Fuzhou, Mercury Technology Office Area.
The clatter of keyboards filled the air.
Outside the window, the air conditioning units hummed.
Fu Zhan stood behind the lead programmer's workstation, staring at the data scrolling across the screen.
"The Red Armillary Sash's cloth simulation still has two clipping points," the lead programmer said, pointing to the bottom-left corner of the screen. "On the fourth and seventh frames, when Nezha turns and leaps into the air, the edge of the red sash overlaps with the shaft of the Fire-Tipped Spear."
"Have Old Zhang pull those frames and fix them manually," Fu Zhan said, patting the lead programmer on the shoulder. "This is the final bug sweep. Don't let us mess up now. We're locked at 60 frames per second; any more drops and we won't achieve the action effects we're aiming for."
Investiture of the Gods: The Legend of Nezha had entered its final bug-fixing phase.
After more than half a year of relentless effort, this team of technicians—veterans who had cut their teeth in the Famicom era—had managed to squeeze arcade-level action fluidity out of the Jupiter motherboard using a 2.5D foundation.
Back in his private office, the computer screen on his desk was lit.
An email from Sega's Tokyo Headquarters sat quietly in his inbox.
The sender was Oguchi Hisao.
The attachment was massive.
After unpacking it, Fu Zhan found not the usual low-level code optimization guides or art asset review feedback.
North American PC Game Market Research and Networking Trend Analysis
Preliminary Exploration of Commercial Models for LAN Versus WAN MMOs
Memorandum on the Operation Model of Silicon Valley Online Internet Cafés
Fu Zhan scrolled through the files with the mouse wheel, skimming them quickly.
Sega rarely sent them such purely commercial and forward-looking materials.
In the past, Takuya Nakayama would at most offer a few casual pointers. This time, they had thrown the most cutting-edge industry trends from North America right at them.
This was a reconnaissance mission.
Fu Zhan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping on the desk.
The domestic electronic game market in 1996 was completely different from that of developed countries like Japan and the United States.
Console gaming, limited by national income and consumption habits, had always been stuck at a bottleneck in terms of market size.
The prices of original consoles and genuine cartridges were astronomical for the average working-class family.
The best-selling product on the market was the compatible machine, marketed as a "learning machine."
Little Tyrant.
This name held a dominant position in the mainland market.
With nearly 80% market share, it had single-handedly turned the learning machine into a national-level household appliance.
Mercury Technology had Sega's technical backing and the hardware foundation of the original Mega Drive. They had even developed an upgraded learning kit featuring real human voiceovers and progress monitoring. Yet, in the domestic market, they were still getting crushed by Little Tyrant.
The reason was simple and brutal: price.
A difference of a few hundred yuan was enough to make parents ignore Mercury Technology's fancy educational features and buy Little Tyrant instead. After all, the parents wouldn't be the ones using the specific functions. They'd say their child shouldn't lose at the starting line, but a chalk line on the ground was good enough—who had the money for a painted one?
The one who had truly expanded the console gaming market in China was actually Nine-Tattooed Dragon.
Hourly-rate console game parlors had sprouted up all over the streets and alleys of every major city.
If Nine-Tattooed Dragon hadn't been worried that their growing influence would attract unwanted attention, they could have expanded their empire even further.
Now, the materials Sega had sent pointed toward a completely new frontier: online gaming.
The hardware threshold for online gaming was a massive network of connected computer terminals.
How far along was the Internet infrastructure in mainland China?
Fu Zhan picked up the teacup on his desk and took a sip of the cold tea.
Mercury Technology was currently a registered high-tech export-oriented enterprise with the municipal government. Thanks to the foreign exchange they had earned overseas from The Legend of Yang Jian, the city authorities had given them a green light for almost everything.
Finding a time to visit the municipal government to inquire about the Post and Telecommunications Bureau's upcoming network deployment plans and to feel out the policies wouldn't be difficult.
But to truly understand the market penetration of computers at the user end and the potential of emerging businesses like internet cafes, he still needed to find a professional.
Fu Zhan grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed a number in Hong Kong.
"Hello, President Fu," a hoarse voice answered from the other end. In the background, the faint sound of mahjong tiles being shuffled could be heard.
"Brother Long, are you busy?" Fu Zhan smiled.
"Just finished auditing the books for a few of my venues in Kowloon. What's up?"
"Sega sent over some materials about North American internet cafes and online gaming," Fu Zhan said, getting straight to the point. "You know the situation on the mainland better than I do. I want to get a feel for the ground."
The other end of the line went quiet for a few seconds. The sound of mahjong ceased.
"What a coincidence," Nine-Tattooed Dragon's voice dropped an octave. "I just received a document from Sega's Hong Kong branch this morning, and it was also about internet cafes. That Oguchi Hisao guy even called me personally, asking me to keep an eye on the computer rental business in the Mainland."
The two exchanged information over the phone.
Although Nine-Tattooed Dragon had started out in the underworld, he had long since laundered his reputation into a legitimate businessman. Over the past two years, he had been building distribution channels and collecting rent in the Mainland, leveraging Mercury Technology's hardware and games. His crew, responsible for managing these channels, spent their days scouring computer malls and electronics markets, giving them a sharper sense for market trends than anyone else.
"Brother Long, your distribution network is practically halfway to becoming Mercury's own Marketing Department," Fu Zhan joked.
"Cut that out. Even brothers settle accounts clearly. I'll deduct the consulting fee from your next commission," Nine-Tattooed Dragon replied without hesitation. "We can't hash this out over the phone. This whole 'internet' thing... I can see it's a massive pit, but also a gold mine. My people have spotted a few scattered shops in Shenzhen and Guangzhou offering internet access. They're charging exorbitant fees, yet they're packed every single day."
"How about we meet up?" Fu Zhan suggested, seizing the opportunity.
"Alright. I'll head to Fuzhou in mid-August. I'm having my team do a sweep of all the provincial capitals to get a handle on the situation with those computer rooms and internet cafes. I'll bring the data when I see you."
"Sounds good. I'll also go to the city and feel things out to see what the higher-ups' attitude is toward Internet construction."
After hanging up, Fu Zhan turned his attention back to the computer screen.
During the development of The Legend of Nezha, they had learned the hard way about the dangers of working in a vacuum.
When they first designed Nezha's magical weapon combos, they were quite pleased with themselves, combining the Fire-Tipped Spear and the Universe Ring.
But the playable demo they produced felt incredibly clunky during internal testing.
It wasn't until they managed to get their hands on a few hardcore gaming magazines from Europe and America and studied their in-depth analysis of animation canceling and hitstun in action games that they tore down the entire combat system and started over.
They spent over half a month breaking down and polishing every single frame of animation before they finally arrived at the current version, which no one could find a single flaw in.
A burnt child dreads the fire.
Fu Zhan knew all too well now that working in a vacuum was a dead end.
Sega throwing out the bait of online gaming indicated that PC and networking were the future.
The console market was only so big. If Mercury wanted to survive longer, or even go toe-to-toe with those major international studios, they had to lay the groundwork early.