Founder Speaks for the First Time About the Behind-the-Scenes Story of "Late Ming": At One Point, the Company Had Only Single-Digit Funds Left

The phenomenal success of *Black Myth: Wukong* last year gave industry professionals a glimpse of hope for domestic AAA titles, but the resulting surge in player expectations has brought not only greater attention to future projects but also significant pressure.

The development cycle for AAA games is very long, and before the success of *Black Myth: Wukong*, few teams had the courage or capability to take on an AAA project.

When it comes to overcoming adversity, *Late Ming: Feathers of the Abyss* (hereinafter referred to as *Late Ming*) is likely to rank among the top domestic games released this year. From the challenges during development to the mixed reviews following its initial launch, and finally to the subsequent improvement in its reputation, many industry observers have been holding their breath for this game and its developer, Lingze Technology.

Recently, *The Late Ming*’s approval rating on Steam has rebounded to 91%, with an increasing number of players and industry professionals acknowledging that the game has set the bar as the “gold standard for Chinese AAA titles”—meaning that future Chinese AAA games will have to at least match its quality.

Recently, investor Xu Yiran held a live-streamed conversation with Jiang Min, founder of Lingze Technology, and Ji Ling, founder of Lingchuang Games. During the discussion, Jiang Min spoke publicly for the first time about the behind-the-scenes story of *Late Ming: Feathers of the Abyss* and Lingze Technology, recounting how he spent more than a decade starting out in outsourcing and steadily worked his way up to the ranks of AAA game development.

With permission, Game Teahouse has compiled a transcript of the conversation between Xu Yiran, Jiang Min, and Ji Ling. We believe this content will offer some inspiration to game developers on their journey.

The following is a transcript of the conversation, which has been edited for readability.

01

The Journey from Outsourcing to AAA

Xu Yiran: Today we have two game developers from Chengdu with very unique backgrounds. One works on small indie titles, while the other works on AAA blockbusters—projects involving teams of hundreds of people, years of development, and investments of hundreds of millions.

The two of you create games of completely different genres, so let’s take this opportunity to discuss the ups and downs of entrepreneurship. Mr. Jiang, please tell us about your experience.

Jiang Min: Hello, everyone. I’m Jiang Min, the founder of Lingze Technology. I’ve been an entrepreneur for over a decade, and Lingze is my third company. I majored in animation and have always focused on the field of game art.

“Late Ming: Feathers of the Abyss” is Lingze’s first AAA-style game, and it took us nearly six years to bring it to fruition. Our goal is to delve deeply into the action game genre and, leveraging the development pipeline and attention we’ve built through “Late Ming,” expand our presence in this genre.

The first company I worked for was Massive Black, a U.S.-based concept art studio. At the time, I worked on next-gen art for AAA game projects such as *StarCraft II*, *God of War III*, *The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim*, and *Batman*.

I was really at a loss back then. The next-generation art skills I had acquired weren’t in demand at domestic studios, and there were no suitable positions for me at large companies. I had two options: go abroad to further my training at a studio, or start my own business.

After three months of deliberation, I decided to start my own business. I began preparing to launch my first company in 2007.

The first step was to find partners. I looked for candidates at my current company and elsewhere, seeking people with strong artistic skills who were willing to build a career in Sichuan. In the end, I found six people, making a total of seven partners, including myself.

Although we made the mistake of diluting our equity too much during our first startup, these six people are highly skilled in their respective fields and are willing to come back to Chengdu with me to work on this project.

We wanted to break into the overseas AAA art outsourcing market by replicating the “Wuji Black” model. However, there were no precedents in China at the time, and no companies in Chengdu were doing overseas art outsourcing. So we took the most straightforward approach: each of us created a representative portfolio piece and posted it on top platforms like the ZBrush website, ArtStation, and CGTalk, aiming to get featured on their homepages.

We aim to be the best in our category, secure the best platform certifications, build our reputation, and then take on more business. It took us a year to achieve this.

We started our business in 2012, with seven of us crammed into a 60-square-meter space and 100,000 yuan in capital. Although we didn’t get any orders right away, we were able to land some work through friends thanks to our skills.

Although it was tough, the sales team kept traveling to various trade shows overseas. For the first two years, orders were scarce, and we were barely scraping by. The problem wasn’t a lack of capability; rather, the industry had shifted entirely from console and PC games to mobile, and there were very few AAA projects. Compounded by the transition from PS3 to PS4, development costs skyrocketed, causing many developers to hesitate and adopt a wait-and-see approach, resulting in few projects being greenlit.

Even Vitash laid off a lot of people during that period, but we kept going and attended every single trade show.

The turning point came in 2014–15. Several high-budget, high-revenue titles were released on the PS4, and they realized that many of their previous outsourcing partners had gone out of business—especially those specializing in high-end art—so they turned to us. We managed to hang on until then.

We have become one of the few companies in Chengdu—and indeed in China—capable of providing overseas art outsourcing services. We have collaborated with Ubisoft on all titles following *For Honor* (2017), worked with Guerrilla on *Horizon*, and contributed to projects such as *Hitman 47* and *Lord of the Fallen*.

By then, we had grown significantly, with our team nearing 100 people. We were there to ride that wave of growth, and our exceptional artistic skills helped us succeed.

We started R&D in 2016. It was the company’s fourth year, we had nearly 100 employees, and I had just turned 30.

I’m different from Ji Ling. Ji Ling broadened his horizons quickly and didn’t have much experience working a regular job. As for me, my perspective has opened up gradually through my experiences—from working a regular job, to my first startup, and up to now.

My first company was in a labor-intensive industry. All I could see was how much money we could make per worker and how much work we could take on; I had no understanding of the market or capital. Ji Ling was lucky enough to gain that perspective quickly, but I didn’t.

There were two reasons I wanted to get into R&D: first, I felt that at 30, I shouldn’t be doing the same thing over and over again; second, I wanted to broaden my horizons and understand what R&D, venture capital, and the market were really like. Back then, I didn’t even know how to write a business plan.

When VR took off in 2016, we launched a VR project and used that as an opportunity to establish a development company. We were working on a cyberpunk interactive cinematic game built on Unreal Engine 4, similar to a VR version of *Detroit: Become Human* (*A.D. 2047*, 2021). The art was outstanding, and it featured full motion capture—which was very cutting-edge at the time.

But the project was doomed to fail. At the time, the return on investment for such products was very low, and the number of VR devices in use was also very low.

In 2018, the company had a maximum of 60 employees and had secured funding in the angel and seed rounds, but did not raise any further capital after that. With the downturn in the capital market in 2018, the team shrunk from 60 to just 18 people.

Xu Yiran: Is it that serious?

Jiang Min: That’s right. At the worst point, we had less than ten dollars left in the bank. My job was to keep the company afloat and find a new direction—recruiting people, raising funds, and securing projects—to solve every problem.

The top priority was to stay afloat. Fortunately, the first company had built up a network of overseas partners, so I told them we could now offer full-service outsourcing. Thanks to our previous reputation and production capabilities, we were still able to land projects and keep the company going.

But the bigger issue is that the workforce is shrinking. Outsourcing is just a way to make money, but why would people in the R&D pipeline want to work with you on outsourcing projects?

So *The Late Ming Dynasty* was greenlit at that time. A company may run out of money, but it must never lose hope.

“Late Ming” carried everyone’s hopes. Although no one would launch a AAA project during the company’s toughest times, it embodied everyone’s hopes for both the company and the new product.

After that, our roles were clearly defined: I focused on keeping the company afloat, recruiting staff, securing funding, and finding projects, while expanding our operations, refining our production pipeline, and filling in all the gaps in our resources.

2018 and 2019 were incredibly tough. For two years, we often had only a few dollars in the bank—the slightest misstep could have been the end of us. Fortunately, we managed to bounce back; the company grew to over 60 employees, and outsourcing and joint research projects allowed us to generate revenue.

What’s more, our collaborative R&D efforts have helped us build a comprehensive pipeline. We’re not just a company that develops a single product; we’ve developed complete solutions for a wide variety of game genres. Our pipeline is both diverse and efficient. Lingze isn’t a “naive” company—we’re highly pragmatic.

The turning point came in 2021, when we released the first promotional video for *The Late Ming Dynasty*. By then, the company had grown to 80 employees and was entirely self-sustaining, with the *The Late Ming Dynasty* team comprising nearly 30 people.

When the 2021 PV was released, it was met with a barrage of criticism.

Xu Yiran: The first music video was definitely a bit rough around the edges.

Jiang Min: On the one hand, it’s certainly a bit rough around the edges. But from our perspective, we want to see if we can use our team’s development pipeline to create a product similar to *Bloodborne*—we need to validate every aspect, including combat, art, mechanics, optimization, and AI.

At the very least, that music video convinced Xia Siyuan to tell me that we could tackle this genre and build on it to create something of our own. Even though we got absolutely slammed—some people even wrote articles saying we should be branded as a historical disgrace.

Xu Yiran: Is it really that serious?

Jiang Min: That’s exactly right. At the time, some people actually quit because they couldn’t stand being yelled at.

Twenty-one years later, I spun off this group from the original company’s operations to establish a completely independent entity. Lingze focuses solely on R&D.

After that, the path becomes clearer. We need to expand our joint R&D pipeline and find a way to resolve the funding issues surrounding *The Late Ming Dynasty*—a cash-draining project—by leveraging external resources, involving publishers, outsourcing R&D, and continuing to raise capital.

By the end of 2022 and into 2023, the company had grown to nearly 200 employees. Through our collaboration with 505, we resolved a significant portion of our challenges and took *The Late Ming Dynasty* to the next level.

2023 and 2024 were the years when *The Late Ming Dynasty* went into mass production, with nearly 180 people at Lingze working on all aspects of the project.

It launched this year and has sparked some controversy. But from the company’s perspective, this has fully demonstrated that Lingze is fully capable of developing AAA-quality products. In this highly specialized niche, we are truly on par with many overseas companies.

It’s almost magical, because years ago, no one would have dared to imagine that a domestic company’s first product could achieve this.

But I want to point out that this isn’t Lingze’s first product. If you count them all up, the company has experience with over 30 products in its pipeline. This is what sets Lingze apart—due to its background, its pipeline is much more diverse. A key point is that, unlike many companies that, after securing funding, claim, “We have a great idea; let’s test the waters with you,” but lack sufficient experience, Lingze has more than enough practical experience.

However, some optimization issues did arise. This may be related to a lack of experience with distribution or post-launch operations, as well as a lack of perspective. I did not fully consider the diversity and universality of devices. I did not conduct sufficient research in this area, which is also part of the problem of lacking perspective.

Ultimately, however, the game itself has received fair reviews from both players and the media. I think IGN’s score of 8 is fair; it has its place in the Souls-like genre. In any case, *Ming Dynasty* should have no trouble holding its own as a domestic AAA-tier title—after all, to be considered AAA, it would have to be at least as good as what we’ve produced.

At this stage, Lingze has achieved its objectives at the company level. Although I know we could have done better earlier on, I have no regrets. Moving forward, we’ll proceed with greater caution, learn from our experiences, broaden our perspectives, and keep moving forward. My mindset remains very positive.

So my journey has been that of an ordinary office worker, then an ordinary entrepreneur, and finally someone working in R&D—a step-by-step process typical of an ordinary person. With no money, no resources, and no connections, I’ve made it this far through my own efforts.

Xu Yiran: It really hasn’t been easy. Before I met you, I watched the making-of video for *The End of the Ming Dynasty*, and I could pretty much guess what you’d been through.

But I have to say that there are quite a few Chinese companies that provide AAA-level outsourcing services to foreign clients, and many of them have been in business for over a decade or two. However, cases like yours—where a company has successfully developed its own product from scratch and brought it to market—are extremely rare; I’ve hardly ever seen anything like it.

Is there a significant barrier to entry when transitioning from outsourcing, joint research, and full-project outsourcing to developing your own original products? For example, if you have Xia Siyuan on board and find a talented producer, you can get things done. Compared to taking on outsourcing projects, is there a major hurdle here that’s difficult to overcome?

Jiang Min: A key factor is that many outsourcing companies are not fundamentally R&D firms, whereas Lingze is. That is the biggest difference—our business models, investments, and strategic directions are completely different.

Outsourcing is often done to optimize efficiency, reduce costs, or cut staff in order to increase profits. But we’re different—we choose projects to expand our portfolio or gain experience. For example, we take on character animation projects to build experience in that area, Unreal Engine or cartoon-style rendering projects to gain experience with cutscenes, or motion design projects to build experience in motion design.

All of this is about designing with a specific goal in mind, rather than simply for the sake of making money. The mindset and approach are completely different. Now that we’ve built up such a robust pipeline, the next step is to identify a sound creative direction and the right producer.

Regarding your comment about meeting Siyuan—he is indeed outstanding, but that statement isn’t quite accurate. If you look at Siyuan’s resume, there was no evidence prior to *The Late Ming Dynasty* that he was capable of pulling this off. But our role is to cultivate the groundwork, allowing him to develop such a project on that foundation.

We need to address the challenges of establishing production pipelines and building up experience, as well as building teams and gaining experience, so that producers can work freely without reservation, unleash their imagination and creative abilities, and produce work in this environment. This is crucial; they shouldn’t have to worry about the company, money, or other issues, but should be able to focus solely on the creative process itself.

To give a somewhat inappropriate example, if it hadn’t been for Siyuan or someone else, the product might have been different—perhaps not *The Late Ming Dynasty*, but something like this would have been created anyway.

We have no shortage of talented people who want to build products. While it’s true that “the journey to Mount Ling may be more important than obtaining the sacred scriptures,” actually seeing a project through to completion is no easy feat—many fall by the wayside.

To complete a project of *Late Ming*’s scale, it is essential to operate as a company. A studio setup simply won’t cut it—it can only handle the first phase of development. Without a corporate mindset and a production pipeline to deliver industrial-scale products, it would be impossible to complete a project of *Late Ming*’s scale.

Most indie game developers can probably only support a team of 20 people, and if their company grows to 30 people, it might go under.

Ji Ling: That’s exactly the dilemma I’m facing now.

Jiang Min: Without completing industrialization and establishing a corporate framework, it is impossible to build such a system or create larger-scale works.

How can a producer also be a great CEO, or build a great company? It’s difficult—it becomes a multifaceted challenge. The reason Siyuan and I work so well together is that I handle that part of the problem, leaving him free to focus on the product.

However, in most cases, the setup isn’t always this ideal. Everyone does their part to solve their own problems, working together to get the company into a great position. Not everyone is fortunate enough to experience such favorable circumstances. This is also what makes Lingze unique and special.

02

From Online Novelist to Game Producer

Xu Yiran: Ji Ling, tell us about your experiences.

Ji Ling: Hello everyone,I’m the producer at Lingchuang Games. We’re an indie game studio founded in 2020, and we currently have three titles: *Burying Flowers: Dark Peach Blossom Land 1 & 2* and *Starving Souls: A Thousand-Mile Journey at the End of the Ming Dynasty* (hereinafter referred to as *Starving Souls*). Our most well-known title is *Starving Souls*, which has sold approximately 1.4 million copies, generated tens of millions in revenue from figurines, and generated tens of millions more from merchandise.

I’ve worked in comics and film, and I’ve been a web fiction writer—my professional background is quite diverse. You could say I came into this field with absolutely no prior experience in game development. My strengths lie in aesthetics, content design, and marketing copywriting. Currently, I primarily serve as a producer.

Xu Yiran: Ji Ling started his first business at the age of 16—he founded his first company while still in high school. The storylines in your games are incredibly rich; you must be very skilled at writing them. Was it an irrepressible urge to express yourself that drove you to start your own business? Could you share your journey with us?

Ji Ling: I started writing fantasy novels on QQ Space when I was around 11 or 12 years old. When I was 14 and in my third year of junior high, I received an offer from an online literature platform. However, my Chinese teacher advised me to focus on the high school entrance exams, so I didn’t sign the contract. After I was admitted to Shandong Provincial Experimental High School, I signed the contract.

I was enrolled in a Sino-American joint program, so I didn’t need to take the Gaokao. In addition to SAT and TOEFL scores, U.S. universities also consider students’ extracurricular activities when making admissions decisions. I convinced my teachers and parents to support my startup by arguing that it would help me build a “standout resume.” At the time, I used the over 10,000 yuan I had saved from writing novels, combined with more than 100,000 yuan invested by my classmates’ parents and 100,000 yuan from my father, to establish the company.

At first, I wanted to build a platform website. I spent around 160,000 to 170,000 yuan, but the venture failed quickly. I was left with only about 40,000 to 50,000 yuan, and my relationship with my employees had deteriorated. After the website collapsed, the employees “fired” me—their boss—during a team-building event; they simply formed a new team. It was a very unsuccessful entrepreneurial experience.

Fortunately, Tencent Comics later approached me to work on Chinese comics. At 17, while in my sophomore year of high school, I relaunched the company and rode the wave of the domestic comics industry boom. I launched several serialized series on Tencent Comics and NetEase Comics, handling project development, genre selection, and some screenwriting, while delegating the actual drawing to others. Back then, as a high school sophomore, I was making about 30,000 to 50,000 yuan a month.

Later, I switched to filmmaking. To be honest, it was really the market that pushed me in that direction. In 2018, the bubble in the domestic animation market burst, and my income plummeted from a monthly high of 70,000 yuan to just over 10,000 yuan, so I desperately needed to pivot. I made films for a year or two, and just as my third film was nominated for a small award, the pandemic hit. I couldn’t continue, so I was forced to switch to video games.

I mainly develop text-based adventure games, which require only a script, voice acting, and visuals—and the script and visuals are precisely the areas I’ve honed over the past decade and excel at. We’ve done well in these areas, but scaling up our operations remains a significant challenge.

Xu Yiran: Is there a big difference between writing novels, comic scripts, game scripts, and movie scripts? What are the main differences?

Ji Ling: Novels offer the greatest freedom; the words you write are accountable only to the readers and yourself. If you want to write about vast armies, you can. But in comics and movies, depicting vast armies might mean a budget of a million dollars for a film, tens of thousands for a comic, and equally high costs for a video game.

That’s why writers for comics, games, and movies need to consider whether their content is feasible—they can’t just write for the sake of writing.

Looking back now on how each experience has shaped me:

Writing the novel honed my storytelling skills, but most importantly, it taught me the value of perseverance—I completed a 1.8-million-word novel, updating it daily for over 520 consecutive days without missing a single day.

Manga teaches creators how to weave engaging elements into the pacing of a story. Since manga is updated only once a week, a series that fails to captivate readers will be canceled, which hones a creator’s ability to master narrative pacing.

Filmmaking has honed my sense of the visual. A good screenwriter considers whether a shot should be a long shot, close-up, medium shot, or extreme close-up. Although this is typically the director’s or cinematographer’s job, a good screenwriter must have a strong visual sense. Filmmaking has taught me this visual sense, as well as how to think about shots and sound.

Having worked on AVG games for the past decade, I have a head start in this field compared to other developers who lack that experience.

Xu Yiran: Do you usually prefer playing video games or watching movies, reading comics, or novels? Which works do you like best?

Ji Ling: These days, I spend most of my time playing video games. When I was drawing comics, I watched the most movies—I’ve seen 80% of the films on Douban’s Top 250 list, and my viewing history includes nearly 1,000 titles.

When it comes to games, I try to avoid PvP titles because once I get the hang of the mechanics, there’s a lot of repetitive content. In recent years, I’ve mainly been playing story-driven RPGs and action games.

This year, I enjoyed *The End of the Ming Dynasty: Feathers of the Abyss*, and last year, I enjoyed *Black Myth: Wukong*. I really love Chinese culture, so I prioritize playing games based on Chinese culture. I also like *Expedition 33* and *Kingdom Come: Deliverance 2*—the former has distinctive art, while the latter feels very realistic. I also play visual novels, such as *Danganronpa* and *The Witch Trial*.

It might come as a surprise, but I don’t play many visual novels. *The Starving* has more of a cinematic narrative style, drawing heavily from *Leon: The Professional* and *The Last of Us*.

Xu Yiran: What are your favorite novels and manga?

Ji Ling: I read popular series, such as *The Mysterious Immortals*, *The Lord of the Mysterious*, and *The Night Watchmen of the Great Feng Dynasty*. The series I’ve been reading the longest is *The Dragon Clan*. I’m about to take charge of adapting *The Dragon Clan* into a single-player game—specifically, a text-based game—in collaboration with author Jiang Nan and Tencent.

Right now, my favorites are *The Lord of the Mysteries* and *The True Master of Gu*, and I think their world-building would work really well in a game like *Baldur’s Gate 3*.

Xu Yiran: What about the movie?

Ji Ling: My favorite movie is David Fincher’s *Fight Club* because he captured a really cool vibe in the ’90s, and it touches on some deeper psychological themes—plus, every line of dialogue is hilarious.

My second-favorite films are *Farewell My Concubine* and *The Shawshank Redemption*. I also like *The Legend of the Demon Cat*—even though many people think it’s a bad movie. I really like all of Chen Kaige’s works; he has a strong aesthetic sense. I also like *Youth*, directed by Zhang Yimou and Feng Xiaogang.

I’ve also seen pretty much all of Quentin’s movies, and I absolutely love them. My favorite is *The Hateful Eight*, because that’s the one I originally wanted to use as a model for my own filmmaking. It’s such a pleasure to watch—it takes its time telling the whole story, doesn’t skimp on the narrative, and features comfortable, easy-on-the-eyes shots. It feels like a very long, cinematic play.

03

Lessons Learned from Entrepreneurship

Xu Yiran: Moving on to the next topic, let’s talk about the lessons learned along the entrepreneurial journey. When it comes to finding reliable partners, what advice can you share? In this industry, you often encounter partners, investors, and publishers—what kind of people are trustworthy? And how do you find them?

Ji Ling: I think there are two key points to consider when looking for a business partner: compatibility and avoiding fixed mindsets.

“A good fit” means you have to be capable and meet the required standards; otherwise, the people you bring on board won’t respect you, and no amount of incentives or systems will make a difference. That’s why you need to constantly improve your skills, knowledge, and resources to build your core competitiveness. Take me in high school, for example: no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a good partner, because a good partner would never join a high school student’s company.

Also, don’t get stuck in a rut. When I was younger, I tended to look down on older team members and partners. But over the past couple of years, I’ve realized that some lead designers or artists in their 30s can actually complement my strengths. I suddenly realized how foolish some of my choices from five years ago were. I’m not suited to working with people my own age; I’m better off working with those who are more experienced and level-headed.

Don’t look for someone who’s just like you. A business partner can be similar to you in some ways and share a spiritual connection, but you need to complement each other. It’s a bit like looking for a spouse: you should have common goals and be able to share mutual interests, but you must also need each other—they can provide what you lack, and you can provide what they lack, completing the puzzle.

When it comes to investors, I’m really not in a position to speak authoritatively, because our funding valuations have always been on the low side—perhaps because my previous projects weren’t particularly outstanding. Although my first project, *Burying Flowers: Dark Peach Blossom Land*, was decent, the valuation was already quite low at the time. I’m truly honored that investors saw potential in me back then.I’ve seen some teams around me disband; most of them secured valuations several times higher than mine at the time, but they’re all gone now. For the time being, I probably won’t need to seek out investors; instead, I’ll seek more advice from Mr. Jiang and other industry veterans, as I really don’t have much experience dealing with investors.

When it comes to seeking external partnerships—specifically with publishers—I have quite a bit of experience, since I’ve developed and published games on my own while also collaborating with external partners. For single-player game companies, there are only two things to consider: a publisher will either provide you with funding or help you maximize your revenue.

No matter how smooth-talking he is, it’s either that he covers all your costs and offers a substantial upfront payment, or that he can amplify your returns—something that can be directly quantified and analyzed. If he can do that, it’s worth it; if not, it’s not. What he says doesn’t matter; ultimately, it comes down to these two very rational analyses.

Jiang Min: When it comes to choosing a partner, perhaps because I’m an INTJ, I do value talent—they have to be talented. I can spot people who are on the same wavelength as me. They must have some quality that I admire. So I used to lean toward that.

But I’ve found that talented people often have other issues. Later on, I realized the key is to strike a better balance; when looking for a partner, I should choose someone who can compensate for my weaknesses. That’s the main point, but their core character should also align with mine—so that they can make up for my shortcomings, and I can become their strength. That’s the most sensible way to work together.

But I can answer one question: there are certain types of partners I would never consider. There are two categories, and if a candidate fits into either one, I’ll basically rule them out.

The first type is someone who constantly complains to me, taking it out on everyone and everything—I’d definitely walk away. Because over the course of a long-term partnership, you’ll inevitably become the target of their complaints.

The second point is that everyone is seen as a fool. If either of these two applies, I’ll steer clear of it. Because the second one is very similar to the first principle: you never know when you might become the fool in their eyes.

Why do I say I’d look for someone with talent? Because I think stupid people can be worse than bad people. So he’d at least have to have some talent—otherwise, he’d keep doing really stupid things, and that could be fatal.

So the logic is this: First, our fundamental dispositions need to be on the same wavelength; second, he should be able to compensate for my weaknesses, while I can serve as his strength—that’s the most sensible arrangement.

But I’m probably a bit different from Ji Ling—I really enjoy talking to people about imagination. Among my partners, or when I need to kickstart a collaboration, I’m the one who loves to spark people’s imagination, because I just love coming up with all sorts of ideas.

When imaginations come together, a partner isn’t convinced by you—they’re convinced by the vision you present to them. The same goes for investors.

The rest is simple: what I offer investors or partners isn’t just a pipe dream. I have to prove that I can turn that vision into reality.

So when I’ve secured a lot of partners, it’s basically been a matter of presenting them with a reasonable vision and then moving forward from there.

I’ve met quite a few investors, but few have actually invested. The reason is that most capital only adds to success; it rarely provides support when times are tough.

But sometimes you need capital to help you scale up, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In my case, as long as you don’t impose any strange terms, just provide the funding, and leave the rest to me, I think that’s the best approach for me. If you can offer some additional support on top of that, that’s a bonus.

When it comes to distribution, I totally agree with Ji Ling’s approach: just give me the money. Because these days, with third-party distribution, single-platform releases mostly rely on begging—they’re always trying to get something for nothing. That’s basically how it works. Out of 100 they try to freeload from, they’re lucky if they can scam two.

Single-platform games are already in such a dire state—how can you have the nerve to come here and talk about this? It’s a bit inappropriate, to say the least. Most publishers feel this way, so I completely agree with Ji Ling’s first point: pay up. Why? Because only after you’ve invested your sunk costs will you treat our “children” with the same care and dedication that I do. If you’re unwilling to shell out that money, you might just take your affection elsewhere at any moment.

So it’s essential that he contributes financially. More than the money itself, it’s about the attitude, sincerity, and sunk costs involved. You have to be in the same boat as me if you’re going to treat it with the same dedication. That’s what matters.

For a while, I even thought the term “single-host release” in China had a negative connotation. That’s why I completely agree: if they’re willing to pay, that shows their commitment—that’s enough; everything else doesn’t matter.

Xu Yiran: So, during our conversation, you didn’t really say anything negative about 505, because after all, they paid you, right?

Jiang Min: As for 505, if I could go back in time, I would definitely choose him again. As the saying goes in *The Late Ming Dynasty*, “What is meant to be will be; what is not meant to be should not be forced.” Since it has already happened, I accept it. After all, without him, there would be no *The Late Ming Dynasty* to follow.

But as I’ve said before, Lingze and *The Late Ming* still have a long way to go, and encountering situations like this along the way may simply be a necessary step toward making them better.

It might make you more cautious about the direction of your project and your choice of subject matter, and you’ll likely be more careful with your marketing and promotion strategies, as well as your approach to players and the community. It’s not entirely a bad thing, so since it’s happened, just accept it and make the necessary adjustments.

Xu Yiran: I’ve met countless entrepreneurs, and the kind of investor everyone hopes for most is one who comes to the rescue when times are tough—but I’m afraid that’s not the case. I believe that in your entrepreneurial journey, the times when you’re struggling far outweigh the times when things are going smoothly. But when you’re in that tough spot and meet with a bunch of investors, none of them can help—and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Also, the vast majority of people I’ve dealt with just want investors to hand over the money and then disappear—they even take this attitude toward publishers. It’s like, “Just give me the money, and I’ll handle the rest,” right? “You do your job, and I’ll handle the development myself.” But in reality, most investors in this industry still want to be involved, so this is really difficult.

Since I’ve played all these roles myself, your perspective changes when you put yourself in their shoes. Take the publisher you mentioned earlier, for example: when you put yourself in their shoes, you’ll realize that it’s actually much harder for publishers to raise funds than it is for developers.

If I were an investor, would I jump at the chance to back a game publisher right away? Rarely—very rarely. A publisher might have gotten lucky once and released a blockbuster that made some money, which they then used to incubate new projects, but in the vast majority of cases, it’s hard to predict success.So, just like with VCs (Venture Capital), don’t listen when they boast about a project that returned 100x. That project likely accounts for less than 1% of the entire fund. Even if it returned 100x, if the other 99 projects lost money, the fund as a whole wouldn’t break even. But when they talk to you, they’ll only bring up that one success story.

But there’s nothing we can do about it—that’s just how the market works. If the success rate were that high, I can tell you for sure that big companies would monopolize the market. I’ve said this many times before: we should be grateful that the success rate is low, because that’s what allows so many small independent companies to survive. Otherwise, if I had the money to cover everything and the success rate were high enough, there really wouldn’t be any room left for anyone else.

Publishers have it tough too, so of course they have to tighten their belts and find ways to buy more lottery tickets—without spending too much on each one, right? No one in publishing is introverted; they’re all extroverts—at the very least, they have to be as chatty as I am. So just imagine—they have no choice but to haggle.

Put yourself in his shoes and you’ll understand—it’s not easy; everyone’s having a tough time. How many publishers have you seen that are doing particularly well? There are very few publishers in the entire industry that are actually doing well. Only two or three of them are publicly traded.

Devolver Digital (notable titles: the *Hotline Miami* series, *Aaah! Apocalypse*, *Evil Dead: The Darker Dimensions*, etc.) is a very successful publicly traded company, and 505 Games (notable titles: *The Last Dynasty: Feathers of the Void*, the *Shadowrun* series, *Death Stranding: Director’s Cut*) doesn’t have a very high market capitalization either, right?Team17 (notable titles: the *Overcooked!* series, *Rise of the Sun*, etc.) is a publicly traded company—check it out; its market cap is extremely low. TinyBite (notable titles: *The King’s Gaze*, *Plague Inc. 2*, *Hello Neighbor*, etc.) is also publicly traded, and all of these are extremely small-cap stocks.

Investors in the secondary market aren’t particularly keen on buying shares in these companies either; they’re not exactly the most attractive companies, and they’re not having an easy time of it.

04

Why choose the “Late Ming Dynasty” as a theme?

Xu Yiran: It’s quite a coincidence—you’ve both chosen the late Ming Dynasty as your historical setting, and both of your games feature surreal elements. Why did you choose the late Ming Dynasty? Could you each share your thoughts on that? Ji Ling, why don’t you start?

Ji Ling: Besides watching movies, reading comics and novels, and playing video games, my hobby is studying history. I basically read about the entire 5,000-year history of China, and even Western history.

I think the two most fascinating periods in Chinese history are the Northern and Southern Dynasties and the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms. They were the most chaotic, making them the perfect setting for dark stories. But the chaos was overwhelming—emperors and kings changed hands roughly every 20 years, each regime replaced by the next through brutal means. There was no sense of propriety or law, and the characters were all dark and savage.

In other eras, such as the High Tang and Song dynasties, the sense of complexity was quite high; otherwise, it was either internal rebellions, uprisings by aristocratic clans, or invasions by foreign tribes—there was very little nuance, with essentially just one enemy or one faction.

Only two periods in Chinese history stand out as particularly unique: the Three Kingdoms era and the late Ming Dynasty. Each of these periods featured at least three distinct factions. During the Three Kingdoms era, these were Wei, Shu, and Wu; in the late Ming Dynasty, they were the Ming and Qing dynasties, the Great Shun (a peasant army), and even the Great West (led by Zhang Xianzhong)—making four factions in total. Within the Ming Dynasty itself, there were numerous factions and a succession of emperors. Their personalities and ideologies differed significantly.

Both Li Zicheng and his forces had their own distinctive characteristics. His detractors called him a bandit, but in reality, he came closest to a peasant-led revolution and the simple ideals of the peasantry—and even bore some resemblance to communism.

It’s hard to say whether the Qing Dynasty was barbaric or based on slavery, but it did establish a highly advanced system of distribution and a militaristic state structure. The Ming Dynasty was an empire that lasted for centuries; while it had its conservative and traditional aspects, it also enjoyed a flourishing culture, was deeply rooted in propriety, possessed great charm, boasted a highly developed economy, and was a Han Chinese state of great integrity.

There are just too many games based on the Three Kingdoms era—it’s probably the most fascinating period in Chinese history, but there’s simply an overwhelming number of titles. Japan has produced a huge number of games on this theme, and we’ve made plenty of our own, such as *Honor of Kings* and *Three Kingdoms Kill*. There’s very little room left to explore, and we have to compete with these major studios. But the late Ming Dynasty is different; very few people have made games about it. Almost no one in Japan has touched it, and certainly not in the West; China is just starting to explore it.

The late Ming Dynasty is definitely a period worth exploring. We’re focusing more on historical accuracy. Our upcoming late Ming projects include *Aihong: Ten Days After the Fall of the City*, as well as a project currently in secret development that’s also set in the late Ming era. I plan to create at least three, maybe even four, titles set in the late Ming Dynasty.

Jiang Min: Our reasons for choosing the late Ming period were very similar to Ji Ling’s. First, no one else was doing it. And in Chengdu, the late Ming period in 1647 was chaotic enough, with plenty of factions vying for power. We might be a bit different from *Black Myth*. *Black Myth* leans more toward being an IP product; much of its design revolves around amplifying the IP—the cutscenes, character designs, art style, and even the environments are tailored to the IP, and combat moves are limited to using a staff.

But *Late Ming* is different; its world-building serves the game’s design, which is a major distinction.

First, there are plenty of factions that can be incorporated into the game. Second, the setting is dark enough to support a Souls-like game. Third, the game features a mix of cold and hot weapons, with a wide variety of options to choose from. Plus, back then in Sichuan, the story of Zhang Xianzhong wasn’t often discussed, but it’s actually quite fascinating—and we’re from Sichuan ourselves.

Taking all these factors into account, this time period is simply a better fit for the type of game we’re making—whether in terms of the world-building, the narrative progression, or the combat weapons. That’s all there is to it.

“Late Ming” was actually a development codename. We really liked using codenames, but after a while, we got so used to it that it just became the title. We really didn’t expect it to have such far-reaching consequences; that’s something we only realized once we gained a new perspective. Without that perspective, we wouldn’t have thought about it so deeply.

Xu Yiran: We can address all the previous issues moving forward. When it was released in 2021, we received a lot of feedback, but we’ve been refining it through 2025. Of course, we’ll incorporate all the lessons learned from the past and help it reach maturity. I don’t think we can achieve perfection overnight; there’s still plenty of time, so we can give it more time to mature.

At least things are looking up now, and at least we have a chance to keep this team together and actually get the next game off the ground and finished. The next game is definitely going to be amazing—I’m really looking forward to it.

05

How Chinese Games Contribute to Cultural Export

Xu Yiran: What other common weaknesses do you think Chinese games have?

We haven’t won a major TGA award yet. Although foreign audiences are gradually changing their perception of Chinese games, domestic titles still haven’t gained widespread respect overseas. In your opinion, are there any common shortcomings in Chinese games? How can they be improved?

Ji Ling: Chinese culture has a rich history and heritage, and it contains so many fascinating and captivating elements that are worth exploring. Otherwise, Japan wouldn’t be producing so many games based on Chinese culture.

I believe there are two reasons why Chinese culture is not yet widely recognized around the world.

First, we haven’t been able to establish much of a presence in online communities. It’s difficult for people in China to communicate with those abroad, which has prevented us from gaining a foothold on international websites.

Second, it is simply because there are not yet enough examples to form a matrix. For one culture to influence another requires a matrix, an era, and countless people and works—it is not something that can be achieved by a single work.

For example, when Japanese anime first began to influence the world, it wasn’t during the era of *EVA* or *Gundam*; the early works were largely niche. It wasn’t until after the bursting of Japan’s economic bubble that a flood of works and genres began to emerge.

In fact, Osamu Tezuka wasn’t particularly well-known worldwide during his own time. Later, as Japanese manga flourished, even the younger generation began producing excellent works—think of Nagaru Nisi from *Fate* and the creators of dating sims. Even dating sims have been adapted into anime, and with a fully developed industry ecosystem now in place, hundreds, thousands, and even tens of thousands of works have gone global. It is only under these circumstances that Japanese culture has truly emerged as a global cultural export.

When it comes to cultural exports, I believe that unless an author is exceptionally well-versed in foreign cultures, has a genuine passion for them, and has studied them in depth, they’re better off focusing on Chinese culture.

Since you’re creating products based on Chinese culture, you at least have a domestic market to fall back on. Plus, expanding overseas is a significant hurdle for many people, and if you were to create products based on foreign cultures, you wouldn’t be able to compete with local players.

So I think that unless you’re an expert on foreign cultures, you should either create stories based on Chinese culture or tell stories that aren’t rooted in any specific culture. Take *Escape from Yakov*, for example—it doesn’t draw on any particular national culture, and that works really well too.

Xu Yiran: I have one more question: Do you think Chinese culture should be adapted to suit foreign tastes when it’s presented to the world? Or should we present it in its most authentic, unadulterated form?

Ji Ling: When making games, it’s most important to play to your strengths; the market should always be a secondary consideration. As a developer, you should focus on what you’re good at.

For example, during the production of *The Starving*, my main focus was on telling authentic Chinese stories; I didn’t consider the overseas market at all. *The Starving* actually expanded to 11 languages over time—it’s now available in 11 languages, but it started out with only two.

However, for the project we’re developing in secret, we’re considering a style that’s more akin to American comics. Why this style? It’s not to cater to overseas markets, but because our lead artist specializes in it. He was previously a top artist at NetEase, and his work there was similar to this—it’s the style he’s most comfortable with.

So I talked it over with him, and he said this was the style he was best at. Alright, then let’s go with that.

If there’s one common issue plaguing Chinese development teams at this stage, I’d say that the teams that manage to survive generally have their own strategies. As for common issues, that’s a huge topic to summarize—everyone faces different challenges. The most crucial point, as I mentioned earlier, is this: it’s more important to make games that match your capabilities than to chase the market.

Jiang Min: My views differ from yours in some respects, but that’s fine—it gives us something to discuss.

I’ve always believed that cultural outreach doesn’t necessarily have to be cloaked in a Chinese veneer. After all, people will recognize the essence of your culture only when the product itself moves them; it is then that they will want to understand the cultural logic behind it.

Let me give you an example. A while back, an Indian game called *Release the Avatar* was released. You’d think it drew on Indian culture, right? But you wouldn’t be interested in that culture because the product didn’t resonate with you.

For future developers, I think you can tell stories or create products from a Chinese perspective—you don’t even need to include Chinese elements; you just need to weave the core essence into them.

The prerequisite is that the product design itself must be excellent enough to have an impact. Therefore, honing your product design skills is the most important thing, because a game is a massive combination of various design elements. As long as the product design itself is excellent, as long as the core of your game reflects Chinese culture, whether the exterior is Chinese or not doesn’t matter.

The second point is a common problem among single-host teams in China. These days, many single-host projects feel to me like a producer’s helpless outlet—I just want to vent about the project itself, and I want to drag the people around me into helping me vent, venting everything I feel about creation and everything I feel about life.

He didn’t approach this with a corporate mindset. All he thought was, “I’m going to make this game, and you’re all going to help me make it.” But how exactly was he going to make it? He had no idea.

For very small companies—like the team behind *Song of Silk*—if they’re talented enough, three people can definitely pull it off. But once you reach a certain scale, it’s a whole different story. Yet if you look at some of the new single-player indie projects in China today, their trailers clearly suggest massive production values, right? But when you ask about the team, it turns out there are only five people, and they’re likely just trying to keep the company afloat.

The biggest challenge is that they approach running a company with the mindset of an indie game developer. If you have an indie mindset, you should stick to making indie games and push your design strengths to the limit—that’s sure to resonate with people. But if you have the mindset and team of an indie developer yet try to tackle an industrial-scale project, that’s not a good idea.

Will China see many more AAA titles? I don’t know. Is it a problem with the producers? Is there a shortage of talent? Or is the market not willing to invest? I don’t think that’s entirely the case. It’s a complex issue that requires a long time to develop. If it were easy to produce AAA titles, we would have seen them emerge long ago.

For game development teams, the choice is either to follow in the footsteps of Cherry Studio and push their design strengths to the limit, or to go through two distinct phases: first, starting a business, and second, building a product on the foundation of that business. However, many may not make it past the first phase, and their talent may be lost along the way.

As for me, much of my future work will likely be focused on helping many people solve the problems mentioned earlier.

06

First Principles of Game Development

Xu Yiran: I completely agree—we all need to learn to see things from others’ perspectives. No one’s money grows on trees. Investors and publishers give you money so you can make your dreams come true; you can’t just use it to vent your frustrations.

Once you start hiring, don’t forget that the time your employees invest in your company is also money. Even though you pay them a salary, they’re dedicating their lives to this work, and there’s an opportunity cost compared to working at other major companies. You need to take responsibility for this. You’ve started a company and hired employees—you’re not just sitting at home writing a novel.

Western capitalist societies have accumulated a relatively greater pool of professional managers. Most Chinese companies are family-run; it is still relatively rare for them to be managed by professional managers, or for the original founders to hand over the reins to professional managers upon retirement—let alone for this transition to occur across two or three generations.

In this regard, we’ve produced relatively few people with a professional manager’s mindset. The same applies to entrepreneurship: there are relatively few entrepreneurs willing to put themselves in the shoes of investors, publishers, or even employees, and even fewer who possess both this perspective and practical experience. I think this is a widespread issue. I wholeheartedly agree with what Mr. Jiang said.

The three of us have one thing in common: we believe the game itself has to be solid. As long as the game is solid, you can use whatever culture you’re familiar with—it doesn’t necessarily have to be Chinese culture. You grew up overseas and are familiar with Western culture, so creating games based on Western culture is perfectly fine. Just look at how many Japanese developers have created highly successful games based on Western culture. The bottom line is that the game has to be solid; it has to hold its own first.

A member of the audience just asked: If a design is truly excellent, which first principles should we focus on? That’s a great question, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on this—what does it take to create a truly excellent design? Which aspects should we prioritize? And what is the most crucial element?

Jiang Min: First of all, you shouldn’t launch a project just for the sake of it. If you’re serious about starting a project, the design aspect isn’t just about focusing on a single point. In most startup scenarios, you can’t seem to get a handle on anything—you don’t have the right people around you: no one’s good at art, no one’s good at design, and you’re missing everything you need. That’s the reality—you won’t be able to access resources from major tech companies.

Take us, for example: we’ve done a great job with industrialization because our pipeline is more diversified, which gives us an edge in cost control and execution capabilities.

But when launching a project—for example, when we start a new one—the top priority for the design team is: What is the greatest strength of the person I’m working with?

You might find this strange, but going back to the principle I mentioned earlier—let him do what he’s good at. In this area, he needs to be at least number one; third place won’t cut it—if not first, then second. I don’t need him to be a jack-of-all-trades, but as long as he’s among the top one or two in this specific field, I’ll help fill in the gaps.

A single-host product must have a standout feature. You may encounter people who, once they identify any one of the standout features I just mentioned, take that feature to the extreme, refine it, and then focus on what they do best. I believe that with a single-host product, you can truly stand out from the crowd.

Ji Ling: People’s time is limited, and players’ time is limited too. Why would they choose your game out of so many others?

Most importantly, your work should leave him in awe. It could be the art that amazes him, or the gameplay—either is fine. And this sense of wonder needs to be something that’s easy to share; it should be something you can sum up in a single sentence, not something that takes forever to explain. Why do so-called “niche” works often get high ratings—like 9.9 or 10.0? Because if you start by bombarding him with a bunch of technical details and spend ages explaining exactly what’s so amazing about it, he might just lose interest.

Therefore, for a work to achieve both commercial and critical success, it must first be stunning, and second, that stunning quality must be shareable.

That wow factor could come from the visuals, gameplay, copywriting—any of those elements—or even the sound design. It could be anything, but it has to be taken to the extreme. I think the most important thing is finding an aspect that truly wows people and has the potential to go viral.

Sorry, but I’m going to use Lingze as an example. I don’t think there’s much of a technical difference between *Feathers of the Void* and *Black Myth*, but in terms of emotional impact, I always feel like *Black Myth*’s promotional videos and released content have a stronger emotional resonance. It evokes a sense of excitement and inspiration that runs deeper than the themes explored in *Feathers of the Void*. This is something worth thinking about—how can we create something that’s both stunning and widely shared, while also delivering a richer emotional experience?

Xu Yiran: I couldn’t agree more. For some time now, I’ve been promoting the “condensation theory” proposed by Professor Liang Ning—you have to find a single point that pierces the sky and breaks through the heavens.

Didn’t Jobs talk about the “wow factor”? You have to make users scream with delight—that’s the key. The remaining 60 points are enough; just make sure there are no major pitfalls—as long as everything stays above sea level, that’s fine. But you need to have a Himalayan peak that soars to the very heavens. That’s enough to make people scream with excitement and share it voluntarily. You won’t even need a publisher or spend money on traffic—you’ll have it all.

This is pretty crucial; you should have this figured out on the very first day of the project.Many people start by tackling the “sea level”—draining the entire ocean—without ever figuring out where their “peak” actually lies. Moreover, it’s crucial to identify where your producer’s own “peak” lies. Take *Burying the Flowers* as an example: tactical combat wasn’t your biggest “peak.” If you choose to pursue that direction, you won’t be able to make a splash. That’s the problem with the project planning phase. That’s why I always say that 99% of the budget is wasted on project planning.

07

The Impact of AI on the Gaming Industry

Xu Yiran: Many of the investors I know are now hesitant to invest in games; if they do invest, it’s in AI-powered games. AI is all the rage right now, and the LPs funding them are pushing for more AI investments, constantly touting how AI can cut costs and boost efficiency—claiming that what used to require 100 people can now be done by just 10.

Is AI really as effective as we imagine in reducing costs and improving efficiency? I’d also like to hear about your practical experiences. More importantly, I’d like to ask: does AI actually offer any intrinsic value in game design? Beyond simply cutting costs and boosting efficiency, what unique value can it bring to gameplay?

Ji Ling: We haven’t explored AI very much, but it will certainly change the creative process.

First of all, our game is an indie title. We have a small team, and we place a strong emphasis on human creativity to deliver a truly stunning experience. If we were to use AI in the final product, it would have a significant negative impact on our reputation as soon as players discovered it. Therefore, we will absolutely not use AI in our final product—at least not at this stage.

However, we have already begun using AI to assist in the creative process. Its purpose is not to reduce costs, but to increase efficiency.

For example, our artists use AI to find references when working on design layouts, illustration compositions, or character development. Game designers use AI to find inspiration—for instance, by asking the AI for design ideas or having it generate preliminary numerical values—primarily for reference purposes. For our company, AI is essentially a more powerful version of Baidu Baike.

How do I use AI in my copywriting? Basically, I have the AI do three things:

The first thing it does is come up with a few plot ideas when I’m stuck for inspiration, but I’d say 95% of the time I don’t even need them because the ones I come up with are better. When it comes to plot development, the AI isn’t very good.

Second, it quickly flags typos and performs proofreading. This AI can do that in an instant, so it has essentially replaced the testers who used to handle these tasks.

The third point has to do with creativity: AI is really good at writing poetry. Whether it’s composing poetry or coming up with names—tasks that rely heavily on accumulated big data but aren’t particularly creative in nature—it does a fantastic job, and the same goes for writing song lyrics. For tasks that you might not consider particularly inspired but that rely heavily on accumulated data, AI works very well.

For now, we’re just using it as a reference. As for the future of AI, I believe it will undoubtedly be a massive, revolutionary trend in the gaming industry.

For example, take *MiSide*, the game that was all the rage last year—the first VR game I ever played was *VR Girlfriend*. Just imagine how much more fun these two games would be if they incorporated AI.

If *Mita* incorporated AI, the character that breaks the fourth wall would truly feel like it’s out to hunt you down—the real-life player. With AI, this game would be terrifying and utterly captivating.

If “VR Girlfriend” were to incorporate AI, I think our current dating and marriage markets would get even worse, because a virtual wife could replace everything.Even horror games can incorporate AI—take *Escape*—and AI can be integrated into open-world systems like *Red Dead Redemption*, *Save the King*, and *GTA*. So I believe AI will be the next revolution in the gaming industry; it might even be the revolution of the next era.

Jiang Min: Ji Ling summarized two points: one is increased efficiency, and the other is a vast, advanced encyclopedia. That’s exactly how I feel as well.

In actual project operations, it hasn’t yet played a decisive role in transforming workflows, but it does eliminate some unnecessary positions and boosts efficiency. Ji Ling summarized a key point: it’s more like a fast-loading version of Baidu Baike—it’s very convenient and saves a lot of work, but it doesn’t replace people entirely. Furthermore, it allows many people to synchronize information quickly during the planning phase, which is where the efficiency gains come from.

Looking ahead to the future of AI in gaming, I believe that AI will only become a practical reality once it is deeply integrated into commercial game engines. If commercial engines incorporate AI workflows, AI won’t be a loose collection of isolated components—it will be truly integrated into your workflow. Everything from models and animations to various other elements will be incorporated into the engine’s workflow, driving real change. But that’s not yet the case.

If AI becomes deeply integrated into the business ecosystem, looking further ahead, we may enter an “era of self-publishing” in game development. But this raises a follow-up question: What should the big tech giants do? And what should we do?

If AI is integrated into the engine, it would be possible for a single person to quickly implement many components, and teams of three to five people might become the norm, greatly reducing bloat. So what would be the remaining competitive advantage of a company’s size?

Of course, we’re not there yet, and I don’t know if that will actually happen, but if it does, it will definitely mark the dawn of the self-media era for game development. I also think there probably won’t be as many platforms. I believe what Musk said: perhaps there won’t be any standalone apps—no video platforms or gaming platforms—but everything will be integrated into a single AI application, an all-in-one AI solution that has it all.

I heard Musk say this a while back, and I completely agree—that might very well be the case. But I don’t know if I’ll encounter a situation like that as I continue to grow.

When it comes to the application of AI in game design, there’s actually a paradox that arises once AGI emerges: it’s impossible for all games to become just one type of game, where everyone creates virtual characters and then interacts with them in various virtual ways or chats with them. There will certainly still be differences.

Conclusion

Xu Yiran: Aside from looking forward to each other’s upcoming secret projects, are there any upcoming domestic games you’re particularly optimistic about? Are there any international studios and their upcoming projects that you’re excited about? Finally, is there anything you’d like to say to our viewers and your peers in the gaming industry?

Ji Ling: When it comes to AAA-tier games, I’m definitely bullish on Lingze and Youke, because they already have the technical capabilities—it’s just a matter of what they want to do. As for the other AAA titles that have been announced recently, I’m particularly optimistic about *Shadow Blade Zero* and *Gu Jian*.

When it comes to indie games, there are actually many titles I’m optimistic about, but I’m definitely most bullish on our company’s products, because I believe we’re a very promising and unique indie game studio.

Looking ahead to the future of single-player games, I believe Chinese culture will continue to gain global recognition, and Chinese single-player games will increasingly find their place on the world stage. On the international front, alongside advancements in AI and technological innovation, we will witness a new technological revolution that will make gaming even more engaging. Games will increasingly feel like they are building a real world, and game developers will find themselves playing a role akin to that of a creator.

I think working in the gaming industry is a truly romantic, noble, and cool profession, so I hope everyone in the industry will hang in there. First and foremost, the most important thing is to survive. Once we’ve survived, we need to work together to build a strong cultural foundation and create great games.

Jiang Min: When it comes to several domestic game development teams, my views are similar to Ji Ling’s. I think teams like Youke and Lingyoufang are both quite good, including Ji Ling’s company.

Besides, Ji Ling is both young and talented, so I think he has a long career ahead of him. It’s great that he’s already producing such work at such an early stage.

Also, I think I might prefer the team behind *Fires of War and Kitchen Smoke* (Fire Baby Games)—they strike me as very creative.

When it comes to overseas companies, there are actually so many talented ones out there, and plenty that excel at industrial production. But my favorite is still From Software (FS).

Every new release from From Software really gives me a sense of major transformation. To be honest, every time they undergo a transformation and launch a new product—I feel like they—maybe it’s because of the *Elden Ring* project itself, or perhaps I’m just biased toward them—but their products never fail to leave a lasting impression on me.

I don’t think they’re just “talented” anymore—they’ve already reached the pinnacle of their field. And the fact that they keep pushing their limits is, in itself, truly remarkable.

Following the approach of many traditional companies, they should have played it safe and stuck to conventional practices, but they didn’t. Instead, they continue to push their boundaries and constantly challenge themselves. I think this has left a deep impression on our industry—and on me personally.

In fact, the same goes for Lingze and *The Late Ming Dynasty*—we are constantly challenging ourselves and pushing our boundaries. So far, we have never chosen the path that seemed easiest, but we have consistently chosen the one that allows us to surpass ourselves. That is why we remain steadfast in this belief, continuing to improve and push ourselves to new heights.

I’d like to echo what Ji Ling just said: what matters most for all teams right now is to build their products, stay afloat, and get noticed—that might actually be the most important thing. Because if the entire process is completed, it becomes even more significant. So I hope everyone can push their limits, stay true to themselves, and ultimately discover their true selves.