C174: Is There No Love Anymore?

Chen Xu's confession on the official blog sparked reactions among players. Collectively, players dismissed it, refusing to believe a single word of it.

While media editors eagerly shared the post, players remained skeptical. Some, out of curiosity, did try the game. However, within minutes—or at most ten—accompanied by a BGM and the poetic falling from a great height, they quickly grasped the essence.

Misery is a part of life? Nonsense! Who would fall for that?

Despite earning the lowest score on the Neon Game Platform— 5.1—the downloads continued to surge daily. The online buzz surrounding it remained strong.

The game's popularity stemmed largely from live-streaming platforms. While playing the game was an agonizing experience for individuals, watching others brought unexpected joy.

When anchors reached crucial moments in the game only to fail and return to the starting point, audiences erupted in laughter. Comments like these filled the chat:

________

"Welcome home!"

"Back to square one!"

"Keep smiling—it's only a game!"

"This is where dreams begin."

"Life is like this; It starts again"

"Time and Time; We try again"

"We will support you; let's begin"

________

The game's nature turned it into a fan magnet for streamers and content creators, who found their audiences much more engaged. Viewer climbed, live interactions increased, and the atmosphere became surprisingly cheerful.

Unlike other games, where mistakes were met with harsh criticism such as, "The streamer is useless," or, "Even a chicken pecking the keyboard would do better," this game's inspired camaraderie through shared laughter.

For fans, mistakes were entertainment gold. The schadenfreude was real—viewers thrived on those moments when everything went wrong. If a streamer didn't fail spectacularly, the audience wouldn't be as happy!

However, for players themselves, the emotional toll was significant. Much reported hypertension, with antihypertensive medications becoming a staple in their households.

Live broadcasts often captured streamers breaking down mentally after repeatedly returning to the starting point. Their despair meme-worthy, circulating widely online and fueling curiosity among potential new players.

Those new to the game, eager to join in the hype, inevitably joined the chorus of self-deprecating comments:

 "I can't believe I fell for this. I must be an idiot."

Some content creators took it a step further. Inspired by Neon Games' exhibition setup—complete with a water tank sofa and hammer—they cosplayed as canned men, using physical props to simulate the gameplay experience. This commitment added another layer of humor and artistry to the game's legacy.

Amidst the chaos, one thing became clear: the game was never about misery. It was about perseverance, shared laughter, and the cathartic joy of falling—and rising—again.

Of course, many players and audiences simply think another crazy individual has emerged.

However, not everyone has completely lost their minds. Some fast-clear videos are circulating on the Internet.

In the fastest of these videos, one player managed to clear the level in just over two minutes, earning the admiration of countless viewers.

How skilled must someone be with the hammer to achieve such a feat? How many times have they fallen from the mountain of garbage to reach this level of proficiency?

And yet, the entire process of this game seems incredibly short for such a challenging task.

For most ordinary players, though, the best option is to sit back and watch.

At the same time, as the popularity of Raising the Hammer continues to spread among players, many game designers in the industry are left puzzled.

"Have any of you been following Chen Xu's new game? It's absolutely baffling!"

"Exactly! The quality of the game is so poor—how did it become so popular?"

"That's right! Chen Xu's previous games always had something exceptional: strong plots, well-designed levels, or novel gameplay. But this game? It feels like it barely holds up. The only good thing about it might be the background music!"

"True. I can't understand it either. And yet, its performance in terms of popularity isn't far off from Divide."

"It's ridiculous! What's so appealing about this strange game?"

"After just ten minutes of playing, I wanted to quit. I still don't understand why people find it fun!"

Some designers have a different perspective.

"You're missing the point. This game's actual play rate is low—it's more about early adopters and the buzz generated by live streams and videos. For a low-cost game, whether buy-to-play or free-to-play, even achieving half or a third of this game's popularity would be considered a massive success."

On various forums, many game designers debated the phenomenon. But a few among them recognized what was happening.

This sledgehammer game is a perfect example of a live-streaming game.

Live-streaming games are those that seem more entertaining to watch than to play. Titles like Divide, Dark Souls, and Escape all qualify, though these games have solid gameplay at their core. Their streaming ability is more of a bonus.

In contrast, the sledgehammer game was designed with a different intent. Its very core is built on watching players struggle and suffer, creating amusement for the viewer and satisfaction for the developer.

This inherent focus on masochism is what makes the game so compelling to watch, but so frustrating to play.

It's not you who suffers anyway.

Because of this, the game's popularity on live broadcast platforms is rising rapidly. After all, players who attempt it themselves won't really tell anyone.

Anchors, however, are a different story. The audience loves watching them, and for creating entertaining content, anchors dive in—even when they're thoroughly abused and their faces are red.

With this dual appeal, a seemingly simple game has become incredibly popular. More viewers mean more players eager to experience it firsthand, even though their fate is almost always sealed.

In the office of Neon Games, Chen Xu analyzed the unique characteristics of this game for Qin Yi and Ruan Ningxue.

"So, Mr. Chen, what you said on the official blog was false, wasn't it?" Ruan Ningxue's focus was nowhere near the game itself.

"Exactly, Mr. Chen! You really just want to see players get tortured!" Yang Xin stared at Chen Xu, eyes wide with mock accusation.

"Mr. Chen, has the so-called warrior of love lost all love now?" Qin Yi couldn't help but chime in.

Chen Xu cleared his throat and quickly redirected the conversation. Alright, everyone, back to work! The progress of Dark Soul: The Age of First Fire must be sped up. The lovely players are waiting for us!"

As everyone returned to their workstations, Chen Xu stretched and sighed inwardly.

It didn't matter what this warrior of love thing was about; the players' misunderstanding and prejudice were growing deeper every day. No matter how he explained himself, nobody believed him.

Shaking his head in resignation, he focused his attention back on some critical tasks. Chen Xu confirmed plans for the overseas version of Dark Soul: The Age of First Fire with the Target Software team.

With five months remaining before the launch, the current progress seemed right on track. However, several details still needed attention, such as in-game translations and negotiations for promotional channels.

Chen Xu made a note to ensure these aspects were finalized soon.