wait… so it's actually doing well?" Ruan Ningxue asked, surprised.
"It's not just doing well—it's a hit!" Yang Xin exclaimed. "For an 18+ game? With this many reviews and a score that high, I bet its revenue already dwarfs my last three games combined!"
Yang Xin felt like she was losing her mind. And then she remembered what she'd said earlier—offering herself as a "negative teaching example" to help comfort Chen Xu.
Well, guess what? That example just backfired hard.
"I actually became the cautionary tale!" she muttered.
But she shook off the embarrassment quickly. That envy? Already replaced by awe.
Grabbing Ruan Ningxue's arm, she pleaded, "Please, Xiaoxue! You have to introduce me to your genius apprentice. I need to learn from him!"
If she couldn't be the one with the genius idea, at least she could get close to someone who did.
She grinned. "They say the moon reflects brightest near water… or something like that."
Maybe the metaphor was weird. But the point was clear.
If you can't be the thigh — cling to one