Li Cheng hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd give Zhong Ming a team scheduled for layoff.
After leaving the conference room, Zhong Ming navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Guangyi Interactive's 14th floor, following the directions to the "Handheld Division B." As he walked, the environment changed. The sleek, open-plan offices with their holographic displays gave way to older, dimmer sections of the building. The carpet was worn, the lighting flickered occasionally, and the air smelled of stale coffee and ozone.
Division B was located in a corner near the emergency exit. It wasn't even a proper office suite; it was a repurposed storage area partitioned off by thin, grey walls.
Zhong Ming pushed open the door.
Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with apathy. Three desks were crammed into the small space, surrounded by stacks of old equipment and discarded circuit boards.
A young man with messy hair and thick glasses was slumped over his keyboard, loudly snoring. In the corner, a young woman with her hair tied back in a severe bun was aggressively sketching on a tablet, the scratching of her stylus the only sound of actual work. The third desk was empty, piled high with boxes of instant noodles.
Zhong Ming cleared his throat.
The sleeping man jolted awake, nearly knocking over a mug of cold coffee. "I'm up! I'm compiling! Don't fire me!"
He blinked, realizing he wasn't being berated by a manager, and looked at Zhong Ming with bleary confusion. "Who are you? Did HR send you to collect the chairs?"
"I'm your new Producer," Zhong Ming announced, his voice calm but commanding. "And I'm here to tell you that you're not fired. Not yet, anyway."
The woman in the corner stopped drawing and spun her chair around. She had sharp eyes and a skeptical expression. "Producer? We haven't had a Producer since Manager Zhang quit two months ago. We're the 'Dead End' team. We maintain the servers for *Galaxy Commander*, a game that has maybe twelve active players."
"Not anymore," Zhong Ming said, walking to the front of the room. He activated the dusty projector on the ceiling. "We are now Project 'Pocket.' And we have three months to save this division."
The sleeping man, who had now composed himself, squinted at Zhong Ming. "Three months? For what? Another shovelware port?"
"No. For a AAA-quality handheld experience," Zhong Ming declared.
The woman scoffed. "Impossible. We have three people. The handheld hardware is garbage. The memory limit is 256KB for save data. You can't fit a AAA experience in that."
Zhong Ming looked at her. "You are?"
"Lin Yue. Lead Artist. Though 'Lead' implies there are other artists, which there aren't."
"And the sleeping beauty?"
The man yawned, stretching his arms. "Wang Hao. Programmer. The only one left who knows how to code for this ancient handheld architecture."
Zhong Ming nodded. "Good. You're exactly what I need."
He projected his tablet screen onto the wall. It displayed the rough sketches of the three starter monsters—Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle—and the map layout of the starting town.
"We are going to build a Monster Taming game," Zhong Ming stated.
Silence.
Then, laughter. Wang Hao actually laughed out loud, slapping his knee. "Monster Taming? Like those digital pets from the pre-war era? Boss, those are for toddlers. The market wants war sims. Shooters. Gritty survival horror."
"The market is saturated," Zhong Ming countered immediately. "Gritty survival horror is everywhere. It's depressing. People are tired of it. They want color. They want adventure. They want to *collect*."
He pointed to Lin Yue. "You said the hardware is garbage. You're right. But that's why we don't focus on high-poly 3D models. We focus on style. We focus on 2D sprites with personality. Can you do pixel art?"
Lin Yue looked at the projected sketches. Her artistic eye couldn't deny the appeal. "Pixel art? That's... retro. Pre-war style."
"It's timeless," Zhong Ming corrected. "It saves memory, it looks clean on a small screen, and it allows for hundreds of unique designs without crashing the system. Wang Hao, can you program a database system that handles 151 unique entities, a turn-based combat calculator, and a link-cable communication protocol?"
Wang Hao stopped laughing. He did the mental math. "151 entities? With stat growth and move sets? In 256KB? That's... mathematically insane. The logic alone would take a year to optimize."
"I have the algorithms," Zhong Ming said. He tapped his temple. "I've already worked out the memory compression codes. I just need you to implement them."
He walked over to the empty desk—the one belonging to the third person.
"Where is the third member?"
"Old Zhang," Wang Hao said, jerking a thumb towards the door. "He's the sound guy. He's probably downstairs smoking. He's already checked out mentally. He says he's going to retire and open a noodle shop."
Zhong Ming's eyes narrowed. "We need a sound guy. Music is crucial for this project."
"Good luck getting him to work," Lin Yue muttered. "He hasn't composed a new track in a year. He just uses stock library sounds."
Zhong Ming turned to the two of them. "I'll handle Old Zhang. In the meantime, I need the basic engine running by the end of the week. Wang Hao, I'll send you the core logic schematics tonight. Lin Yue, I need the sprite sheets for these three starters. 16x16 pixels. Four frames of animation each. Walking, attacking, hurt, idle."
Lin Yue looked at the sketches again. She picked up her stylus. "Charmander... the flame on the tail. It needs to flicker. I can do that."
There was a spark in her eyes. For the first time in months, she wasn't just drawing rust textures for tanks. She was drawing a creature with life.
"Good," Zhong Ming said. "Get to work. I'll be back."
***
Zhong Ming found Old Zhang on the smoking balcony of the 10th floor. He was a man in his fifties, with grey hair and a face weathered by the war. He was staring blankly at the city skyline, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Mr. Zhang," Zhong Ming called out.
Old Zhang didn't turn around. "If you're here to fire me, just send the email. I don't have the energy to clean out my desk today."
"I'm not firing you. I'm hiring you."
Old Zhang chuckled, a raspy sound. "Hiring me for what? Division B is a graveyard."
"For a project that will define the next decade of gaming," Zhong Ming said, standing beside him.
He pulled out his bracelet and projected a small video clip. It wasn't a finished video, but a concept—a crude animation he had whipped up earlier using the System's knowledge. It showed the player character walking through a tall grass field, the screen flashing, and a wild monster appearing.
Along with the visual, Zhong Ming hummed a melody.
It was the wild battle theme of *Pokémon*. Simple, energetic, driving.
Old Zhang stiffened. He turned his head slowly. "What is that?"
"That is the sound of adventure," Zhong Ming said. "We're making a game about monsters and trainers. It needs music that makes the heart race. Not the sound of explosions, but the sound of triumph."
Old Zhang took a drag of his cigarette. "I haven't written a melody in three years. The company only wants orchestral war drums. Depressing stuff."
"This isn't war drums. It's 8-bit. Chiptune. It's catchy," Zhong Ming pressed. "I need a composer who understands how to make a few beeps and boops sound like a symphony. I heard you were the best chiptune artist in the district before the war."
Old Zhang's eyes flickered with a distant memory. "That was a long time ago. Before the machines took the soul out of art."
"The soul is back," Zhong Ming said firmly. "I have a team. A programmer who thinks it's impossible, and an artist who is just waking up. I need a musician to give them a voice."
He looked the old man in the eye. "Give me three months. If we fail, I'll personally pay for your noodle shop franchise fee. If we succeed, you'll be the Audio Director of the biggest franchise in the world."
Old Zhang stared at the young man. He saw the fire, the confidence. It was terrifying, but it was also infectious.
"You're crazy," Old Zhang muttered, crushing the cigarette under his heel. "But... I always did hate the sound of silence."
He reached out his hand. "Fine. I'm in. But if the music sucks, I'm blaming you."
Zhong Ming shook his hand. "Deal."
***
Back in the office, Zhong Ming sat at his desk. He had the team. Now he needed the miracle.
He opened the System interface.
**[Task Complete: Form a Team.]**
**[Reward: Blueprint - Advanced Game Engine Optimization (Handheld Specific).]**
**[Current Points: 20]**
The blueprint flooded his mind. It wasn't just code; it was a way of thinking. It showed him how to compress data packets so efficiently that he could fit a massive world into a tiny cartridge. It solved the memory issue Wang Hao was worried about.
Zhong Ming smiled. He picked up his stylus.
"System," he thought. "I need to confirm the first evolution lines. We need the sprites."
He began to draw. Charmander. Charmeleon. Charizard.
As he drew, he felt the points slowly ticking up.
**[Quality Assessment: High.]**
**[Points: +2...]**
It was slow work, but it was a start. The foundation of an empire was being laid, one pixel at a time.
He looked at the whiteboard on the wall. He wrote a single word in red marker, circling it three times.
**DEADLINE: 90 DAYS.**
"Alright, team," Zhong Ming whispered to the empty air, feeling the adrenaline of the challenge. "Let's show this grey world some color."