Chapter 59 Would You Mind Having One More Girlfriend?

The following evening, at the appointed hour.

In Hangzhou, at the tail end of summer, the city was aglow with its evening lights, yet the heat had not abated, and the whole metropolis seemed to be steaming under its own haze.

“Huff! Huff!”

“What kind of place is this, really—there isn’t even an elevator.”

Chen Luo had climbed to the seventh floor and felt as though every inch of his body was soaked in sweat; his tailored shirt clung to him, outlining his muscular physique.

“Tell me about it. Who would have guessed that Miss Zhou’s studio would be in a place like this? It’s certainly... distinctive.”

Hongye, dressed in a low-cut business suit and carrying a pair of heels in her hand, was also perspiring heavily; beads of sweat slid down her neck, some tracing their way into her alluring décolletage.

Chen Luo reached out and pulled her up, his palm slick with fragrant sweat.

He glanced at the stairs below and the worn walls—a faded grandeur—and wondered who would imagine a young lady from a wealthy family would establish her studio atop an old dormitory in the very heart of Hangzhou.

“Oh, my! You two are early. You should have called me from downstairs!” Zhou Zheng hurried down from the corner of the eighth-floor staircase, his face apologetic.

“My sincerest apologies—I forgot to mention there’s no elevator. Come quickly, there’s air conditioning upstairs.”

Supporting Hongye, Chen Luo ascended to the eighth floor and opened an old door.

With a click, the door swung open, and instead of the expected dilapidated dormitory environment, they were greeted by an exceptionally minimalist and modern workspace.

In the center of the living room stood six computers, with five staff members engrossed in programming.

The sound of keyboards clattered continuously, and no one paid any heed to Chen Luo and his companions.

A large screen hung on the wall, playing introductions and materials for various games; beside it, a board displayed today’s work plan.

That plan was meticulously detailed, specifying each person’s tasks and responsibilities—efficient and streamlined.

“Zhou Mei, Chen Luo and the others have arrived,” Zhou Zheng called out several times toward an inner room as he ushered the two onto a sofa.

Yet after calling several times, no one appeared, so Zhou Zheng was about to go in and find her, with Chen Luo following close behind.

Inside, they found a young woman with glasses, dressed in a white shirt and pleated skirt, wearing headphones, sitting at her computer with her back to them, absorbed in gaming.

She was immersed in an open-world adventure game reminiscent of World of Warcraft, though Chen Luo, recalling his previous life, did not recognize the title—perhaps it was a game in development.

At that moment, Zhou Mei was tackling a dungeon. Her gameplay exhibited remarkable precision; every action was efficient, nothing wasted.

“Zhou Mei, they’re—” Zhou Zheng moved forward to tap her shoulder, but Chen Luo stopped him. He wanted to observe the game’s level, to gauge their programming prowess.

With Zhou Mei’s deft controls, her character dispatched enemy after enemy, finally reaching the dungeon’s ultimate boss. Her performance was smooth and fluid—clearly a seasoned gamer.

It took less than ten minutes for Zhou Mei to clear the entire dungeon.

“Hmm, a decent game. The flow is good, but the style and audience seem problematic.”

With a thud, Zhou Mei slammed her headset onto the desk and stood abruptly, glaring at Chen Luo.

“How dare you say there’s a problem with my game?”

Only as she turned did Chen Luo realize that, despite her cute attire and petite figure—barely reaching one meter sixty—her face carried the mature allure of an older woman.

Almond-shaped eyes, a prominent nose, and a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth lent her an air of sophistication and maturity.

A childlike figure paired with an elegant visage—the contrast was striking.

“Oh, you must be Chen Luo. My brother always says you’re a business genius, but even if you are, you know nothing about games. You’re not qualified to critique mine!”

Zhou Mei was supremely confident in her World of Warcraft-inspired game, convinced it would spark a domestic craze upon its release at year’s end.

“My apologies—I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me.”

Chen Luo had no intention of pursuing the argument; he was here to develop a food delivery app, not to make games.

“No! You must explain yourself!”

“If you don’t tell me the flaws in my game, don’t even think about leaving this room today.”

She stepped forward and grabbed Chen Luo’s arm with both hands, her eyes full of urgent curiosity.

Uh... this girl is bolder than she appears.

Wait—doesn’t she realize? My hand is touching her chest. Let go, quickly, or Hongye will start taking pictures!

Chen Luo hurriedly tried to push her away, but Zhou Mei clung even tighter.

“Speak! Tell me now!”

“Little sister! Mind your manners!” Zhou Zheng tried to pull her off.

“Get out of my way!” She shoved Zhou Zheng aside, her eyes fixed intently on Chen Luo.

That look—she’s serious.

“Junior, perhaps you should say something. My sister is a gaming fanatic, utterly obsessed with programming and games. If she’s like this, I fear it’ll be hard for us to develop the food delivery app.”

“Fine, I’ll speak, but Zhou Mei, would you please let go first?” Chen Luo saw Hongye reaching for her phone and hastily addressed Zhou Mei.

He had just soothed Wenwan’s mood the previous night—he couldn’t afford any fresh drama today.

Zhou Mei released Chen Luo’s arm, spun around, and closed the door, clearly determined not to let him leave until he explained himself.

“All right, I’ll share my thoughts. Don’t take it too seriously if you disagree.”

Chen Luo outlined the characteristics and target audiences of games he’d observed in his past life.

In fact, if Zhou Mei’s game were released now, it would not face major issues, but the Chinese PC adventure game market in 2014 was soon to suffer two major disruptions.

One was the rise of mobile games on smartphones, siphoning off market share from PC titles.

The other was the influx of imported foreign games, which would greatly compress the domestic market.

Thus, Chen Luo explained the shortcomings of her game.

First, the concept was outdated, still confined to modifications of foreign games; the creativity was lacking, making it difficult to attract new players in an already saturated PC market.

Second, there was no consideration for mobile platforms. With the proliferation of smartphones, mobile games would become the next big trend, and PC games would inevitably lose out.

Third, the target audience was misjudged. As the pace of life quickened, fewer people had time to visit internet cafes and play PC games, leading to a steady decline in the PC gamer base.

When Chen Luo finished, Zhou Mei bowed her head in deep thought, silent for a long time.

Chen Luo stood quietly before her, signaling Zhou Zheng and the others to keep silent as well. He knew Zhou Mei was absorbing his words, contemplating a remedy.

Perhaps this could help her avoid major losses upon the game’s release.

Chen Luo was not speaking aimlessly; Zhou Mei was about to become the technical lead for his project. If her own game failed, she might lose the motivation to help with his app.

The other programmers lacked trust and could not be recruited quickly, and the food delivery project was urgent.

Thus, Chen Luo was willing to advise Zhou Mei, partly for his own interests.

After more than ten minutes, Zhou Mei looked up, locking eyes with Chen Luo.

“Chen Luo, would you mind having one more girlfriend?”

“What?”