“Finally we can play match-3 games to our hearts’ content!”
Players of Slime Match-3, who had long been frustrated by limited energy, were overjoyed to learn that other match-3 games allowed purchasing additional energy. They flocked to these rival games in droves.
At the sight of unlimited, paid energy, their eyes lit up bright. Issues like less polished graphics or fewer levels seemed trivial in comparison.
“Charge ahead!” The players pictured themselves sweeping through levels without a hitch.
“Liang Man, are you going to try the other match-3 games?” a netizen asked her.
“No, I only like Slime Match-3.” Liang Man’s expression shifted slightly as she declined. She couldn’t stop other players, but she could control herself.
Liang Man’s friends also chose not to play the other games. When she mentioned her worries to them, they reassured her: “Don’t worry – Slime Match-3 hasn’t lost many players.”
“Don’t underestimate the reputation of being the top game.”
“Slime Match-3 is a classic – to players, it’s the main meal, while the others are just substitutes.”
“Plus, there’s the promotion aspect. Slime Match-3 won the December platform monthly championship – it’s this month’s featured game. The others never even competed, have no track record, and are just jumping on the bandwagon. They won’t last long.”
After hearing her friends’ analysis, Liang Man felt much better.
If Liang Man, as an ordinary player, only encountered these issues occasionally, then Bai Yang, a game streamer focused on match-3 games, faced them constantly.
[Since you specialize in streaming match-3 games, why not try the others?] someone suggested in her stream chat.
Bai Yang had grown used to such comments over the past few days – there was no point getting angry. She responded politely but firmly: “Sorry, but the art style of those other games just isn’t for me.”
She wasn’t lying. Rushed to market, the rival games were inevitably rough around the edges, and their visuals alone couldn’t compare to Slime Match-3.
[So you’re saying all the other match-3 games are garbage?]
Bai Yang nearly laughed in exasperation – she knew she was dealing with a troublemaker. Just as she was about to reply, her fans spoke up first:
[You know perfectly well whether they’re garbage or not! Their art style is bad enough, and they have plenty of other flaws. Aside from the match-3 core, they’re practically different games entirely.]
[Exactly – they can’t even copy properly, yet they have the nerve to come here and badmouth our game.]
Many of Bai Yang’s fans had followed her because of her Slime Match-3 streams and shared her love for the game. They wouldn’t stand for it being dragged down by inferior imitations. If the rivals had real merit, they wouldn’t have been so upset – but their lack of self-awareness and audacity to provoke the original had left fans with no patience.
“Alright everyone, calm down. Let’s get back to playing. Honestly, most match-3 levels aren’t hard as long as you’re careful and steady – that’s why I never run out of energy even as a Slime Match-3 streamer,” Bai Yang said.
The viewers chuckled:
[Right! Our streamer doesn’t even have a way to buy extra energy, yet she always has enough.]
[Does that mean those players are just too clumsy?]
[Yep – I’m one of the clumsy ones who doesn’t have enough energy, so I come watch the stream instead.]
Besides the small number who switched to other games, many Slime Match-3 players struggling with energy limits turned to Bai Yang’s streams. Seeing their comments, Bai Yang’s lips curved slightly.
Amid all the online commotion, Jiang Rong remained unaffected – she was busy handling personal matters, like withdrawing her game earnings to pay off her student loans in full.
The debt had weighed on her like a mountain; once it was cleared, she felt an immense lightness lift from her chest.
“Alright, next step is moving house.” Jiang Rong rubbed her hands together in excitement.
She currently lived in public housing, also called “welfare housing.” The space was small, and utilities were inconvenient – it was never somewhere she’d liked. Now that she had money, she’d been browsing properties on the interstellar network to find a new home.
“Luxury places are only available for rent, but cheaper ones can be bought outright,” Jiang Rong murmured.
Slime Match-3 had earned her a good sum, but not enough to buy property in the city’s prime districts. The homes she could afford were mostly in outlying areas.
“Interstellar public security seems pretty good.” She searched to check if remote areas were safe and found they were – whether in busy or quiet neighborhoods, robots patrolled regularly and could respond promptly to any incidents.
“Are you sure? The amenities in remote areas can’t compare to prime locations,” Jiang Yu said.
“I know. Back on Earth, I always thought if I bought a place, it had to be close to supermarkets, public transport, schools, and hospitals.”
“But now – in the interstellar era, food is all nutrient solutions, and deliveries come straight to the door, so there’s no need to go to supermarkets. I rarely use public transport anyway, and schools are irrelevant to me. For minor illnesses, medical robots handle everything; for serious ones, a little travel time to the hospital doesn’t matter.”
As for entertainment facilities like parks, gyms, swimming pools, and ski resorts common in prime areas, they held little appeal for her.
“Most importantly, I want a home that’s truly mine – something to ground me, so I don’t feel like a floating dandelion seed with no roots.”
“This is a wish from both of us.” Jiang Rong’s voice grew soft, her eyes clouded with emotion.
The Jiang Rong from Earth had family, but it was as if she didn’t. From childhood, they’d told her that once she married and returned home, she’d be a guest – so she’d better be “well-behaved.” When her brothers were angry, they’d point at her and shout without hesitation: “Get out of our house!”
Such words are often associated with husbands driving out their wives, but parents and brothers say them to their daughters far more often than people realize. In contrast, how many men hear such words growing up? None – the home is implicitly theirs by right.
So once she was able to support herself, Jiang Rong cut ties with her unsupportive family, even as she worked part-time jobs to fund her studies. She’d always rented homes, but that didn’t mean she didn’t long for one of her own – a place where no one could ever tell her to “get out.”
When she’d died from overwork, she’d had few attachments to leave behind. She even felt grateful that she hadn’t bought a house or saved much money before her transmigration.
As for the interstellar Jiang Rong – she’d been an orphan since childhood. She’d shared bunk beds with other orphans at the institute, lived in dormitories during school, and moved into cramped public housing after graduation. All her life, she’d dreamed of having a home that belonged solely to her. It didn’t need to be big, just hers – only then would she feel like more than a wisp of smoke that could be scattered by a single gust of wind.
Now, the chance to fulfill both Jiang Rongs’ dreams was within reach.
“Host, I’ll support you all the way,” Jiang Yu encouraged her.
Looking at Jiang Yu in his slime form, Jiang Rong smiled lightly. “Once we’re moved into our own place, I’ll buy you new skins.”
“Yay!” Jiang Yu cheered excitedly.
Despite calling it a “move,” she had very few belongings – especially compared to the size of her new home.
The house she’d bought was similar to resettlement housing on Earth. Its downside was limited resale potential, but the upside was ample space – and since Jiang Rong had no plans to sell, the downside didn’t matter at all.
The new home had two bedrooms, one living room, and one bathroom – more than enough for Jiang Rong and Jiang Yu. The only catch was that while the floors were tiled and walls papered, there was no furniture included.
Interstellar logistics were incredibly fast. The bathtub, toilet, bed, and sofa she’d ordered online arrived quickly, with installation included. Once the installers left, Jiang Rong immediately sank onto the plush sofa, bouncing slightly on its soft cushions.
“So soft, so bouncy.” She was delighted.
Jiang Yu’s eyes widened. “Is that all the furniture you’re buying? Just four big items – bed, sofa, bathtub, toilet?”
“Because those are all I really need for daily life. Back on Earth, I rented a large apartment, but I only ever spent time in the bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom.” She held out her hands for Jiang Yu to jump into her arms.
In the interstellar era, there was no need for a kitchen at all – so really, only the bedroom and bathroom mattered.
“I have to say, owning your own home really does feel different,” Jiang Rong said.
She was preoccupied with settling in while the novelty lasted. A few days later, her focus finally shifted back to work.
“How’s things online?” she asked.
“See for yourself.” Jiang Yu showed her the information he’d gathered.
Online sentiment toward the rival match-3 games had flipped completely – from praise to scorn – in just a few days.
“Why did their opinions change so fast?” Jiang Yu wondered.
“Under what circumstances do you think players would need to buy extra game energy?” Jiang Rong asked him.
“When they run out – which happens if they fail levels too many times,” Jiang Yu replied.
“Then do you think those other games would let players pass levels easily after letting them buy energy?”
“Of course not – how else would they make money? I get it now – selling energy and increasing difficulty go hand in hand, like twins.” Jiang Yu suddenly understood.
The rival games had to tie paid energy to higher difficulty. If levels were easy, players wouldn’t need to spend money on energy – and if players didn’t buy energy, there’d be no point in offering it as a feature. They’d used it as a selling point precisely to profit from it.
By then, online criticism of the rival games was overwhelming:
[Your games are impossibly hard! Even with all items used, failure is still likely – you have to keep buying energy just to keep trying.]
[This is a scam – it’s not even a real match-3 game!]
[Don’t fall for it, everyone. I’ve spent days grinding these games, and I can tell you – without paying for items and energy, you’ll never clear a single level.]
[No wonder they have so few levels – they never intended for us to beat them in the first place. Absolute trash.]
[When I played Slime Match-3, I actually had fun – even if it was short-lived. These other games are just torture from start to finish. Players have to choose between draining their mental energy or emptying their wallets.]
The rival game developers were too afraid to show their faces online, feeling deeply wronged. “Our games are barely different from Slime Match-3! We fixed its flaws – so why are we being attacked?”
As for the issues players pointed out, they chose to ignore them. After all, if they lowered the difficulty and players stopped buying energy, how would they make money?
[Let me share how it feels as a paying player. I thought those games were “fun” – as long as you keep spending, you can play nonstop. I’ve always been a Slime Match-3 fan, so at first I was thrilled to buy energy – not being able to pay had always bothered me.]
[But in the end, even with spending money, the experience was nowhere near as good as Slime Match-3. It’s not that the other games weren’t “fun” – quite the opposite. They were so engaging they’d pull you in completely, making you forget everything else. By the time I snapped out of it, I’d been playing for two days straight. I felt completely drained, and even after sleeping properly, I still haven’t recovered my energy.]
[It was terrifying – like opening Pandora’s box. The difference is, Slime Match-3 never opened that box, while the others did.]
[Now I’m back to Slime Match-3. Only after indulging completely do you realize how precious self-restraint truly is.]