“On average, one pet fragment drops every two to three customers,” Qu Yuan observed carefully.
During the event period, gameplay was largely unchanged from usual—except that previously customers only dropped coins, while now pet fragments were added.
Not every customer dropped a pet fragment, but with the average rate of one per two to three customers, the drop rate was quite generous.
After all, daily foot traffic in shops now numbered in the hundreds, with some shops seeing over a thousand customers.
“At this drop rate, by the end of the event, I might get two top-tier pet employees,” Qu Yuan calculated.
She wasn’t a paying player; to be honest, the outcome was better than she initially expected.
Of course, even two slots were too few for so many adorable pets.
Reserving two pet employee spots didn’t mean she lacked desire for the others.
“Ahhh, the developer is so cunning! Letting us snuggle these cuties temporarily—who could give them up then?”
Unlike anime pets that players can only watch, pets in the holographic game world could be touched.
Though players couldn’t hold their pets forever, the brief tactile contact felt magical.
“So soft! It even licks me. Such an adorable creature—I absolutely can’t resist taking it home!”
The fleeting touch made players feel as if they were floating on clouds.
When time was up, a wistful sadness filled their hearts.
If they could only see but not touch, even without owning the pet, regret would be limited.
The problem was, they had felt the softness and distinct personality of each pet firsthand.
Having had the experience, then losing it, was far harder to bear than never having had it.
“The developer really nailed our aesthetic desires.”
“So many cute little guys—how did the developer design them all?”
Star animals are rare; even common Earth cats and dogs were unfamiliar to interstellar people.
Not to mention the variety of dog and cat breeds—there was even less relevant data.
Interstellar people assumed these animals were simply creations of Jiang Rong’s imagination and marveled at how she captured their aesthetic perfectly.
In reality, Jiang Rong hadn’t greatly changed the pets’ appearance.
She was confident that Earth’s cats and dogs had captured humans’ hearts, and in the cosmos, they could do the same.
“Being in such an environment, even exhaustion is worth it!” Ying Jia took a deep breath.
During the event, players naturally couldn’t slack off.
They needed to constantly feed and clean pet employees, continually monitoring their stats.
To earn more pet fragments, they had to stay alert and maximize guest service quality.
Thankfully, the hard work paid off; in one day, Ying Jia earned 200 to 300 pet fragments.
Even during breaks, Ying Jia didn’t rest but took time to contact and interact with each adorable pet.
“Other players aren’t wrong—the developer is truly cunning. Without contact, players might choose pet employees by pictures alone. Now that we’ve touched them, every one feels like a favorite,” Ying Jia said as she enjoyed a kitten’s gentle massage.
Before the event, players could only see top pet employees and had little interest in lower-priced ones.
But now, after firsthand contact, they couldn’t give up the smaller cuties.
Novice free players like Qu Yuan and Ying Jia, though tempted by many pets, knew they couldn’t own them all and had already painfully made their choices.
The hardest were paying players.
Initially, they only wanted to buy the pets they liked the most.
But then, they found every pet employee adorable and matching their aesthetics.
“I want to take them all back to my shop!” a paying player confessed in a post.
Free players envied, “You’re really powerful.”
“Calm down, even if you had the money, I wouldn’t recommend buying all pet employees. I’m a paying player, and I used to think like you…”
Some paying players advised the poster to be cautious.
“This event gives everyone more chances to get pet employees, but don’t forget our shop’s space is limited—we simply can’t accommodate so many.”
“Plus, pets need essential supplies that take up space. Without enough supplies, pets will relieve themselves everywhere and their cleanliness will drop—then your troubles will multiply.”
“Right, we almost forgot! The event opened the paid pet employee channel but didn’t open paid channels for supplies or shop expansions,” other players chimed in.
“Exactly! Buying too many pet employees would make the shop a mess. Just imagining it makes me shudder.”
“Thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ve cooled down and will carefully select how many pet employees I own to avoid harming the game experience,” the poster replied after reading the feedback.
“I initially wanted to spend heavily too, but now I realize having too many pet employees isn’t good. I’ll try to restrain myself,” other paying players soon gave up their plans.
“Why remind them? More spending means better game data for us,” Jiang Yu didn’t understand Jiang Rong’s approach.
Indeed, the one who stopped paying players from heavy spending was Jiang Rong herself.
She scratched Jiang Yu’s chin and said, “High spending isn’t urgent—we already have those paying players engaged.”
“My goal is to prevent their playing experience from degrading as too many pet employees cause chaos, which might cause them to quit.”
“Having many pet employees, we can open paid coin channels and paid shop expansions, solving the problem,” Jiang Yu suggested.
“That seems so on the surface, but if we open more paid channels, the gap between paying and free players will widen fast. Then how do we balance values in future events?”
“Moreover, paying players might just spend money and easily get everything, but things acquired by money aren’t cherished.”
“I want them to invest more valuable things like time and affection—these are dearer to paying players.”
“I get it—paying players may lead free players, but the gap can’t be too large; balancing that is the developer’s job,” Jiang Yu realized.
Previously, Jiang Yu had only considered the players’ viewpoint, not the developer’s.
“Exactly, paying players are important, but free players are the foundation of our data. We can’t lose either, or the game will end,” Jiang Rong said.
Players didn’t know about the discussion between Jiang Rong and Jiang Yu; they only knew their game experience was excellent.
Free players could accumulate pet fragments over time, while paying players could spend money to save time.
Both sides gained and were satisfied with the event.
On the last day of the event, Qu Yuan took a deep breath and exchanged accumulated pet fragments for two new pet employees.
One was a cat, the other a puppy.
Qu Yuan wrapped them in her arms happily and introduced them to the veteran employees, “Welcome to the family, our two new members.”
“On average, one pet fragment drops every two to three customers,” Qu Yuan observed carefully.
During the event, gameplay was basically the same as usual—except that, unlike before when customers only dropped coins, now pet fragments were added.
Not every customer would drop a fragment, but with an average of one per two or three customers, the drop rate was quite high.
After all, the shop’s daily customer flow now reached hundreds, with some shops exceeding a thousand.
“At this rate, by the end of the event, I might get two top-tier pet employees,” Qu Yuan estimated.
She wasn’t a paying player; honestly, the results were better than she initially expected.
Of course, even two spots were still too few for so many adorable pets.
Holding two spots for pet employees didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted by the others.
“Ahhh, the developer is so sneaky! Giving us a chance to snuggle these adorable pets temporarily—how could anyone let them go after that?”
Unlike anime-style pets that players could only look at, in the holographic game world, the pets could be touched.
Though players couldn’t hold them forever, the brief tactile experience felt magical.
“So soft! It even licks me. Such an adorable little creature—I just can’t resist taking it home!”
The short moments of contact made players feel as if they were floating on clouds.
When the time was up, a sense of loss filled their hearts.
If they could only see but not touch, even without owning such pets, the regret would be limited.
But the real pain was in feeling their softness and unique personalities firsthand.
Having experienced that fleeting feeling and then losing it was far more agonizing than never having it at all.
“Wow, the developer really knows our aesthetic—look at all these adorable little things,” the players commented.
“Such cute pets—how did the developer design them all?”
Star animals are rare; even common earth cats and dogs are unfamiliar to interstellar beings.
And with the variety of breeds, there was even less relevant data.
Interstellar people thought these animals were just Jiang Rong’s creations, and they marveled at how perfectly she captured their aesthetic.
In reality, Jiang Rong had made little adjustments to the appearances of the pets.
She believed that earth’s cats and dogs could captivate humans, and in the cosmos, they could do the same.
“Being in this environment, even if exhausted, is totally worth it!” Ying Jia took a deep breath.
During the event, players naturally couldn’t slack off.
They had to keep feeding and cleaning their pet employees, constantly monitoring their stats.
To earn more pet fragments, they needed to stay alert and improve overall service quality.
Fortunately, the effort paid off—Ying Jia earned about 200 to 300 pet fragments per day.
Even during breaks, Ying Jia didn’t relax, instead taking time to interact with each adorable pet.
“Other players are right—this developer is so clever. Without physical contact, players might choose pets based just on pictures. Now, though, after touching them, everyone feels like they’re their own favorite,” Ying Jia murmured as she enjoyed a kitten’s massage.
Before the event, players might only see the top pet employees and had little interest in the cheaper ones.
But after personal contact, they couldn’t let go of the smaller cuties.
Free players like Qu Yuan and Ying Jia, despite being tempted by many pets, had already made their tough decisions, knowing they couldn’t own them all.
The most anxious were the paying players.
At first, they just wanted to buy the pets they liked best—looking good and fitting their aesthetic.
But then, they found all these pets were so adorable; they seemed to suit their preferences perfectly.
“I want to take them all home!” one paying player couldn’t help but post.
Free players envied: “Wow, you’re so skilled.”
“Calm down. Even if you had the money, I wouldn’t suggest buying all the pet employees. I used to think like you, initially,” other paying players advised.
Some players even stepped in to stall the poster.
“This event really gives everyone a chance to get more pets, but don’t forget, our current shop space is limited—we can’t fit that many pets.”
“And then, the essential supplies for the pet employees also take up space. Without enough supplies, they might relieve themselves everywhere, and their cleanliness drops—your troubles just multiply.”
“Exactly! I forgot about this. This event only opened a paid channel for pet employees, but not for supplies or shop expansion,” other players realized.
“Yeah, really, if you buy too many pet employees, just the thought of how chaotic the shop environment would get makes me shudder.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll calm down and carefully decide how many pet employees I own so it doesn’t ruin the game experience,” the original poster replied.
Many other paying players gradually gave up their plans too.
“Why bother to remind them? Higher spending benefits our game data,” Jiang Yu didn’t understand Jiang Rong’s approach.
Indeed, the one who initially discouraged heavy spending was Jiang Rong herself.
She stroked Jiang Yu’s chin and said, “High spending isn’t urgent right now—we already have those paying players engaged.”
“My goal is to prevent their experience from deteriorating, because too many pet employees will make the shop chaotic, and they might give up playing.”
“Having many pet employees, then, allows us to open channels for coins and shop expansion—solving the problem,” Jiang Yu suggested.
“At first glance, that might seem to work, but if we open more paid channels, the gap between paying and free players will rapidly widen. Then, how will we balance the values in future events?”
“Plus, for paying players, spending money is easy—yet the things they buy with money might not be cherished as much.”
“I want them to invest more precious things—time and affection—that are more valuable to paying players.”
“I understand now—paying players might lead, but we must keep the gap from becoming too large. That delicate balance is what we as developers should manage,” Jiang Yu realized.
Previously, Jiang Yu had only considered players’ perspectives—now, he saw from a developer’s viewpoint.
“Exactly. Paying players are crucial to our game data, but free players are equally the foundation. Neglect either, and the game’s end is near,” Jiang Rong emphasized.
Players didn’t know the conversation between Jiang Rong and Jiang Yu; all they cared about was their own good game experience.
Free players could accumulate pet fragments over time, while paying players could save effort by spending money.
Both sides gained, and both felt satisfied with the ongoing event.
On the last day of the event, Qu Yuan took a deep breath and exchanged her accumulated pet fragments for two new pet employees.
One was a cat; the other, a puppy.
She wrapped them in her arms happily and proudly introduced them to her veteran employees: “Welcome, our new family members!”