In the blink of an eye, it was the next day.

YiYou moved fast.

First thing that morning, as soon as Shen Miaomiao got to the office, she casually scrolled through gaming social platforms—

And was immediately bombarded with a flood of Titanfall-related news.

Add to that the enthusiastic hype from fans spreading it like wildfire,

And TTF was now locked in a three-way battle with three rival games from Xunteng, looking like a full-blown “Three Heroes vs. Lü Bu” situation.

Among all the promo content, one video stood out with sky-high likes.

You could find it reposted on nearly every platform.

In just an hour, Shen Miaomiao had come across it at least three times.

The video was originally from Bilibili, titled:

“Game Under the Microscope: A Frame-by-Frame Breakdown of Why TTF is So Fun”

Following the original link, Shen Miaomiao landed on Bilibili, tossed two coins to the uploader, pulled out a bag of chips from the drawer, switched to full screen, and started watching intently.

The uploader was a media channel called “Game Under the Microscope.”

Their main thing was analyzing game trailers frame by frame to predict gameplay mechanics or storylines.

Thanks to their high accuracy, fans had dubbed them “The Gaming Prophet” or “The Crystal Ball of Games,”

With over 1.7 million followers—no small deal.

Recently, with YiYou and Xunteng both releasing trailers for their six flagship titles,

Game Under the Microscope had been swamped with fan requests,

And finally, they dropped trailer breakdowns for all six games.

But the one with the most likes, coins, and shares?

No surprise—TTF: Titanfall.

“Catch the details, feel the world. Welcome to a new episode of Game Under the Microscope. If you enjoy this content, don’t forget to like, follow, and drop a coin. Without further ado, let’s meet today’s star—Titanfall!”

“Let’s break it down—starting now!”

A wave of bullet comments scrolled across the screen:

‘Here to check in’

‘Finally doing TTF!’

‘Can’t f***ing wait’

‘That’s not how you bait the fish, bro’

‘GKDGKD!’

‘Here by word of mouth, maybe next time’

‘...’

The rainbow of bullet comments showed just how hyped this channel was.

Already riding on a huge following and now boosted by YiYou’s behind-the-scenes push,

This episode’s view count had crushed the others.

As the host spoke, the trailer began.

Suddenly—

“Okay, pause!”

The video froze on a moment where a rifleman bursts out of thick smoke.

“A lone rifleman charging through the smoke, shot from a direct-follow rear camera.”

“Class, pay attention! What does a direct-follow rear camera shot communicate?”

“Exactly—focus, character development, anchoring perspective.”

“This type of cinematography is used for what?”

“Right—to let the viewer see the world through the protagonist’s eyes. It’s a story about war, told from their perspective.”

“And yes—this guy is the protagonist!”

The host raised his tone:

“I’ve seen some comments joking that the trailer makes Pilots look awesome, but you end up playing as a rifleman in-game.”

“Well, congrats—you guessed right.”

“This game’s main character is exactly this rifleman you’re seeing now.”

“Across the whole 2-minute, 40-second trailer, only he appears twice in direct-follow shots. Even during that extended pilot showcase sequence, the pilot is never centered—never filmed from a true follow-camera.”

“And this is confirmed by both visuals and voiceover later on.”

“So I boldly predict: Titanfall is telling a very simple story—”

“A regular soldier’s rise from humble rifleman to full-fledged Pilot. And his ultimate goal? Just four words—”

The host dragged the clip to the final scene.

Voiceover kicked in:

“Becoming a Pilot may still be a long way off. But when I do—I want to earn it.”

Oh? That’s kind of interesting.

Shen Miaomiao’s eyes lit up. She found herself impressed by the analysis and genuinely intrigued.

Then, the host dug deeper—

Using frame-by-frame stills to speculate on mechanics:

That Pilot abilities would be a mix of passives and items,

That Titan gear upgrades required defeating other Titans and looting them,

That based on the protagonist’s insane “hacks,” the game would likely feature auto-locking headshots later on…

Eventually, the analysis shifted beyond the trailer to dissect game design itself:

“It’s clear—this is Supernova Designer Gu Sheng’s ambitious work.”

“He’s well aware of the mecha genre’s declining state and is trying to revitalize it with a hybrid design: Pilot + Titan.”

“This dual-system might just lead to groundbreaking level design if Gu Sheng really hits his stride.”

“Of course, I doubt the soldier-to-Pilot journey will be smooth sailing.”

“Golden Wind may not have done story-driven games before, but I have full faith in their abilities.”

“I’m eagerly looking forward to a sweeping, epic tale.”

“Alright, that’s it for this episode. If you liked it, don’t forget to like, follow, and toss a coin. See you next time!”

The video ended.

Shen Miaomiao licked the chip dust off her fingers, finishing her snack.

Two words to sum up her feelings?

What a riot.

The first half was fine—decent frame-by-frame guesses.

Some ideas were wild, but still had a logic behind them.

But the second half?

Pure fantasy.

“Revolutionary level design,” “epic saga,” borderline worship.

Might as well carve TTF’s name into the Hall of Fame already.

Shen Miaomiao chuckled.

Keep hyping it up.

The higher you build it, the harder it’ll crash.

The more we lose, the bigger the rebate.

Love it.

With that thought, she stood up, rolled the chip bag, and tossed it into the trash.

“A bit salty. Time for some fruit tea…”

Clicking her tongue, she left the office and headed downstairs.

Sunlight bathed the building exterior.

She hummed a tune—didn’t even know what song—and strolled leisurely toward the tea shop.

But maybe she was in too good of a mood…

Or maybe she was just too careless—

Because as she passed the coffee shop next door,

She didn’t notice the man sitting in a booth inside.

Gu Sheng.

He was holding a cup of coffee, seated across from a well-dressed, composed woman.

Pretty. Refined.

“Director title stays. 1.2 million base salary. Year-end bonus.”

In the coffee shop, the woman across from Gu Sheng smiled:

“Mr. Gu, people aim high—just like water flows downward.”

“I’m sitting here today on behalf of Xunteng Tech, fully representing our sincerity.”

“What we need right now is someone just like you—

Sharp, bold, and innovative.”

“That’s why we’re offering such generous—no, unbelievably generous terms to invite you to join us.”

That’s right—

The woman in front of Gu Sheng was none other than Zhen Tingmei, personal secretary to Xunteng Tech GM, Chen Guangde.

Just half an hour ago, Gu Sheng had simply come down for coffee—

But right at checkout, Zhen had cut in.

Upgraded his cappuccino to a pricey cold brew, ordered herself an iced Americano,

Then dragged him to a booth.

If it had been a guy, Gu Sheng would’ve thrown hands already—self-defense and all.

But brushing off a lady wasn’t exactly polite, so he reluctantly sat down.

Zhen introduced herself straight up.

Gu Sheng instantly knew what this was about—poaching.

And he was right.

Everyone knew Xunteng Games had six major divisions:

Tianlang, Glory, and three other elite studios—

Plus Xunteng Tech, the arm responsible for platform ops and peripheral gaming industries.

On paper, they were all subsidiaries of the Xunteng Group.

In reality, Xunteng Tech outranked the five game studios.

After their flagship titles bombed,

Xunteng Tech filed a request to upper management—

They wanted to build a new dev studio just for the Polar Bear Gen 3 sensory pods.

On the surface, it was “business expansion.”

In truth?

Chen Guangde wanted to ditch the five deadweight studios and form his own elite squad

Dedicated to serving Xunteng Tech and the new pod products.

And who would lead this elite squad?

Gu Sheng.

Naturally, to lure him in, Xunteng Tech offered massive incentives:

Directorship, ¥1.2M salary, year-end bonuses—

And most importantly, a blank canvas to build his empire.

Gu Sheng was tempted.

He was only human.

Anyone would be swayed by such an offer.

Besides—he’d heard of Chen Guangde.

Unlike the stiff upper management elsewhere,

Chen was known for embracing bold, fresh ideas.

He liked to experiment, to push boundaries.

He had guts, took risks, and had… very low scruples.

Rumor had it—

Back when YiYou X1 and the Polar Bear Gen 2 launched and were clashing hard,

Chen showed up at YiYou HQ for a negotiation.

Right in front of the CEO (not Yan Sheng at the time),

he poured boiling tea into the office’s decorative bamboo vase,

And left with a smile, saying, “Wishing you great fortune.”

YiYou staff were furious, ready to throw hands—

But Chen’s team pulled out extendable batons on the spot.

Only the cops could break it up in the end.

It was a legendary moment in gaming industry drama.

Now, this same madman wanted Gu Sheng as his general.

Hard to ignore, right?

But—

This was still Xunteng.

No matter how wild Chen was, he couldn’t shake the company’s rigid hierarchy.

At Golden Wind, Gu Sheng practically ran the show.

In many ways, he was the CEO—

While Nezha was just the wallet.

At Xunteng?

There was Chen above him.

Above Chen, Xunteng Games.

Above that, the Xunteng Group.

A sprawling corporate fortress.

“Let’s be direct, Secretary Zhen,” Gu Sheng said.

“If I weren’t at Golden Wind right now, but already at Xunteng Tech—”

“Would a project like Titanfall, where we’ve sunk almost all company funds, even be possible?”

That kind of blind trust—

Could anyone besides Nezha offer it?

Zhen Tingmei smiled smoothly:

“If you were at Xunteng Tech…

A situation where the company’s total budget is barely two hundred million?

That would never happen.”

F*!!!**

That line nearly broke Gu Sheng’s resolve.

Having money really does let you do whatever you want…

He almost chuckled bitterly.

“Let me rephrase,” he said.

“If I proposed a ¥1B game tomorrow where players just stare at a mountain and watch the seasons pass, would Chen still approve it?”

He was referring to Mountain, one of the “Four Sacred Indie Titles” on Steam.

A completely abstract simulator that’s basically an existential thought piece.

It was on Gu Sheng’s future dev list—

But only once Golden Wind was financially stable.

Zhen hesitated:

“Well… if you could elaborate on the game’s selling points, I think Mr. Chen might consider it.”

“Selling point?” Gu Sheng smiled.

“The hope that bored players recommend it out of morbid curiosity. Or just buy it to kill time.”

“That’s it?” Zhen raised a brow.

Gu Sheng nodded. “That’s it.”

Abstract Supernova indeed.

Zhen was speechless.

Even if Chen approved it, the group would never fund it.

Unless everyone went insane.

“Wait… are you saying President Shen would approve a project like this?”

“Eighty to ninety percent sure,” Gu Sheng said with confidence.

“My girl—I mean, President Shen, has always had a strong passion for exploring game boundaries.”

“She’s always interested in niche genres.”

“Like bullet hells, horror, mech games—”

“That’s how we ended up with ‘Vampire-likes,’ psychological horror, second-gen FPS, and Titanfall.”

“And that’s the main reason I’m staying with Golden Wind—”

“Because here, I get to make the games I want. No chains.”

Hiss—

Zhen drew in a sharp breath.

“So… Director Gu, you’re really not going to consider our offer?”

“Heh.”

Gu Sheng took a sip of coffee, frowning slightly.

“Cold brew may be more expensive, but it’s not for everyone.”

“You mean… you?” Zhen asked.

Gu Sheng shrugged. “Exactly.”

“Whew…”

Zhen sighed, a bit disappointed.

She stood, smiled, and extended her hand:

“Well then, it’s been an honor to chat, even if we couldn’t seal the deal.”

“Likewise, Secretary Zhen.”

Gu Sheng stood as well and reached out—

But before he could finish his sentence—

BAM.

Zhen Tingmei suddenly yanked his hand to her waist—

And threw herself into his arms.

In that split second—

Their faces brushed—

D*mn it!

Gu Sheng cursed internally and pulled back—

But Zhen had already released him, shooting him a playful wink:

“Director Gu really does smell like vanilla. So tempting.”

It was working hours.

The café was mostly empty.

Only one other table nearby.

Gu Sheng immediately felt something was off—

He turned to look.

The other table?

Already had phones and cameras up.

F*.**

A deep sigh escaped him.

They were in on it with Zhen.

“Heheh. Sorry, Director Gu,” Zhen said cheerfully.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Hope you don’t mind~”

Seeing her triumphant grin, Gu Sheng shook his head:

“Heh. I’ve heard Chen will do anything to get his way. Now I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“You stake me out, ambush me, and when the offer fails, you stage fake photos for a scandal drop?”

“Thorough work.”

“But you do realize—we’re only fifty meters from my office.”

“Think you can message the media faster than I can report to President Shen?”

If he just went upstairs and laid everything out—

Even if the media exploded tomorrow, he and Nezha would be fine.

But—

As if expecting that—

Zhen plucked a phone from the guy at the next table and held it up.

The photo:

A perfectly framed angle where she looked like she was kissing Gu Sheng.

Zhen grinned:

“So tell me—who’s faster? You going upstairs, or me texting President Shen this photo?”

Gu Sheng froze:

“You motherf—”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com