147. The Current State of the Game Industry (1)

After finishing breakfast and realizing he seemed to have been thoroughly played for a fool by his own younger sister, Jiang Yu began playing video games with Doma Umaru with mixed feelings.

PS4, boot up! Screen, turn on! Account, log in! Game, start!

Gripping the controller, Jiang Yu stared curiously at the screen. Come to think of it, this was his first time playing a game in this world. He wondered if the console games in this realm were as abysmal and trashy as those galgames.

The first thing that caught his eye was the CAPCOM logo, which was quite familiar to Jiang Yu. It seemed that even in this parallel world, those world-renowned gaming giants remained unchanged; previously, he had also heard Aki Tomoya mention the illustrious name of Blizzard.

With this thought in mind, taking advantage of the game's loading time, Jiang Yu took out his phone to look up the currently prominent gaming companies in the industry.

First of all, the overall landscape of the gaming industry had not changed much compared to his previous life. China, the United States, and Japan remained the three largest gaming markets in the world, in that order.

The only exception perhaps was the Chinese gaming sphere—which, in Jiang Yu's former era, had started striving desperately to catch up, with a certain colossal gaming empire even preparing to forge China's own version of Steam—which was slightly different in this present world.

It seemed that because of a war whose process was similar to the Opium War of his past life, but whose outcome was entirely different, the imperial house of the Great Ming dynasty relinquished absolute imperial power while also allowing everyone to cast aside their recreational inhibitions.

During the peaceful era when the gaming industries of the US and Japan gradually developed, China continued to strive fiercely to close the technological gap between itself and other nations. It was precisely because of this attitude that China had been able to stand proudly among the world's ethnic forests ever since the turn of the millennium.

Moreover, because of the victory on the battlefield, certain territories genuinely belonged to China as its inherent sovereign domain from ancient times onward. Naturally, there were none of those rather vexing and messy troubles that Jiang Yu had experienced in his previous life.

Driven by the national imperative of an era where the entire country devoted its utmost efforts to developing technology, the gaming developers of a certain island province were stillborn, failing to become the first oasis in a barren desert as they had in the history of his past life.

After the year 2000, in this colossal empire whose internet and communication technologies both stood at the forefront of the world, whether one called it full bellies leading to worldly desires or the natural transition from material needs to spiritual pursuits, the gaming industry—previously a barren wasteland—began to blossom as major foreign gaming companies intervened.

Independent game studios mushroomed overnight, while large internet companies, much like in his previous life, chose to act as publishers for outstanding foreign works while simultaneously developing their own original titles.

The various hardships experienced along the way were similar yet distinct. At least there were no clowns strutting about, uttering self-righteous nonsense about curing internet addiction while engaging in thievish and shady operations. This particular fact made Jiang Yu feel that the domestic underage players of this world at that time were exceptionally fortunate.

Facing increasingly mature foreign works, domestic developers naturally had no choice but to appeal to national sentiment. However, constrained by funding and a lack of development experience, a flurry of poorly crafted martial arts and immortal-hero RPGs flooded the market under the banner of "saving domestic gaming."

Domestic players, initially extremely enthusiastic, gradually grew numb over time. Faced with these so-called works of sentiment or salvation, they would sneer, silently pay for them, toss them into a corner, and return to playing major foreign online games or AAA single-player masterpieces.

Later on, the domestic gaming market grew increasingly desolate. Heavily battered Chinese game developers, driven by the pressures of livelihood or other reasons, abandoned their original dreams one after another, running about daily merely to survive.

Gaming was undeniably a dream, but if one could not even fill their stomach, the so-called dream became completely meaningless. No matter how lofty the reasons one spouted, without reality as a foundation and regardless of any brilliant ideas one might possess, they would ultimately dissolve into nothingness.

To this day, aside from a few veteran domestic martial arts and xianxia RPGs barely holding the fort, China's homegrown games were much like those of Jiang Yu's past life.

It was worth noting, however, that starting from last year, China's state apparatus seemed to have attached unprecedented importance to the concept of "cultural export," beginning to vigorously support the domestic gaming industry. Gradually, a spark of vitality seemed to be returning.

Simultaneously, thanks to the rise of mobile platforms, the Chinese mobile gaming market officially surpassed Japan—which had long occupied the top spot—to become number one in the world starting in 2016.

Although, on the PC and home video game console platforms, it was still unable to compete with foreign game manufacturers.

To sum up the Chinese gaming market in a single sentence: it was a barren land brimming with hidden treasures.

Next, let us turn to the West.

Giants like EA, the notorious talent-crushing worst gaming company in the US, remained active. Some of their titles were familiar to Jiang Yu, while others were not—presumably a reflection of the differences between the two worlds.

Similarly, Ubisoft, a game developer frequently compared to EA or used as the butt of jokes in his past life, inevitably shouldered the reputation of "buying bugs and getting a free game." What puzzled Jiang Yu somewhat, however, was that among UBI's representative works, Assassin's Creed was notably absent, replaced instead by Splinter Cell and Prince of Persia. Of course, Rainbow Six, famously nicknamed "Siege Six," was still produced by this company.

Microsoft, just like in its past life, held the Windows operating system and the Office suite of productivity software in its grasp, subsequently branching into the gaming industry while developing cutting-edge black technologies, launching the Xbox series of home video game consoles in an attempt to counter PlayStation's monopoly.

As for Google, another world-renowned black technology firm, it had not developed a gaming industry, much like in his past life, and requires no further elaboration here.

It is worth mentioning that although China lagged somewhat behind in gaming, its capabilities in these high-tech fields vastly exceeded Jiang Yu's expectations.

There were two massive internet companies named Luohe and Tianshui. The former controlled the most widely used search engine within China's borders, while the latter's core business was the research, development, and distribution of mobile communication devices, though its prowess in developing black technologies seemed comparable to Google's.

Combining these two corporate giants, they could barely be viewed as a complete, Chinese version of Google.

As for other game companies, aside from CD Projekt Red, Jiang Yu had virtually no impressions left. Although he had initially grazed the gaming industry as a programmer in his past life, he was merely an ordinary individual struggling at the bottom of the mobile gaming sector; his impressions of many game companies remained frozen in the knowledge he had acquired during his days as a mere player.

Consequently, among all game developers, the one Jiang Yu held in the highest regard was naturally CD Projekt Red, affectionately joked about as "CDPR" or literally "Polish Stupid Donkeys."

As to why they earned such a nickname? Naturally, it was because this financially inept game developer actually sold colossal new expansions packed with content for the price of meager DLCs, making many fans worry that the company might go bankrupt as a result and desperately yearn to shove money directly into their hands.