After playing 2.7, I feel like *Tidehunter* has truly found its competitive edge.

(This article contains significant spoilers; please read at your own discretion.)

Yesterday, version 2.7 of *Mingchao*, titled “Dawn on the Horizon,” officially launched.

Since it was first revealed in late September, officials have been creating a sense of impending doom around this version that is more intense than ever before.

Whether it’s the sky over Linaxi Tower shrouded in dark clouds and the mysterious white-haired demon hunter in the teaser video, the intermittent flashes of long-teased details like “The Death of the Holy Maiden,” or the version countdown launched by the official team across major social media platforms during the National Day holiday—all these moves are sending a clear signal to the outside world: *Tide of Echoes* is about to reach the climax of this phase.

Generally speaking, major updates released toward the end of a major version cycle in anime-style games typically serve two core functions: first, to wrap up the current cycle’s content, including resolving plot threads and refining the narrative; and second, to bridge the past and the future, since the conclusion of one phase also marks the beginning of a new chapter.

For this very reason, the importance of Version 2.7 goes without saying.

Looking back on the entire 2.X phase, *Tide of Echoes* has delivered plenty of surprises to players: the family intrigues and conflicts of faith unfolding in Laguna, the blood-pumping gladiatorial contests in Seven Hills, and the shadow of the Black Tide with its undercurrents of danger—all have left a lasting impression. Now, Version 2.7 will not only bring the players’ adventures in the Linaxi Tower to a close but also set the stage for a brand-new journey.

Furthermore, from a product development perspective, the 2.X series marks a pivotal phase in *Mingchao*’s efforts to establish its core competitive advantage—using cinematic storytelling to enhance character development—and serves as the cornerstone for the game’s long-term sustainability. The numerous proven technical and narrative innovations also urgently require a fitting climactic conclusion to bring this phase to a close.

So, as the final act approaches, anticipation within the player community continues to grow, and the excitement surrounding the conclusion is building.

So, after all this anticipation leading up to version 2.7, will *Mingchao* live up to these expectations?

01

The Prologue to the Final Act

To answer this question, let’s first take a look at the ending that *Mingchao* wrote for Li Naxita.

The final curtain slowly rose against the gloomy, rain-laden sky of Laguna, as if fate were declaring that the journey’s beginning was also its end.

Just as when they first arrived in Laguna, Christopher’s whisper echoed in their ears, and the Wanderer was thus plunged into a dreamlike state that seemed to foreshadow “tragedy”:Lining the road were familiar figures who had accompanied us on our journey through Linaxi Tower, yet each of them seemed trapped in a prison of their own making: Coletta slumped on the ground, Yuno appeared still unable to break free from the cocoon of her own perceptions, and Phoebe was lost in silent prayer…

And at the end of the road lay a terrifying vision that resembled the remains of Katixia.

In the vision, Katisha looked lifeless, with an eerie flower blooming from her chest. Christopher’s rhetorical question—“Who controls fate?”—easily triggered the players’ memories; by the 2.5-hour mark, it had already been revealed that Katisha was at the center of the conspiracy.

Meanwhile, a stranger—a demon hunter shrouded in azure flames—spoke words of death and cold to the sanctuary.

Before players had a chance to recover, *Tidehunter* rapidly accelerated the plot, slamming the bombshell twist of the “Maiden’s Death” right in their faces. Immediately afterward, it pointed out the implausibility of “murder,” and the key to resolving the mystery was once again linked to the enigmatic Demon Hunter.

Just as Version 2.7 was barely getting underway, *Arknights* used camera cuts, silent scene compositions, and dialogue packed with meaning to construct a tightly woven narrative arc. Everything within the player’s field of view serves to enrich the story, and through the clever use of narrative devices, the game subtly plants seeds of doubt in the player’s mind regarding whether the UP character is good or evil.

They even throw in humorous interludes reminiscent of the band The Fool to lighten the mood.

When it comes to plot development, *Mingchao* has now become quite adept at it—a result of steady, incremental progress since the launch of Version 2.0.

The story then continues: while tracking the Black Tide’s presence, the Wanderer reunites with Avidia, and while working with Coletta Zanni to defeat the Black Tide in the Motari Vault, encounters a false Finlec created by the Black Tide.

The presence of those who should not be there, mingling with the Black Tide, and the convergence of reality and illusion—these are harbingers of the Black Tide’s imminent breach. The Black Tide exploits the power of Leviathan to corrupt souls. The Wanderer learns that the Demon Hunter’s name is Gabriella, and upon entering the Box of Civilization, discovers the history of Linaxita and the origins of Leviathan.

This narrative completes the central theme of the entire 2.X series: “Who writes history?”Does the birth and survival of civilization require guidance from a higher power? This is the dilemma faced by the Age Lord, Yingbailadu—and perhaps it also alludes to the thoughts the Drifter once harbored before losing his memory. Clearly, both believe that humanity itself is the pioneer of history and the chronicler of the age; only through humanity’s own efforts can we reach a future that neither the Drifter nor even the Age Lord can attain.

Yet Avidia, a character invented by Christopher, unleashed a fiery resolve at the end of her life that transcended fiction, transforming into an incredibly real cry of existence. This character reflects the luminous aspect of human nature: as long as there is a will to become real, the artificial can feel even more real than the genuine.

In my view, the conclusion of Avidia once again brings us back to the central theme of the entire 2.x narrative: “transcending fate.”

Looking back at the entire 2.X series, you’ll find that the stage of Linaxi Tower is filled with the struggle and rebellion of indomitable individual wills under the weight of fate—just as Yuno defied the prophecy, Miya fought for the championship, and Coletta stood up to her family, and the list goes on. Every character, whether a main character or an NPC, is launching a human charge against the windmill of fate.

Act 10 of Chapter 2 of *The Roaring Tide*—the section we are currently discussing—marks the prologue to the final act. By this point, the narrative has resolved the foreshadowing that has been carried over through several versions. This prologue to the final act lays bare the ultimate answer to this adventure—namely, an exploration of civilization—while also distilling the essence of the entire 2.x narrative and continuing to unfold the spiritual core of the Linaxi Tower.

Act 10 is built on a foundation of extensive text; the seamless integration of pre-rendered CG, real-time CG, interactive illustrations, and cutscene QTEs forms its very essence. The result is a culmination of the solid narrative groundwork *Tidehunter* has laid over the past year.

02

A Grand Finale with Everyone Dancing

How does one craft a narrative climax worthy of being called the “final battle”? *The Roar of the Tide* offers this answer: in a river of despair, the light of hope is kindled by the gathering of the masses.

As the Wanderer arrived at Seven Hills with Gabellina, a dark tide spread and warriors gathered, parading through the heavens to cloak the essence of destruction in splendor. Qiu Yuan, a knight from the East, brought Bishop Finlec’s atonement; amidst the cracks of despair, hope still endured. With the final battle imminent, the air was thick with tension.

In the face of danger, though the gladiators of Seven Hills were fearless and willing to die, their inherent numerical disadvantage proved to be their most fatal weakness. Just as the Black Tide was about to overwhelm them, a pillar of blue light rose into the sky, bringing reinforcements from Laguna and even the Black Coast.

Thanks to the support of the crowd, the Wanderer was able to follow in Gabriella’s footsteps without a care in the world, embarking on a “journey downward” to explore the heavenly realm.

This journey was far from easy; malice ran rampant here. The ferryman of the River Styx—who was also the leader of the Faded Star Society—intercepted Gabriella, the Wanderer’s only ally in Hell, while Christopher once again dragged the Wanderer into an even more brutal illusion.

Meanwhile, on the ground, the combined assault of Scarred Florlo shattered the already fragile defenses, which were on the verge of collapse. Before the fighting forces could drink the elixir that would protect them from the Black Tide’s corrosive effects, they were engulfed by the surging tide that had broken through the dam.

A wanderer cast into darkness arrives at a realm of nothingness—a future that is even more stark and brutally raw. For every character you hold dear, an illusory tomb has been erected.

The name engraved on that tombstone, along with Christopher’s mockery, felt like a steel nail piercing your chest.

This graveyard, a symbol of destruction, seems to herald an inevitable tragic ending imbued with undeniable reality.

But is that really the case?

In *Aesthetics*, Hegel clearly delineated the boundaries between comedy and tragedy. In his view, comedy is characterized by “the dominance of subjectivity,” which can be simply understood as the characters in the play taking control of the plot—much like the Wanderer in *The Sound of the Waves*, who, by taking decisive action, is able to save Yuno and defeat the false king.

In tragedy, however, the opposite is true: characters are often confined within the barriers of what is called fate. No matter how much they strive to assert their agency—whether through actual actions or otherwise—they cannot break free from the predetermined shackles. This is akin to the inescapable fate of death that haunts Hamlet in *Hamlet*.

Based on the narrative structure of *Mingchao* since version 2.X, I believe that—with the exception of the sections concerning Florent—the rest can generally be categorized under Hegel’s concept of comedy.

As demonstrated in Act 10, which stays true to the core essence of its predecessors, Version 2.7 is clearly no exception. However, with its increasingly refined ability to evoke emotion, *Tide of Echoes* uses the narrative scope of two full chapters to push dramatic conflict to its limits, imbuing this comedy with a narrative richness full of twists and turns.

Gabellina, fighting against fate, has kindled a fire of hatred—a flame that, in this moment, becomes a beacon of hope piercing through despair.

She defeated the avatar of the Residual Star Society’s leader and stood before the Wanderer, telling you that what you see before you is merely a projection of your mind, influenced by the Black Tide. And this place is by no means the end of the Wanderer’s journey—it is the beginning.

The aurora pierces the long night. As Gabellina speaks, a path formed by gathering sparks of light replaces the desolate graveyard the Wanderer had passed through. With each step you take, starlight rises, and with it, the warm voice you know so well reaches your ears.

You see, these beams of light that guide you and dispel despair are your former companions—the people of Linaxi Tower. Their will has surged into the ocean of your soul, driven by the essence of the Black Tide, “the desire to connect.” It has broken through the walls of your heart and resonated with you.

Overcoming the obstacles posed by the Remnant Star Society—a manifestation of their inner demons—the true showdown is about to begin.

And even if one were to obtain the power of Yingbailaduo, once the “Sword of Human Rights” has successfully severed Katishia, before the unstoppable torrent formed by Lina Xita’s echoes, the Resonators, all paths taken, and all scattered wills and powers converging—any lamentation would cease.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you just how smooth the pre-rendered CG at the end is.

After the emotional release of the final battle, the shadow of the Ming-style has dissipated; the Linaxi Tower has ushered in an era where “God is dead”; Avidia has become a true hero; and Finlek has fulfilled his atonement and the long-held aspirations of the successive High Lords. Even though the ruins left in the wake of the disaster still need to be rebuilt, and the Remnant Stars will once again lie dormant in the shadows, for now,the story of Linaxi Tower has indeed reached a truly happy ending.

As for the ending of Episode 2.7, while some might call it cliché, in a work of fantasy, experiencing the sense of relief that comes after enduring cruelty—and drawing from it the courage to face reality—is precisely what gives these happy endings their timeless significance.

After yesterday’s update, players on NGA spontaneously launched a poll to gauge satisfaction with the conclusion of Version 2.7. I believe this thread, which has attracted over a thousand participants, serves as the best answer to the question posed at the beginning of this article: whether Version 2.7 lived up to players’ expectations.

And the poignant farewell poem that permeates the journey’s end—woven from the wanderer’s series of encounters within the Linaxi Tower—and the faint sense of reluctance that rises from it may well become a “unique memory” of the Linaxi Tower, one that lingers in the hearts of every *Mingchao* player.

03

Conclusion: The Road Back

Once, during the difficult period shortly after the open beta of *Mingchao*, Li Songlun publicly stated, “Simply surviving is *Mingchao*’s long-term goal.”

Fast forward to today, and the state of *Mingchao* clearly goes far beyond what this single sentence can capture.

Although it is difficult to recount every detail of the "Lina Xita" chapter word for word, looking back at the entire 2.X version of *Mingchao*, the game has essentially moved away from static dialogue scenes in its presentation, instead advancing the storyline through visual storytelling that blends cinematic elements with interactive gameplay.

For example, in the scene depicting the history of the Linaxi Tower in Version 2.7 of the "Chest of Civilizations," interactive prints served as the primary medium, while the standard CG sequences also featured traces of time-limited options. Although the latter currently do not lead to branching storylines, they undoubtedly open up potential possibilities for a networked narrative in *Tidehunter*.

At a pivotal point in the story’s progression—in Version 2.7—the traditional loading screen was replaced with the growth of the Black Tide Cocoon, using plot-relevant fragments of information or imagery to make the waiting process an integral part of the narrative.

Particularly noteworthy are the meta-design elements that deeply integrate mechanics with narrative—such as presenting the protagonist’s subconscious space directly as the “game login screen,” turning every login into a reflection of the character’s inner world and blurring the line between gameplay and storyline.

Additionally, after Gabriella defeats the leader of the Remnant, the story progresses to introduce a first-person perspective similar to *Ghost of Tsushima*, as well as time-shifting mechanics akin to *Titanfall 2*. This represents an evolution of the “simple movement” mechanics seen in the early 2.0 version of *Tidehunter*, specifically in the first-person perspectives of Floro and the Drifter.

I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on the expressive power of the first-person perspective; it lies in the way the subjective camera creates a strong sense of narrative immersion, allowing players to no longer be mere observers but to directly “embody” Gabriella’s visual and physical space. This design makes Gabriella’s *Devil May Cry*-inspired combat style even more intense.

Through this sequence, *Mingchao* seamlessly conveys to players Gabellina’s action animations—which are a clear homage to Dante’s dual pistols—as well as her personality traits, while the firearms themselves feature basic visual feedback for aiming lines and recoil.

As far as I know, the technical challenges involved in achieving this experience are quite significant; it’s far from something that can be accomplished simply by adjusting the camera position. First, the character’s movements must be synchronized with camera shake to simulate realistic head movements. At the same time, to avoid distortion in the first-person perspective, *Tidehunter* must carefully calculate the field of view and motion blur parameters to fundamentally prevent any motion sickness that players might experience.

Second, from a first-person perspective, how can we effectively convey the facial expressions and physical performances that are typically relied upon in traditional third-person cutscenes? This usually requires using scripted animations and camera framing to guide the player’s attention, ensuring that key emotional expressions are not overlooked despite the limited viewpoint.

In this regard, *Naruto: Storm*’s current interim solution involves a straightforward combination of dialogue and action sequences. However, at its core, this design not only serves as a stress test for the game’s own animation state machine logic and real-time processing capabilities, but also reflects its intention to align with the industry’s high standards for seamlessly integrating gameplay and narrative depth.After all, who could have imagined that the brief first-person perspective sequences introduced in the early days of Version 2.0 would evolve in Version 2.7 into a fully-fledged feature that drives both gameplay innovation and narrative progression?

It can be said that from version 2.0 to 2.7, the production design of *Mingchao* underwent a qualitative shift from visual excess to immersive integration. The early stages of version 2.0 focused on increasing the density of the production; the mid-stage saw the introduction of QTEs and environmental interactions; and by version 2.7, every aspect—from loading screens and CG sequences to gameplay mechanics—had been integrated into the production framework, creating a cohesive and unified presentation system.

That is the nature of *Mingchao*: sowing, cultivating, blooming, and bearing fruit. In a sense, this may be the key reason why it is able to thrive against the odds.

Version 2.7 simultaneously releases Chapters 10 and 11 of the main storyline, allowing players to experience the entire climactic plot in one go. Florlo’s return and numerous hidden Easter eggs not only reward the dedication of core players but also demonstrate the development team’s keen attention to community feedback.

System optimizations such as reducing the grind and consolidating activity access points are directly inspired by long-standing feedback from the player community. This is exactly what *Tidehunter* has been doing all along.

Looking at the development trajectory of *Mingchao* 2.0 from a product perspective, it becomes clear that the system maturity and gameplay innovations showcased in Version 2.7 are fundamentally rooted in the team’s ongoing commitment to listening to and responding to player feedback.

For players, Version 2.7 is like a perfect answer to the theme of "Bonds"—with a grand, epic finale and a complete ensemble where everyone returns to their rightful place, it solemnly fulfills the expectations and passion players have held over the past year.

For the industry, the release of *Mingchao* Version 2.7 marks another significant leap forward in Kulo’s project management capabilities.From Version 2.0 to 2.7, its content productivity has not been diluted by frequent iterations; rather, each major update has spawned breakthroughs that redefine the gaming experience. What it demonstrates is no longer a single technical breakthrough, but rather a sophisticated, industrialized content system—one that seamlessly integrates narrative, high-density content, gameplay innovation, and stable operations—capable of iteration and reuse.

This ability to consistently produce high-quality, sustainable content may well be the key to *Mingchao* building a competitive moat for itself amid the fierce future competition in the content industry and the saturated anime market.

Farewells are merely a prelude to new reunions. Version 2.7 has also left behind numerous subtle hints about the story’s future: the true name of Abu, summoned by Leviathan; the potential to harness the power of the Ring; and the location of the third case mentioned by the President of the Remnant Star Society—the future stage known as “Lahiro.” All of these elements lay the groundwork for a broader world to come.

Foreshadowing from the 1.1 era

The festivities at Linaxi Tower have come to a close, and with this as its starting point, a new chapter of *Mingchao* is quietly unfolding, heralding an even grander beginning.