Chapter 5: You can give it a try.

Song Ye walked into the conference room, followed by a group of development team members.

Perhaps her expression was particularly vivid.

He stood at the main table, his gaze landing precisely on her face.

Their eyes met briefly.

The former quickly lowered her head, while the latter shifted his gaze away indifferently.

Jiang Nanshu panicked and lowered her head, her heartbeat so fast that she felt short of breath.

As the producer of the project, Song Ye must have already seen her resume before her interview.

That meant he had known she was coming to Jifan since the night she moved in or even earlier.

Song Ye’s voice was always cold as he got straight to the point: “We’ve made some modifications to the core gameplay of Project A. Liang Yun, demonstrate it.”

The project had not been officially named yet, and its internal code name was: Project A.

As the lead planner of the project, Liang Yun was responsible for following up on and implementing this core gameplay change.

The conference room instantly fell silent, with only the sound of mouse clicks filling the air.

Jiang Nanshu took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind.

She waited for her heartbeat to stabilize before looking up at the demonstration screen.

She had only heard the former producer, Li Yi, describe the project at the press conference.

She had not read the project materials or seen the previous test content.

So, she had no idea what “modifications” Song Ye was referring to.

The large map exploration appeared on the screen.

The game was slightly lagging, but the overall sense of exploration was excellent, making it highly anticipated.

It perfectly matched her imagination of an open-world game.

Zhou Jiale let out a small “wow” with every scene transition.

Li Junyi was also excited and accidentally revealed his true thoughts: “Now this feels like an open-world game.”

Hearing this, Jiang Nanshu glanced around the conference room after the demonstration.

Most people seemed satisfied except for Song Ye, whose face looked grim.

Song Ye clicked on the screen and looked coldly at Liang Yun.

“This is different from what we discussed.

Why hasn’t the environmental interaction been added?”

Then, he opened several other screens, throwing out various questions.

Liang Yun hesitated for a moment and said, “There’s an issue with the implementation.”

“It’s clearly a problem with the planning.”

The one speaking was Gao Xiaokun from the programming team.

He retorted, “We implemented exactly what was written in the planning document.

Whatever is in the plan, we execute accordingly.”

Song Ye crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, questioning the lead planner coldly.

“With content like this, how did the planning team approve it?

How did it even make it to today’s meeting for review?”

Although Liang Yun was the lead planner for this project, he had no prior experience in open-world game development.

He had only worked on pay-to-win card games before.

Song Ye had discussed core gameplay changes with him.

But in reality, he didn’t fully understand many of the implementation details.

As a result, the plan he wrote was full of loopholes.

Song Ye’s aura overwhelmed him, and he was speechless for a few seconds before finally saying, “I think our previous plan was better.

It was easier to implement and had already been proven successful in card games.”

Song Ye frowned.

“How was the player feedback on your previous plan?”

Previous small-scale tests had all resulted in poor player feedback.

Once again, Liang Yun was at a loss for words.

The lead programmer beside him looked at Song Ye and said, “If we are to fully implement your latest vision, we’ll need to rebuild the entire underlying framework.

That would take at least two years.”

“Two years?”

Song Ye looked at him and laughed.

“Then I have to question how you even got into this position.”

The lead programmer turned pale.

“You…”

He couldn’t argue back.

Unlike Li Yi, the previous producer who knew nothing about programming, Song Ye actually understood it.

Not only that he was exceptionally skilled at it.

Jiang Nanshu was no stranger to game company meetings filled with arguments, blame-shifting, and conflicts.

Every company was like this.

Listening to the discussion, she began to sense that the project team was divided into two factions.

The original lead planner and lead programmer were veterans who did not respect their new superior.

The other faction was clearly aligned with Song Ye.

“I’m telling you,” Zhou Jiale tugged at her sleeve, taking advantage of the ongoing argument to whisper some insider info.

“That guy in the white jacket and black-framed glasses is Gao Xiaokun.

Including him, the four programmers to his left are all people Song Ye brought in.

They’re his team.

I heard that he originally planned to start his own studio.

After taking over this project, he brought his entire core development team with him.

Whether this project continues depends on whether our producer can convince the boss.”

Jiang Nanshu fell silent after hearing this.

The previous producer had already left.

The project was progressing slowly and was at risk of being canceled at any moment.

Song Ye had already assembled a strong development team.

Why didn’t he just start his own studio instead of picking up this mess?

She couldn’t help but glance at Song Ye.

He was sitting there with his eyes slightly downcast, his gaze carrying a trace of cold indifference.

Expressionless, he listened to the arguments below.

As if sensing her gaze, his eyes suddenly shifted.

Once again, their eyes met unexpectedly.

Jiang Nanshu: “…”

Zhou Jiale had indeed picked the perfect spot there was no obstruction between them.

Suppressing her inner panic, she forced herself to look away calmly.

After a long silence, the lead programmer finally spoke again.

“The core gameplay change you proposed isn’t that different from other games on the market.

Where is the competitive advantage?”

He deliberately used the word “you,” making it clear he didn’t consider himself part of Song Ye’s team.

“There is a difference.”

Song Ye finally spoke.

The noise in the conference room gradually subsided as everyone turned to look at him.

Leaning lazily against his chair, he said calmly:

“In existing open-world games, all the characters, storylines, and future developments are predetermined by the developers.

No matter how free the exploration seems, the fate of the world has already been set by us.

But the open world I want to create is one where the world itself changes.

Players should experience endless possibilities when they enter the game.

That’s why we need to integrate AI models to make the entire world dynamically evolve.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Liang Yun said, “That sounds nice, but no such game exists yet.

It’s not feasible.”

Chen Yang, one of Song Ye’s programmers, smirked.

“Did you forget what our boss used to do?”

Liang Yun’s gaze shifted towards Jiang Nanshu and her colleagues.

He suddenly changed the topic.

“What does the operations team think?”

Nobody wanted to be held responsible for such a statement, so the room fell silent.

Everyone stared at them.

Jiang Nanshu pursed her lips, glanced at the crowd, and spoke softly.

“In Finite and Infinite Games (1986), Carse described two types of games.

One is a finite game, played to win, with set boundaries, fixed rules, and a clear ending.

The other is an infinite game, played to keep going, with evolving rules and no set boundaries.

Integrating AI models might allow us to achieve a true infinite game.”

She paused before continuing.

“AI in games is probably inevitable.

In a few years, we might see a breakout success with this concept.

If we don’t make this project now, we might have to do it later anyway.”

With that, she had chosen her side.

From the moment she spoke, Song Ye’s gaze had been locked onto her.

He hadn’t expected her to stand with him at such a moment.

A smile appeared in his eyes, and he let out a quiet chuckle.

Gao Xiaokun immediately agreed.

“Exactly!”

Song Ye’s team unanimously supported Jiang Nanshu, almost applauding her.

She felt a ticklish warmth at the back of her ears, sensing his gaze on her.

Lowering her head, she pursed her lips and stayed silent.

Even through the screen, one could feel Cheng Jiajia’s shock.

Cheng Jiajia: Tell me, which one of you planned this all along?

This was such an injustice.

Song Ye was probably even more wronged after all, she was the one who moved, and she was the one who submitted her resume.

Looking at it this way, she seemed more like the one who had been plotting all along.

Jiang Nanshu sighed and rubbed her forehead before continuing to type.

Shu: It wasn’t me.

I didn’t.

Shu: He didn’t either.

Cheng Jiajia: Didn’t you sign a contract upon joining? Doesn’t this kind of project have a non-compete agreement? You signed it, right?

Jiang Nanshu replied in despair: ……I did.

Cheng Jiajia: Then you’re screwed.

Cheng Jiajia: You two are neighbors and colleagues now.

This situation is far from over.

I’ll say it again: you are on your own.

Jiang Nanshu took a moment to calm down in the break room.

Then, she picked up her cup of water and returned to her desk, only to find that HR had already given her access to Feishu.

She had also been added to the Project A group chat.

The project’s planning documents, operations documents, and all its settings were now accessible to her.

She sighed, clicked on the project files, and began reading.

This project had been ongoing since last year, and there was a lot of material.

Jiang Nanshu started from the initial planning phase and eventually found the proposal written by Li Yi.

She realized that, in the beginning, the project was indeed being developed according to the core gameplay he had described at the press conference.

But the further she read, the more it deviated.

By the time Song Ye took over, it was already unrecognizable.

She kept reading until everyone else had gone home, still working overtime.

In the independent office of the development team, a group of people were also working late.

Chen Yang was ordering food for everyone.

Just as he was about to place the order, Song Ye, who had been standing by the blinds, suddenly spoke: “Order one more.”

Chen Yang: “Why?”

Through the gap in the blinds, Song Ye glanced at Jiang Nanshu’s workstation and said indifferently, “Someone in the operations team is working overtime.”

“Who?”

Chen Yang leaned over and took a look.

“Oh, it’s the new goddess.”

Song Ye narrowed his eyes slightly and looked down at him.

“Goddess?”

“That’s not my word,” Chen Yang pointed at a young man with black-framed glasses and a fair, scholarly look sitting at his desk.

“It was Gao Xiaokun who said it.

He said she was his senior in high school his goddess.”

Gao Xiaokun also went to First High School, a year below both Song Ye and Jiang Nanshu.

Back when Song Ye recruited him into the core team, Gao Xiaokun had tried to get on his good side by mentioning it.

But what was this about a goddess?

Song Ye shot Gao Xiaokun a faint glance.

Face slightly red, Gao Xiaokun explained, “Well, she wasn’t just my goddess.

When she transferred in during the first semester of sophomore year, all the boys in class said we had a beautiful new senior.”

“At the school sports meet, I accidentally got scratched by an iron fence.

She was in charge of logistics for your class, and she happened to have a first-aid kit.

She cleaned my wound and insisted I go get a tetanus shot.”

“Later, I gave her snacks twice.

The first time, she accepted.

The second time, she refused.

And then… nothing ever happened after that.”

Gao Xiaokun sighed and pushed up his glasses.

“She didn’t even glance at me just now.

She probably doesn’t remember me at all.”

Jiang Nanshu had indeed transferred in during the first semester of sophomore year, right after National Day.

At that time, she and Song Ye had little interaction.

It wasn’t until after the midterm exams, when seats were reassigned by lottery, that they ended up sitting together.

That year, the sports meet was scheduled for the second week after midterms.

The night before the event, they were still just acquaintances, sitting next to each other in class.

Until something happened the next evening.

During the sports meet, evening self-study sessions were more relaxed.

There were no regular classes, and aside from the homeroom teacher, the disciplinary director would occasionally patrol.

The first evening study bell had rung for quite a while before Jiang Nanshu finally walked in, holding a can of ice-cold soda and a box of chocolates.

Their seats were in the last row of the first group, right by the back door where teachers and administrators frequently appeared without warning.

Song Ye heard the chair move and lazily lifted his eyes, just in time to meet her gaze.

“Uh… Song Ye.”

Jiang Nanshu blinked and placed the soda on his desk.

“Here, this is for you.

Congratulations on winning first place in the high jump today.”

She didn’t like soda, and besides, she was on her period and wasn’t feeling well enough to drink anything cold.

Song Ye rarely accepted drinks from girls, but for some reason, he did that day.

Maybe it was because of her congratulatory words.

He hooked the corner of his lips into a smile.

“Thanks.”

With that, he reached out with his left hand, pulled the soda toward him, and flicked a long, slender finger to pop the tab open.

With a sharp fizz, bubbles burst from the can.

Song Ye froze for a second but quickly moved the can back to its original position, dodging the sudden spray of soda.

The next second

A shocked yell came from behind.

“Ah! My god! What the hell?!”

The entire class shuddered in fear and turned their heads in unison toward the back door.

The disciplinary director a middle-aged man in his forties suffering from early-stage balding was standing there, completely drenched.

On normal days, his meticulously combed side-parted hair concealed the bald spot well.

But now, with his hair soaked, the sparse patch on his head was painfully obvious.

He wiped his face furiously, trying to fix his hair while his face remained full of rage.

His usual strict demeanor was completely ruined.

It was almost comical but no one dared to laugh.

Everyone then turned to look at the culprit Song Ye.

Song Ye was still holding the can.

Although he had managed to avoid most of the spray, his neck and left shoulder were soaked.

The evidence was undeniable.

And he had been caught red-handed.

In his seventeen years of life, he had never experienced such a whirlwind of emotions confusion, panic, shock, frustration, and anger all at once.

He glanced at the disciplinary director’s dark expression, then turned his gaze to the real culprit.

Jiang Nanshu looked utterly dumbfounded, her face screaming Oh no, I’ve messed up big time, what do I do, I’m doomed.

Meeting Song Ye’s icy stare, she shivered, shrank her neck in fear, and covered her face, too mortified to say a word.

“Song Ye! What are you doing?!”

The disciplinary director wiped his face.

“Come out here!”

The classroom fell into dead silence.

Song Ye stood up, glanced at the trembling girl, and then, without a word, followed the teacher out.

Many years later, Gao Xiaokun remained blissfully unaware that he had once indirectly caused trouble for his boss.

He only felt that Song Ye’s gaze suddenly turned ice-cold, as if he was about to throw a sack over his head and beat him up.

Song Ye withdrew his stare from Gao Xiaokun and turned toward the girl who had just gotten up to go to the break room.

The corner of his lips curled up in a self-mocking smirk.

As if laughing at the tricks of fate.

After all these years, the three of them had somehow ended up as colleagues.