Interview with the Chair of the Game Design Department at the Communication University of China: What Kind of Game Education Do We Need?

What kind of game education do we need? For a long time, the gaming industry’s answer to this question was essentially: none.

Game development was once considered something that couldn’t be taught. There are no textbooks for this craft; generation after generation of professionals have honed their skills through hands-on experience on projects, learning practical know-how and developing a feel for the work through market feedback.A “formal education” isn’t necessarily an asset in this industry. According to common stereotypes, what’s taught in schools is inherently academic and out of touch with the front lines—separated by a time lag of several years.

But behind this skepticism lies a deeper industry context: for a long time, the gaming industry may not have needed “formal training.”

In 2004, the Communication University of China launched a Game Art track within its animation program, but according to Department Chair Zhang Zhaogong, a rather long “awkward period” followed:When major studios recruited artists, they preferred to look for people interested in games among students in relevant majors at art academies; when recruiting programmers, they went straight to the computer science departments at science and engineering universities. Back then, it didn’t matter if many programmers didn’t even play games.

But in recent years, the situation has changed. The era of unchecked, rapid growth is over, and industry competition has forced a shift toward meticulous craftsmanship, requiring creators to focus intently on refining user experience and game design. At the same time, major studios and large-scale projects are increasingly adopting highly competitive, industrialized production pipelines that embed people into highly specialized assembly lines.When a young person joins a project team of several hundred or even a thousand people, if they’re lucky, they’ll gain some insight into how the project operates and have room to contribute to the design; if they’re unlucky, they’ll end up as just another cog in the assembly line.

Without a comprehensive perspective, it’s hard to develop sound judgment when you’re stuck in a cogs-in-the-machine role. The industry increasingly needs people who can understand user experience, design, and the big picture, but industrialized production lines are actually eroding the very pathways that foster such skills.

This past June, I visited the game graduation project exhibition at the Communication University of China.Over a hundred student projects were on display in the auditorium. Although many of the games were not yet fully developed, they were more than enough to showcase the potential of the next generation. What was even more surprising was that of these more than 100 projects, only about 30 percent were created by graduating seniors, while the rest were mostly from teams of sophomores and juniors.

This level of maturity is no accident; it stems from China Media University’s professional system, which “integrates art, technology, and game design.”

This system wasn’t planned out; it emerged through repeated trial and error.Professor Zhang told us that CUC initially offered only the Game Art (Fine Arts) major, which gave it no competitive edge over traditional art academies. Later, the university incorporated Digital Media Technology from the engineering department to round out its technical offerings. The esports track, added in 2017, underwent several adjustments before narrowing its focus to game design.

Once these three elements are in place, the school brings together students from different majors through a four-year game development course. Starting in their first year, students are randomly assigned to teams and take a 17-week course that takes them through the entire product development process—from project initiation and mid-term review to final submission.By the time they graduate, a student at the Communication University of China has already gone through four or five full cycles of “from team formation to delivery.” This is precisely what is most scarce on an industrial assembly line.

The creative course culminates in the graduation exhibition. Students’ work must leave the classroom to be evaluated by unfamiliar players and industry professionals, and participation in the exhibition counts toward the final grade. Lower-year students are no exception—that’s how so many of the sophomore and junior works at the exhibition came to be.

This exhibition has now earned the nickname “Dingfuzhuang GDC” within the industry. The products and entrepreneurs that have emerged from it have received positive market feedback: *Daughter of the Volcano*, which originated as a graduation project, surpassed one million in sales in 2023;The lead creator of *Raccoon Coin Pusher* received incubation support after graduation, and sales have surpassed 500,000 copies since its launch.

The industry’s attitude toward game-related education has also been changing year by year. In the past, the biggest challenge between schools and companies was that schools took a long-term approach to nurturing talent, while companies placed greater emphasis on immediate returns.Now, according to Zhang Zhaogong, companies are, in a sense, being “reverse-manipulated” by universities: if they want to recruit top talent, they must adopt the same long-term approach as universities—getting involved as early as the second or third year of college to help design curricula, participate in the training process, and identify promising candidates at an earlier stage.

When choosing a career, today’s young people don’t necessarily go for the highest-paying jobs; compared to their parents’ generation, they place greater value on the sense of purpose and fulfillment that comes from the work itself.

AI has also introduced new variables, and the scarcity of implementation and design capabilities is reshaping the industry landscape. In the past, without artists or programmers, it was difficult to bring a game designer’s ideas to life. Today, AI has significantly lowered the barrier to implementation, leading to the emergence of one-person teams and the blurring of boundaries between these three roles.

Classrooms themselves are also changing. Traditional classes, which focused primarily on imparting knowledge, are inevitably less efficient than AI, and the low “head-up rate” during class has become a headache for teachers.Teacher Zhang’s firsthand observation is this: when she tells a story, students look up; when she lectures on academic content, they look down. In contrast, that creative writing class—where more than 100 students met in person, collaborated, debated, and learned through trial and error—has become something that simply cannot be replaced.

So, what kind of game education do we really need? Zhang Zhaogong’s answer is to teach a deep understanding of games—an understanding of people, interaction, and the underlying principles of design. These are precisely the skills most needed in the era of existing assets, yet ones that project teams’ assembly-line workflows often fail to provide.Tools will depreciate with each new iteration, but this kind of understanding can only be cultivated gradually through time, peers, and an environment that allows for failure.

Of course, it’s far too early to draw any conclusions about CUC’s explorations. Game Teahouse recently teamed up with 405 Game Bureau to record a podcast episode with Zhang Zhaogong. We started by discussing the Dingfuzhuang GDC, talked about how this system has evolved, and also covered topics such as classroom instruction, employment, entrepreneurship, and AI.

The following is an edited and organized transcript of the conversation.

01

Dingfuzhuang GDC: From On-Campus Exhibitions to Industry Connections

Xiaoning: How did the Communication University of China’s Game Design Graduation Exhibition grow from an on-campus exhibition to its current scale?

Zhang Zhaogong: Originally, the graduation exhibition was primarily intended for on-campus exchange and showcasing student work. After the pandemic, we came to value in-person interaction even more, so we decided to expand the scale of the event.Some administrators suggested we simply hold it off-campus. I actually went out to scout external venues, but I found that once the exhibition leaves the campus, the atmosphere and vibe are completely different. Viewing a graduation exhibition on campus is a different experience from viewing one in a shopping mall.

We finally found our current studio on campus, but the space was completely empty. At commercial exhibitions, sponsors help set up the venue; it’s impossible to expect students to do it on their own. At first, everyone thought it was only natural for the school to foot the bill, but in reality, that wasn’t feasible. We’re just one department—if the school pays for our exhibition, shouldn’t that apply to all departments?

Wenjie: I still have to walk a fine line.

Zhang Zhaogong: That’s right. With dozens of majors across the entire university, having each one cover this expense would amount to a huge financial burden. After much consideration, we decided to turn to the industry: since this is a burgeoning field that appeals to young people and features vibrant commercial activity, the university covered part of the costs while seeking sponsorship from the community, which allowed us to successfully host the first Talent Exhibition.After it was over, things took a different turn. Student enthusiasm skyrocketed, and sponsors realized they could engage directly with so many students. Both sides received positive feedback, and from then on, we entered a virtuous cycle.

A key point is that we’ve integrated the university’s most important course with this exhibition: the four major course series—Game Design I, II, III, and the Capstone Project—will break students into mixed-group teams to complete their creative projects.We also suggested to the university that, in addition to the fourth-year exhibition, third- and second-year students should also hold exhibitions. First-year students, however, should be exempt—firstly, because their work is not yet mature, and secondly, to avoid overburdening the program at the lowest level.

Xiaoning: Everyone says the gaming industry is incredibly competitive, but from what I’ve heard, it seems it’s not just the industry that’s competitive—the students are too.

Zhang Zhaogong: This exhibition came about naturally. If we had done it this way in the first year, the students would have resisted; but in recent years, student feedback has been positive. In the end, the students whose works weren’t selected actually felt disappointed themselves, because they had been looking forward to more interaction at the exhibition. Once a positive cycle was established, we combined it with academic grades, which resulted in nearly 100 works being featured at this year’s exhibition.

Xiaoning: Many schools have a limited variety of exhibitions, but I was pleasantly surprised by the wide range of exhibitions at the Communication University of China. Is this something the students organized on their own, or is it guided by the department?

Zhang Zhaogong: A major is directional. We, along with the producers who attend the fair, repeatedly emphasize to the students—from the perspective of the end goal and the commercial viability of their projects—that some fields are “red oceans” where it’s very difficult to make a breakthrough.

Other than that, it’s mostly due to environmental factors. First is the natural nature of trade shows: if you make a game like *Disco Elysium*, it’s pretty chaotic at a trade show—a person can only play it for about 20 minutes, and the time runs out before they’ve even read a few paragraphs. On the other hand, party games get a lot of positive feedback at trade shows, but it’s not a good idea to make a game like that just for the sake of the trade show.

Second is the influence students have on one another: with 150 graduates per class and 35 to over 40 projects each year, they’ve created their own small market, leading them to think, “What kinds of projects have my classmates worked on? I want to make mine even more innovative.”

Behind the graduation exhibition lies a full year of guidance on senior thesis projects, as well as 17 weeks of guidance for each of the two creative courses in the sophomore and junior years—all of which include a comprehensive reporting process from project initiation to completion. We frequently monitor the direction of project proposals: first, to respect the students’ opinions as much as possible; and second, to point out areas that clearly pose potential risks.

Xiaoning: What is the philosophy behind integrating classes, exhibitions, and the industry so closely?

Zhang Zhaogong: A game only works if players actively participate in it. With other art forms, it doesn’t matter if you don’t understand a piece—you’ve still seen it. But with games, it’s different: if you walk away without understanding how to play, the game fails. If you don’t engage with the industry, you’re just working in isolation.

So the philosophy we instill in our students is: don’t “wait until it’s finished before showing it to users.” If you wait until it’s completely finished to show it to others, the feedback you receive might actually be worse, because you’ve been designing in isolation the whole time. In fact, it’s best to go out and share your ideas as soon as you have them.Don’t worry that your idea will be stolen—even if someone else hears it and tries to replicate it, the result will be a completely different game. That’s why when a sophomore student said, “Professor, our project isn’t polished enough—we shouldn’t enter the exhibition,” I replied, “It’s precisely because it’s not polished that you should enter the exhibition.”

02

Art, Technology, and Game Design: How Does a Professional Curriculum Take Shape?

Xiaoning: What is the general profile of the students?

Zhang Zhaogong: The academic structure of the Game Design program at the Communication University of China differs from that of most other schools, as it includes both art majors and engineering majors: the Game Art track admits students through the arts entrance exam, while the engineering track admits students through the computer science section of the national college entrance exam. To be honest, this structure was forced upon us by circumstances.

Another part of the program is the esports major, which was added in 2017. We currently position students in the esports track for careers in game design, operations, and communications, with a particular focus on game design. Courses in these three areas are integrated into a single curriculum.

Xiaoning: With these three directions intertwined, were there any issues that came up during the adjustment period?

Zhang Zhaogong: There’s an interesting story.One year, a group of students from the game design class actually came to talk to me on behalf of the entire class: when they were divided into groups, the other members of their groups weren’t very receptive to the game design students. The reason was simple: 90% of the students who were admitted to the game design program love games, and after reading up on the subject, they all want to design a game of their own. Once they’re in a group, if you’re the game designer, why should I listen to you?

Xiaoning: A game designer neither writes code nor draws.

Zhang Zhaogong: Art is immediately obvious—if you’re a good artist, people will listen to you—and code can be verified quickly, but game design lags behind.My answer at the time was: You can’t solve this problem—not even within the industry. So first, familiarize yourself with the social environment early on; second, if you know a bit of code, help out with writing it; if you have art skills, get involved a little; or even start by serving everyone tea or buying them bubble tea—that kind of emotional support is also a reflection of a game designer’s overall competence.

What’s changed now is that students in the game design class have started teaching themselves to code when forming teams. For example, the producer of *Raccoon Coin Pusher* is from the game design class—she’s actually the lead programmer and handles the development herself, so she has full control over the game design decisions.

Xiaoning: Have there been any changes in the AI era? In the past, without artists or programmers, it was very difficult to bring ideas to life. Now that art and programming have become easier to handle, the real challenge—designing the gameplay loop—is where AI still struggles to replace game designers.

Zhang Zhaogong: There have indeed been subtle changes over the past year or two, and I’m still observing them. What’s clearly noticeable is that the number of solo teams is increasing. Some students, after collaborating with others on their first or second projects, find themselves thinking, “Before, I just followed other people’s plans, but now I want to come up with my own,” and since Vibe Coding seems to let them bring their ideas to life, they’re more willing to work on their own.

03

Teaching games is, by its very nature, a difficult task.

Xiaoning: How are games taught in school? How would this topic be covered in a freshman-level course?

Zhang Zhaogong: Let me start by saying this: teaching games is harder than teaching many other subjects. Math, physics, and chemistry have remained unchanged since time immemorial, and teachers hold absolute authority in those fields; the biggest problem with games is that the industry’s content is primarily consumed by young people. Even movies don’t have this problem—older directors don’t get tired watching movies, since they’re usually only two or three hours long; anything over six hours is considered an art film.A six-hour game might not even get past the tutorial. Game instructors can’t keep up once they hit 40—and it’s not just 40-year-olds; even 30-year-old instructors born in the ’90s are starting to feel it.

The most challenging part of teaching first-year classes is the “Classic Game Analysis” course. If you analyze games that are too old, the students lack the necessary context; if you analyze newer titles, you have to find a professor whose playtime on the game is considered authoritative—otherwise, students will say, “Professor, I’ve played Genshin Impact for 3,000 hours, and what you’re saying isn’t right,” which makes things very difficult.

So we turned it into a multi-instructor course. A professor in our department—a hardcore *Hearts of Iron* player with over 1,000 hours of gameplay—taught the *Hearts of Iron* section; we recruited a professor from across the college who was passionate about the *Souls* series to teach that section; each professor focused on one genre exclusively and didn’t cover anything else.The combined gaming experience of 120 to 130 students in a class creates the power of a collective database—something you simply can’t match.

Xiaoning: What games have freshmen been playing the most over the past two years?

Zhang Zhaogong: The number of high school students who play video games is very limited. I recall a survey from one year that showed 4399 was the most popular platform among them; console and PC gamers were still in the minority.

So, in my Introduction to Games class, the first thing I tell them is that they can now play games openly and without guilt. I then advise them to try out a variety of games and not spend too much time on any single one. Based on my experience teaching students, most of those who eventually become good game designers already had a solid foundation of high-quality games under their belt before they started the course; very few were able to make up for that later on.

What’s more, whenever a child has a very healthy gaming experience, you’ll hear them say, “I play with my dad.” The parents of children born in 2006, 2007, and 2008 are from the 1970s or even the 1980s, and children who have positive gaming experiences tend to communicate more smoothly with their parents.

Xiaoning: So what kinds of games do you usually recommend to students?

Zhang Zhaogong: Projects that are highly creative, have a personal touch, and aren’t too complicated to produce. Every year, I recommend *The Stanley Parable* and narrative games like *Florence*—there’s a good chance graduates could pull off something like *Florence*.There are some I’d rather not recommend: *Stardew Valley* is excellent, but many students want to make a *Stardew Valley* for their graduation project—or even a “*Stardew Valley Plus*”—which isn’t very realistic in terms of scope.

Wenjie: If a student has decided they like a certain genre, would it be helpful for them to immerse themselves in a few similar works?

Zhang Zhaogong: I completely agree. The team working on the “Galaxy City”-style project at this year’s expo had it very clear from their freshman year: “This is exactly the kind of game we’re making.”We tried to talk them out of it—this is a tough field to break into. It didn’t work in their sophomore year, and by their junior year, they were still at it, so I stopped trying to dissuade them. They’ve been approaching this project very methodically: building a prototype in their freshman year, refining the visuals and experimenting with boss battles in their sophomore year, and creating a small demo in their junior year.

Every time I said that "Liyin" was difficult, his response was always that "Liyin" wasn't difficult. Eventually, I started to be convinced by him and came to believe that what they do at "Liyin" isn't difficult.

04

90% Go to Major Companies, While a Few Are Encouraged to Leave

Xiaoning: Where do graduates usually go these days?

Zhang Zhaogong: Tencent, NetEase, and miHoYo remain the top choices, followed by partners and investors such as Lilith and Eagle角—primarily the leading industry giants. Employment in this field is very focused; nearly 90% of professionals work at these major companies, and very few switch careers each year—less than 5% to 10%. However, an increasing number are pursuing further education.

So why have we been encouraging indie game startups over the past two years? Some people say, “Teacher Zhang, don’t lead the kids astray—starting an indie game company is so hard.” That’s not the case. Even though we’re encouraging this, most of them still end up at big studios; the students know what they’re getting into.The reason we encourage it is that if we didn’t, there might not be a single one left. The two or three groups that have emerged over the past two years don’t even make up a fraction of the more than 100 students who graduate each year.

Xiaoning: If a group of students came to you saying they wanted to start a business, what would you think?

Zhang Zhaogong: I would definitely look at their level of focus first; determination is absolutely crucial. If they’re truly willing to devote themselves to this with all their might for four years, then there’s no problem. I have industry experience myself, and my sense is that the period when difficulties start to wear you down will definitely come sooner than you expect. Suppose you’re two years away from success—you might start feeling like you can’t do it anymore as early as six months in.You might think you’ll make it in another eight months, but after eight months, you’ll realize there are still two months to go; then, when those two months are up, you’ll find there are still another two months left—and so on, until you’ve reached a point where you feel completely at peace, thinking, “Whether I succeed or not doesn’t matter anymore; I’m just going to see this through to the end.” Only then will success come your way.

In recent years, the students who’ve secured investment to start their own businesses have all received top-tier job offers from Tengwangmi, but they’ve all said the same thing: “As long as this works out, I’ll quit immediately.” It’s clear they’ve given up a higher standard of living to pursue their goals.In addition to determination, student teams also need support—beyond funding, they need emotional support, because starting a business can be quite lonely. So it’s best not to isolate yourself or work alone in a room; instead, join an incubator where you’ll be surrounded by fellow entrepreneurs and can chat with them.

Xiaoning: It’s become very difficult to get projects approved this year. Combined with the impact of AI, the demand for entry-level positions is changing. Will this affect students’ employment prospects?

Zhang Zhaogong: Yes, it’s very obvious.Even students in the Game Design program at the Communication University of China experience employment anxiety. This is also related to the rules of major tech companies, such as “You must have completed an internship with our company before being hired,” or, even more extreme, “You must have completed other internships before interning with us.” As a result, students have to start interning as early as their sophomore year just to be in a position to receive job offers by their senior year.

However, the dynamic between schools and businesses is also changing. Originally, the biggest challenge was that schools take a long-term approach to nurturing talent, while businesses demand immediate results; now the tables have turned, and some companies are finding themselves “subject to reverse PUA” by universities.To recruit top talent, companies must adopt the same long-term perspective as universities. As a result, a growing number of companies are now arranging coursework for students in their second and third years and organizing lectures for those in their fourth year.

Moreover, young people today don’t necessarily take a job just because the salary is high—“If I don’t feel comfortable there, I’d rather stay home.” The post-80s generation thinks, “I’ll take this job for now and learn from my boss”; the post-00s generation thinks, “If my boss is like this, I’ll just go work for someone else.” Therefore, whether the core creative team at a company is capable of attracting students is crucial.

Xiaoning: When I look at students’ resumes these days, it seems like they’d ideally start interning as early as their freshman year and have five or six internship experiences by their senior year. Is this really a good thing?

Zhang Zhaogong: If you join a team with a good team leader who imparts knowledge to you like a teacher, there are indeed students who excel after four years of internships. But in most cases, once you join, they only use the skills you currently have—you’re only able to contribute, not to learn.

I’m one of those professors who don’t really encourage students to start internships that early. Going out into the world means taking a gamble on uncertainty—hoping you’ll stumble upon an exceptional mentor. The environment at the Communication University of China, where you can set aside all distractions and focus solely on your studies for four years, is something you’ll never have again once you leave.If you truly immerse yourself in a state of flow and study intensely for two years, you might find upon graduation that you’ve become a true master in your field. So my advice is this: devote yourself entirely to your studies with pure focus during your first and second years; try out an internship briefly in your third year; and combine an internship with your graduation project in your fourth year.

05

In the Age of AI: What Is the Purpose of School?

Xiaoning: AI is advancing at an incredibly fast pace. How is it currently being incorporated into your classes and final projects?

Zhang Zhaogong: Many universities are talking about the rapid integration of AI, but if you think about it, aside from majors that actually develop core algorithms and core hardware, other majors are just using other people’s work.One of our professors made a particularly funny joke: “As long as you dare to take it easy, you’ll find you won’t fall behind—these tools will become simpler and simpler, and sooner or later, you won’t even need to teach them; students will be just as good at using them as their teachers. All you need is a positive attitude to embrace it.”

The biggest problem facing schools—as we’ve all been saying—is the “attention span.”In information-based courses, your delivery efficiency will inevitably be lower than that of AI. You have to teach a class of twenty or thirty students, maintain a steady pace, and deliver the material gradually; for students, if there’s something they don’t understand, AI provides better answers. So now, when students are in class, they just open their laptops and, just like listening to a podcast, keep their heads down doing something else while taking in the information with their ears. If they miss something, they’ll just look it up on AI later.

We need to think about what kinds of courses can’t be replaced. Take our creative course, for example—it’s now truly one-of-a-kind. More than 100 students work in teams in person, collaborate with others, and create hands-on experiences—something AI simply can’t do. That’s exactly why this course is worth taking.

Xiaoning: It's really hard to get people to look up more often.

Zhang Zhaogong: My personal observation is that when I tell a story, the students look up, but when I teach facts, they look down.

Xiaoning: At this rate, the teacher is going to turn into a stand-up comedian.

Zhang Zhaogong: Plus, you can’t compete with those online content creators—their content is concise, while we spend three hours explaining things slowly.

The points we’ve identified are, first, that college is essentially a “big kindergarten,” and college students still need structure.Second, discussion and knowledge structure are crucial. Why are podcasts so popular these days? As soon as there’s interaction, people open up and start talking about things you can’t find through AI searches. For example, a 32-class-period course on communication is no match for bringing three communication experts together to debate—the insights you gain from their debate could be far more valuable.

Xiaoning: A more pressing issue is that in 2023, AIGC first disrupted the fine arts field, and this year, the impact on coding has been even more severe—AI-generated code may already outperform 90% of programmers on the market. What does this mean for students studying fine arts and computer science?

Zhang Zhaogong: I think learning to code might actually be a devastating blow.Those working on the most fundamental core algorithms or with architectural expertise will be fine, but for most application-level programmers, it’s definitely the end. The most devastating part isn’t the technology itself, but the fact that users don’t mind it—you write everything using Vibe Coding, and users are fine with it; as long as the features work, they’ll never see your code.

The same is true for visual arts—90% of it has been replaced. Posters in commercial districts used to be created by people, but now they’re made by AI. Even if you can tell the difference, at most people will just say, “Oh, that was made by AI,” and that’s the end of it. But there’s one core point about visual arts: ultimately, it serves people, not objective laws.But serving people presents a problem: when a certain type of content floods your surroundings constantly, you lose your appreciation for its beauty and start seeking out new forms of beauty. That’s why there’s still a need for it.

Xiaoning: Let me ask a practical question: Can students use AI for their homework these days?

Zhang Zhaogong: It’s totally fine—we’re more than happy for you to use both art and code. But to be honest, it really comes down to how people perceive it. If you rely too heavily on AI and the general public finds it off-putting, then it just won’t work.On the other hand, if you use AI very skillfully—spending just as much time as you would doing it by hand—and create an effect that no one else can replicate, and you tell people, “I made this with AI,” they won’t be put off. Instead, they’ll say, “Wow, how did you do that? That’s amazing.”It comes full circle—people will still appreciate your work because you put in more effort and discovered that sense of beauty.

Wenjie: People often say that AI makes entry-level positions less important and amplifies the abilities of those with good taste and sound judgment. But no one starts out as a mid- to senior-level professional. What’s the situation like for students just starting college?

Zhang Zhaogong: That’s actually quite a difficult question to answer. At first, everyone thought AI would ultimately disrupt art, but in reality, it disrupted imagery first; later, people thought AI couldn’t help with creativity, but now it seems quite natural to have it generate creative ideas.To put it simply, this has turned into a logical matryoshka doll: the only thing AI can’t help you with is what it can’t replace—but what exactly can’t it replace? My view is to understand this from an ultimate perspective along one dimension: just how easy or difficult is it to do something? Things that are easy to do will eventually be replaced;if you’ve used AI to accomplish something that’s extremely difficult, then that’s fine. But “easy or difficult” is relative—what’s difficult today may be replaced tomorrow. So don’t overthink it; just embrace it and quietly observe the changes of this era.

06

Epilogue: For Those Who Want to Enter the Field

Xiaoning: If a high school senior said, “I want to study game design,” how would you respond?

Zhang Zhaogong: I’d start by asking him how many games he has on Steam. Students who get into the Communication University of China certainly have strong college entrance exam scores, so the other factor is their passion for this field. But I usually discourage them from applying—I do this quite often.This year, our Game Art program admitted students through the provincial joint entrance exam. We only admitted two students from Hebei Province; the lowest-ranked admitted student was 17th in the province, with a composite score of over 630. Only Renmin University ranked higher than us, while all the other “985” universities ranked lower.I can imagine the intense disagreement this student must have had with his family when filling out his college application: “You’re turning down a 985 university to study game design at CUC? What on earth is going on?”

I advise against it because high school students tend to approach gaming with a player’s mindset. As industry insiders, we all know that being a player and making games are two completely different things. So I urge them to, before choosing this major, learn about the stories behind the game developers—both the successes and the failures—and ask current industry professionals if they’re happy with their work.If, after gathering more information, you still feel it’s the right choice, then go ahead and choose it.

Xiaoning: Over the next three to five years, what skills will remain consistently important for students who want to enter this industry?

Zhang Zhaogong: A deep understanding of games involves understanding people, interaction, and the fundamental principles of design. In addition, you need to be interested in creativity, because the future of games will definitely lean in that direction. Student work from five years ago lacked this level of depth; now, a large number of students are clearly expressing themselves.

This industry will also face the question in the future: Which games will ultimately be recognized by players and stand the test of time?One category consists of service-oriented games, which individuals cannot develop on their own—they require large teams to cater to players on a daily basis. The other category consists of author-driven games, like those by Hideo Kojima or Jonathan Blow, where players follow you and, after playing your work, are impressed by your artistic expression. Therefore, creativity, observation of life, and an understanding of the language of creation are key.