Chapter 249: The Abandoned Past
Jima once doubted her aesthetic standards, so she hurried online and searched, and lo and behold, the main discussion wasn’t about her, but about diversity. Jima couldn’t understand, so she contacted her contact—someone sent by the people who blended in with her, from Ameria.
The purpose was to provide Jima with better opinions and suggestions, to prevent this demon king from frequently wanting to destroy cities and smash human armies. After a fight, she still thought she wanted something remarkable.
The contact was a woman, full of knowledge, explaining things to Jima in simple terms. As she talked, Jima eventually found herself drowning in a sea of terms and knowledge, nearly suffocating.
“I understand everything you’re saying,” Jima said. “But why are the game characters so ugly?”
The contact launched into a long explanation about “objectification of women,” “diversity in aesthetics,” and “inclusiveness.”
“What if it weren’t like that? What would happen to the company?”
“Protests, lawsuits, and a major drop in stock prices.”
“Oh, I get it,” Jima said. “So, a bunch of consumers pay money to the game company, and the company works hard to make games according to the players’ tastes. Such a simple matter turns complicated because a group of people is unhappy and shows up to stir up trouble.”
The contact continued to correct Jima’s wording, bursting out terms like feminism and diversity… Finally, Jima understood that it was all for a better society, which was why women in games had to be ugly.
“What grand narratives are deceiving people?” Jima was unhappy. “In the end, it’s just that they have power and can force others, isn’t that just like me?”
“Your Majesty the Demon King, they are your allies.”
“Allies?”
“They’re all women. Don’t you feel that you’ve been oppressed by a patriarchal society all along?”
“Ah?”
It was only after a science lesson from the female contact that Jima realized some feminist organizations saw her as a spiritual leader.
“Your ex-husband constantly sexually exploited you. You are a woman, and most of those who oppose you are men, and you’re also a lesbian… Your rebellion against patriarchal society has inspired many oppressed women.”
Jima hit her head, scattering all those messy concepts.
“Just one simple matter of posting big characters in a game, and it’s made so complicated,” Jima said. “Does that mean if I want to play a game with beautiful women, I have to destroy that group of chatterers?”
The female contact was not that surprised; she was just more intimidated. She continued to explain to Jima.
Jima shook her head and dismissed her: “Don’t shove your personal beliefs into my brain.”
After the contact disappeared, Jima rubbed her temples and complained, “Every ordinary person seizes the opportunity to try and pour a bunch of verbal garbage into my head to manipulate my behavior.”
The more she thought, the angrier she got. She had wasted magic to summon her just to hear her suggestions, only to find it was an attempt to recruit her? Such a waste of energy.
Jima was in no mood to play games, stomping around angrily, heading to the balcony to clear her mind.
What if I issue a statement? Who the hell is making the main characters look as ugly as a gorilla? I’ll cast a poverty curse on them, making them scavenge for food in trash bins. The men should be handsome too; each one is an ugly fruit.
Then, I’ll curse all the feminist organizations so everyone can see who actually has the say.
That sounds satisfying, but as she reasoned it out in her mind, she discovered many problems.
With so many games and characters, how could she possibly check them all? Even if she organized people to review them.
What makes a game developer decide what is ugly? What is beauty? Which character should be beautiful? Which character can be ugly but worry about it.
Okay, gathering a bunch of people for reviews isn’t enough; standards have to be established. But having standards opens the door for loopholes; with reviewers, there will always be people who abuse the power of review, essentially using her influence for their own benefit.
Jima despised being taken advantage of.
Moreover, she could foresee a future where she’d have to spend effort on such worthless matters.
With her hands behind her back, Jima strutted on the spacious balcony, then leaped off the ten-meter-high balcony, with the words “Don’t disturb me” floating above her head. The maids who occasionally crossed paths did not bother her.
A familiar figure appeared in front of Jima, it was Lianxi’s back, carrying a pot of water to water the rapeseed flowers. Near Jima’s dorm room, there were rarely ornamental plants; most were vegetables.
Little Li definitely wouldn’t try to control me with a bunch of words like that ordinary person.
“Little Li,” Jima said, “if I want to enjoy good works, what should I do?”
Lianxi turned her head, her fluffy cat ears perked up: “Ah? Master.”
“What do you think? If I get rid of the bad ones and strongly support the good ones, how does that sound?”
Lianxi was momentarily unclear about what Jima meant but seeing her gaze fixed on the rapeseed field ahead, sprouting vibrant green buds, she suddenly understood that her master was asking how to grow vegetables.
“It’s very simple,” Lianxi said. “As long as you fertilize well and water properly, even if they grow crooked, it’s okay; there will be more delicious vegetables that will grow.”
As expected of Little Li, she used such simple words.
Jima felt a little better and asked, “What if someone harms the works?”
“Drive them away, kill the pests, and protect the field.”
“Then why don’t I just kill all the pests?”
“Too troublesome,” Lianxi said. “As long as you protect the field, fertilize and water it, and give them the soil to grow freely, many delicious vegetables will come.”
Jima enlightened: “I understand now.”
With that, she hugged Lianxi and gave her a kiss on her little cat head: “Little Li is really great.”
“Ah?”
Lianxi looked at Jima, bewildered, as she flew away.
Jima ran to her computer and sent several messages via Twitter.
“I announce that no big posters should be pasted into the game. I don’t care what reason you use to attack the appearance of the game company’s characters; I will come after you. The lowest poverty curse is mine to choose.”
“Any company that has been sued due to political correctness can come to me; I will protect you. Of course, I don’t think anyone will publicly seek my help, but that’s fine. Whether you want to or not, I will come knocking.”
“Also, I have established a foundation, the name of which I haven’t decided yet, but its aim is to encourage game developers to make games. I plan to invest… three hundred million, I suppose.”
“For games I like, I will offer financial support.”
It was all so baffling.
After a brief downtime, the intertwined network of attacks surged again. No one knew what this invader from another world was planning to do.
Many game companies were watching from the sidelines; no one dared to openly collaborate with Jima, and a few large companies had to publicly declare they would absolutely not seek help from her.
But Jima didn’t care about any of that.
She established a foundation, with the money directly deposited; take it or leave it. Even if some independent game developers publicly stated they would never accept Jima’s money, she didn’t care at all.
She even personally went to Company B to inquire about the development progress of The Elder Scrolls VI.
The employees were initially frightened, but once Jima arrived, their fear and disgust quickly transformed into a passionate obsession.
They showed her the company’s top secrets.
Jima opened a folder named “The Elder Scrolls VI,” which contained just a logo for the game.
“What? You’ve only made a logo?”
“No, no, beautiful lady, we… we have many discarded plans and artistic resources from development…”
Jima right-clicked to check the folder’s properties; creation date… three minutes ago.
“Look into my eyes, mortals; can you bear to deceive this king and let her down?”
“I… I will do my best to create an Elder Scrolls VI that satisfies you.”
But Jima frowned, as she interpreted this subtext as: “You should come be our tester.”
“No, it should be a game that pleases the players,” Jima said. “You have to make it first, then let the players play, listen to feedback, update, eliminate bugs, and once the work is polished to perfection, then come find me. I will give you fifty million dollars as startup capital.”
Jima felt extremely clever; with so many players providing feedback for her, refining the game, all she had to do was wait for the finished product.
She turned to leave.
“Will you still come back after it’s done?”
“Of course.”
Jima disappeared into the air, visiting another game company that couldn’t count to six.
…
…
“Number 23, the extraordinary master from Mosobula City is online.”
An electronic female voice echoed in the internet cafe.
A few players elongated their necks curiously to see Number 23, who turned out to be George with golden hair.
He sat upright and serious, back straight like a model student in class, operating the dog head and with a cane took out the opposing base.
The lower right corner displayed the time: 11:30 AM, just as planned. George intended to win three more games to exhaust today’s entertainment quota.
Because yesterday he had another nightmare, the wound on his back opened up, soaking the sheets, and he had to compensate the owner five hundred yuan.
An hour later, after three consecutive defeats, nearly winning each time.
George didn’t continue to play another round; instead, he stood up regretfully, settled his bill, and left.
He walked past rows of illuminated screens and the players in front of them.
Two players were talking.
“Wow, this internet cafe actually has the newly released Elder Scrolls VIII!”
“Are you not afraid of being hacked by playing Steam at an internet cafe?”
“I’ve bound a token.”
George called a taxi, gave a destination, and the self-driving taxi rolled away.
He closed his eyes, feeling the passage of time.
How long has it been since he left his hometown? A hundred years? A thousand years? Or merely a moment? George didn’t want to waste time, aiming to judge Jima and bring back the crown fragments.
But Wan Ziqi’s mother had agreed to bring him home only at noon.
He went to look for Wan Ziqi’s place of residence during her lifetime.
Unfortunately, it had been demolished long ago, replaced by a row of shops.
In a residential area of Long City, he met Wan Ziqi’s mother, Wan Yapin, whose hair was partially white.
She looked younger than women her age, showing signs of physical exercise, but the deep smile lines at her eyes made her appear much older.
“Hello, I am a special investigator.”
George showed his police badge.
Wan Yapin had hoped many times and felt disappointed many times, her heart like a pool of stagnant water. She opened the door and said, “Go take a look. Don’t touch anything; a while ago, a group of people ruined my son’s rocket rack, and I drove them all away.”
George directly opened a room. The doorknob was broken, previously damaged by violence. Upon opening the door, a musty smell rushed out.
“Where is this?”
“My son’s bedroom.”
Wan Yapin made every effort to keep its arrangement the same as before. When it came to demolition, she spent a lot of money to move everything from that room to her new home in Long City.
Wan Yapin’s aging eyes looked around at the furnishings in the room; the walls were all blue. She reminisced, “My son said he liked blue…”
“My condolences.”
“There’s no way to grieve, Xiao Qiao.”
