"The Roar of the Tides" touched the softest part of my heart.

(Note: This article contains numerous spoilers. We recommend reading it after you've played through Version 3.1.)

What Makes for Good Game Narrative?

As the saying goes, there is no single “best” in literature; it seems that what one person finds to be a masterpiece, another may find to be utter rubbish. As someone who works with words—albeit only part-time—I know all too well just how polarizing the reception of a single article can be.

So, does that mean “excellence” is a destination that all screenwriters, editors, and authors can never reach—a place they can only yearn for?

At least, that's not the case in the gaming industry.

Media scholar Janet Murray noted in her book *Hamlet on the Holographic Deck* that, unlike traditional literature, which relies on linear narratives, digital media such as video games allow users to influence the course of the story through choices and exploration, thereby creating participatory narratives.

Following this line of thought, we might say that good game storytelling must have a clear and distinct guiding principle: the ability to transform players from observers into participants.

This is determined by the game's interactive nature.

So, if we further narrow this definition to product formats that “center on characters,” we can add the following: a narrative that enables players to form genuine emotional bonds with characters is a good narrative.

"Mingchao" has successfully presented such "great stories" on numerous occasions.

If you take a close look at each version of *The Roar of the Tide*, you’ll find that the narrative always revolves around a key theme that sums up that version—for example, “broken promises” for Florlo and “forgetting” for Yuno. The 3.1 version of *The Roar of the Tide*, on the other hand, is all about “farewells.”

01

A Long Farewell

When players entered 3.0 Laheluo and traversed the ethereal space, they once encountered a hint of pink. This “first encounter” was truly breathtaking: the void-like space, the sea of stars stretching endlessly, stars streaking across the dark canvas—you, shrouded in darkness, and she, radiant—the stark contrast created a powerful visual impact.

In fact, even just this one clip generated quite a bit of buzz in the community at the time.

At that time, the players—or rather, the Wanderers—did not know the true identity of this graceful figure floating in the air; however, the familiarity she displayed toward the Wanderers, combined with the fact that the Wanderers had once walked through Lahelo—a plot point established in Suibo City prior to Version 3.0—*Tales of the Abyss* successfully established a large-scale narrative framework.

Jilahai Luo, as the Land of the Past, is a place where encounters point to the mist-shrouded past of the wanderers.

After the player meets Linnae Morning and resolves emergencies such as the Sandworm Crisis and the Falling Sun, during a “history class,” just as the Wanderer’s mind wanders, that familiar shade of pink reappears before their eyes.

She told the Wanderer that her name was Amis and that she, like you, belonged to the Labelle Division.

Through character profiles of Principal Losera and others, as well as Amis’s own narration, *The Roaring Tide* reveals part of this young girl’s true nature:She was once a Tunnel-walker candidate and is now a Tunnel-walker Resonator, but her physical body was long ago destroyed during overclocking. What stands before you is merely a wisp of a “remnant soul” attached to the Tunnel-walker core—an “electronic ghost” wandering the world, visible only to the Drifters.

To others, the player’s casual chatter from her recent class sounded like a bit of strange muttering to herself, but the humor sprinkled throughout helped slightly lighten the heavy, tense atmosphere of the opening story in 3.1.

Before setting out on her journey to find the Sun Spirit and return the furnace core, Amis makes a first impression on players as a girl who is perhaps a bit too cheerful—a radiant smile, as bright as the sunlight streaming through the window, is always etched on her lips,and her youthful vitality always comes rushing toward you along with her light, deer-like steps, carrying the scent of spring.

But sometimes, her casual remarks are tinged with a faint sense of melancholy. For example, when she talks about the sacrifices she once made, her reasoning is, “If I hadn’t done it, many people would have died,” and she adds at the end, “It feels great to save the world.”which felt a bit forced and contrived, as if she were trying to convince herself.

This feeling was confirmed in later episodes. After setting foot on the Roy Icefield, the Wanderer, through the power of the Sun Spirit, learned about Amis and his own past. Many years ago, lost in the blizzard on the icefield,Amis had fallen into a lake and was rescued by the Wanderer of the past, and the two lived together for quite some time.

As a child, Amis received the most tender care from the Wanderer, and the Wanderer, in turn, was able to let down his guard around Amis and reveal his inner vulnerability.

This scene vividly illustrates the burden of “saving the world” that weighs on the wanderer, reveals that he or she is an outsider to this world, and at the same time, lays bare his or her humanity.

Over the course of an immeasurably long time, faced with the "Ming-style" phenomena originating from beyond the heavens and from Solaris itself, even the Drifter would feel homesick and grow weary; yet all along, this perfectly human sentiment has been suppressed by a somewhat obsessive instrumental rationality.

Perhaps for many people, both in the past and in the present, the wanderer is a savior walking among us—rational and strong, always willing to sacrifice everything to save others. Even when confronted with past mistakes, they never succumb to melancholy or confusion. As the saying goes, “Righteousness can even overcome evil.”

But in the little cottage by Jian Lake, the Wanderer showed Amis a softer side; after all, he or she is human, too, and has his or her own pain.

Under this humble roof, a child who had lost his parents at a young age and a Savior who was all alone found comfort and support in each other, becoming a family in every sense of the word.

In my view, this scene by the shores of Jian Lake is the most important part of the entire March 1st story; it explains the connection between Amis and the Wanderer in the past and clearly identifies the source of Amis’s values regarding “saving others.”

At the same time, elements of humanity are further woven into the Wanderer’s divinity, while also revealing subtle, underlying clues that shed light on the greatest mystery of the *Roaring Tide* narrative: the Wanderer’s origins.

At this point, I thought the narrative tension in Chapter 3.1 had peaked, since most of the story’s plot threads had already been resolved, and what followed was the typical “hero’s journey” narrative: finding the Tunnelers, returning the furnace core, defeating Singlem, and a happy ending.

But *The Roar of the Tide* clearly didn't turn out the way I expected.

What struck me as strange at first was how unnatural Amis seemed.

Whenever the mysterious machine Singgram appeared on the way to the Tunnelers' location, Amis would have a stress reaction. Given the earlier events at the Lake Cottage, I initially thought this was due to Amis's protective instincts toward the Drifters, since Singgram disrupts the stability of the Drifters' frequency.

However, Amis’s behavior clearly went beyond that of a typical guardian, revealing an intense desire to attack and a certain level of obsession. Moreover, when we joined forces with Amis and ultimately defeated Singlem, we discovered that beneath the shattered body lay a face identical to that of the Drifter.

This is precisely what Amis has been hiding. Because once, overclocking had transported her to a higher dimension, where she discovered that the so-called “hometown”—which was supposed to hear the wanderers’ desires—didn’t care about the wish of her only remaining family member to “go back and take a look.”

As a result, she felt sorrow for the plight of the wanderers and anger toward “them”—those who turned a blind eye to the wanderers’ suffering. This sense of resentment, sorrow, and pain was misinterpreted and magnified under the rules of the virtual realm, and ultimately transformed into Singlem, a tangible entity embodying the wanderers’ desire to “return home.”

Amis, who knew all of this, saw her protective instinct toward the Wanderer take on a more intense form; she tried to shield the Wanderer from the truth, unsure whether the Wanderer could face the reality that he would never be able to return home.

In the relationship they had once built, Amis was the child and the Drifter was the parent. But now, the child’s protection of the parent outweighs that of the parent.

In a psychological context, this phenomenon is known as role-reversed attachment, in which the child assumes a parental role, taking on the caregiver’s responsibilities and viewing the adult’s suffering as something they must handle alone.

Amis’s character arc continues to unfold here; the brighter and more cheerful she appeared to players before, the more it seemed as though she was using laughter to mask her underlying anxiety.As for Amis, she does not want the Wanderers to know Singlem’s true origins, because that would mean they would have to confront their own deepest vulnerabilities—and she believes it is her responsibility to deal with them.

Just as the Wanderer had once saved and protected her, she now made protecting the Wanderer her top priority in life.

However, concern can cloud judgment, and Ames likewise overlooked the Wanderer’s own self-awareness. Although *The Tides of Sound* never specifies exactly how long the Wanderer has been wandering the lands of Solaris, through the portrayal of memories, it reveals the shared motivations driving both the Wanderer of the past and the present.Perhaps the initial journey from a higher dimension to Solaris was a mission bestowed by “home,” but through encounters with countless beings on Solaris, what now drives the Wanderer forward is the act of salvation itself.

There has never been a savior; human happiness depends entirely on people themselves.

From this point on, Amis’s character arc took a real turn. In the past, she couldn’t understand why the Wanderer would choose to endure loneliness—or even leave that little cottage by Jian Lake to save the world.

Now that the truth has come to light, she has come to understand the true meaning of this so-called "rescue," and in doing so, she has also realized that her family is stronger than she ever imagined.

More importantly, she finally reached the spot where the Wanderer had once stood. The Wanderer had told her, “Those with the power must fulfill their destiny to save others,” but had not revealed the motive behind that salvation—which was, in fact, a love that came from the heart: a love for the world and for every single person in it.

That phrase—“It feels great to save the world”—which once seemed far-fetched, is no longer just self-reassurance.

However, she had also secretly made up her mind.

After returning to the academy and briefly celebrating her youth once more as a student and as the academy’s idol, “Flying Snowflake,” Amis chose to leave the Drifters.Today, she is a true Tunnel Resonator, possessing the power of a Tunnel, while her form as an electronic phantom shields her from the influence of the Void, allowing her to enter that void, travel backward along the threads of spacetime echoes, and return to the nodes that once needed to be repaired.

That was when Gao Weiming’s Aleph-1 attempted to pass through the tunnel gate to reach Solaris’s distant past; at that time, the Tunnelers successfully repelled it, and the key to their success was Amis, who had come from the future. Amis’s departure was a necessary closure for the timeline to endure—one step less would cause it to fracture, and one step more would render it impossible.

The price for letting the present continue is nothing more than a young girl. Of course, this price is too heavy for the Wanderer to bear, so he or she must stop Amis.

And so, the story returns to Jianhu Lake on the ice plain—a place that seems to be a singularity on the timeline, where the fates of the two characters intertwine and become inseparable.

As the Drifter leaped into the lake, attempting to grab the present-day Ames,the young Amis of the past, clutching the only memento left by her parents, lost her footing and fell into the lake. Here, time and space converged: the present-day Wanderer cradled the young Amis, while the Wanderer of the past pulled her from the lake, and the amulet that had slipped from that Amis’s mouth now remains in our hands.

Yet the one we wanted to stop has already reached her promised land.

At this point, the narrative of 3.1 has quietly come full circle, even leading players to realize that the fleeting glimpse at the beginning of 3.0 was not a first encounter, but a “reunion” whose significance was only understood later.

The rescue at Jian Lake, encounters from the past, the passing down of values, the remnants of a soul after overclocking, and the flashbacks within the void—these seemingly scattered events now interlock, forming a chain of causality so self-consistent it borders on cruelty.This Möbius strip has neither a beginning nor an end; Amis and the Drifter, each possessing a different amount of information, appear at every point in time, ultimately heading toward the same conclusion.

The key point is that, at the end of the first half of Episode 3.1, Kuro still hasn’t provided the so-called sense of relief and closure typical of standard second-run narratives.

Amis vanished, leaving behind only an empty shell—the shell in the present, the soul in the past. Her former smile was frozen in a single frame that could never be played again.

But even though her soul was only a fragment, the girl could still sense your pain. She reached out her hand and, just as she had done countless times before, gently brushed your nose, saying, “Don’t be sad.”

Hope and despair coexist, giving rise to a sense of unresolved grief that comes to an abrupt end. The more players understand this chain of causality, the more they realize that Amis’s departure was not a choice between two options, but fate itself. And the more they understand that there was no other choice, the harder it becomes to use any farewell to offset the permanent parting in that moment.

After completing the first half of 3.1, you’ll realize that, ever since your first encounter with Amis, your story with her has felt like one long farewell. At the whim of fate, those who cherish one another can ultimately only accompany each other for a brief stretch of the journey.

3.1 What ultimately remains with the player is not a sense of separation in the traditional sense, but rather a void that is harder to come to terms with—like a fishbone stuck in the throat.

In the final scene, you sit beside Amis. The sunlight in the distance is just right, and Star Torch Academy looks the same as always—but only you know that everything in Lahelo today is built upon the sacrifice of that young girl.

And so, whether they were players watching on screen or the Wanderers sitting beside Amis, they all silently resolved to bring her back—no matter how long it took, no matter what they had to face.

“Leaving would mean giving up that chance—however slim it may be—that still exists. Who can say for certain what the future holds? So should we stay, surrounded by the instruments and objects we’ve touched together, breathing the air she once breathed?”

In what name? Do I hope she’ll return? I’ve lost all hope, yet a sliver of expectation still burns within me—it’s the last thing she left me. What lies ahead for me—fulfillment, mockery, or hardship? I cannot say, but I firmly believe that cruel miracles will continue to unfold.”

— Lime, *Solaris*, Episode 14

02

Driven by Passion, Committed to Quality

But let's get back to the game itself.

In fact, in terms of narrative, the most commendable aspect of 3.1 is how Kuro deeply integrated character development with the structure of the main storyline.

Essentially, Amis is not merely a character designed to showcase the protagonist; she is, on the one hand, the spark that sheds light on the Wanderer’s mysterious origins; on the other, a mirror through which players can understand his weariness and homesickness; and, above all, the anchor that holds the cycle of cause and effect together.

Thanks to this intricate narrative identity design, Version 3.1 of *Tide of Voices* no longer relies heavily on dialogue to evoke players’ emotions. The information gaps, relational dynamics, and twists of fate woven throughout the narrative naturally resonate with players, allowing emotions to flow organically from the narrative structure itself.

For a long time, mobile games have relied on storylines as a space to showcase characters, with characters serving as vessels for players’ emotional investment—and those emotions ultimately becoming the primary motivation for in-game gacha spending.This model is not inherently flawed. On the contrary, centering content around characters—continuously fostering a sense of companionship and connection to boost retention and engagement, and then using gacha pools to close the commercial loop—is a standard strategy that has been proven effective countless times in the industry.

The problem, however, is that once the plot’s sole purpose is to showcase the characters, it easily devolves into formulaic writing—text that seems to convey some emotion but lacks depth; the more you write, the more the characters come to resemble commodities to be consumed.

"Tide of Voices" 3.1, however, delves into a deeper level of relationship-building. Amis's story has begun to explore the kinds of connections that can be forged between characters, player avatars, and the players themselves—and the sacrifices they are willing to make together.

In the past, the portrayal of the relationship between players and characters in 2D games has generally been limited to close friends or comrades-in-arms, though some may have involved romantic relationships.

*Tide of Voices* has long explored various themes related to relationships. Within the framework of the Wanderer’s “multiple lifetimes,” the relationships it establishes between players and characters have always been more diverse than those in other 2D games,For example, there’s Florlo, the lover who broke their promise; the mentor’s mentor, from whom the player has long been separated; and Amis, whom the player once raised and taught, only to be swept away by the currents of fate.

The design of these multifaceted relationships essentially broadens the scope of players’ emotional immersion. While romantic fantasies are certainly a traditional comfort zone for visual novels, human emotions extend far beyond that—feelings such as protection, legacy, a sense of debt, and letting go are all complex emotional experiences that possess an equally powerful ability to move people.

*Tide of Voices* has proven time and again that the emotional range a 2D game can convey is broader than we might imagine. Looking at it from another angle, it is precisely because *Tide of Voices*’ narrative often ventures beyond the typical comfort zone of 2D games that it holds such unique value and makes its characters so deeply resonant with players.

This may be a deliberate choice in the narrative structure of *Tide of Voices* from the very beginning. Kuro has consistently sought to free the characters from the artificial “idol” image—they have their own motivations and sometimes act in ways that defy the player’s omniscient perspective. In other words, you’ll feel as though they’re truly “alive.”

However, on the other hand, *Naruto: Storm* does not undermine the protagonist’s “agency.” As I pointed out in my analysis of Yuno’s story in the second half of Chapter 2.6, *Naruto: Storm* takes the approach of “placing the character at the center of the stage, with the player standing beside them.”

In *Tide of Voices*, the player’s avatar isn’t confined to the role of a spectator; instead, they are constantly involved in the narrative and influence its course. The Drifter’s actions can alter the story’s direction and transform the entire world of Solaris.

In fact, quite often, the dramatic tension generated by the protagonist’s performance in the storyline sparks even more discussion within the community—something that’s uncommon in other 2D games.

For example, in this instance, as a sort of “parent” figure, the maturity the Drifter displays and the guidance he offers to Amis are clearly beyond the reach of many adults in the real world. At the same time, it is precisely because of the Drifter as his mentor that Amis has the courage and strength to face cruelty head-on.

At the very least, after the Drifter left, her warm childhood continued to heal Amis, turning her into a cheerful child.

Amis’s current, provisional ending ends with a parting. Often,the emotional intensity of a farewell narrative is greater than that of a mere encounter—not to mention that the bond between Amis and the player is woven into a temporal cycle of “encounter → farewell → encounter → farewell,” and the “loss” portrayed within this cycle is precisely what leaves the most indelible mark.

3.1 After the update went live, the abundance of discussions in the community about the Wanderer and Amis demonstrated that this narrative arc had successfully made the characters truly resonate with the players.

This emotional resonance, in turn, confirms my assessment that even as a number of next-generation anime-themed games are experimenting with gameplay-driven approaches, the emotional bonds and relationships between players and anime characters will remain the underlying driver of player spending.

Breaking down the relationships between the protagonist and other characters and incorporating them into character development is, in my view, a key aspect that sets *Mingchao* apart from other mobile games.

As I’ve mentioned more than once, *Mingchao* has now truly become a “performance-focused” content-driven game, with its storyline taking center stage as the core experience—even more so than combat. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why *Mingchao* livestreams attract such a large audience.

In 3.1, *The Sound of the Tide* continues to build on its strengths in the performance dimension. Throughout this journey with Amis, *The Sound of the Tide* incorporates a wealth of audiovisual elements to complement the narrative, such as crowds passing through Amis’s ethereal body and close-ups capturing the characters’ subtle expressions.

At the same time, the seamless transitions between diverse 2D, 3D, and illustrated styles, scene-based storytelling, and the concentrated use of music video-style segments all demonstrate that *Tide of Voices* is expanding the scope of its presentation,The game’s rich content isn’t limited to its vast world and characters; it’s also ramping up the production value in the presentation dimension, ensuring these elements truly become key components of *Naruto: Storm*’s narrative grammar—rather than mere embellishments.

Of course, this doesn’t mean they’ve skimped on other aspects. Take Aemis’s standby mode, for example: after Floro’s sound-based manifestation, Katixia’s puppet show, and Linna’s holographic video game, *The Roar of the Tide* has now introduced a cross-dimensional style.

In line with the character design of the Aimes Electronics "Ghost," when the Aimes device is in standby mode, it transforms into a pixel-art figure similar to those that appear during space station exploration in the storyline, and interacts with the player off-screen.This design, which breaks the fourth wall, not only extends the character’s development but also transforms the standby mode—a minor element typically viewed as mere packaging—into a memorable feature.

From a product design perspective, the value of these details lies in their ability to enhance a character’s presence, allowing players to continuously feel the character’s vitality even during brief moments outside of storylines and combat.

In addition, a notable improvement in *Mingchao* 3.1 is Kuro’s refinement of the characters’ facial expressions—particularly in the scene where he confronts Singlerum. The pent-up emotions finally burst forth, and his tearful expression is rendered with remarkable precision; it’s no exaggeration to say he looks so pitiful that even I felt moved.

Since version 3.0 introduced motorcycles as a new mode of transportation, we’ve been continuously fine-tuning and optimizing the motorcycle handling. Now, a new joystick control scheme has been added for mobile devices, making the driving experience even smoother. Additionally, when navigating on the map, you can use “Quick Departure” to teleport to a nearby waypoint and activate autopilot.Reducing friction in the user experience has always been Kuro’s unwavering goal.

Long-term content optimization is another area where *Mingchao* has been consistently making progress. Previously, *Mingchao* refined its environmental art—such as the lightning striking the bushes in Seven Hills and the cherry blossom petals that flutter and dance in the wind as players move through Suibo City. In Version 3.1,*Roar of the Tide* has further optimized character animation. Character movement patterns and sudden stops have all been completely reworked using motion capture data. While this is, to some extent, a time-consuming and labor-intensive process, *Roar of the Tide* remains committed to it for one reason alone: to enhance the “experience.”

Over the past two years, across countless versions, the endless improvements in performance, art, and optimization have been a testament to *Mingchao*’s consistent commitment to the long term.

Conclusion

2026 is shaping up to be a big year for gaming.

On the one hand, a number of titles that differ significantly from previous evaluation systems and established gameplay habits have been released for testing or launched, filling the entire market with uncertainty; on the other hand, the rising number of new games continues to divert players’ attention.

It’s fair to say that long-standing products, including the “Mingchao,” are facing unprecedented competitive pressure. Whereas in the past they only had to contend with the flagship products of a handful of leading manufacturers, today, new entrants taking non-traditional approaches may reshape the competitive landscape entirely.

As the outside world focuses its attention on the explosion of new games, it will be interesting to see how the pioneers in these sectors respond to this upheaval—and whether a “catfish” will emerge to drive the category’s positive development.

As for *Mingchao*, which has come this far, its core strengths—namely, its combat mechanics, cinematic presentation, and narrative—have reached a high level of maturity. Kuro has also been consistently striving to foster a deeper emotional connection with players, using the power of its content to weather market fluctuations.

Some say that the era of purely content-driven games is coming to an end, but in reality, no matter how the market changes, one thing will never change: players’ need for emotional fulfillment will always be there.

And "Mingchao" is one of the best products available right now.

As I've said before, players are always willing to pay for a good story—but only if you've actually told a good story.

"Tide of Sound" 3.1 further proves this point.