Magic Mirror was on fire — there was no doubt about that.
No, it hadn't reached the level of a cultural phenomenon like a triple-A blockbuster, but based on the current momentum, it was clear that this game was poised to influence an entire genre. It might even redefine what players and developers expected from "gentleman games."
In his previous life, Magic Mirror had done just that. After its release, it had sparked a trend among adult-oriented games: most titles that followed copied its signature dual structure — match-three gameplay mixed with visual novel (Galgame) storytelling. Of course, the quality of those imitators varied wildly. Some were excellent. Most were cash grabs riding the wave.
The genre had long carried a reputation for mediocrity. Among players and within the industry, "adult games" were seen as shallow — lewd content with no real gameplay, no innovation, no heart. But Magic Mirror was different.
Its match-three gameplay wasn't revolutionary, but it had something that made it stand out: a well-developed battle and upgrade system. Players fought their way through levels, earned gold, and bought new skills and items. Add in solid voice acting, polished character art, and a surprisingly thoughtful plot, and the result was something players couldn't believe was labeled as 18+.
And it wasn't just about surprise — it was about quality.
The game held a stable rating of 9.2. While the score fluctuated slightly as sales increased, the general sentiment was clear: people loved it. For a game with a short runtime and only a few characters, it even resisted the usual fate of short, cheap games: mass refunds. Sure, people could play it and get a refund before the time window closed, but hardly anyone did.
Perhaps that was because the price was only 10 yuan. A trivial cost — and one players felt was more than fair.
For all intents and purposes, Magic Mirror was a hit.
Mainstream media and large distribution platforms largely ignored it due to its content. But within the niche world of adult games, it was a blazing star. In player communities, many even called it a "game-changer."
Compared to the flood of low-effort titles, Magic Mirror stood alone. And within the game dev community, it sparked something else — ambition. Designers began to realize there was a path forward. These games didn't have to be soulless or purely titillating. They could be smart, strategic, emotional — and yes, profitable.
It was, as one dev put it, "a lighthouse in the darkness."
Sales figures backed that up. 70,000 copies in the first week. 160,000 by the second. By the end of the second week, Magic Mirror had sold 230,000 copies, according to third-party stats — a staggering number for a niche adult title. Even some critically acclaimed indie games would envy that figure.
Naturally, that caught the attention of more than just players. Indie developers across the industry started taking notice. It wasn't just about being "good for what it was" — this was objectively impressive.
Even though sales were starting to decline (as expected), the market had spoken. Magic Mirror had become a kind of legend — and not just among its intended audience.
Chen Xu, meanwhile, wasn't surprised. He'd analyzed exactly why Magic Mirror had worked. Just because something was a hit in his past life didn't mean it would succeed here. Many popular games had succeeded before due to timing, nostalgia, or era-specific expectations. If he tried remaking something like Legend, it would flop. No standout visuals, no compelling mechanics, no gripping story — that kind of game had no place in this market.
But Magic Mirror worked because it carved out a new niche. It didn't try to compete with mainstream titles. It offered a blend of Galgame storytelling and casual match-three gameplay, wrapped in an unapologetically adult package. For what it was, it delivered — and more.
Players often talked about how they wanted adult content in regular games, or solid gameplay in adult titles. Magic Mirror offered both.
Looking at the sales stats in the backend, Chen Xu allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. Fame and fortune? Maybe not quite — after all, it was still an 18+ game. But within its sphere, it had made waves.
He had no plans to stick with adult games long term. Magic Mirror was just the beginning — a stepping stone. The goal was to build momentum, both financially and reputationally.
And it had done exactly that.
At 10 yuan per copy and 230,000 copies sold, the game had earned nearly 1.5 million yuan in revenue after taxes and platform cuts. Not bad for a debut.
With that, plus his official registration as a certified game designer in Magic City — something he'd completed during Magic Mirror's second week — he was ready to move on.
The system's emotional point feedback, on the other hand, was underwhelming. He'd collected enough points for seven full draws — over 700,000 — but the emotions from players tended to be brief and scattered. A few seconds of joy here, a flash of frustration there. Only in rare cases would those emotions linger for more than a few minutes.
Still, it made sense. Chen Xu wasn't discouraged.
Back home, lounging on the couch and staring at his development dashboard, he began thinking about his next move. His plan? A single-player buyout game.
Why not a mobile gacha title? He had the knowledge. There were plenty of free-to-play mobile games with in-app purchases that had decent reputations in his past life. But after careful thought, he scrapped the idea.
The current market wasn't ready. Mobile dominance hadn't taken hold in this world the way it had in his previous life. Paid games still held a big slice of the industry pie.
Besides, gacha games required massive upfront investment — not just for development, but for promotion and licensing. Without enough capital or access to distribution channels, the risk was too high. Even if he made something great, it might just end up as someone else's prototype.
And that was the other problem with card-based mobile games: they were highly reproducible. If a bigger company saw potential in his mechanics and copied it, he'd be helpless.
In this world, card games were in a transitional phase — teetering between original IP titles and high-quality adaptations. The genre had seen growth, but the market was fragmented.
For now, it was better to stay small, stay smart, and make something that people would remember.
And that's what Chen Xu intended to do next.