Chapter 997: The Magical Universe

Is Harry Potter the protagonist?

It’s actually named after the protagonist.

Who’s been cast as the actors? Will you appear on screen?

Since it’s a Western magic genre, Luo Bao can definitely play it.

Great! Now we can see Luo Bao portray a stunning beauty.

Haha, hard to say—given Luo Quan’s twisted sense of humor, she might cast you as some grotesquely ugly character.

That’s exactly the kind of thing she’d come up with.

……………………

It seems these fans know Luo Quan inside and out—she had originally planned to play Trilby, the slightly mad, low-looks Divination teacher.

But after thinking it over, she decided it was better not to make a cameo, since new characters might be added later, so she hired another actress instead.

In short, she won’t appear in the first Harry Potter film, and most actors will be sourced locally in the UK.

After finishing Harry Potter, Luo Quan continued: “Here’s another good piece of news—recently, game publishing licenses have been approved. Bilibili has imported many overseas mobile games—casual, card, and turn-based types.”

When they launch, just reserve your favorite ones—you’ll get bonus gifts for reserving.”

Also, Bilibili is negotiating with Steam to offer free games for watching single-player game streams.”

You might not get AAA titles, but it’s still a nice perk—interested users should check the event details.”

This news thrilled the gaming crowd—they care most about having new games to play.

For a while, Bilibili had done a terrible job with both its own original games and imported overseas mobile titles.

Combined with the publishing license winter, the mobile game page kept recycling the same old titles.

No matter how fun these games were, they’d eventually grow stale; fresh blood was vital for a site built on gaming.

So Luo Quan had been tirelessly contacting Japanese contacts and studios to bring in several high-quality, heavily anime-styled mobile games.

She also had her eye on a Korean mobile game called Child of Destiny.

She favored it because its character illustrations were explosively stunning—the kind where even clothes and body proportions burst with detail.

As an anime-style mobile game, its art was top-tier and would definitely go viral in today’s market.

But because it was too extreme, it kept failing moderation—no one had dared to import it before.

Now that censorship standards have shifted, Luo Quan planned to try bringing it to China.

If successful, the revenue would be minor compared to what else she’d gain: testing the limits of censorship to pave the way for future game development and imports—a two-for-one win.

Of course, gamers didn’t yet know how massive the coming wave of games would be.

But even if they did, they wouldn’t look away for long—Genshin Impact was about to open for public testing.

From two internal tests, this game was clearly the best mobile title in China right now—without exception.

Pre-registrations had already surpassed twenty million, and thanks to that guy who smashed his PS4, Genshin Impact’s overseas popularity was skyrocketing.

Foreigners had played many games, but had they ever seen an open-world game on a phone?

And when they heard it was from a subsidiary of Unreal Studio, they immediately gave that knowing smile.

In the West, where political correctness ran rampant, Western game studios hadn’t produced a visually striking female character in ages.

Either they were middle-aged women or Black characters—none had high looks.

Finally, something watchable came out, but then it was filled with all sorts of orientation gimmicks, making the characters neither properly male nor female.

Pale-skinned, beautiful, long-legged, voluptuous beauties had become unreachable myths.

The good news? Unreal Studio still stuck to its principle: we want voluptuous beauties.

Whether it was Warcraft, Overwatch, Resident Evil, or even their earliest work, Final Fantasy—

Which of their female characters didn’t dominate the 3D community?

Tifa, hailed as the Jerusalem of the 3D community; the Angel Black Lily Diva trio, the backbone of 3D; Jill, Ada Wong, Alice—all regularly topped the lists.

As a result, Unreal Studio earned the nickname “Jerusalem of Gaming”—the final holy land for gamers.

This was the greatest praise gamers had ever given Unreal Studio; seeing the giant letters “XH” made them as excited as spotting a video title.

Gamers’ hearts were simple: give me girls, and I’ll give you money. As for those politically correct middle-aged women, let whoever likes them pay for them—I won’t buy into these neutered works.

Now Unreal Studio has a new title—a 2D-style open-world game.

For players tired of 3D games, this was unquestionably a refreshing change of pace.

Add to that the free publicity from that idiot who smashed his PS4, and Genshin Impact’s overseas reception was even higher than its domestic one.

If it could succeed both overseas and domestically, it would fully fulfill the mission Luo Quan had entrusted to it.

To ensure no hiccups after Genshin Impact’s launch, Luo Quan had spent these days stress-testing servers and preparing festival rewards for players.

The game is fictional, but players aren’t—real people celebrate holidays, and offering rewards is universally welcomed. A game of such high quality shouldn’t be stingy in these areas and risk damaging its reputation.

Everything was ready. Now they just waited five days for Genshin Impact’s launch to bring her what kind of surprise.

If revenue soared, it would be a massive boost to her dream of building an anime entertainment empire.

For a long time, she’d wanted to build her own commercial empire.

With so many works in her mind, this empire could continuously output content and attract users.

The most important platform, Bilibili, was now in her hands. Next, she’d build a true community ecosystem through games, anime, videos, and other online content.

Anime otaku aren’t truly socially phobic—when chatting with online peers who share their interests, they sometimes turn into social terrorists.

But in daily life, anime remains non-mainstream; there aren’t many fans, so they appear socially phobic.

But on Bilibili, where everyone loves anime, that problem vanishes—everyone can speak freely without the awkwardness of explaining a manga or game to blank stares.

Ever since A-site declined, Bilibili has held an unbeatable advantage in anime—and could have started building its ecosystem long ago.

Instead, it sat on a goldmine and chased trends, trying to compete with TikTok for short videos.

Could it win? It had no such capability.

In Luo Quan’s view, this strategy was the height of abandoning the root for the branch.

Now that she was boss, she’d correct the course.

In short, building an anime online community had begun planning—she hoped to create separate communities for every game, every anime, even every anime character.

It sounds like stealing from Tieba’s lunch, but Luo Quan believed new things replacing old ones was perfectly normal.

The old stuff was long overdue for a cash-out.

If the anime ecosystem succeeded, nearly all anime-related commercial activities in China would revolve around Bilibili.

Maybe someday, like Disney, she could build offline Bilibili Parks and become a giant to rival them.

The road ahead might be long, but Luo Quan believed that if she kept walking, she’d reach it—and not take ten or fifteen years.

Society was advancing fast; if things went smoothly, six or seven years would suffice.

By then, she’d be thirty—perhaps standing atop the Bilibili Tower, looking down on the masses, becoming a true tycoon.

Perhaps the system, stunned by her grand ambition, issued a prompt:

“Detecting host’s aspiration: ‘Grand Tycoon Challenge’ activated.”

Condition: Increase Bilibili’s market cap to eighty billion U.S. dollars within ten years!”

Reward: Unknown. Each milestone unlocks a phase reward; upon completing all phases, an extremely generous ultimate reward will be granted!”

Current progress: 65/800

Current Phase One progress: 65/100”

Hearing this, Luo Quan nearly jumped out of her seat.

This was the first time the system had described a reward as “extremely generous.”

It meant the reward, if earned, would blow her mind.

But the difficulty was staggering: she had to raise the market cap to eighty billion U.S. dollars to claim all rewards.

What did eighty billion U.S. dollars mean?

Tencent’s market cap was over four hundred billion U.S. dollars, ranked eighth globally.

That was one-fifth of Tencent’s value—a solid top fifty company worldwide!

Luo Quan had imagined making the company a global top-tier player—but only within the top five hundred.

Top fifty? Honestly, she never thought she had such capability.

But since the task had appeared, with a ten-year deadline, she decided she’d give it a shot.

What’s the point of life without dreams? What if she succeeded?

So when asked whether to accept the task, she clicked “Yes.”

Then the countdown began, ticking down from nine years, three hundred sixty-four days.

“What’s Luo Bao doing? Starting to space out?”

“Blood rage period—emotions are unstable, that’s normal.”

“How do you know that?”

“Just count the days. As long as she’s not pregnant, I know exactly when her period comes.”

“I’ve seen perverts, but never one this extreme.”

“How can you call it perverted? We track the dates to care for Luo Bao during her special time and keep her from getting angry.”

“Haha, the greatest care is just not provoking her.”

………………

Luo Quan, busy accepting the task, hadn’t seen the teasing comments—only when she snapped back to reality did she realize how insane they were.

But it wasn’t strange that her period had been calculated—there really were people so bored they tracked such dates, even sending paid comments telling her to drink more hot water.

What could you do with such purely comedic comments? Luo Quan simply awarded them the fan title “Shrimp Head.”

Because the comments in the livestream were growing increasingly outrageous and explicit, Luo Quan designed a special nickname for streamers called Shrimp Head Man to curb their behavior.

Whoever used this nickname when posting would let other Bilibili users know exactly what they’d done.

Yet her fans took pride in it instead of shame, delighting in posting bait comments, and Shrimp Head Man became a badge of honor.

This left Luo Quan utterly exasperated: “Family, who understands? Can you just stop being so obsessed with this stuff every single day?”

“That tone of yours makes me want to shrimp-head you so bad.”

“Give her a punch and see if she still acts crazy.”

“It’s mainly out of concern—drinking hot water is the highest form of care a guy can show a girl.”

“We’ve heard about the game perks—any other gifts for us, Luo Bao?”

“Not another seven-day gift event, right? I’d literally go insane with joy.”

………………

Facing such delusional remarks, Luo Quan chuckled: “You really think I’m some charity organization? I’ve got to eat—giving out perks every day? In a few days I’d be so broke I’d have to sell my pants—wait, no…”

Realizing her wording was off, Luo Quan quickly switched the term.

If she really sold pants, she might actually make a fortune.

But the words were out—her fans immediately cheered, urging her to elaborate on selling pants, vowing they’d pay top price if she did.

Luo Quan ignored them and continued on her own: “Anyway, we’re bringing in a huge number of classic foreign films and TV dramas soon. Bilibili will also develop a more professional, user-friendly music playback feature, acquiring more licenses to consolidate everything currently spread across several apps.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I just want anime and overseas content to update simultaneously—I hate waiting days for every episode.”

“It’s already much better than before—at least the cuts aren’t as insane anymore, and this July’s new anime lineup is insane: Chainsaw Man and Bleach: Thousand-Year Blood War.”

“I heard the full collections of Bleach, Naruto, and One Piece are all ready for preview release.”

“No way, really?!”

“Then finally we can watch Bleach, Naruto, One Piece, and Detective Conan all on Bilibili.”

“Good times are coming.”

“I hope this isn’t the last supper—when Bilibili was at its peak, it felt just like this, filling us with endless hope, but then…”

“Impossible—can’t you trust Luo Quan?”

“True—just trust Luo Bao. She’s an all-powerful goddess.”