"Then rewrite it," Fu Zan said, settling the matter with finality. "I expect every one of you to submit your applications for Party membership within the week. I will collect them and forward them to the Cangshan District Committee. Let us secure our status as activists first and establish the necessary framework."
Old Zhang pulled a wry face. "Old Fu, these hands were made for writing code. Asking me to compose a two-thousand-word application is practically torture!"
Taiwan Novel Network → 𝑡𝑤𝑘𝑎𝑛.𝑐𝑜𝑚
"Go to the Xinhua Bookstore downstairs, buy a sample essay, and adapt it to your own needs. Just ensure there aren't too many typos," Fu Zan replied, leaving no room for negotiation. "This is not up for debate; it concerns the future trajectory of the company."
Once the organizational matters were settled, the meeting finally turned to the technical aspects with which everyone was most familiar.
"We may not be able to pursue Mazu, but we cannot abandon the 'Investiture of the Gods' IP, either," Fu Zan said, steering the discussion back to business. "The Legend of Erlang
made a name for itself in both Japan and the Chinese-speaking world, and Sega is eager for us to strike while the iron is hot. For our next project, I intend to focus on Nezha."
"The Investiture of the Gods: The Legend of Nezha," Old Zhang mused, weighing the title. "That boy is a formidable figure. Stirring the seas, extracting dragon tendons, stripping his own flesh to repay his parents—the dramatic tension here far eclipses that of Erlang."
"The genre will remain an ARPG," Fu Zan said, jotting a few notes onto the whiteboard. "However, the gameplay must evolve. The core of The Legend of Erlang was the seventy-two transformations, which required players to toggle between three distinct forms for both puzzles and combat. Nezha lacks such a repertoire; his strength lies in his arsenal of magical artifacts and his visceral, hard-hitting melee style."
"Fire-tipped Spear, Wind Fire Wheels, Universal Ring, Cosmic Ribbon." Xiao Li, the combat designer, ticked them off on his fingers. "If we convert all these artifacts into active skills, we'll run out of buttons. Yet, if we relegate them to passive traits, they'll lose their necessary impact."
"That is the very problem you must solve," Fu Zan replied, fixing his gaze on Xiao Li. "Weave the artifacts into the core combat flow. For instance, let the Fire-tipped Spear serve as the basic attack, and have a three-hit combo trigger a launch; follow that with an aerial ground-smash using the Cosmic Ribbon, then land and dash forward with the Wind Fire Wheels. We need to make the action system both deeper and more rewarding."
Xiao Li's eyes brightened as he listened, and he began to take notes.
This approach—prioritizing a visceral action experience—is far more compelling than a system reliant on simple, stat-driven clashes.
"What should our technical roadmap look like?" the lead programmer asked, striking at the heart of the matter. "Sega is pushing 3D gaming aggressively; should we follow their lead? The Jupiter's hardware ought to handle full 3D without breaking a sweat."
Fu Zan shook his head.
"If you take a stride that is too wide, you'll only tear your trousers. Our current technical reserves are insufficient to manage full 3D camera control and collision detection.
If we force the issue, we will inevitably deliver a half-baked product that feels abysmal to play."
He walked to the whiteboard and sketched a 3D coordinate system.
"We will utilize 2.5D—a fixed 45-degree isometric perspective."
The lead programmer frowned. "Like Phantasy Star?"
"Correct." Fu Zan tapped the whiteboard. "We will pre-render the backgrounds into 2D textures using 3D software to ensure precision and optimal lighting. We'll build high-poly character models and export them as multi-directional 2D frame sequences. This approach allows us to squeeze every ounce of performance from the Jupiter's 2D capabilities while maintaining perfectly fluid animation. The frame rate must be locked at 60 FPS."
Old Zhang gasped.
"Old Fu, you're going to be the death of the art team. If Nezha has an extensive move set, the workload for eight-directional frame sequences will be astronomical. Just rendering the trailing effects for those magical artifacts alone will have us coughing up blood."
"Expand the team," Fu Zan countered. "We have the budget now. Recruit from the art academies and poach talent from rival animation studios. Scale the art department to thirty people and implement an assembly-line workflow: assign dedicated teams to modeling, rigging, and frame cleanup."
He pressed his palms against the desk and leaned forward.
"With 'The Legend of Yang Jian,' we were merely feeling our way across the river, relying on form-switching as a shortcut to mask the lack of depth in our combat mechanics. 'The Legend of Nezha,' however, is a different matter. Stripped of the gimmick of spell-swapping, players will focus entirely on the visceral impact of every strike. Hit stun, damage feedback, animation canceling—we must refine every nuance of these elements. This project represents a rigorous test of our combat design capabilities."
The conference room fell silent.
Everyone was mentally weighing the sheer difficulty of this approach.
A fixed 45-degree perspective could circumvent the camera dizziness and clipping issues that plague so many 3D titles.
Furthermore, high-precision 2D sprite sequences could deliver far more intricate visuals than the crude 3D polygons typical of the era.
Channeling our collective energy into combo mechanics and the visceral feel of combat is undoubtedly a shrewd way to play to our strengths while mitigating our weaknesses.
"This is a tall order," Xiao Li remarked, cracking his knuckles with a sharp, rhythmic pop. "But if we can capture that sense of velocity—like Nezha darting through a throng of enemies on his Wind Fire Wheels—it will be far more exhilarating than anything Erlang Shen could offer."
"I'll stake my reputation on the art direction," Old Zhang said, his playful demeanor suddenly sharpening into focus. "Provided we have the manpower, I will deliver every frame sequence required. I'll personally oversee the cloth simulation for the Red Armillary Sash to ensure its movement is fluid and seamless."
The lead programmer adjusted his glasses. "I can optimize the enemy count," he noted. "Since we're working with a fixed camera angle, we can dynamically unload off-screen assets. I can manage twenty enemies on screen while guaranteeing a stable sixty frames per second."
Watching his core team reignite with such fervor, Fu Zan closed his notebook.
Last night's celebration served as a tribute to the past; today's meeting establishes the tone for the future.
From this moment forward, Mercury Technology is no longer a makeshift operation reliant on mere grit and good fortune, but a professional force defined by clear strategy and a keen sense of self-preservation.
"Meeting adjourned. Everyone, get to work on your requirement lists." Fu Zan stood up. "Xiao Li, I expect to see the paper prototype for the Nezha basic combos by the end of the day. Old Zhang, you are coming with me to the Academy of Fine Arts tomorrow to set up our recruitment booth."
The team rose in succession, notebooks in hand, and dispersed to their respective stations.
While Mercury Technology was launching its new project in Fuzhou, the reforms at Sega's headquarters in Ota City were being implemented department by department, precisely according to plan.
Bolstered by the board's resolution and the buffer provided by skill-retraining subsidies, the anticipated personnel turmoil failed to materialize.
The operational efficiency of every classroom has seen a marked improvement.
Hoshino pushed open the door to the Operations Executive's office, clutching a thick, bound document.
"This is a progress report on the reorganization of Sega's internal copyright assets," she stated.
Since the implementation of the dual-track audit system, Hoshino has shifted her focus toward asset inventory.
While Sega Galaxy has maintained its popular intellectual properties in impeccable order, the abandoned projects, fringe characters, and legacy code from early arcade games—accumulated by Sega headquarters over the years—have remained a persistent quagmire.
Hoshino took a seat in the chair opposite the desk and handed over the report.
"Hattori is moving quickly," Hoshino remarked, unfolding the backup copy she held. "We have unearthed every archived project proposal from the headquarters' vault and categorized them by market potential and development complexity. Class A assets will be managed directly by Sega Galaxy, while we intend to bundle Class B and Class C assets for licensing to small and medium-sized third-party developers. We will secure a base licensing fee, supplemented by a percentage of the sales revenue.
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