Starting as a Manga Editor-Chapter 106: Not Even Enough to Tempt My Cousin

To be honest—
In her previous life, even though Tang Yao was a lead artist on game projects, she was really just a slightly more important cog in the machine. Just another worker bee.
And the company she’d worked for in her last life was awful.
They didn’t think art was important at all.
From top to bottom, they believed players didn’t care about visuals. Copying others was good enough.
As long as it looked like a high-quality anime-style game, that was all they needed.
So when it came to discussing gameplay, interactions, distribution—
Artists had zero say.
Sometimes they were even entirely separated from other departments.
It wasn’t until Tang Yao arrived in this world and took on the full responsibility of managing a project herself
that she realized just how difficult and complicated making a game really was.
As for Mingyu Tech’s game—
Of course it held no real interest for her.
It was already a dead end…
But perhaps because she’d tasted success now,
she was interested in the technical architecture behind the game.
After all, thanks to Kang Ming’s battle platform, Avalon’s Fate/Grand Order had saved a ton of time—
Not to mention the website and backend.
At this point, it was pretty much a given—
Fate/Grand Order’s success would officially launch the mobile gaming era.
Soon enough, the big game companies would join the fray—
and then it would be absolute chaos.
Avalon, with its first-mover advantage,
might not be able to rest easy at the top,
but it could certainly earn a killing for the next few years.
But what if—
Just imagine.
Now that Avalon had gained a bit of recognition from Fate/Grand Order,
what if it quickly launched another mobile game, ahead of the big players still dissecting FGO’s success formula?
Or if they waited a bit,
and released a new mobile game just as the major studios joined the wave?
That would completely lock in Avalon’s position.
Pushing the thought further—
Fate/Grand Order was currently mobile-only.
But once the game’s revenue exploded, the big publishers would all start aiming for mobile.
Still—
it was too early to declare the death of PC gaming.
Even in her past life, when mobile games dominated, there was still a loyal base of PC gamers.
Especially here.
So, what if…
While the industry fixated on mobile,
Avalon came out with a cross-platform title?
Kept its hold on mobile while also catering to PC players?
Wouldn’t that make even more money?
And if they were going to do cross-platform—
Tang Yao wouldn’t dare mention other genres,
but for card games, cross-platform was relatively easy.
And if she remembered right—
Mingyu Tech’s game had been a strategy-based card game?
“Dou Pai, huh?”
Tang Yao quickly recalled the game and searched for it.
Thankfully, even though it was shutting down,
its official site was still live.
She was able to download it right away.
While it downloaded,
Tang Yao checked in on the forum discussions again.
She noticed that, with time, more and more players were talking about the game.
Some were even posting fanart—led by Teacher Rumi herself…
At the same time,
players were starting to get curious about the game’s revenue.
Because… it seemed like a lot of people had paid.
Tang Yao scrolled through the posts—
They really were just one step away from breaking into the mainstream.
Operations…
She looked at the site she’d opened earlier and found herself out of ideas.
Her thoughts drifted back to Mingyu Tech’s ops team—
And to Kang Ming’s suggestion.
Just then—
Ding.
The download completed.
Tang Yao snapped out of her daze and immediately opened the installation.
Honestly, she had never played Mingyu Tech’s game.
She’d been way too busy running around like a spinning top.
And this game wasn’t even the same type as hers—
so she never had time to bother.
“What kind of card game is this exactly…”
She opened the app, curiosity piqued.
But that curiosity vanished the moment the game screen appeared.
Pop-ups filled the screen,
all shouting about first-time top-up bonuses, limited offers,
and more words like “Top-Up” than she could count.
The entire main interface practically screamed SPEND MONEY.
Tang Yao was dumbfounded.
“What the hell…
There’s no onboarding at all? Not even trying to hide it?
This feels like a browser game.”
She stared at the garish page,
and it took her a long time just to find the button to enter the actual game.
Finally—some sort of tutorial.
And very quickly,
she forgot all about the shameless monetization.
As the tutorial continued and she got a sense of the mechanics,
Tang Yao stared at the screen and muttered in disbelief:
“Why does this game… feel so much like Hearthstone?”
Meanwhile—
As Tang Yao was checking out a “competitor’s” game—
There were others, in turn, studying hers.
They had no choice.
Even though FGO was only in open beta,
it had already caught the eye of many developers and producers before launch.
Forums and group chats were full of buzz.
There were always old-school anime fans in every corner of the industry—
Of course someone would notice this game making waves.
At first, most gaming companies didn’t pay it much attention.
They just thought the anime community had gone feral.
A mobile game made just for core anime fans?
That was… interesting.
Take the conversation between Lin Shuang and Tang Yao back then as an example—
The prevailing industry wind was blowing toward mobile, sure,
but few developers ever considered targeting the core anime demographic.
Most just ported PC games to mobile,
still focused on PC-style content and core gamers.
The biggest problem?
There was no successful model to follow.
Even Onmyoji, a legendary title in Tang Yao’s original world, started with only nine team members.
Even big companies like “Pig Farm” didn’t really prioritize anime-style games.
And even the once-reigning Million Arthur—which had been successfully localized—
wasn’t taken that seriously at the start.
The industry had too much path dependence.
“Anime games? How much money can those players really spend?”
That was the common belief.
So back then, most industry insiders just thought Avalon Studio had “an interesting idea.”
But now? It was a different story.
Because many devs had actually played the game—
And saw firsthand how passionate those anime fans were!
“...Fascinating. Truly fascinating.”
The chairman of the second-largest tech company in the country,
also head of their Interactive Entertainment Division,
Shen Lun, looked up from his screen in amazement.
“A mobile game can really be done like this?”
“Indeed, very thoughtful design.”
Beside him,
a middle-aged man in a tailored suit nodded:
“Anime-style visuals. No PVP. Lightweight systems. Low social and competitive pressure.
Focus on narrative and character.
Not overloaded with mechanics—
And yet it’s super engaging.”
“Most importantly, it’s hot.
Even if we don’t know exact numbers yet,
it’s already broken out of the anime bubble.
Social media’s buzzing with it.”
“Also, the monetization is clever.
There’s clearly no shortage of paying players.”
“No, not just ‘not a shortage.’”
Shen Lun shook his head and gestured toward his screen:
“Plenty of people are paying.
Look—some are even saying this game’s more generous than PC games.
That’s wild. The dev is smart.
They understand player psychology—
use vague pricing and emotional hooks.”
“The gacha system for characters?
Way more expensive than gear in many MMOs.”
“……”
The man next to him made a strange face—
He’d experienced it firsthand.
“Find out what Avalon Studio’s background is.
See if they need funding.”
Shen Lun paused in thought, then made his decision:
“Also check if acquisition is on the table.
In the meantime, spin up an internal project.
Have the team that was working on PC-to-mobile ports study this game.
Let’s see if any devs are interested in doing something like this.
I’ve got a feeling… the mobile era has officially begun.”
“Understood.”
And it wasn’t just Shen Lun.
Many companies were having this same conversation.
Even though Fate/Grand Order’s stats hadn’t been published yet—
Its potential and buzz had everyone’s attention.
If the gaming companies were taking notice,
venture capital was watching even closer.
Mobile games were already hot—
and with time, the buzz around FGO only grew louder.
Even people completely unrelated to anime started jumping in.
Manager’s Office.
Lin Shuang had rushed back to her desk the moment she saw a celebrity post about the game.
She searched for “Fate/Grand Order” on every social media platform she could find.
And what she found—
Kept her glued to the screen for hours.
She was trying to dig up dirt.
Proof that the game was getting review-bombed.
And sure, there were negative comments.
But they were nowhere near a flood.
Positive feedback massively outnumbered them.
More importantly—
The volume of discussion was growing by the minute.
And she knew exactly what that meant.
At that moment—
No matter how strong her pride was,
she could no longer lie to herself.
“No way… it actually succeeded?”
Lin Shuang slowly lifted her head.
Her neck ached from leaning forward too long, but she didn’t care.
After a long silence, she stared at her phone with a twisted expression and muttered.
Wenxin Press.
Li Xue sat at her desk,
legs crossed elegantly under the table,
gently dangling a high heel off her poised, slender foot as she worked.
It was obvious to everyone—
she was in a fantastic mood.
In fact—
she’d been this way since the moment she arrived.
The whole editorial team noticed.
They even whispered that she must’ve won the lottery.
But soon enough—
her cheer was interrupted by a call.
Li Xue frowned at the caller ID.
...That person again.
She stared at her screen for a long time.
Though she wanted to hang up,
her years of polite upbringing made her pick up in the end.
“Hello… cousin.”
“Hi, Li Xue, do you have a minute?”
Li Xue’s voice was cold.
She was this close to saying “If not, I’ll hang up.”
Lin Shuang definitely noticed the chill.
She hesitated—
Assuming Li Xue was in a bad mood because the game had flopped.
Maybe the game was trending…
But not profitable?
Pretending not to notice Li Xue’s tone, she went straight to the point:
“I just wanted to ask… I saw your friend’s game launched.
How’s it doing? Poor results?
You don’t sound too happy.”
Li Xue blinked—
surprised at how eager she sounded.
But then she remembered—
This morning, all the mangaka she followed were talking about Tang Yao’s game.
She suddenly smiled—
a stunning, radiant smile.
“It’s okay.”
“Okay? How so?”
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“Revenue. Did your friend tell you?”
“She did.”
Lin Shuang paused, then asked with anticipation:
“...So?”
“I heard first-day revenue was only 94 million.
Not much, really.
I figure that’s not even worth your time, cousin?”
“………………”
On the other end of the call—
When Lin Shuang heard that number,
her body froze.
Her eyes instantly turned red.
How much!?
94 million!?
‘Not much’!?!?