Chapter Six: Careful Planning for the Long Term

Games are an indispensable pillar of the internet, especially online games, which began to emerge domestically around the year 2000 and immediately garnered significant attention. The most popular online game at present is likely "Stone Age," but toward the end of this year, Chen Tianqiao is poised to create a gaming phenomenon in China with a third-rate Korean online game, rising swiftly to become the nation's richest man within a few short years.

The game that earned him his fortune, "Legend," should be entering its pre-launch testing phase about now. Li Mu, too, was once a fan of "Legend." Not long after starting university, he was introduced to the game by a classmate and quickly became obsessed. University studies weren’t particularly demanding, so he often played with his roommates, controlling a warrior character all the way until graduation in 2005. Eventually, the rampant cheating drove away many veteran players, and Li Mu stopped playing as well.

Looking back, a game as riddled with flaws as "Legend" would be child's play for him now—finding bugs to farm gold and items, even writing cheats, would be effortless, and the profit potential enormous. However, at this moment, "Legend" hasn’t launched yet; if memory serves, its debut is scheduled for September. After two months of free play, the game begins charging for access, likely around November or December.

Li Mu recalled that "Legend" truly exploded in popularity at year’s end, and the first cheat program appeared around November, too. The so-called first cheat only provided one feature: candle immunity, basically automatic visibility so players no longer needed to buy candles. Even with such a minor function, its adoption rate exceeded ninety percent in a short time, revealing the immense demand among "Legend" players for such tools.

Still, making money from "Legend" required patience—a few more months’ wait. But the currently hot "Stone Age" presented an opportunity. Like "Legend" and "MU," "Stone Age" had a notorious abundance of cheats. Li Mu remembered a news story about a cheat studio called "Abe Cheats," which, through operating cheats for "Stone Age," built a million-yuan industry chain in just a year or two.

No matter how skilled the people at "Abe Cheats" were, they were only programmers of their era. Li Mu had the advantage of future insight and technology; as long as he pinpointed what gamers needed, making money would be effortless.

Prompted by Chen Wan’s suggestion, Li Mu instantly devised a way to make quick money: creating cheat programs. The feasibility was extremely high, and in his excitement, he unconsciously grabbed Chen Wan’s hand.

At that moment, Chen Wan felt flustered by Li Mu’s grasp; though she was three years his senior, she had little experience interacting with the opposite sex. Compared to Li Mu, who’d dated several girlfriends and was hardly a novice, she was no match.

Li Mu was genuinely grateful for Chen Wan’s reminder—the word “game” struck him like a bolt of lightning, waking him up.

He’d spent more than a decade in the internet industry, always believing in one principle: nothing stimulates virtual consumption among male netizens more than two things—erotic content and games. This was an eternal truth, entirely different from e-commerce platforms like Taobao, which simply exchange money for goods.

Creating cheat programs was undoubtedly a fast-track to wealth.

Li Mu’s father, seeing his son’s clumsy attempt to take advantage of a girl, coughed twice, feeling somewhat embarrassed. His son’s approach was still rather immature.

Li Mu quickly let go of Chen Wan’s hand and, to cover his embarrassment, mimed typing on a keyboard while saying, “Besides surfing the internet and playing games, computers can do lots of other things.”

Chen Wan nodded. “That’s true. But we've only learned basic computer usage. If you're interested, you could consider majoring in computer science at university.”

“Mm,” Li Mu replied absentmindedly, already calculating the prospects of the current gaming and cheat market.

"Stone Age" had been running for half a year now, and commercial cheat programs had already appeared. Still, Li Mu was confident that, with his skills, he could make some money from "Stone Age" right now.

He would use "Stone Age" to build up some capital, so that by the end of September, he could be the first to develop a commercial cheat for "Legend," seizing the initiative before the super online game was fully commercialized—a golden opportunity for big earnings this year.

With a clear direction, Li Mu felt much lighter. He chatted with Chen Wan for a while, subtly probing into her background.

Chen Wan was a junior at Fudan University in Shanghai, majoring in journalism, soon to be a senior. Her family ran a business in Haizhou, and she was an only child.

As for her relationship status, Li Mu coaxed it out with a single question: “Wan, you’re so beautiful—surely the campus queen of Fudan. Your boyfriend must be a campus heartthrob too, right?”

“I’m not a campus queen, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Li Mu winked with a mischievous smile, and Chen Wan realized he was fishing for information about her romantic life. She thought to herself, this guy is downright cunning.

Li Mu’s thoughts turned over and over—no wonder Chen Wan would become a provincial TV host in the future; she was a journalism major. As for her family, while she hadn’t given details, he guessed the business was sizable. By the time her father was convicted for illegal fundraising in 2015, the amount involved had already reached several billion yuan.

At present, Li Mu had only ten yuan in his pocket and no real power to change Chen Wan’s life trajectory, but he had plenty of time to plan ahead.

After dinner, Chen Wan insisted on taking a taxi to send Li Mu and his parents home, but Li Mu refused. He didn’t want to trouble her further, so he claimed four people would be too cramped, flagged down a car, and insisted that Chen Wan take it first.

Chen Wan had no choice; before leaving, she asked for Li Mu’s home phone number, saying she’d call him when she had time. Li Mu readily gave it, having already planned to ask for her number—he couldn’t let their connection break.

Li Mu finished giving his home number and was about to ask for hers when Chen Wan pulled out a small notebook, extracted a mini ballpoint pen, and wrote a string of digits on a piece of paper.

“This is my mobile number. Call me anytime; I’ll be in Haizhou for a while.”

“Alright.” Li Mu took the number and carefully tucked it into his pocket.

After Chen Wan left, Li Mu’s father hailed another taxi.

On the way home, Li Mu sat in the back seat with his mother. She held his hand, still shaken, and said, “When I got the call today, I nearly had a heart attack. Thank goodness you’re alright…”

“Yes,” Li Mu’s father said from the front passenger seat, turning to speak. “It was a stroke of luck amidst misfortune. You must be more careful when going out from now on.”

Li Mu nodded vigorously, his heart full of warmth.