In the days that followed, the sales of 'Fate/stay night' continued to skyrocket.
November was typically a jam-packed month for new game releases in Great Zhou, but not only did 'Adventurer' get drowned out by the buzz around 'Fate/stay night', but even two major overseas releases were completely overshadowed.
Once 'Fate/Stay Night' built a substantial player base, it didn't just influence 'Fate/Zero' drama fans.
Many actual gamers began paying attention to this game, which, despite its "strange" art style, managed to sell over four million copies in under two weeks.
A 9.4 average score and 91% positive rating? That sounded like an exaggeration. Sure, most of the people rating it were fans of the drama, but if the game truly had no merit, how could it sell that well?
As for Jing Yu—
He hadn't exactly been idle this past half-month.
He and Tang Rui had been on a whirlwind tour of seven or eight top-tier cities in Great Zhou. As the "original face" of Gilgamesh from the drama, both of them were undoubtedly the hottest figures in the gaming scene. No matter which city they visited, 'Fate/Zero' fans gathered in droves.
Tang Rui, especially—thanks to the explosive popularity of 'Fate/stay night', her fame had surpassed even the peak during the drama's airing. At fan meets, cheers were deafening, and game signing lines stretched for hundreds of meters.
These promotional events gave her a real taste of what top-tier popularity in Great Zhou felt like.
Jing Yu, long ranked #1 on Great Zhou's celebrity popularity lists, was always surrounded by fans.
But during the 'Fate/stay night' fan events—
Artoria's fans completely crushed his in sheer numbers.
Not because Jing Yu's fans were few—
It was just that Artoria's fanbase, at this moment, had reached peak obsession.
As 'Fate/stay night' took off, companies across the gaming industry flooded Jing Yu's office with collaboration proposals and co-development projects.
After half a month touring with their team, Jing Yu and Tang Rui returned to Modo city—
And by then, 'Fate/stay night' had begun to stabilize, but total sales had already approached seven million, and it was still selling 200,000+ copies per day.
Now, in the history of Great Zhou's gaming industry, this number wasn't unprecedented—there had been titles that surpassed ten million or even a hundred million in total sales.
But those kinds of phenomenon-level titles weren't really comparable to new releases.
Just like in Jing Yu's past life—if someone tried to compare a modern game's launch performance with Tetris, which had sold over a billion copies over decades… well, that's just not a fair fight.
But if you compared 'Fate/stay night' to games released this year—or even the last few years?
Its post-launch sales curve absolutely qualified it as a blockbuster-level hit.
"Partner platforms have already bumped 'Fate/stay night' to their highest promotion tier. Game media across Great Zhou have started positive coverage too—no more of the sarcasm or mockery we saw at launch."
"Contracts with peripheral merchandise companies are ready. We're just waiting on your signature to make them official."
"Several major game releases are coming next month. They might affect our sales numbers."
Back in the company office, Jing Yu began reviewing the backlog of company operations.
Most of the work had already been handled by Cheng Lie—
Only documents requiring Jing Yu's personal signature had been left for him.
"Feels great, huh? Just half a month ago, we were worried poor sales would ruin your reputation. Turns out I was being overly dramatic." Cheng Lie looked visibly tired.
No one at the company had a break. Jing Yu had run around eight cities in fifteen days. Cheng Lie had to juggle filming 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' and the sales push for 'Fate/stay night'.
"I guess it just means our judgment was right," Jing Yu let out a long breath.
"Honestly, I was prepared for Great Zhou gamers to dislike this genre. But looks like I was overthinking it."
Turns out, Great Zhou players weren't that different from those in his past life.
Jing Yu thought to himself silently.
"You know what's hilarious? The devs in the game division are more shocked than anyone. They made the game, and even they can't believe the sales numbers."
"Last week, some employees even speculated the execs faked the media coverage just to pump up sales."
"Sure, some companies do stuff like that. But we're talking about millions of copies here—you can't fake those numbers." Cheng Lie chuckled.
"If I remember right, before we acquired and integrated the game division, their past projects barely sold a few hundred thousand copies. They're not suspicious of the game—they're doubting themselves," Jingyu said.
It made sense.
Just like Liu Bang from history—
How could such a tiny town like Pei County produce an emperor who conquered all?
Was Pei County the only place with talent? Of course not.
There are countless examples throughout history—what matters isn't just raw ability, but opportunity.
You can be talented, but if no one gives you a platform, it's meaningless.
Unless you're a once-in-a-generation genius—like Liu Bang or Zhu Yuanzhang—you won't break through on your own.
For most people, a good platform or a capable boss is even more important than talent itself.
Many so-called "elite" developers in big studios had simply grown with the company over time.
When Jing Yu acquired those developers' former parent company to form his own game division, he never doubted their potential.
Given the right opportunity, they could be just as good as any "big name" team.
After all, Jing Yu never aimed to create an ultra-high-budget, photorealistic blockbuster.
His anime-style game had two major strengths: immersion and lower production difficulty.
The team's skills were more than enough.
Their only issue? Lack of self-confidence.
"They'll get used to it," Cheng Lie said.
"The same thing happened with your drama team. When they first shot your scripts, they figured anything that didn't flop was already a win. Now? If the ratings aren't #1, they panic. Like something must've gone wrong."
"You know the Fate series. I spent a full year laying the groundwork. I never planned to stop at just one drama and one game," Jing Yu added.
"I'm guessing you already figured it out—now that the game is a hit, we'll adapt the other routes into TV series, and develop more derivative games."
In his past life, the Fate franchise had dozens of anime entries and even more games.
Was it the most iconic title in the anime world? Maybe not.
But in terms of commercial value? It was unbeatable.
"But I don't have the time to keep starring in everything. I might cameo as Gilgamesh now and then, but for filming? Let the younger folks handle it. I'll drop scripts and concepts when I have time—let the team run with it."
Just adapting all the Fate spin-offs into games and shows could keep their hundreds-strong team busy for years.
Of course, Jing Yu planned to pace the releases—
Once every six months or a year, to keep hype consistent and growth sustainable.
"Wow. You, handing over your work to others? That's rare," Cheng Lie said with surprise.
"There's no end to filming. I've shot so many shows—I'm tired," Jing Yu rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
"Not saying I'm stepping down. Just slowing down. TV dramas are a grind—they always rush to meet air dates. Films are easier. I'm an investor. If I act, I act. If I don't feel like it, the whole crew can go on vacation."
"Hah, halting production? That costs money too—salaries, venue fees, equipment rentals, depreciation…"
"Okay, okay, stop the accounting—I've got a headache already," Jing Yu cut him off, then remembered something.
"Also, we can't rely solely on my work to feed the entire company. I'll burn out. The scriptwriting department only has me on the roster—it's kind of pathetic. Start scouting for promising young writers. If their scripts are fresh and solid, I'm open to investing. After all, we're the second-largest shareholder of Qingyun Video. Distribution won't be an issue."
"Got it. I'll look into it," Cheng Lie nodded.
Up until now, the company had revolved entirely around Jing Yu.
Every production came from his work.
But one man couldn't keep hundreds of people employed indefinitely.
A truly mature company needed to keep running even without him.
"Production on 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' is nearly wrapped—just post-production VFX left. If you've got a new idea, now's the time. The team's had a light workload lately. But if you want to rest, I'll move ahead with scouting new talent and start developing original shows," Cheng Lie said before leaving.
"Got it," Jing Yu paused, then replied.
The game had launched.
Filming for 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' was done.
For Great Zhou's audience, that drama was the next most anticipated title from Jing Yu.
But for the company?
It was time to shift focus.
As for Jing Yu?
He was tired of TV dramas.
Maybe the audience wasn't, but he was.
If he were to shoot something next—
He was more interested in film.
Come to think of it, his last movie was nearly two years ago—
'5 Centimeters per Second'.