Starting as a Manga Editor-Chapter 61: Holy Sht

The Tech Trade Center wasn’t far from Wenxin Press.
After walking for just over ten minutes, Tang Yao and Kang Ming arrived.
She led him straight to the door of Mingyu Tech, then walked in without hesitation.
On the way, Tang Yao had filled Kang Ming in on the situation here, and now he was curiously observing the surroundings.
Mingyu Tech was just like before—only the Operations Team had people present. But unlike last time, they seemed a lot more energized today.
No longer half-dead and listless, they looked fresh and alert… mostly because they’d cleaned up, changed clothes, shaved their beards, and were all sitting up straight.
What happened here?
Did their company come back to life or something?
As she passed by the Operations Team, Tang Yao glanced at them with curiosity but didn’t go out of her way to ask.
Meanwhile, as she was checking them out… the Operations Team was also checking her out.
Probably because she’d resigned today, Tang Yao hadn’t worn that perfunctory outfit of a white blouse and black straight-cut pants.
Instead, she’d changed into a clean white T-shirt—simple, well-fitted, and easy on the eyes. On the bottom, she wore light blue cropped skinny jeans that showed off her delicate, beautiful ankles.
The snug jeans hugged her thighs perfectly, highlighting the smooth, round lines of her long legs in an eye-catching way.
Paired with the loose backpack she borrowed from her sister...
Total campus girl vibes.
Absolutely dazzling.
Holy sh*t!
Where did this high schooler come from?!
She looked way too girly, way too cute.
Tang Yao noticed their intense stares and quickly looked away, hurrying into the office she’d rented.
Then she shut the door.
“These people… why are they acting so weird?”
Inside, Tang Yao put down her bag, furrowed her brows, and complained.
“I didn’t think they were weird at all...”
Kang Ming shook his head, then looked at her—he totally understood.
I mean, who wouldn’t stare...?
“So this is where we’ll be working from now on. I know there’s nothing here yet—it’s just the beginning,” Tang Yao said while opening her backpack. “You can get familiar with the space today, think about what basic office supplies you’ll need, and give me a list. I’ll shop for them along with my own. As for the rest, we’ll add things gradually as needed.”
“Oh, and we’ll use Mingyu’s fiber connection. I’m splitting the cost since I’m renting here.”
“No need to get used to the place… as long as I have somewhere to sit, I’m good.”
Kang Ming snapped out of his daze. “As for basic supplies, I just need a computer. The rest depends on the project…”
“Got it.”
Tang Yao opened her bag, and in Kang Ming’s stunned gaze, pulled out a thick stack of documents.
His jaw dropped. Staring at the stack—half a palm thick—he blurted out, “Don’t tell me you went to the print room earlier to…”
Tang Yao looked a little embarrassed. She scratched her cheek and explained, “Well, I had some time, so I printed out some prep materials. Most of it I paid for myself… had nothing to do with Wenxin Press!”
“What are these...?”
“I’ll explain in a bit.”
She flipped through the stack, pulled out one, and handed it to Kang Ming: “This is the proposal I told you about. It’s what I submitted when trying to get funding, so it’s a little all over the place—covers product direction, monetization model, and so on. It’s sort of a half-baked design doc.”
“Take a look. It should give you a clear idea of what I’m trying to do.”
“……”
Kang Ming composed himself, took the proposal seriously, and sat down with it. He began reading carefully.
But just two pages in, he suddenly looked up, stunned. “The base IP is Fate/Zero?! This—”
“Finish reading first.”
Tang Yao didn’t explain. She simply motioned for him to keep going.
So Kang Ming held back his shock and continued.
As he read, his breathing grew faster. He looked more and more excited.
About twenty minutes later, he finally finished and looked up, thrilled.
“An anime-style mobile game! This is so cool! I always thought the unique, vivid characters in manga were full of potential, and now—this gameplay! The idea of summoning Heroic Spirits fits perfectly! It's genius!”
Clearly, he wasn’t like that Lin Shuang woman who only cared about monetization and KPIs.
Kang Ming loved games, and he also loved manga and anime. He even dabbled in writing quirky game design docs for fun.
So he was instantly drawn to Tang Yao’s concept: a mobile game that borrowed the aesthetic of anime and manga, focused on playable character arcs, and followed a 2D-style visual direction.
Most importantly—
Tang Yao’s documentation was incredibly detailed.
She’d practically outlined the entire game framework.
Kang Ming could already imagine the final product—summoning Heroic Spirits on your phone, collecting your favorite characters... Just thinking about it was exciting!
“Don’t get too hyped yet.”
Tang Yao pulled over a chair and sat down. “Now that you’ve read it, let me tell you—there’s no competition for this kind of game on the market. Which also means... we have nothing to benchmark against. No comparable user data. We’re starting from scratch.”
Kang Ming finally calmed down a bit. He thought for a while, then said softly, “That’s true. I’ve never seen a game like this. According to your proposal, it’s low-social, low-competition, and heavily focused on story and characters. Personally, I think that kind of immersive character collection works great if the narrative’s good… but yeah, there’s definitely risk.”
All the games Kang Ming had been exposed to were from this world.
And the game Tang Yao was suggesting didn’t exist here—so he assumed she was worried about player reception and future monetization.
But Tang Yao shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. Let’s set the game aside for now. I’m talking about the development side.
For example, we don’t know how a game like this will perform on mobile, right?
To be honest, this is my first time making a mobile game.”
It really was—at least in this world.
Kang Ming looked up, a bit confused. “Uh… so you’re saying?”
“I’m saying…” Tang Yao paused to phrase it right. “We have no reference products, no clue how this game will run on phones. We barely even know each other. Isn’t there one thing that could help us tackle all those problems?
Let’s make a DEMO.
We can temporarily set aside the full plan, just create a start screen and run a short storyline on mobile.
It’ll help us get in sync, figure out our workflow. After all, we’re both first-timers at this, and it’s also our first time working together. It’ll let us see how the game feels on mobile too.”
Kang Ming’s eyes lit up. “Yes—DEMO! That makes sense. Let’s talk it through?”
“Mm.”
Pleased, Tang Yao nodded. Then she flipped through her materials and handed him another document.
“This one’s the overall project design. It builds on the earlier proposal, outlining the game’s genre, mechanics, monetization, and visual characteristics.
I also listed all the systems, levels, and content outlines we’ll need for long-term development.
Basically, it’s the full design spec.
I’ve marked the parts required for the DEMO specifically—systems, stages, content outlines. Take a look.”
Kang Ming stared at her, stunned.
“This one.”
Tang Yao flipped again and handed over another document.
“This is the art style guide. All the original art here was drawn by me. It sets the tone for the entire game’s visual style.
Later, we’ll need to confirm technical standards for art components—dimensions, size, format, capacity, etc. I’ll need you to help define those so I can finalize the specs.”
“And also—”
She flipped again, giving him no time to recover. “Here’s some material I found on game engines. I skimmed it—I don’t really understand most of it, just wanted to give you something to reference.
Anyway, tech architecture, engine selection, framework versioning, module structure, file structure, testing, CI pipeline, technical challenge planning—that’s all on you.”
“But—”
Tang Yao thought for a moment. “Actually, that’s not even the most urgent part.
Setting up the internal development server and SVN repository comes first. I’ll leave that to you too.”
“……”
Kang Ming was completely overwhelmed.
He stared blankly at the stack of documents she’d handed over, then looked at her, his scalp tingling.
Holy sh*t!!!
This woman had just done the jobs of producer, project manager, lead planner, and lead artist all at once!!!
So strong!
Ridiculously strong!
But WHY?!
Tang Yao was supposed to be an editor!!
What the hell?
How was she this good at game development after switching careers!?
…Actually.
Kang Ming had it all wrong.
Yes, Tang Yao was an editor—but only in this life.
In her past life, she wasn't.
In fact, being an editor was the real career change. Game development wasn’t.
Before she suddenly died, she was the lead artist of a low-budget mobile game.
She was already familiar with the whole development process.
Add in her enhanced memory from being reincarnated—remembering all the details was easy.
But Kang Ming didn’t know any of that.
To him, she was terrifying.
Wait a sec—
Kang Ming sat there stunned, then suddenly jolted and grabbed the art style guide, flipping through it quickly.
And when he saw the lineup of character illustrations—some seductive, some cool, some unhinged—he froze again.
Just now, Tang Yao had said it—but he hadn’t processed it.
After all, editors worked closely with artists, right?
Even earlier, when she said she’d handle the art, he hadn’t taken it seriously—he figured she’d just tap into her connections and recruit a few illustrators.
But then he remembered—
Hadn’t she said… she drew them herself?
Kang Ming slowly looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Tang Yao… you said… you drew these?”
Tang Yao nodded. “Mm-hmm. I’m the lead artist for this game.”
“……”
Kang Ming stared again. After a long silence, he finally asked, “You know how to draw?”
“Yup.”
“…?”
“My original dream was to become a mangaka. Didn’t work out, so I became an editor instead.”
“?????”
Kang Ming looked down at the stunning, professional-quality character illustrations and muttered, “With art like this… you became an editor???? And why does this art style look exactly like Fate/Zero...?”
“Oh, I don’t think I mentioned it.”
Tang Yao looked a bit embarrassed as she casually brushed her soft hair behind her ear. “Fate/Zero... I drew that. That’s why I chose it as the base for the game.”
“…Huh!?”
That did it.
Kang Ming completely lost it—he jumped to his feet and yelled in disbelief!
YOU drew Fate/Zero!?
What does that even MEAN?!
Could it really mean what he thought it meant!?
No way, right???
Editors these days could also draw and make games!?
If that’s how it was...
He might as well go back to the Editorial Department!
Because next to this girl—he was basically trash!