"Mingchao" gave players a case of "collective amnesia"

By now, no one can deny that *Mingchao* is one of the few mobile games in recent years that can truly be called a success story.

As its revenue growth continues to strengthen, *Mingchao*’s offline events and merchandise sales are booming, and a product ecosystem centered around the game is taking shape, with its influence steadily expanding.

Not long ago, Ma Xiaoyi, Senior Vice President of Tencent, also mentioned that *Mingchao* was one of six new games to have crossed the “evergreen game revenue threshold” over the past year, and one of only two anime-style games to do so.

How did *Mingchao*, as a "latecomer," reach this point?

There are many ways to approach this question, such as map design—a topic I’ve mentioned more than once. A recent example from late August is the new map “Sanguis Hunting Grounds,” introduced in the first half of Version 2.6 of *Mingchao*. It has garnered widespread praise for its “circular” aesthetic, which interweaves a desolate ancient battlefield, a grand temple of the gods, and a gray, ash-covered space eroded by the Black Tide.

Another example is the project team’s ongoing optimization of the game. Also in version 2.6, *Mingchao* introduced the “Soaring” mechanic across all 1.0 maps. These optimizations and adjustments to earlier versions further tie together the full-cycle experience of *Mingchao*, making the game as a whole more cohesive.

Meanwhile, advancements in visual elements—such as weather and environments—along with gameplay innovations like 3D tower defense, are constantly pushing the boundaries of *Mingchao*’s content, redefining the game’s own definition of “great content,” and, in the process, delivering surprise after surprise to players.

In addition to highly realistic rainy weather, Version 2.6 of *Mingchao* will also feature environmental effects such as lightning strikes igniting vegetation on the ground. Image source: Bilibili @多肉-蝉蜕

However, when it comes down to it, beyond these strengths, the fundamental reason why *Mingchao*—a mobile game—has managed to rise to the top of the crowded mobile gaming market despite its status as a second-tier title lies in its characters.

From Jin Xichangli in the 1.1 era to Augusta in Version 2.6—who, alongside the player’s character, the Wanderer, co-creates an ancient Roman heroic epic that begins with “the hunt” and ends with “saving the world”—these examples demonstrate *Tidehunter*’s comprehensive ability to craft characters that resonate deeply with players through narrative, performance, and setting.

The second half of Version 2.6, themed around "The Moon"—Juno's version—may represent yet another evolution and manifestation of the "Tide's Roar" ability.

01

"Amnesia" Both On and Off Stage

Today, the official game accounts on major social media platforms have become a channel for communication between developers and players, particularly in the mobile gaming sector.

Generally speaking, official accounts serve primarily to display information such as announcements; they do not, in and of themselves, play a direct role in character development within the game.

In contrast, *Mingchao* has integrated character development into these platforms: Around September 12, many players noticed that Yuno—who was originally supposed to appear alongside Augusta—had vanished from the header images and banners on *Mingchao*’s social media platforms, such as Bilibili and the NGA forum.

These moments that break the fourth wall will easily prompt players who have completed the first half of Chapter 2.6 to draw connections to the story, because at the conclusion of the first half—after defeating the “Pseudo-God King” and preventing the Dark Tide from overrunning the real world—players encounter a “discrepancy in perception” between themselves and the in-game characters.

In Augusta’s recollections and the words of numerous NPCs, Yuno—the Oracle of the Four Halls, who had originally been deeply involved in the plot and played a pivotal role in “manifesting” the God-King—became “the one who vanished,” erased from everyone’s memories, speech, and consciousness.

Just like the header images on those official accounts, it’s as if they never existed.

These events, both within and outside the game, plant a seed of anticipation in players’ minds regarding the second half of the story: the second half will inevitably center on the “manifestation” of Yuno.

At the same time, they reinforce the public perception of the subplot surrounding "Yuno's disappearance" in the first half of Chapter 2.6. The story clearly shows that the Wanderer still retains memories of Yuno, and players outside the game do as well; consequently, the sense that "I" am the Wanderer is further amplified for players.

With this sense of immersion, players will dive into the second half of the story, and thanks to the thorough groundwork laid earlier, the game’s narrative will resonate more deeply with them.

So, before today’s update, many players spontaneously created parodies in the comments sections of various videos and posts related to Yuno.

As you can see, character development in *Arknights* is not confined to the game itself; it takes imaginative forms, with any setting potentially becoming part of the narrative—and there’s even a trend toward meta-narratives.Version 2.5’s “Flo’s Game” official website and recruitment event serve as another prime example. The *Honor of Kings* development team is deliberately bringing plot elements originally confined to the virtual realm into the real world to create a sense of authenticity, serving as a complement to in-game character development.

And when it comes to the most crucial aspect of in-game world-building, *Tidehunter* has also performed exceptionally well, judging by its actual performance in the latter half of version 2.6.

02

The character, standing at the center of the stage

The second half of the story begins with a celebration following a successful hunt. The crowd cheers and rejoices, with cups clinking as they celebrate the end of the Black Tide crisis. As the hero, the player—in the role of the Drifter—distributes petals symbolizing honor to the gladiators. However, as the player interacts with the characters present, the seemingly peaceful feast begins to reveal an eerie undercurrent:

In the eyes of the people, the Wanderer had become the figure who had broken through the Dark Tide; the spot where Yuno should have appeared at the celebration was taken by an unknown Oracle; everyone present—even Augusta, who had spent every waking moment with Yuno—had lost all sense of who Yuno was.

But for the players, for the wanderers, it remains clear in their memories that it was Yuno’s Moon Arrow that once pierced through the dark tide,That night, beneath the bright moonlight, the bracelet given to me by that girl—with her blue eyes and a mischievous, playful expression reminiscent of a cat—still lay firmly in my hand, and the words she left behind were etched clearly in my memory.

After confirming that they hadn’t fallen into a state of “dissociation” due to the Dark Tide, and realizing that they were Yuno’s only link to reality, the player sets out on a journey to save the girl, guided by Yuno’s bracelet.

*Tide of Voices* presents players and wanderers with a narrative premise: whether they can accept the reality that “a young girl is forgotten by the world she set out to save.”

And for a player who knows they are Yuno’s only link to the present world, there is only one choice: to follow the moonlight to the very end. This is not a journey to save the world; it has nothing to do with the world itself, but concerns only the girl. Even if the world does not care whether she exists or not, as long as the player—as long as the wanderer—cares, then the story has a beginning.

On this journey guided by moonlight, the Wanderer—serving as the “anchor” linking Yuno to the present—travels upstream along the river of possibilities, traversing timelines, and has virtually witnessed and experienced Yuno’s entire life.

The Wanderer learned how she had awakened her ability to foresee the future and become the Oracle, renowned far and wide throughout the Four Directions Hall.

As she internalized the role of Juno, she came to deeply understand, through her own eyes, the struggle and conflict faced by a “prophet” when conveying a cruel future or telling a white lie to those who seek guidance.

Through this shift between subjective and objective perspectives, and through the choices made time and again as they navigate the river of possibilities, players will come to understand why Yuno chose to sacrifice herself—as perceived by the world—while battling the God-King and fighting against the Black Tide.

For she wanted to fight against the curse known as the prophecy—or the fate of destruction.

A young woman born a gladiator—though she now resides in the Hall of the Four Directions, having become the bright moon hanging high in the night sky—the spirit of the warrior has never left Yuno’s body. The threads woven by the Goddess of Fate are by no means unbreakable; arrows forged from moonlight will pierce the moonless night.

For Yuno, rewriting the course of his destiny and charging headlong against the “predetermined” fate known as prophecy—the memories others hold of him and his very existence in this world—are but a small price to pay.

Even when the sun—a symbol of vitality and hope—rises, even at high noon, the moon still hangs high in the sky just as it does at night. And just like the “moon” depicted in *The Roaring Tide*, Juno generously shares her radiance, yet remains forgotten.

As the story unfolds, the growing understanding of Yuno in the minds of the players—or the Wanderers—becomes a key factor in the girl’s “manifestation.” The more the Wanderers learn about Yuno’s past and present, the more her ethereal form solidifies. The players’—or the Wanderers’—perception connects existence through memory, giving substance to the ethereal.

Finally, after the Wanderer had fully explored Yuno’s past, the river of possibilities reached its end. Amidst the void, the player reclaimed the girl from the world. Though the world’s memories of Yuno had not been restored, the worst possible ending had been overwritten. Now, all that remained was to write a new story.

The second half of 2.6 gave me a sense of an unprecedentedly unique “atmosphere.” If past major events—such as the discussions on the “Way of the King” at Augusta in the first half, or Lupa and Miya’s journey to the championship—were grand tableaux in which I found myself immersed, then the story with Yuno feels more like a modern poem written by two people.

Before this encounter began, I truly did feel the same sense of resentment that the wanderer must have felt regarding what had happened to Yuno.

It’s hard to say definitively whether saving the world or saving a single person weighs heavier on the scales, but the second half of the story holds its own against the grand epic of the first. The tension of rescuing the girl and the sense of relief after success gave me a feeling that, while equally weighty, was entirely different from the larger narrative.

The key point is that in the second half of Version 2.6, *Tide of Echoes* established a sense of “uniqueness” that belongs solely to the player and Yuno. The game’s brilliance lies in the fact that just as players emerge from the exhilaration and heroic epic of the God-King’s War, it sets the stage with “amnesia” both within and outside the game, making players realize that they are “the sole salvation for that girl who sacrificed everything”—thus shifting the narrative from “saving the world” to “saving a person”.

Although the gap between the grand narrative and the micro-narrative of saving a single girl is vast, it is subtly bridged by numerous underlying threads, naturally evoking the player’s emotions. Following this logic, *Tidehunter* effectively empowers the player—the Drifter—with the ability to “save the world” and “save people,” thereby aligning emotional needs with the plot structure,thus forming a closed loop around the game’s core elements of emotional fulfillment and character development.

A major reason for *Tidehunter*’s success lies precisely in this: it consistently places “characters” at the heart of the gaming experience. The story does not create hollow puppets, but rather flesh-and-blood “people,” allowing players to naturally form a connection with them.

The character stands at the center of the stage, with the player beside them.

That is exactly the case.

03

Beyond the Role, On Stage

In fact, there are many other aspects of the second half of 2.6 worth mentioning, beyond just the characters and plot.

If the plot is the soul of the stage and the players and characters are its protagonists, then gameplay and interaction are the stage design and performance style—they are the key to bringing the characters to life.

The "Hand-in-Hand" system is the biggest surprise in the second half of *Mingchao* 2.6.

In the chaotic limbo between life and death, existence and oblivion, players and Yuno can walk hand in hand.

This mechanism is not merely a matter of following; it is a true “hand-in-hand” connection. The Wanderer’s hand overlays Yuno’s, moving in sync with her. When they let go, Yuno remains in place in a prayer-like pose. From a narrative perspective, this is because the protagonist, as the sole anchor for the ethereal Yuno, must guide her through the chaos.

From a game design perspective, the "hand-holding" mechanic not only reinforces the character's sense of dependence on the player through gameplay mechanics, but also fosters a psychological sense of responsibility in the player, making them feel that "I must lead her out."

Deep interaction with anime characters has always been a key focus for anime-themed games. Previously, *Mingchao* created unique spaces for each character, such as the seaside where the Shorekeeper plays the piano, the town where Florlo’s lavender blooms, and the shared boat ride with the Voice Skeleton.

The introduction of the “Hand-in-Hand” gameplay mechanic has taken the interactivity between *Roar of the Tide* and its secondary characters to a whole new level. Although it is currently limited to specific storylines, it still demonstrates significant potential. This design, which involves physical contact, inherently offers far greater expressive power than the “Follow” mechanic. Furthermore, connecting character models and navigating complex maps present certain technical challenges; however, judging by the storyline involving Yuno, *Roar of the Tide* clearly possesses substantial technical capabilities.

If we take Chekhov’s Gun theory as a starting point, the permanent inclusion of “hand-holding” gameplay in the future—or the introduction of more diverse forms of interaction with characters—could very well be a dream that becomes a reality in *Tidehunter*.

In addition, another trend in version 2.6 of *Mingchao* is the integration of interactivity and narrative storytelling.

I have mentioned and analyzed the cinematic elements of *Naruto: Storm*’s gameplay on more than one occasion, and in Version 2.6, the development team appears to be taking the gameplay in a new direction. At key plot points, mechanisms such as QTEs, camera angle shifts, and environmental interactions—among others—are now seamlessly integrated into *Naruto: Storm*’s gameplay.

For example, at the start of the second half of the story, when the Wanderer struggles to move forward amid the tugging of the Black Tide, the player must perform button inputs; and when taking on the role of Yuno to peer into others’ futures and attempt to deliver the oracle’s prophecies, the player must perform a 3D inspection of the “object of entrustment.”

These performance designs, which make clever use of the game’s interactive features, have largely replaced the traditional cutscenes in *Tide of Echoes*, offering an interactive experience that feels more serene than standard real-time CG sequences. In this design, players are no longer mere spectators but active participants—taking a step toward redemption or opening a door to new possibilities. This journey to find Yuno amidst fragments of memory feels all the more real.

In the past, the narrative structure built around a series of performances was *The Sound of the Tide*’s definitive narrative strength. However, the deep integration of interactive elements may become the cornerstone that sets *The Sound of the Tide* apart from traditional video game narratives in the future, allowing players to “become” the Drifter rather than merely “control” them.Interactive cinematic games like *Detroit: Become Human* could well represent the ultimate form of *Tidehunter*’s storytelling. Of course, *Tidehunter* still has a long way to go before reaching that level.

In my view, what *Mingchao* excels at—and what I particularly appreciate—is the way it seamlessly integrates technical innovations, or rather experiments, into the game during content updates. By the time players realize it, these ideas have already matured sufficiently.

Whether through gameplay or visual enhancements, these iterations inevitably impact the game’s core—namely, character development and the player experience. The ultimate goal of all gameplay and technical innovations in *Mingchao* is to make characters more multidimensional and to deepen emotional resonance. Many of the game’s design and content innovations are not mere technical showcases, but rather the natural outcome of Kuro’s ongoing exploration of its core objectives: “immersion” and “character resonance.”

Conclusion

Although I’ve said this many times before, I’ll say it again: *Mingchao* did not get off to a smooth start, and the fact that it has made it this far cannot be simply attributed to luck or a stroke of genius.

The significance of *Mingchao* for the mobile game industry lies in the fact that Kuro truly strives to understand and respect players’ emotional needs, and is willing to spare no expense in translating this “commitment” into unique experiences—achieved through technology, gameplay, storytelling, and attention to detail—that players can engage with within the game and feel even beyond it.

Today, *Mingchao* has entered a virtuous cycle of “content release → player satisfaction → previews → player anticipation → content release.” Players are enjoying the current version’s content, while previews have sparked excitement within the community about future characters and updates.

The recent "Chou Yuan" craze in the community, as well as the anticipation for the 3.X version's story sparked by Kuro FEST, are the best proof of this.

Ultimately, the ultimate goal of a mobile game is to make players “fall in love” with every character in the current season and keep them eagerly anticipating the next batch of characters.