Chapter 69: All That Work for Nothing!
Pei Qian's eyes scanned the second half of the report, word by word.
After reading through it once, he blinked in confusion, glanced out the window, then went back and reread the entire thing from the top.
According to the report, everything… started with Lin Wan.
And Huang Sibo?
Not entirely innocent either!
But the problem was—it was hard to pin the blame on any one person…
Huang Sibo had never intended to promote or market Ocean Fortress, he simply felt that once the game launched, they needed to start planning for the next development phase—bug fixes, feature adjustments, etc.—so he wanted to gather feedback from real players.
The problem?
Ocean Fortress barely had any players.
And Huang Sibo didn't have the connections to get more.
So, he turned to his team and asked for help finding some guinea pig testers.
That's when Lin Wan came in.
Back when she interned at Tianhuo Studio, she had been responsible for coordinating with several influential FPS players and community leaders.
So naturally, she sent Ocean Fortress their way, asking them to try it out.
And because the game's quality was genuinely high, these core players loved it—especially the story mode, which got overwhelmingly positive reviews.
One of the players, Chen Sha, initially dismissed the 888-yuan Fire Qilin weapon as a flashy toy for rich kids.
After all, he was a pro-tier player, so he didn't need that nonsense.
—Until he actually used it.
And then?
"Dang. This thing is awesome."
It wasn't just about the stats—it was about status.
When he pulled out the Fire Qilin in a room full of players, people flocked to him.
On top of that, it granted XP boosts to everyone in the match, so other players didn't just tolerate Fire Qilin owners—they welcomed them!
Suddenly, Chen Sha was the center of attention wherever he went.
And honestly? He kind of liked that.
Naturally, others also wanted a Fire Qilin.
To get one, you had to refer players.
So, people started dragging their friends in, one after another—
A self-propagating wave of word-of-mouth marketing spread Ocean Fortress like wildfire through FPS communities.
That's how the game picked up its first wave of core players.
Then, due to the spike in activity, it got promoted by the official platform algorithm and started getting more visibility.
But that alone wouldn't have been enough to push Ocean Fortress to this level of popularity.
What truly sent it over the edge was the timing.
Tianhuo Studio's Bullet Hole launched right then.
And they spared no expense:
Banner ads, video ads, influencer campaigns—every channel was blasting Bullet Hole nonstop.
Thanks to this blitz, the game quickly gained attention from a massive general audience.
Ordinarily, some of these players would stay, and some would bounce.
But here's the twist:
Many players had already tried Ocean Fortress.
So when they switched over to Bullet Hole, their reaction was swift and harsh:
"Why does the shooting feel so sluggish?"
"Why is there no story mode?"
"Why are there fewer game types?"
"And why the heck is this game charging me so much just to get basic weapons?"
"Where's the cool factor? Where's my Fire Qilin??"
See, Bullet Hole leaned into realism.
Even their most expensive weapons just had slightly enhanced textures.
Compared to Ocean Fortress's flashy, blazing, dragon-headed fire-spitting guns, it felt… dull.
Soon, people started flooding Bullet Hole's comment sections:
"Trash game, getting wrecked by Ocean Fortress."
"You call this the light of domestic FPS? Lmao, Ocean Fortress wears that crown now."
"This game is way too pay-to-win. Go play Ocean Fortress, it's free and better."
Some were genuine, while others were just trying to stir the pot.
Because if there's one thing the internet never runs out of, it's bored trolls with too much time on their hands.
At first, it wasn't that many posts, but how could the Bullet Hole players just sit there and take it?
Of course they fought back.
The two camps clashed hard—
Flame wars erupted.
Arguments flew.
Insults were hurled.
Essay-length rebuttals were written with references and footnotes…
In short, the more they fought, the more attention it drew.
And the more attention it drew, the more people joined in.
Many players just came to spectate the drama, but the arguments were so spicy that they couldn't help jumping into the fray themselves.
And then…
The situation spiraled out of control.
A ton of players who were initially pulled in by Bullet Hole's massive marketing campaign became curious.
Out of spite or curiosity, they gave Ocean Fortress a try.
And what they found?
"I can't go back."
These two games weren't even in the same league.
Ocean Fortress's story mode? Crushed it.
Gunplay? Crisp, smooth, satisfying.
And it was free.
Compared to Bullet Hole, it felt so much more generous.
Before long, Bullet Hole became the accidental funnel, a giant marketing campaign that only succeeded in redirecting traffic to its rival.
After all that effort, most of the players it attracted ended up defecting to Ocean Fortress.
And once that happened?
The data exploded.
Not just FPS fans were pouring in, even players who normally didn't touch FPS games were giving it a try!
To be fair, Counter-Terrorism Plan still had its loyal base.
Many veteran players remained.
But just the influx of new blood into Ocean Fortress was enough to make it insanely profitable.
And this was just the beginning.
Unlike Counter-Terrorism Plan, which was a purely offline single-player experience, Ocean Fortress was a full-on online game—and it came packed with co-op and fun modes.
In the long term, it was bound to eat away at the other game's player base.
Aside from the Fire Qilin, Ocean Fortress was essentially 100% free.
As players drifted toward the better, more generous option, Ocean Fortress future is limitless.
. . . . . . .
Pei Qian felt like his soul had just… shut down.
Was fate toying with him?
How could this happen?
How could this possibly happen?!
He never imagined that Lin Wan—who seemed like a harmless newbie with no experience—would end up being the one carrying built-in distribution channels?!
Okay… to be fair, it wasn't really "built-in."
She just happened to know a few FPS community leaders and streamers from her time at Tianhuo Studio, where she coordinated player testing for Bullet Hole.
So those connections were formed for Tianhuo Studio.
And now?
Those same people had become the spark.
And Bullet Hole, ironically, had become the dry grass that helped the spark explode into a wildfire.
Pei Qian had originally been hunting for someone to blame.
But now?
He just felt… lost.
Whose fault was this?
Huang Sibo and Bao Xu?
They just followed his instructions and made the game as ordered.
Lin Wan?
She simply found some testers like she was told—nothing more.
Tianhuo Studio and Bullet Hole?
They actually helped a lot—unintentionally.
They brought together FPS influencers, then bombarded the internet with ads…
And the release timing clash?
Pei Qian made that decision himself.
Which meant…
Is this all… my fault?
Something doesn't feel right…
Pei Qian stared into the void, questioning everything.
It was like he had the win in his pocket, only to get sniped out of nowhere and lose it all.
His heart was cold as ice.
Three months…
Wasted.
Completely wasted.
"Calm down."
"I need to save myself…"
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