“So beautiful!”
Looking at the artwork, Wang Xiaomei couldn’t help but praise it.
She carefully clipped the drawings onto her board and began admiring them with full attention.
The second piece was an aerial view of Mondstadt.
Looking inward from above the main gate, one could see towering city walls, wooden windmills, rows of buildings with a strong classical European style, the towering statue of the Anemo Archon, and the grand cathedral…
It looked exactly like a medieval Western town.
Sunlight bathed the city, giving it a peaceful and leisurely atmosphere.
“It’s incredible…”
Wang Xiaomei’s eyes widened, her breathing growing slightly faster.
This was exactly the kind of fantasy city she had always imagined!
No—this was even more beautiful than what she had pictured.
It perfectly brought her dreams to life.
She excitedly flipped through one artwork after another.
Some depicted the landscapes of Mondstadt, while others were character portraits.
No matter which one it was, each piece resonated deeply with her, filling her with admiration.
“How many artists do you have who can reach this level?” Lin Yuan asked, interrupting her gently.
Although her excitement made it hard to break in, he still needed an answer.
Reluctantly pulling her gaze away from the artwork, Wang Xiaomei replied seriously:
“Most have moved on to AI work, but there are still some who stayed.”
“I can probably gather around twenty for you.”
As the daughter of the founder of one of the most prestigious art studios in the China, she had inherited a strong network—many of them well-known artists.
Now, those connections could finally be put to use.
While Lin Yuan’s artwork had deeply captivated her, she knew that much of its impact came from creativity and imagination.
In terms of pure technical skill, many of the artists she knew could reach that level.
“Twenty, huh?” Lin Yuan stroked his chin, thinking for a moment.
“That should be enough for the early stages.”
Afterward, he finalized the arrangements with Wang Xiaomei regarding the artists.
Once the contract was signed and tasks were assigned, Lin Yuan left the studio.
That afternoon, he had scheduled interviews with programmers—he needed to return to miHoYo.
With Wang Xiaomei and her studio on board, the final missing piece for Genshin Impact was now complete.
From here on, it was just a matter of time before the game could be steadily developed. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
Of course, he wasn’t worried about Qixiang Tianlai or Wang Xiaomei leaking any of the materials he had distributed.
The contracts included strict confidentiality clauses.
Anyone who violated them would face enormous financial penalties.
One month later.
Inside a spacious meeting room at miHoYo’s office building, Lin Yuan sat at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the employees below.
Wang Xiaomei, head of the art and animation department.
President Peng, head of voice acting.
Xiao Wang, head of programming and technical development.
The marketing director…
More than a dozen people were gathered, representing over ten departments.
Aside from Teacher Xu, who disliked crowds, most of miHoYo’s upper management was present.
Compared to a month ago, the company had already grown into a modestly sized operation.
And today was an extremely important day for all of them.
“Alright, let’s release it,” Lin Yuan said to the assistant beside him.
She nodded and quickly operated the computer.
“It’s uploaded.”
Almost instantly, the atmosphere in the meeting room grew tense.
President Peng’s expression was serious as he continuously refreshed the webpage.
Although he had great confidence in the Genshin Impact project, he still felt uneasy.
If the project failed, the hope Qixiang Tianlai had just regained would vanish, sending them back to square one.
Across from him, Wang Xiaomei also appeared unusually restless.
Though her eyes were fixed on a drawing in front of her, her thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
Given the current state of the country’s art industry, it would be nearly impossible for her studio to find another long-term client like miHoYo.
Moreover, the treatment Lin Yuan offered the artists was unbelievably generous.
In just one month, the artists had already grown attached to both the company and the Genshin Impact project.
If the project collapsed, it would be a devastating blow—not only to the studio, but to her personally.
After all, she was in urgent need of money.
The head of marketing was even more nervous, sweat covering his forehead.
He constantly contacted team members, monitoring every change in the data.
Seeing everyone’s reactions, Lin Yuan smiled and shook his head. This story is hosted at g.com.
What they had released today was one of the results of the past month’s efforts:
The first promotional video of Genshin Impact—”The Outlander Who Caught the Wind.”
If the PV performed poorly, it would be hard for the team to accept.
After all, they had spent the past month polishing and refining it repeatedly, aiming to make it perfect and capture players’ hearts in one go.
Now that it was finished, uncertainty lingered.
Because they didn’t fully understand the domestic game market, most of them lacked confidence.
Even President Peng, who knew more about the industry, was deeply nervous—it was his first time being so involved in game development.
Even Lin Yuan himself felt a bit uneasy.
After all, he was the only one present who truly knew what kind of impact Genshin Impact would have on the domestic market.
A game that used actual gameplay footage as a promotional video would be a dimensionality-reducing strike against any current title in the industry.
But…
This was a different world from his previous life.
What if things didn’t translate well?
Shark Live Streaming Platform.
Dai Xiaomei, one of the platform’s top streamers, was live as usual, playing the domestic hit game Crossing Fire.
With her attractive looks and good figure, she had amassed a huge following.
Aside from one minor “shortcoming,” she was considered a goddess by many viewers.
At that moment, she noticed many viewers in the chat recommending a new game’s PV.
“Genshin?”
Her interest was slightly piqued.
But after reading more comments, she let out a scoff.
“A domestic game, open world, indie developer…”
“Heh.
Stacking all those buzzwords—this developer must be desperate to make money!”
She shook her head, her face full of disdain.
She had seen this kind of thing many times before.
Even major companies in the Dragon Kingdom had failed to create true open-world games.
And now a small studio with no prior titles was claiming to do it?
There was no need to think—it had to be another cash grab disguised under patriotism.