Starting as a Manga Editor-Chapter 109: Just Change It, Huh?

Two blocks from Wenxin Press, at a café.
The evening sun cast its golden light across Tang Yao’s figure.
She walked quickly inside, and soon spotted Li Xue, seated by the window, gently sipping her coffee.
She looked graceful and poised, exuding a subtle intellectual aura.
Bathed in the sunset glow, she gave off a kind of charm that made the heart flutter.
At the same moment, Li Xue also noticed Tang Yao.
She immediately set her coffee down, straightened her posture slightly, and waved gently.
“Miss Li…”
Tang Yao ignored the nearby onlookers.
She walked straight over—not to the seat opposite, but right next to her—
and flopped down with a dramatic sigh:
“Help me.”
“Huh?”
Li Xue blinked in surprise, then immediately reached out and grasped Tang Yao’s hand,
concerned:
“What happened?”
“Uh…”
Tang Yao glanced at their joined hands under the table, a little startled.
Then seeing the worry on Li Xue’s gentle face, she quickly explained:
“I’m just venting… It’s not that serious…”
“……”
Li Xue gave her a pointed look, but didn’t let go.
Instead, she ordered Tang Yao a coffee and asked:
“So what’s going on?”
“I want to acquire Mingyu Tech.”
Tang Yao took a moment to gather her thoughts and explained:
“Now that Fate/Grand Order is a success…
The user base is huge, and everything from version control, monetization, event planning, internal collaboration, to marketing and distribution requires professionals.
The studio needs to scale up—there’s just too much to do.”
“Then just go for it.”
Li Xue blinked, looking a little lost:
“Honestly, I’ve never made a game before…”
“But I want your opinion.”
Tang Yao blinked back:
“Do you think it’s necessary?
Let me tell you what we’d actually get from acquiring Mingyu Tech.”
She gave a brief overview of Mingyu Tech’s existing game.
Truth be told, the only decent asset Mingyu Tech had left was that game.
The office, equipment, and staff? Not a must.
Tang Yao figured if she really wanted to take over, Si Jinliang would be more than happy to hand them off.
After listening, Li Xue pondered for a moment, then said softly:
“I see… Honestly, I think it’s worth a shot.
I’ve visited your studio a few times and learned a bit about Mingyu Tech. Their situation is… terrible. Really terrible.
So instead of calling it an acquisition,
why not just buy the game rights?
If you go for a full acquisition, you might run into complications.
Unlike Avalon Studio, Mingyu Tech still has investors holding equity, right?
Avalon may not be a household name yet,
but investors in Mingyu Tech are definitely watching the game industry closely.
If they find out that the studio behind FGO is trying to buy this mess of a company,
they might suddenly act greedy.
Sure, Mingyu Tech’s got no real value left.
But they’re seasoned players. That risk isn’t huge—but it’s there.
So the safest move would be to talk to Si Jinliang first,
lock down exclusive licensing or just buy out the IP.
The game’s shutting down soon, isn’t it?
Once that’s done, you can take over their office lease,
and invite whoever’s left to join you. No rush.”
“……”
Tang Yao looked thoughtful.
She’d known asking Li Xue was the right call—
because she hadn’t considered any of that.
“So the game rights are with Mingyu Tech?”
Li Xue answered directly:
“Most likely, yeah. Just ask to be sure.”
“Makes sense.”
Tang Yao wasn’t dead set on getting the game.
If needed, they could always start over from scratch.
But if they could get it, it’d save a ton of work.
With that—
She stood up abruptly, pulling Li Xue up with her.
“Come with me?”
Half an hour later.
Mingyu Tech.
In Si Jinliang’s office, he was packing up his things.
The game was about to shut down…
What players remained weren’t just abandoning ship—they were cursing his entire family tree.
Their final monetization tactics had been scummy enough to earn it.
And now that he’d decided to go job hunting,
there was no point sticking around.
Most importantly, he had a feeling—
that pretty girl was about to show up.
With FGO’s success—
though he didn’t know exactly how successful—it was obvious.
As a seasoned anime fan, he could see the heat, the money.
Now that they had funds, expansion was inevitable.
And the big office space he’d once rented in ambition…
might just become their new HQ.
Even his current office?
Could become Tang Yao’s private office.
Truth be told—
he wasn’t dumb.
The moment he realized FGO was made by Tang Yao,
he knew Mingyu Tech was done for.
“So she really replaced us…”
He finished packing and looked around his office one last time.
Then he laughed bitterly.
Back when Tang Yao poached Chu Yuxin and the others,
he had considered whether she’d one day fully replace them.
Once Avalon moved in,
he’d felt like they were draining Mingyu Tech dry—
starting with office space, then internal servers,
then hardware, and finally—people.
Next up?
The entire company?
He had thought about it.
Just never imagined it would really happen.
But resentment?
Not really.
He just felt…
life was absurd.
Who could’ve guessed?
Back when she came in to rent a space,
she didn’t even dare take a big office.
She looked so broke, so early-stage.
And he’d even warned her not to fall into the mobile game trap.
Now, half a year later?
Mingyu Tech was dead.
And she was the hottest new star in the game industry.
Soon enough,
Mingyu Tech would just be a footnote—
a “contrast company” in some Avalon Studio retrospective.
Knock knock—
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
He snapped out of it and looked toward the door.
He had a feeling he knew who it was.
Speak of the devil…
He gave a weary smile, walked over, and opened the door.
And there they were:
Tang Yao and Li Xue.
He stared for a beat, surprised.
Tang Yao he expected—
but Li Xue, the mysterious investor he’d only met once?
That was unexpected.
Still…
D*mn.
One elegant and graceful businesswoman,
the other a vibrant, lively beauty.
Standing together, they looked like a perfectly composed painting.
But he didn’t have time to admire for long.
Li Xue got straight to the point:
“Mr. Si, may I ask—
does Mingyu Tech hold the rights to Dou Pai?
Or more specifically—do you?
Or do the investors?”
“?”
Si Jinliang blinked slowly.
Game rights?
Not the office?
What?
He was quiet for a moment, then replied:
“They’re mine.
But why are you asking?”
Li Xue and Tang Yao exchanged a glance.
After a pause, Tang Yao spoke:
“We’d like to buy the game rights.”
“……”
Si Jinliang froze.
Then said:
“Huh?”
He’d thought maybe they’d rent the office.
Maybe buy some equipment.
But…
the game?
Really?
Was this even necessary?
“Yes. We’d like to buy the full rights to Dou Pai. Are you willing to sell?”
Tang Yao knew it sounded sudden,
but she didn’t rush to explain.
“You know the game’s state, right?”
Si Jinliang stared at her serious expression,
finally understanding.
His face shifted strangely.
“It’s shutting down.”
“I know.”
“Then why buy it?
If you think Avalon can revive it—forget it.
The reputation’s destroyed.
It’s beyond saving.
And the game… was flawed from the start.”
“Why do you say that?”
Tang Yao asked, puzzled.
“Wasn’t it your passion project?”
“It was…”
He pressed his lips together, then sighed.
“But it’s also a painful memory.
I clearly don’t know how to make games.
After playing your game…
even if our funding hadn’t been cut,
I think Dou Pai still would’ve flopped.
It would’ve faded like so many others.
I’m done with making games.”
“But I thought it was fun.”
Tang Yao blinked and said it plainly.
Si Jinliang froze.
Then stared at her, stunned:
“You…”
Li Xue stayed silent, watching Tang Yao’s profile calmly.
Finally, Si Jinliang spoke again:
“You really thought it was fun?”
“Yeah.
The rules are a little complex,
but they could be refined.
Online card games and physical ones are different.
You borrowed a lot from TCGs, right?”
She’d looked up this world’s card games before talking to Li Xue.
They had games similar to Magic: The Gathering, and the rules were nearly identical.
“The gameplay draws from the TCG golden trio:
Collectible cards, a mana system, and color identity. Right?”
Si Jinliang’s eyes lit up.
He looked excited.
“Yes! You know card games?”
Tang Yao smiled.
She hadn’t played them here, but back in her past life—
Yu-Gi-Oh and Magic were legendary.
She’d dabbled in both.
Of course, she didn’t say that.
She simply nodded:
“Yeah. That’s why I want to buy your game’s rights.
I want to turn it into a dual-platform title—PC and mobile.
It’ll be Avalon Studio’s second game.”
“……”
Si Jinliang’s expression dimmed.
“You want to… change it?
Tang Yao…
How do you even change a TCG?
I gave it everything I had.
Complex rules were necessary.
Like the cost system—
Even the best TCGs have varied mana generation: fixed, scaling…
What would you do?
Some TCGs allow infinite loops as long as you meet the conditions.
That’s part of their charm.”
“What if—”
Tang Yao cut in:
“You replaced TCG’s golden trio with:
Collectible cards, a mana crystal system, and class mechanics?
Removed off-turn interactions to simplify the experience?
Made it easier to learn, and more suited to online play?”
“Collectible cards? Mana crystals? Classes? No off-turn actions…?”
Si Jinliang was lost.
He looked at her in confusion.
But Tang Yao didn’t elaborate.
She just smiled.
They weren’t close.
No need to lay it all out.
Besides, explaining in words was messy.
“If you’re curious…”
She added after a pause—
“Then sell me the game rights.”
“You’re serious?”
He stared at her, stunned:
“You really want to make my game Avalon’s second title?”
“Yup.”
“You…”
He almost wanted to talk her out of it.
Dou Pai was a mess.
She really wanted to turn it into her second mobile game?
Sure, her first one had been a hit.
And she did build it with his old team.
But seriously?
Did she really think he was that useless?
He wasn’t great at everything,
but he knew card games.
Otherwise Dou Pai wouldn’t exist.
He had worked so hard to simplify it.
And she just wanted to “change it”?
Easier? More accessible?
You think I didn’t try that?
But it made the game unfun!
This wasn’t some simple party game.
You had to think about replay value—about revenue.
He also thought he could simplify it.
And look how that turned out.
Still, despite all the thoughts racing through his head—
Si Jinliang didn’t say anything bitter.
He’d learned his lesson last time.
Besides, he wasn’t making games anymore.
So what was the point?
“If you want the rights,
I’ll sell.
I’m done with game dev anyway.
This game’s ruined. It’s basically a liability.
If you want it, at least I can make some money back.”
He paused.
Then added, hesitantly:
“But I have to be upfront—
I used to believe online TCGs had massive potential.
Just make them simpler, I thought.
They’d be huge.
But reality taught me otherwise.
These games are rule-heavy because they have to be.
There’s no progression system—just collection.
And the cards you gather don’t level up.
To keep things fun,
the gameplay has to do all the work.
Make it too simple,
and it gets boring.
This isn’t some easy puzzle game.
You need depth—and revenue.
I thought I could fix that.
But I was wrong.”
“So… you’re really done with games?”
Tang Yao had latched onto something else.
“Yeah.
I’m going back to being an employee.
I’m not cut out for this.”
Tang Yao glanced over his shoulder at the office—
his stuff was already packed.
She thought for a moment, then said:
“Then… want to come to Avalon Studio?”
“Huh?”
Si Jinliang blinked.
“You’re looking for a job, right?
Why not come see how Dou Pai transforms?”
Tang Yao flashed a brilliant smile:
“See how I change it?”
“……”
Si Jinliang was speechless.
Was Avalon really trying to absorb even the boss of Mingyu Tech?
And did she really have that much confidence??
She really thought she could just… change his entire game?