Lin Shuwen picked up the phone, and Luo Ming tentatively asked, “Are you mad?”
“I went to change clothes. I don’t get mad that easily. Besides, I told you before—I’m not that hung up on my own body or what my eyes see.”
Luo Ming breathed a sigh of relief and went back to his cheeky self: “So, Wenwen, how do you even own such a sexy piece? That whole ‘half-hidden, half-revealed’ thing is a massive temptation for men.”
“To be fair, that outfit isn’t sexy at all. I just bought the wrong size—it’s one size too small.”
“Then next time, could you—”
“Could I what? I dare to wear it, but do you dare to look?”
“I think I dare to look.”
“Fine! Then next time you come over, you buy it yourself. I’ll wear it for you. I’m planning to go home for New Year’s anyway—I remember the address on your ID isn’t far from my hometown. I’ll go to your place and wear it for you.”
“Cough cough! That’s really not necessary! Not necessary at all!”
“Coward. All you dare to do is talk big.”
“Uh, anyway—Wenwen, your hometown is Fenyang?” Luo Ming awkwardly changed the subject.
Lin Shuwen didn’t dwell on the previous topic. She nodded and said, “Yeah. We actually go back every year for New Year’s, but aside from the reunion dinner, I barely interact with the relatives there.”
“Why?”
“No common ground! My grandpa works at the Fenyang distillery. My uncle and aunt work at the Fenyang distillery. My youngest aunt works at the Fenyang distillery. My youngest uncle-in-law works at the Fenyang distillery too. My dad’s a booze hound, and my mom enjoys a drink or two as well.
So the adults’ conversations always revolve around liquor. Us younger ones can barely get a word in.”
“I remember you have cousins—an older male cousin and an older female cousin, right? Isn’t your male cousin at Beihang University? He didn’t end up at the distillery too, did he?”
“No, he’s not at the Fenyang distillery. He’s still in grad school, but he studies aerodynamics—researching planes and rockets and stuff. Even sitting face to face with him, we’d have nothing to talk about.
And you probably know what my relationship with my female cousin was like before.
So rather than sit there in awkwardness, I just choose to stay home except for that one reunion dinner. I slack off at home for a few days, then head back to the capital with my parents on the sixth day of the New Year.
That’s how I’ve spent it every year. But this year, thanks to you, my relationship with my cousin has improved a lot. It shouldn’t be so awkward anymore, so I want to try fitting in a bit more over there.”
“Trying to fit in sounds good. I think your cousin’s a decent person.”
Lin Shuwen raised an eyebrow and said, “Luo Ming, I get the feeling you and my cousin get along pretty well!”
“Not bad. Mainly because your cousin is a lot like you—whether it’s the way you talk and do things, or your looks, you two have a lot in common.”
“You’re not treating her as a stand-in for me, are you?”
“How could I? You’re one of a kind. No one could replace you.”
Lin Shuwen relaxed at that.
Luo Ming, unaware he’d just narrowly dodged a landmine of a question, was still happily listing the similarities between Lin Shuyue and Lin Shuwen.
“Actually, when we were kids, the adults in the family always said she and I looked alike. Later, after I moved to the capital and we were apart for a long time, people gradually stopped saying it.”
Luo Ming understood. His younger brother and sister were twins—a boy and a girl. Growing up, the family always said they looked alike, but boys and girls are ultimately different.
From the moment they started elementary school, the differences grew bigger and bigger, and eventually no one said they looked alike anymore.
“Luo Ming, do you have any more ideas for little games?” Lin Shuwen suddenly changed the subject.
“Little games?”
“Yeah! Something like 2048—the kind you can play anytime, anywhere. Preferably with a cute art style.”
“Why are you asking all of a sudden?”
“Just preparing for both outcomes! If I can’t fit in, then I’ll be slacking off until the sixth day of the New Year again. I’ll need something to do. I’m kind of tired of 2048—I want to play something new.”
At Lin Shuwen’s words, Luo Ming thought for a moment, and a game did come to mind: Happy Match.
Happy Match was inspired by Zuma. Zuma came out very early and exists in this world too. Its protagonist is a stone frog.
The stone frog spits out colored balls, while balls of various colors already slide along a track around the frog. The goal is to prevent the balls from rolling into the cave at the end of the track.
The stone frog spits out balls of different colors that connect with a string of balls moving along a track. Once three or more balls of the same color are linked together, those balls disappear.
Happy Match’s gameplay is similar. It takes Zuma’s “three or more same-colored balls disappear” mechanic, extracts it, deepens it, and turns it into a new mobile game.
In the game, the objects to be eliminated become animal blocks of various colors. Players move blocks around to line up three of the same color to eliminate them. Eliminating more than three same-colored animals gives special item rewards to help players clear levels.
Luo Ming had played this game in his past life too.
Due to work, he’d actually come into contact with and played quite a few mobile games.
But most games didn’t last more than a few days on his phone. Happy Match, however, stayed. He’d play a round whenever he had free time, and before he knew it, he’d reached over 2,800 levels.
Even the boss at Luo Ming’s third job in his past life—a foreigner—was hooked on Happy Match. He loved that game deeply. Did he even understand the sheer weight of Happy Match’s 5,000+ levels?
Luo Ming vaguely remembered that Happy Match came out in 2014 in his past life. Not long after launch, it started hardcore product placement in TV dramas and movies, marketing itself as something you could play anytime, anywhere.
And then it blew up.
If Tencent’s Honor of Kings and PUBG Mobile were the highest-revenue mobile games, then Happy Match was the most-played mobile game—and its female player base was more than double the male player base.
According to incomplete statistics, as of August 2022, Happy Match had been installed over 800 million times—comparable to WeChat. The official claim was that Happy Match was a game that hooked 600 million people.
Of course, that number was definitely exaggerated. Installations don’t equal players. But Luo Ming figured Happy Match’s actual player count was probably around 200 to 300 million.
After all, in his past life, he’d often see people playing Happy Match on the subway to work. He’d see people sneaking in a round while waiting for food at restaurants. If the player base were too small, you wouldn’t run into players that often.
In terms of money-making, Happy Match couldn’t hold a candle to the top mobile games. But when it came to player count, Happy Match feared no one.
If Zhuoguang could produce Happy Match, it would maximize the company’s visibility and lay a solid mass-market foundation for promoting Clash of Clans later.
With that in mind, Luo Ming said to Lin Shuwen, “Wenwen, if you want to play, I’ll have the company put Plants vs. Zombies Mobile on hold right now and make you a new little game.”
“No, no, no! Absolutely not! How could I let the company’s people drop their work just to make a game for me? Wouldn’t that make me a ‘femme fatale who ruins the country’?”
“It’s fine. This game was already in my plans—I’m just moving the schedule up a bit.”
“Still no. Just stick to your original plan!”
“My plans can all step aside for your needs. Give me half a month, and I guarantee you’ll be playing a new game.” With that, Luo Ming hung up.
Listening to the dial tone, Lin Shuwen’s face turned red as an apple.
She’d said no out loud, but her heart felt like it was dripping with honey.
What woman wouldn’t be happy to see her sweetheart make sacrifices for her?
Meanwhile, after hanging up, Luo Ming pulled out his laptop and created a new folder named “Happy Match.”
That night, Luo Ming burned the midnight oil and prepared the design document for Happy Match.
The next day, Luo Ming showed up at the office with dark circles under his eyes and immediately called Zhao Ningyuan, the tech team lead, and Su Qing, the art team lead, into his office.
“Boss Luo, did you not sleep well last night?” Zhao Ningyuan asked, looking at Luo Ming’s dark circles.
“I was worrying about the company’s future!”
“Boss, isn’t the company doing fine? Isn’t Plants vs. Zombies selling really well?” Su Qing said timidly.
“We can’t let ourselves get complacent and stagnate over temporary success. I have a new game project.”
“A new game project? Are we not doing Plants vs. Zombies Mobile anymore?” Zhao Ningyuan asked, taken aback.
“Of course we’re still doing it—just pushing it back a bit. I want all our energy on this new mobile game.
This game is perfect for playing during New Year’s downtime. Whether it’s a gathering with friends or relatives chatting at home, you can easily fire off a round. We just need to expand its social features and spend some money on ads, and we can maximize its spread during the Spring Festival.
By then, we’ll have some recognition in the mobile game market, which will give us a player base for Plants vs. Zombies Mobile and Clash of Clans once the company’s servers are in place.”
“Boss, is this game really that easy to make popular?” Su Qing asked.
“Don’t worry! This game is highly addictive.”
Su Qing nodded and didn’t ask further. She wasn’t a professional game designer and didn’t really understand this stuff. If the boss said so, she’d just have to trust him for now.
“Boss, does this game not need servers?”
“It does. Because this game has a payment system and social features, it needs to exchange data with servers.”
“Isn’t it too late for us to buy servers now?”
“Just buy a few blade server groups to start. This game’s data throughput isn’t too large—a few blade server groups will be enough.”
