Chapter 72: Bullshit (Foster Fathers, Please Follow)

Li Min thought for a moment; he certainly knew that game—it was derived from Warcraft.

"These games are hard to make. With World of Warcraft already dominating the market, it's nearly impossible to succeed without a groundbreaking gameplay mechanic," he shook his head.

World of Warcraft is still incredibly popular and holds an absolute market share!

"Competition is good—every industry has it, and we need this competition to push us to improve," Fang Hong said with surprising conviction.

These games are inherently social; players tend to gather in small groups, and they naturally flock to whichever game has the largest player base.

Just like socializing—if you use WeChat and he uses QQ, you can't play together; you both need to use WeChat to connect.

The same principle applies to these kinds of games!

This also means that without revolutionary innovation, it's nearly impossible for any competitor to break into the market.

And if a game isn't popular and lacks players, it creates a vicious cycle—you can't even find opponents to match with, so what's the point?

That's why so many companies failed when they tried copying League of Legends or Honor of Kings.

Unlike MMOs, where you can still explore maps and tackle dungeons even if no one's around to play with you.

If you can't compete in this genre, your investment and hard work could vanish completely.

But Fang Hong knew World of Warcraft was declining, and DOTA's failed transition to DOTA 2 left an opening for League of Legends to seize.

Fang Hong intended to exploit that same opening—even if League of Legends was already out, he was willing to take the gamble.

He needed a game of this type to secure his core user base and serve as a moat.

The film industry's market is still too small and unstable.

Li Min looked at this man with newfound respect and leaned forward intently: "This isn't something I can do alone—hero mechanics in these games are incredibly complex. Every hero needs unique synergies, distinct abilities, and individuality."

"No problem—you handle the programming, and I'll take care of the design and planning," Fang Hong said.

"What?!"

Li Min was stunned—he seriously doubted whether this guy even understood anything.

This isn't about designing one or two heroes—it's dozens, even hundreds.

Each hero must have unique mechanics, distinct visual effects for their skills, and that's extremely difficult to achieve.

This is far more complex than traditional games, which typically have only three or five classes with limited skill effects.

In those games, you don't even need balance—just make sure you can kill the boss.

Here, you must balance damage output across every hero and design unique mechanics for each.

For example, supports and ADCs, mid-laners and junglers—all have fundamentally different roles and mechanics!

"To be honest, I'm a hardcore MOBA fan—I've been playing since I was ten, for over a decade, and I have a deep understanding of these games."

Fang Hong started boasting again: "Don't let my film background fool you—games are actually my real passion."

He really had played for over a decade, but games weren't his actual profession—just something he knew well.

Anyone who's played for that long would naturally develop deep familiarity with games.

He was just blending truth with exaggeration.

Li Min sized him up—ten years old? That would've been the 90s—did he play the NES?

Seeing Li Min's skepticism, Fang Hong pulled a drawer from under the desk and handed him a folder: "Take a look!"

You need concrete evidence to impress someone!

Li Min took it, flipped it open, and saw a clear, well-designed 5v5 battlefield map with a polished interface.

He turned to the second page—it was a design sketch of "Yasuo," complete with skill descriptions and stat specifications.

He couldn't fully judge yet, but as a game producer, he could tell this hero concept was ahead of its time.

It could easily outclass anything currently on the market.

But one such hero wasn't enough—he flipped further to the third page: it was "Nocturne!"

Fang Hong had placed these iconic heroes upfront to spark his interest and encourage him to keep flipping.

Of course, what Li Min saw were only the visuals—the economy system, item system, rune system, and passive abilities were all invisible.

In fact, designing the heroes is only half the job—you also need to craft compelling backstories for them.

Every hero in League of Legends has a detailed backstory.

But that wasn't Fang Hong's strength—he'd only ever played the game casually; who reads the lore anyway?

But that was fine—he had a screenwriting team who could create a grand, cohesive universe from scratch.

The office fell silent. Fang Hong didn't interrupt—he simply watched quietly.

"Knock, knock, knock!"

Someone knocked and entered.

Fang Hong looked up in surprise—it was Chen Zhixi, carrying two cups of coffee. Wasn't he supposed to be Bao Jinyin?

Chen Zhixi didn't acknowledge Fang Hong's expression; she placed the coffee on the table between them and said politely, "Please enjoy."

Then she stood gracefully beside them, hands folded, smiling politely.

Her demeanor screamed potential secretary material.

"Thank you."

Li Min glanced at her briefly but paid her no real attention.

He picked up his coffee, took a sip, and immediately grimaced—this coffee was awful.

He said nothing, set the cup down, and continued flipping through the documents.

Fang Hong was about to drink, but seeing Li Min's reaction, he put his cup down.

Chen Zhixi gave Fang Hong a subtle glance and nodded toward the door.

Fang Hong stood and followed her out, closing the door behind him.

The hallway was empty now. Fang Hong didn't speak—he wasn't going to pretend anymore.

Outside the door, Chen Zhixi asked softly, "Who is it?"

"Someone important. Whether we can make blockbusters and nail the Best Special Effects depends partly on him," Fang Hong gave her a look.

Chen Zhixi understood, assuming he meant a special effects expert, and asked again: "You're going to make a special effects movie now? That's going to burn through a lot of money, right?"

"Not yet. I'm not saying we're making a special effects movie now—we'll start by practicing with games," Fang Hong said.

Movie special effects must be perfected before being shown to audiences, but games are different—you can gradually improve and upgrade the graphics during operation.

That's the difference between the two: you can earn money while training your team at the same time.

Hearing this, Chen Zhixi stared at him in surprise: "You're switching industries by a huge margin!"

"It's all content—where's the big jump?" Fang Hong said.

"Fine, you're always right. I'm just afraid you'll stretch too far and pull something," Chen Zhixi said.

If you're doing movies here and games there, and one side collapses, your funding chain will probably break.

"No problem. No matter how far I stretch, it's still my own damn balls!" Fang Hong said, then walked back toward the office.

"What?!"

Chen Zhixi's mouth hung open in shock—his words caught her completely off guard.

"Hey hey hey, Principal."

Just as Fang Hong was about to push the door open, Bao Jinjin called out from behind.

Bao Jinjin ran over and extended her hand: "Can you reimburse me for the coffee?"

"I haven't even asked you yet—where did you buy the coffee?" Fang Hong said.

"The store. On sale for 9.9," Bao Jinjin said.

"Snap!"

Fang Hong slapped her palm: "Here you go!"

You're asking for reimbursement for this? How clueless are you?

Bao Jinjin looked at her empty hand, stomped her foot in anger—such a miser.