As Yun Wenxi spoke eloquently, Mu Bai quietly set the file down on the coffee table and listened attentively.
Meanwhile, Xu Jinhuan thoughtfully brewed a cup of fine hot tea for Mu Bai.
Once the tea was ready, she didn’t interrupt the conversation and simply sat quietly beside Mu Bai.
Seven or eight minutes passed.
Yun Wenxi had finally finished giving a fairly comprehensive and accessible overview of Primordial Immortal Fate.
As expected of someone with over twenty years of experience in the game industry, Yun Wenxi was able to explain complex and technical concepts in a way that was easy to understand—even someone like Mu Bai, who had little exposure to gaming, could grasp the essentials.
In short, the game was a new type of browser-based game that combined the competitive elements of popular esports titles with traditional pay-to-win leveling systems.
To successfully merge these two very different aspects, Yun Wenxi and his studio had invested a great deal of effort.
They were confident that once Primordial Immortal Fate launched on major platforms, it would quickly explode in popularity and become a highly profitable browser game—with very promising prospects.
But truth be told, Mu Bai didn’t actually care whether Primordial Immortal Fate would become popular, or how promising its future looked. He didn’t even care whether it would turn a profit.
After all, the potential profits of a browser game likely wouldn’t be anything substantial anyway.
What he did care about was whether the game’s potential score could reach 80—and whether it could help advance a side quest.
That was it.
So after Yun Wenxi finished his detailed introduction, Mu Bai didn’t ask for further elaboration. He simply said softly, “Alright. That was a thorough overview. I have a general understanding now. Let’s move on to the investment.”
At the mention of investment—the real core of the conversation—Yun Wenxi quickly and respectfully replied, “Yes, of course. But Mr. Mu, I want to clarify that during my earlier introduction, I wasn’t exaggerating anything. Plus, you have someone like Ms. Xu Jinhuan—an experienced insider—by your side, so I naturally wouldn’t dare overstate anything. I truly believe this game has great potential…”
Seeing that Yun Wenxi was about to go off on another long-winded explanation, Mu Bai calmly cut him off: “That’s enough. No need for more details. Let’s talk investment.”
That flat response left Yun Wenxi momentarily speechless and a little stunned.
From the tone, he could tell the boy had no interest in spending more time discussing the game’s future potential—but what stood out even more was the complete indifference in his voice.
Indifference?
That was what left Yun Wenxi so shocked.
Yes—who would discuss an investment if they actually cared, after only hearing one round of explanation?
No one. At least, Yun Wenxi had never met such a person.
If investments were really this easy to secure, game studios and companies wouldn’t be constantly teetering on the edge of collapse due to financial stress.
Many highly promising games had been scrapped simply because of a lack of funding.
So hearing that disinterested tone from this boy left Yun Wenxi at a loss.
He didn’t know what to say next.
Thankfully, Xu Jinhuan had expected this situation. She spoke up at the right moment, gently saying, “Mr. Yun, what Mu Hao means is that you can go ahead and discuss the investment directly. He already understands the game from your explanation—and I’ve done my own research. There’s no need to spend more time on that.”
“Oh—alright, of course. Then, Mr. Mu, may I ask how much you’re planning to invest?” Yun Wenxi finally snapped out of it, forcing a somewhat awkward smile.
At this point, he really didn’t understand why what should’ve been a standard game investment discussion felt so surreal.
A nineteen- or twenty-year-old investor, absurdly young, showing no interest in the game’s prospects and only wanting to talk about investment.
And a seasoned industry veteran like Xu Jinhuan, who should be emphasizing the importance of market potential and profitability, said nothing on the matter.
Instead, it was he—the one seeking the investment, the planner of the game—who had been going on and on about the game’s bright future.
What was going on?
Yun Wenxi swore, in all his twenty-plus years as a game planner, after securing over a hundred different investments for studios big and small—he had never felt so confused.
And he had never had an investment meeting like this.
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