“Creators should enjoy the act of creation itself.” This sounds like a truism, but in the gaming industry, it seems few teams are actually able to do so.

On the one hand, this is because game development is often so challenging that it leaves developers overwhelmed—they’re either stumbling into pitfalls or on the verge of doing so. But more importantly, creating games with a meaningful message is a luxury; many in the gaming industry don’t even consider themselves creators, let alone enjoy the creative process.

The *The Hanged Woman* production team is one of those rare groups that truly “enjoys the creative process”—that was my most immediate impression after meeting producer Zong Qi and the core creative team twice at Pilot’s office.

This atmosphere is evident not only in the team’s morale but also in the efficiency of their collaboration. Although the team was built from scratch, there was virtually no internal friction during the development process; despite a lack of reusable resources, they completed most of the development work in about a year.

At the outset of the project, producer Zong Qi wrote a nearly 10,000-character project outline for the game in a single day. The game explores “the choices people make between their closest loved ones and themselves, and the tragedies that result from making the wrong choices.”Zong Qi described his state of mind at the time as somewhat strange: “When I started writing, it felt as though the story was already in my head—I was just jotting it down.”

Last November, the project team’s lead screenwriter watched a large number of videos and reviewed extensive literature on the Shaoxing Opera production *The Hanged Woman*, and discovered that the core of the story Zong Qi wanted to tell was remarkably consistent with that of this play.However, this play—performed for ghosts and deities—now faces many challenges in terms of its theatrical legacy: there is no complete script, and it relies entirely on oral tradition; the number of people capable of passing it down has dwindled significantly.

Image courtesy of a performance of the Shaoju opera *The Woman on the Gallows* (Golden Osmanthus Performance Award Finals)

On the one hand, the project team felt that the spiritual essence of the play *The Hanged Woman* aligned closely with the game; on the other hand, they hoped that once the game was released, it would help draw more attention to the play they loved. Therefore, they decided to name the game *The Hanged Woman*.

Team members come from all over the country, but since they all work in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang-Shanghai area, they share a keen interest in the local culture. They made two field trips to Shengzhou and Xinchang, pausing to observe the ancestral halls and opera stages of Jiangnan, and incorporated funeral customs from the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River—such as soul jars and jar coffins—into the game.

During a field trip, a deliberately chosen abandoned village

But the team is well aware that, beyond conveying the culture they love, providing players with a better experience is the most important aspect of the game. What *The Hanged Woman* truly aims to achieve is a form of expression that creates an intertextual connection with players.

In terms of gameplay, the game requires two-player co-op; there is no single-player mode, nor are there AI teammates.The team did debate whether to include a single-player experience, as it would lower the barrier to entry for players. However, they ultimately stuck with the two-player design because the vision they wanted to convey required genuine interaction between players—having two real people make their own choices and seeing those choices interconnect—an experience that AI teammates simply cannot replicate.

This design philosophy is also reflected in the puzzle-solving mechanics. The game makes extensive use of puzzles based on information asymmetry; a player cannot solve a puzzle by relying solely on their own clues—they must combine their clues with those of their teammates to find the solution.The design team has also worked to lower the learning curve as much as possible and increase the margin for error, focusing the challenge on thinking and communication rather than technical skill.

In previous tests, Zong Qi observed an interesting phenomenon: some players who approached the game with the mindset of “I’m a pro” actually got stuck frequently because the other player wasn’t very engaged—even when important clues were right in front of them, they didn’t take the initiative to point them out. In contrast, some players who were “not very skilled” communicated every detail, which allowed them to quickly identify patterns.

Interestingly, game design also has a reciprocal effect on teamwork.The game itself encourages putting oneself in others’ shoes: “What you see is different from what I see; you haven’t experienced my blackout, so you don’t know how dark it is for me.” Subtly, team members have also grown accustomed to viewing problems through this lens. When someone encounters a difficulty, others’ reaction isn’t to pass the buck or assign blame, but rather to ask, “Has it gone dark over there?”

The team’s motivation stems largely from a desire to express themselves. Most members view their work as personal creations rather than job assignments; they are willing to take responsibility for it and take pride in it. Zong Qi avoids putting pressure on the team with KPIs; the question he most often asks the planners is, “Do you think putting your name on this would reflect your professional competence?”

Without any benchmarks or relevant experience to draw upon, the team had to start almost from the very first line of code, with no reusable resources available. Development time for many features far exceeded expectations, yet no one suggested finding an off-the-shelf solution to copy.

Behind this creative space lies the support of Pilot’s founder, Yuan Jing (Justin). As a co-founder of Mutong Technology, he set two strategic directions after establishing Pilot: one focused on reimagining titles for the Steam market, and the other on mobile games that are more accessible and universal.

Zong Qi and Justin believe that when someone goes through the pain of creation and puts their heart and soul into expressing themselves, what they produce is bound to resonate with a segment of the world’s population. All they need to do is uncover those points of resonance and make them known to more people.By keeping costs under control, as long as they target a specific niche—even if that market is small—they can still turn a profit as long as people in that market are willing to pay for the content.

Recently, Game Teahouse sat down with Zong Qi at Pilot’s office to discuss the creative process behind *The Hanged Woman*. The following is the full text of the interview, which has been edited for readability.

01

How the Project Began: This story was already in my head; I just wrote it down.

Teahouse: Let’s talk about how this project got started.

Zong Qi: After leaving ByteDance, Justin said he wanted to focus on two areas: one centered on commercial games, and the other on games that allow creative developers to express themselves. I didn’t want to make mobile games anymore, so he suggested I try my hand at expressive games. So I spent a full 24 hours writing the very first draft of the story.

When writing the design outline, I defined it as a Chinese ghost story featuring two main characters—because it includes supernatural elements that transcend the limitations of the physical world, such as reincarnation, cause and effect, the cycle of rebirth, and the idea that evil deeds bring their own punishment, it leans more toward the realm of ghosts, spirits, and ghost stories.

Teahouse: You finished writing it in just one day—you must have been mulling it over for a long time beforehand, right?

Zong Qi: I wasn’t constantly thinking about it while I was awake, but it drew on a combination of my personal experiences and my reading. It’s a bit strange—when I started writing, it felt as though the story was already in my head, and I was just writing it down.

Teahouse: Does this have anything to do with your past experiences?

Zong Qi: It’s related. My family has practiced Taoism since I was a child, so when I set out to write a story like this, it was inevitably influenced by many past experiences—not just those from my family of origin, but also significant life events, interpersonal relationships, and experiences of both success and failure. These likely formed the framework of what the story ultimately sought to convey, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

Teahouse: Could you tell us more about your connection to Taoism?

Zong Qi: I don’t really want to label Taoism as something special. Taoist priests are often just ordinary people engaged in a unique profession and cultural heritage. What I discuss most with my master isn’t so much matters of gods, ghosts, or the occult, but rather: What is cause? What is effect?

My master once told me, “Look at that plum tree by the temple gate—it wasn’t there when I first arrived. Later, tourists tossed their leftover plum pits inside, and it grew from them.”If this temple weren’t here, tourists wouldn’t come, they wouldn’t toss the pits down, and there wouldn’t be a plum tree. Because of this temple and the tourists’ actions—which are the cause—the plum tree, as the result, came to be. But if you planted this plum tree, would it definitely bear fruit? Not necessarily.It might not bear fruit this year due to drought, lack of fertilizer, or excessive moisture. But if there were no temple and no plum tree, it certainly wouldn’t bear fruit.

So he said, “When you go down the mountain to make a game, take this mindset with you—if you don’t do it, it definitely won’t happen; the game won’t sell well, and no one will ever know who you are. But if you do make it, will it definitely sell well? Not necessarily.”

Sow the seeds, and don’t worry about the results. I’ll do my best to sow good seeds and avoid sowing bad ones; as for whether they bear fruit, that’s often beyond your control. So if I had to point to the influence of Taoism, it would probably be a different way of looking at things.

Teahouse: How did you come up with the title *The Hanged Woman*?

Zong Qi: Last November, we settled on the traditional Chinese opera theme for the game—our team watched a lot of videos and read a lot of materials about *The Hanged Woman*, and we felt that the core of the story I wanted to tell was very much in line with the core of that play.

We previously spoke with instructors from the Shaoxing Opera Troupe, who told us that the play *The Hanged Woman* is currently facing great difficulties in being passed down. There are very few people carrying on the tradition, and there is no complete script—it is all passed down orally, with very few written records.

Although Shaoxing Mulian Opera was included in Zhejiang Province’s Intangible Cultural Heritage Protection List many years ago, there are still many practical challenges to passing down *The Woman on the Gallows* today. We wonder: if we were to call it *The Woman on the Gallows*, might that help these plays we love gain more attention?

Teahouse: It seems like you guys really emphasize cultural accuracy.

Zong Qi: That’s right. When you first walked in and saw the bookshelves over there, you’d notice that almost all of them are related to this project—books on Daoism, Chinese opera, ancient Chinese witchcraft, and even religious customs from the Shang and Zhou dynasties, before the Five Bushels of Rice Sect emerged. It’s all part of a continuous tradition.

The vast amount of text that appears in the game—including many distinctive scene elements and props—all have their origins.

Teahouse: Did anything interesting come up during your research?

Zong Qi: We went on location scouting trips twice. The first time, it was the art director, the screenwriter, and me; the second time, it was the producer, the art director, and the screenwriter. We visited Shengzhou and Xinchang—the area around Chongren Ancient Town—which are both in Shaoxing.

Photos from the Project Team's Field Trip

Over there, there are very well-preserved ancient Shaoxing buildings, including ancestral halls where locals still go to pay their respects—the spirit tablets of their ancestors are enshrined inside.There are many opera stages there—in addition to the Shuixie Opera Stage mentioned by Lu Xun, every ancestral hall has its own stage. In the past, the finest performances were always staged for the ancestors to watch, right there on these private stages.

While locals’ reverence for their clan halls may have waned somewhat today, it was extremely strong in ancient times. Families would spare no expense on the finest items and materials for their clan halls, even when they were too frugal to use them in their own homes. In the past, you might have seen some households that were run-down and dilapidated, yet their clan halls were always gilded.

Teahouse: How will the cultural research elements be incorporated into the gameplay?

Zong Qi: Our gameplay focuses primarily on puzzle-solving. In abstract terms, a puzzle game can be summarized as follows: you use your thinking to piece together various clues to arrive at an answer, and then enter that answer to receive feedback. While the process may vary in countless ways, the core principle remains the same. What we can change are the clues themselves, the methods for obtaining them, and the ways in which the answer is ultimately derived and submitted.

For example, let’s say you see a jigsaw puzzle on the wall and have a general idea of what the picture is. By trying to put the puzzle back together and entering the answer, the door opens. This is the simplest kind of puzzle.

What should we do? First, the origin of this painting must be well-documented; second, the mechanism is unlikely to be a simple puzzle, because in ancient China, embedded geometric mechanisms were primarily used in specialized fields—such as Qimen Dunjia, secret passages, intricate locks, and unique artisanal crafts—and are not widely known to people today.

When we design games, we hope to incorporate elements related to local folklore into the game design—such as the Tangram, the Nine-Square Puzzle (Huarong Dao), and the art of geomancy in Taoism. Of course, these are just a few examples; the actual process is somewhat more complex.

So the part where our gameplay and culture come together lies in the clues themselves—and in the process of thinking through them and submitting your answers.

02

Co-op Experience: We Want to Create a Relationship of Intertextuality Between Our Expression and the Players

Teahouse: How were the rules decided?

Zong Qi: I’m in the habit of not thinking about what kind of mechanics to implement, but rather focusing first on what kind of experience players will have after playing the game.

The experience I wanted to create at the time was this: two players might start out as just friends, but as they progress through the first half of the game, they gradually develop a sense of rapport and trust, and their relationship deepens.After the middle section, they suddenly realize that the game isn’t just about cooperation—there are also some difficult choices to make, where my decisions might affect you. At this point, they face the question: Should we continue to cooperate? Should we be completely open with each other? And toward the end of the game, the players’ experience takes another major turn.

Just like when we first watched *EVA* as kids, at first you think it’s just a热血 mecha series for teens, but halfway through you realize it’s exploring philosophy and religion, and by the end, you realize it’s about the flaws of human nature.

We wanted to create a similar experience: at first, you think it’s just a cooperative game where everyone plays pranks on each other, but halfway through, you realize that some choices are incredibly important and require great caution—and you can’t even tell your teammates about some of them—until you finally make the real decision.I want to give players an experience that combines both cooperation and strategic competition. We give players the opportunity to backstab each other, but we also hope they won’t do that.

Teahouse: Why Does It Have to Be a Two-Player Co-op Game?

Zong Qi: At its core, this game is about the choices people make between their loved ones and themselves—and the tragedies that result from making the wrong choices.

We did struggle with whether to incorporate a single-player experience to lower the barrier to entry for players. But ultimately, what we want to convey is an interactive relationship with the player—it’s not just a matter of me giving you a story and you accepting it.We want players to be able to “resist this story”—you don’t have to be morally blackmailed by the characters in the story, you don’t have to follow what the characters are “supposed” to do, and you can make your own choices.

Rather than having a player interact with an NPC or AI in a way we’ve predetermined, it’s better to let two people make their own choices and have those choices influence each other—that creates a much better experience. So we ultimately decided not to include a single-player mode.

You play a horror game with a friend, and along the way, you may trust each other—or you may not. The interactions between the two of you are the parts of the story we want players to help fill in. Players vary greatly, so when they help me tell this story, the resulting narrative might be completely different.

Teahouse: During testing, did you notice players coming up with different stories?

Zong Qi: We’ve observed some interesting changes resulting from the different styles of the game. Since this is a cooperative game, one player can’t solve the puzzle by relying on their own clues alone; they have to combine them with the other player’s clues, and both players must work together to solve it.

For example, in the test scenario we observed, when Player A approached the game with the mindset of “I’m a pro—just listen to me,” they actually struggled and kept getting stuck on a level.Player B might say, “Tell me what to do, and I’ll follow your lead.” But in reality, there’s a crucial clue right in front of them; Player B doesn’t feel the need to point it out to their partner, so the other player simply can’t seem to find it.

On the other hand, some players are really cute—they’ll say, “I’m not very good at this game, so I’ll just tell you everything I see,” and describe every single detail of what they see. The other player listens with an open mind and describes everything they see as well, and they end up figuring out the pattern pretty quickly.

So you'll find that differences in a player's gaming style can actually affect how difficult they find the puzzles.

Teahouse: In cooperative games for two players, differences in players’ experience levels can easily lead to a situation where “the stronger player takes the lead, while the weaker player holds the team back.”

Zong Qi: I think in a good cooperative game, the stronger players shouldn’t have to carry the weaker ones—otherwise, there’s no point in playing cooperatively.

The game shouldn't force players to get stuck on certain mechanics. Most of the "Why are you so bad? Why can't you jump up there?" moments actually stem from the game's extremely low margin for error. Some players know they "need to jump onto the platform, but I just can't make it."

That’s why our project design aims to lower the learning curve as much as possible—to increase the margin for error. It’s not about reducing the number of actions, but rather making the margin for error more forgiving, so that players feel as much as possible: “Oh, I know what to do, and I can do it.”

The bigger challenge is: How do I figure out what to do? How do I communicate with my friends about what to do? Rather than “I already know what to do, but I just can’t seem to get it done”—that’s a terrible experience, and it’s the source of most complaints.

Teahouse: I heard from your lead writer that you plan to further pursue close collaboration between concept design and gameplay in the future.

Zong Qi: Right. With the second game, we want to address some of the shortcomings of the first one—specifically, the lack of a tight integration between gameplay and narrative. For the first game, since the team was still coming together, we developed the story first and the gameplay later, which often led to conflicts during the later stages of design that required compromises.

The ideal approach is to develop gameplay concepts in tandem with the refinement of the storyline, with game designers participating in the narrative creation—discussing chapter-specific gameplay design and player flow—rather than writing the story first and then adapting it into a game.

For example: The “dark corridor” in the narrative concept might take only half a minute, but the gameplay experience requires 20 minutes.In a traditional approach, those 20 minutes would lack narrative exploration and become a pure gameplay level. We want players to experience narrative content at all times. Of course, the existing gameplay also has value—even without a predetermined storyline, interactions between players will naturally give rise to stories.

Teahouse: Isn’t this kind of deep coupling easier to achieve in small teams? Because large companies tend to operate in a modular fashion.

Zong Qi: In a large team, there might be more than a dozen people working on narrative and level design combined, making it difficult to exchange ideas constantly. Our team is small, so we can quickly align our ideas—that’s the advantage of a small team. However, large teams often have more experience developing narrative-driven products and more mature workflows; there are pros and cons to both.

03

Underlying Motivation: To put your name on what you create

Teahouse: How was the team put together?

Zong Qi: Our direction doesn’t place high demands on development cycles or project scale, so we can release small-scale indie titles on our own. Justin thinks this is a great opportunity to experiment on a very small scale, and then we’ll start hiring.

The team had basically never worked together before; they were all recruited one by one from different locations and hardly knew each other. Perhaps one or two of the artists had met before, but they had never actually worked on the same project—so it was essentially a clean slate. We started by recruiting the lead writer, lead artist, lead programmer, and lead designer, and then expanded the team from there.

This is the first time any of us have worked on a project that focuses on storytelling, and we never set out to create a hit.The very first question I was asked in my interview was basically: “Are you interested in this project? Do you want to tell a story like this? Do you want to see player feedback? If you’re interested, let’s talk further; if you’re not interested and just want a job, this isn’t the right fit for you.” That’s because the rationale behind launching a narrative-driven project differs from that of commercial games—no one can be certain how much revenue it will ultimately generate.

So the team is mostly made up of people who are interested in the story and want to try making something like this—regardless of whether it turns out well or not—and who want to see actual feedback from players. What we’re really curious about is this: when players play a horror- or narrative-driven game, do they truly immerse themselves in the character’s perspective and make choices accordingly, or do they simply make choices as gamers to win the game?

Teahouse: Do you think a team needs a sense of urgency? That’s usually a very important source of motivation.

Zong Qi: I don’t think our motivation stems from fear or pressure. What drives our team is this: I want to put my name on what we create, I want to take responsibility for it, and I take pride in it. If we can produce something better at a lower cost and with greater efficiency than others, we’ll be very proud.

The entire team is driven by this mindset. More often than not, we’ll say, “No, this crosses my line as a designer—I can’t go along with this,” rather than, “Players will accept it, so let’s just go with it.” We tend to ask ourselves: Given our limited resources, how can we create something that satisfies me personally—something I’d be proud to put my name on?

This is what drives us to develop features, assets, or specific gameplay mechanics faster and better. At big tech companies, bosses are always saying, “If you don’t do a good job, we’ll cancel your project”—which is actually a form of fear-based motivation.

But here, it’s the exact opposite. What I say most often to the game designer is, “Do you think putting your name on this will reflect your professional expertise?” He’ll feel a bit embarrassed and say, “I’ll make some more changes.” I’ll ask the artist, “What do you want to express in the game? Does it reflect your aesthetic sensibilities?”

If this is a piece of work you’ve put your best effort into and are willing to put your name on, then it’s good. That’s our value.

Teahouse: Does this situation have anything to do with having someone backing you up?

Zong Qi: It might sound a bit easy for me to say, since we have Justin backing us up. But even without Justin, and without our current team size and office facilities, I’d still be working from home with three or four teammates, and it might take three to four years to build a product like this.

But even so, in that situation, what drives everyone forward isn’t the pressure of “if the project doesn’t work out, you’ll have to find a job”—it’s this: Are you working on a story you want to tell, a gameplay experience you want to create, or a style you want to showcase?Do you want to put your name on this project? To release it on Steam so everyone knows you made it—is that something you want to do?

Teahouse: Has the team ever had an argument?

Zong Qi: We do argue, but it’s mostly about the issue at hand—we don’t argue over motives or attitudes.

This is also related to the game we’re making—our game is based on information asymmetry and puzzle-solving, and many of its design elements revolve around the idea that “what you see is different from what I see; my room is very dark, and since you haven’t experienced my darkness, you don’t know just how dark it is.”

But once we’ve solved the puzzle, the two players have the opportunity to take a look at each other’s spaces. We also hope this model will have a positive impact on the team—encouraging everyone to adopt the mindset: “You’re having a hard time today; let me see what’s causing your difficulty.”

Once such a subconscious thought or suggestion takes hold, your first reaction when you encounter a problem won’t be to shift the blame or point fingers, but rather to ask, “Did their system crash?” With this kind of suggestion in mind, the thought of shifting the blame naturally disappears, and without that, it’s hard for an argument to break out.

Teahouse: You guys seem to be working pretty fast, don't you?

Zong Qi: We're already behind schedule. We originally expected to be live by now.

Teahouse: When did you get the project approved?

Zong Qi: The company was founded this time last year.

Teahouse: Just one year—was the plan back then to launch within a year?

Zong Qi: Right. At the time, we roughly estimated the scope of the entire release and figured it would take about a year. But since this was our first time doing this, we had to start almost from the very first line of code, with nothing we could reuse. Many features we initially thought would be easy to implement actually took 1.5 times as long—or even longer—to achieve the results we were satisfied with.

Development is moving very quickly now that all the infrastructure and core gameplay mechanics are complete; all that’s left is to build out the content. However, it took us much longer than expected to develop all the core components and tools to a level we were relatively satisfied with.

In addition, there are many difficult trade-offs to make. Take picking up items, for example: in a high-quality game, there needs to be an animation for picking up an item. But to do it right—so that it looks smooth no matter where the item is placed—we might need to create as many as 20 different animation sets, which we likely can’t afford to develop given our current budget.So we have to assess: Is this cost-effective? Is it really necessary? In the end, we decided against implementing physical animations—we’ll just have the items disappear.

Decisions like these also take up a lot of time. At first, we might have thought this was simple—in past projects or teams, there were ready-made components for these things, but now there aren’t any. Yet these are all unavoidable.

04

Market Expectations: To satisfy those who resonate with it

Tea House: Generally, when a project is approved, there needs to be a business forecast. If you can’t find comparable examples, it seems difficult to estimate the market size. How do you approach this?

Zong Qi: That’s what makes Justin different from other teams. In the past, when I launched projects at major companies, producers had to consider many metrics—estimated costs, market size, sales figures, and so on—and projects could only be approved if backed by strategic research or distribution data. That’s the approach to launching commercial products.

When it comes to PC game development here at Pilot, it’s not that we don’t consider these factors—we do—but we only do so to get a general sense of the situation; we don’t make very rigorous projections. What we value most is: What are you trying to express? Is that expression itself new and interesting? Is it something I haven’t seen very often?

This might be Justin’s philosophy—we’re not competing against rivals on the racetrack; instead, we’re creating something that reflects who we are, that we’re committed to doing well, and that we’ll enjoy ourselves. Then we’ll see how much revenue it might generate, and once we have a revenue forecast, we’ll work backward to determine how much we’re willing to spend.

So the logic is actually a bit reversed. First comes the creative expression; then, based on that expression, we assess its potential for future commercialization, and from there, we work backward to determine how much we can afford to spend. The decision of whether to proceed is initially based on whether the expression is valuable, interesting, unique, or innovative.

The only limit to market size is how much you’re willing to spend. For example, if a game is projected to sell 500,000 copies and generate 25 million in revenue, but the project requires 100 million, that’s definitely not feasible.

Teahouse: How much leeway will he give you? When you’re creating something new, the first attempt is likely to come with a learning curve.

Zong Qi: Justin told me that if we want to make a sequel, as long as we have something we want to express and are willing to put in the effort to convey it, that wouldn’t be a problem for him.

What I fear most is that the team will lose motivation and think, “I don’t have anything left to express—can we just find someone to copy this?” That’s the worst-case scenario.

Justin and I firmly believe that when someone goes through the pain of creation and pours a great deal of energy into creating and expressing something, it will inevitably resonate with some—or even a large portion—of the world.All we have to do is uncover that point of resonance and make more people aware of it—then it will naturally lead to commercial success. We don’t believe that someone who creates with passion and endures the pain of the creative process would end up with a work that no one in the world likes.

So for Justin, the litmus test is this: Do you still feel passionate about this? Are you willing to spend another year creating a new work based on what you want to express, even though the financial return is uncertain?

Our PC studio’s goal isn’t to create a blockbuster hit. Many works that focus on storytelling are meant to resonate with a specific audience. We just need to ensure that the revenue from that audience covers our development costs—it’s a simple yet not-so-simple math problem.

We’re not blindly expanding our scale or raising sales projections; rather, we want to know: Where are the people who appreciate our message? Have we conveyed something that resonates with them? And are our costs reasonable in this process? These are the key points we focus on.

So, to answer your question: as long as these three characteristics remain, trial and error is allowed.

Teahouse: Do you have any expectations regarding accumulation?

Zong Qi: We hope this product will lay a solid foundation for our next title in terms of technology, gameplay, and cost control.

From a technical perspective, the first priority is an online solution. Next, we need to ensure that the infrastructure we’ve developed based on UE can maintain strong robustness and stability even with a large user base.

The gameplay has already been fairly well-validated during the demo testing phase. In a co-op game like ours, where the two players cannot see each other for part of the time but work together to solve puzzles, it offers a positive, fun experience that fosters player interaction.

It turns out that at least some players really enjoy it. Of course, there are also those who don't like it, since this isn't a mainstream game genre.

Our current plan is to develop at least three games in the future. In the next installment, we’ll build on the strengths of the previous one and address its shortcomings. The art, gameplay, story, and technical stability will definitely be better than in the previous game.

Teahouse: Do you have any regrets about this work at the moment?

Zong Qi: I feel that this version didn’t give the screenwriter enough time to flesh out the overall narrative structure. Our story is a bit too straightforward and lacks the plot twists you’d expect from a mystery game. The story itself is fine, but it lacks those twists.

Traces of Discussions Between the Screenwriter and the Game Designer Regarding the Next Title

Another issue is that, in terms of the game’s overall animation and character movements, I don’t think they’re particularly outstanding. For example, as I mentioned earlier, we cut some animations that we originally thought should be included—and as a result, the characters don’t seem quite as lively.

Then there’s the gameplay. I don’t think there’s anything to be disappointed about in terms of gameplay, but the second installment will definitely be a bit more fun. That’s because, for this game, we were hesitant to adopt some more radical technologies and designs; we took a relatively conservative approach to many of the fundamentals, and some gameplay elements couldn’t be fully realized, so we didn’t reach the full potential of our design capabilities.

Teahouse: What do you think of the buyout business model?

Zong Qi: I think the buyout model is a relatively manageable business model. As I just mentioned, by analyzing the content, you can roughly estimate how much of the market share it will capture in the future, and then, conversely, say, “Okay, I’ll set a relatively conservative budget.”

This simple and transparent consumption and cost model is highly conducive to small teams creating works that express their individuality. Unlike free-to-play games, where it’s a winner-takes-all scenario—where you have to reach 1 million or 10 million DAU just to break even—You just need to tap into a niche market—even if it’s not mainstream. Although the audience may be small, if they’re willing to pay for your creative expression, you can generate revenue.

As long as your estimates aren’t too far off—and you can get a sense of this market early on—the costs will definitely be manageable. The problem, however, is that the practice of purchasing games outright is still very much a niche phenomenon compared to the overall gaming market.

So right now, it’s difficult—except for those rare, cross-genre blockbusters—to say that we can develop a domestic AAA title and still guarantee a return on investment. Small teams and small-scale projects can sustain creative work, but as soon as you try to scale up, you’ll face a lot of challenges.

But I don’t think this will happen overnight.The buy-to-play model will eventually be accepted by the general public, because the trend is clearly on the rise. People naturally want to experience things they haven’t experienced before—it’s human nature. Moreover, once players pay for a buy-to-play game and have a great experience, they’ve already crossed that threshold. So the number of such players will only continue to grow; this is a gradual process that won’t reverse.

Teahouse: However, some people say that the buyout model is an outdated business model.

Zong Qi: If you’re creating a niche work with a distinctive style—regardless of its quality—the question isn’t whether the buyout model offers any opportunities; rather, it’s one of the few options you have. Unless people stop buying this kind of work altogether—but I can’t imagine a future like that.