Chapter 253: This Game Might Be Beyond Saving
All the other data looked fine—except for two major problems.
From the point players clicked the ad to the point they actually logged into the game, the drop-off rate was astronomical—six or seven times higher than that of other browser games!
And another issue: while the in-game player spending rate was high, total revenue remained abysmally low.
The reasons were simple.
The first issue stemmed from the massive size of the micro-client installer. A 370 MB package simply didn't fit the habits of most browser game players. They didn't even bother downloading or trying it out—most just gave up immediately.
As for the high spending rate—it was because the game's monetization was too fair. The only thing you could buy was stamina potions.
But that didn't help much, because the game's spending ceiling was far too low. Even if rich players wanted to spend money, there was nothing worth buying—so total revenue couldn't go up.
Pei Qian's prediction had been spot-on. The commercial for Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition might have been well-made, but it was completely aimed at the wrong audience.
Most of the viewers drawn in by the ad were traditional browser game players, but the 370 MB micro-client scared off almost all of them. The low spending ceiling then drove away the big spenders.
Meanwhile, the players who actually valued fair gameplay mostly preferred full-fledged client games. They didn't mind a 370 MB install size, but they had a deep prejudice against browser games. The moment they saw the ad, they were turned off—wanting nothing to do with it and never even clicking in.
As a result, the game was now stuck in a deadlock.
After reading the data, Pei Qian leaned back in his chair, feeling more comfortable than he had in ages.
Now this was more like it!
This was how the story was supposed to go!
Finally—something was unfolding exactly the way he expected!
For the first time in a while, Pei Qian felt genuinely satisfied.
The sudden explosion of popularity for Mingyun Private Kitchen had hit him hard and made him anxious, but now, seeing the state of Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition, he could finally breathe a little easier.
Because according to the rules of the browser game industry, a start this bad was almost impossible to recover from.
Most browser games were all about making a quick buck—they'd pump out tons of ads, hire celebrity endorsers, and stir up massive hype. Within just a few days, the game would explode in popularity, drawing in a flood of players.
But that kind of heat would vanish just as fast. Revenue would plummet, and the company would switch to a "rolling server" model to squeeze out whatever money they could.
So even a browser game that started out hot could still crash and burn later on.
And one that didn't start hot? Dead on arrival.
Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition had disastrous numbers on day one—so the odds of a comeback were practically zero.
The key issue that scared away most players was the 370 MB micro-client. But how could that be fixed?
They couldn't just scrap the entire 370 MB package and rebuild the game into an instant-play version again—that would make the whole project pointless.
So, from any angle, Pei Qian felt pretty optimistic about the situation.
Of course, he also knew better than to get careless.
There had been too many cases before of things starting badly but somehow turning around. The game had only been online for a single day—it was too early to celebrate.
He'd have to watch the situation carefully for a while before he could really relax.
. . .
Meanwhile, at Shangyang Games—
The mood was miserable. The entire office felt like a funeral.
Pei Qian wasn't the only one with access to the data—Ye Zhizhou, Wang Xiaobin, and Lin Wan could all see it too. The problems Pei Qian had noticed were obvious to them as well.
But even knowing what was wrong, they had no way to fix it.
Ye Zhizhou and Wang Xiaobin sat silently at their desks, brows deeply furrowed.
That 370 MB micro-client? That had been a team decision—and President Pei himself had approved it.
But now, the brutal truth had hit them in the face: a client that big simply didn't work in the browser game scene. The players just wouldn't accept it.
The veteran players of Blood War Anthem were actually more accepting of the situation. After all, they already had emotional ties to the game. The 370 MB micro-client brought huge improvements to graphics and gameplay smoothness, so for them, the experience really was better.
But Blood War Anthem had long been a dying game that was barely keeping its servers alive. How many old players could there even be?
With just their spending alone, forget recouping development costs—it was hard enough to cover the company's daily operational expenses.
And so, the team found itself stuck in a deadlock.
Wang Xiaobin knew better than anyone how dire the situation really was.
If the problem had been something less critical, they might have been able to fix it.
For instance, if the second-day retention rate was too low—meaning players played on day one but didn't return the next—they could easily add a "log in on day two for a free item" feature to boost retention.
But in this case, there was no way to patch things up.
Most players never even made it into the game. They clicked the ad, saw the 370 MB download size, and bailed immediately. How could you possibly fix that?
Wang Xiaobin and Ye Zhizhou exchanged a silent look, both perfectly aware of what the other was thinking.
Still, sitting around doing nothing wasn't an option. They had to try something.
President Pei had always treated them well—now was the time to step up, pool their ideas, and share his burdens.
After thinking for a moment, Ye Zhizhou suggested, "Brother Wang, how about this: we split the client into smaller parts. We could make a 5 MB starter client so players can launch the game almost right away after clicking in."
"After they've played for about ten minutes, we can prompt them to download the rest of the resources—or even have the remaining assets download quietly in the background while they play."
"Would that help a bit?"
It was the only idea Ye Zhizhou could come up with.
Wang Xiaobin shook his head. "It's a nice thought, but not really feasible."
"Our current design has players reach the capital city very early on—so they can immediately experience its bustling atmosphere and get a strong first impression. That means most of the major assets are loaded right at the start."
"To make a starter client, we'd still need to include a ton of resources—the character models, monsters, the capital city's 3D environment, all of that takes a lot of space. And we'd still have to include the game's core program files in the initial package."
"When you add it all up, even in the best-case scenario, that starter client could only be compressed down to maybe seventy or eighty megabytes. There's no way we could get it down to 5 MB."
"From a numbers perspective, 70 MB versus 370 MB looks like a big difference—but to a browser game player, both mean the same thing: it's not instant play, and it still takes forever to download. The difference doesn't feel that big."
"If we can't find a better solution, we could try it—but… I doubt it'll make much of a difference."
Ye Zhizhou had no response.
The root of the problem was that, during development, no one had ever considered that the micro-client might have such a strong repelling effect on traditional browser game players!
Back then, everyone had been obsessed with upgrading the visuals—from 2D to 3D, from pixelated to high-definition—and they had been far too optimistic about the future of Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition.
As a result, neither the early gameplay flow nor the level design had taken into account the possibility of splitting the client into smaller parts.
Now, if they wanted to forcibly divide the client into two sections, they'd have to overhaul the entire game—an enormous, time-consuming task with unpredictable consequences.
Ye Zhizhou felt deeply frustrated. This really seemed like an unsolvable situation.
But… President Pei had approved this plan.
Could it be that even he had misjudged the situation?
That President Pei himself hadn't expected the micro-client approach to fail?
For Ye Zhizhou—who had always admired President Pei's design philosophy—it was hard to accept that possibility.
Wang Xiaobin sighed, trying to comfort himself.
"Look on the bright side, even if the game flops, it won't affect our bonuses too much."
"Starting this month, the company's bonuses are based on a game's reputation. Blood War Anthem: Enhanced Edition might not be making money, but its reviews are actually quite good."
"Given the size of the project's budget, our bonuses should still be pretty generous."
Ye Zhizhou shook his head.
"True, but it still feels embarrassing. Even if the reviews are great, if the game doesn't make money, there's no pride in that."
"Besides, TPDb doesn't just have internal and player ratings—there are public ratings too. A lot of people who haven't even played the game might just rate it low because of that ad we ran."
"If the public scores tank, the TPDb overall rating will drop too."
"At that point, the game might end up with neither profit nor a good reputation."
Wang Xiaobin was silent for a long time before muttering under his breath, "…Damn. You're right…"
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