“A completely different style for Early Bird+—doesn’t that just mean using prettier, more refined visuals and effects to enhance the original? That’s not much different from what we discussed earlier.”

One interviewee questioned, “For example, switching from pixel art to a more polished comic style or cel-shading…”

“Then, what do you think is Early Bird‘s core selling point?” Mei Fang countered.

“Hmm… I’d say it’s the simple, easy-to-learn side-scrolling jumping mechanics?”

“That’s certainly one of its selling points, but not the core essence.”

Mei Fang explained, “To summarize the fundamental reason for Early Bird‘s success—it was essentially a social media game. We shouldn’t limit ourselves to the side-scrolling jumping mechanics as the only expression. At its heart, it’s a runner game, a rhythm game—not fundamentally different from recent hits like Temple Run or Subway Surfers.”

“The reason I believe a simple ‘plus version’ approach doesn’t suit Early Bird is that it would abandon the original’s easy accessibility.”

Mei Fang grabbed a small whiteboard to demonstrate: “This is Temple Run‘s perspective that everyone knows. Our Early Bird was pixelated and 2D, but for the sequel, we could completely reference Temple Run‘s 3D, over-the-shoulder camera angle.”

“With this perspective… it would look entirely different.”

Under Mei Fang’s explanation, the group gradually became drawn to his line of thinking. “But if we keep the jumping mechanic with this angle, it might not feel as comfortable to play?”

“You’re absolutely right—we don’t need to stick with jumping at all. Because ultimately, Early Bird didn’t succeed because its side-scrolling jumping was particularly fun, but because it was easy to pick up.”

“Since accessibility is key, we could leverage smartphone gyroscopes or swipe controls similar to Temple Run to design a completely new Early Bird game.”

“But this would be so different from the original—would players really accept it?”

“Whether they’ll accept it is something we can leave to market feedback. But the answer to this question definitely isn’t about making the existing Early Bird mechanics more complex or polished. What do you all think?”

The group members looked at each other. After everyone nodded in agreement, they unified their opinions. The timekeeper announced: “We’re running short on time. Let’s nominate someone to summarize our findings for the interviewers.”

“Then… let’s have Zhang Ming do it.”

“Zhang Ming’s analysis was the most thorough—we can trust him.”

But when all eyes turned to Mei Fang expectantly, he waved his hand with a smile: “I noticed everyone took detailed notes during the discussion. I’d like to give this opportunity to someone else. Would anyone like to volunteer?”

After a brief silence, a quiet girl timidly raised her hand. “I… I’d like to try.”

She had struggled to contribute during the debate but had listened attentively, and her earlier individual comments had been logically clear. Seeing her reminded Mei Fang of his past self. Before anyone else could speak, Mei Fang immediately supported her:

“I think Wang Meng should do it. I believe she can synthesize everyone’s viewpoints very well.”

“I agree.”

“No objections here.”

With Mei Fang—who had effortlessly become the opinion leader—throwing his support behind her, the others quickly followed suit. Wang Meng gave Mei Fang a grateful glance before standing up and addressing the interviewers.

“Seniors, our group is ready to present.”

“Mm… alright.”

Chengzi, having composed herself after her earlier distress, forced a professional smile and gestured: “Please begin your group’s presentation.”

Faced with such an unconventional response, the nervous interviewees had no idea that the three interviewers were far more anxious than they were. After all, while the candidates could always apply elsewhere if they failed, the interviewers risked being fired on the spot if they displeased the CEO.

Their dilemma:

• They couldn’t undermine the boss’s authority—his ideas had to be endorsed.
• But they also couldn’t appear overly sycophantic, as that might seem insincere.

After carefully listening to the presentation, the experienced Bai Ge offered measured feedback on each candidate’s performance. When it came time to critique “Zhang Ming,” she paused slightly.

“F-first of all, Zhang Ming played a pivotal role in shifting the group’s perspective, demonstrating strong leadership. It takes considerable courage to propose a viewpoint that contradicts everyone else’s as the final speaker.”

“While the outcome was excellent, I hope you’ll reflect on the risks. If your argument hadn’t convinced the others, it could have created division and compromised the final presentation. The process was somewhat reckless.”

“Actually… I share similar concerns,” Xiye, the lead designer of Coconut Studio, chimed in diplomatically. “Your sequel concept is highly original, but convincing a team of this unconventional idea in such a short time requires not just solid reasoning but also strong persuasive skills… Though you managed it quite well.”

“Understood.”

Mei Fang nodded, then smiled at Xiye and asked pointedly: “By the way, senior, regarding this topic—is Early Bird 2 actually under consideration at your company?”

“Well… we have discussed potentially greenlighting Early Bird 2, but for runner games—”

Xiye suddenly felt Bai Ge tugging at his sleeve. Realizing his blunder—he had just leaked internal strategy to an “outsider”—his face paled as Mei Fang’s gaze turned sharp.

Corporate secrets cannot be disclosed to interviewees!

Stammering, Xiye hastily shifted topics, analyzing the proposal’s feasibility from a design perspective.

“Admittedly, this concept is creative and stands out from the usual ‘more features’ suggestions we’ve heard. But completely overhauling the gameplay and presentation risks feeling like a forced IP cash-in… After hearing everyone’s thoughts, I wonder—if the core runner mechanics work, do we even need the Early Bird IP? Couldn’t this just be a new game?”

“That’s also possible. If the ‘bird’ theme clashes with the runner concept, we could redesign it entirely. What if we replaced the bird with a ball? Wouldn’t that make it even more intuitive?”

“A bird… turned into a ball…”

The group tried to visualize it. “It does feel simpler… and surprisingly not bad!”

“A metal ball rolling around with gyro controls—kinda like that old game Is It a Man Who Descends 100 Floors?…”

As the discussion grew lively, Mei Fang felt little personal satisfaction. After all, his “innovation” was just a copy of Rolling Sky, a hit minimalist game from his past life’s Google Play Store.

Rolling Sky used a ball-rolling mechanic with rhythmic obstacle courses, its ad-based revive system proving highly monetizable. Whether tied to the Early Bird IP or launched as a new title, Mei Fang knew it was a solid concept.

Now Xiye should cooperate better…

Xiye, a former Tencent lead designer with eight years of experience, was only three years junior to Mei Fang’s “past life” self—already impressive.

Previously, Mei Fang had often overstepped Xiye’s authority during Happy Eliminate‘s development, micromanaging design choices. Though Xiye never openly complained, Mei Fang could guess how much he’d cursed him privately—after all, he’d done the same when his own bosses interfered.

But there was a key difference: while past bosses meddled ignorantly, Mei Fang’s interventions worked.

Before TabTab‘s completion, Happy Eliminate had launched on Tencent’s app store, earning over 100 million RMB in its first month. The massive bonuses that followed made Coconut Studio’s entire team, including Xiye, devout believers in “Station Master Mei’s vision.”

After all, when the boss interferes and it actually makes money, who wouldn’t worship him?

---

Post-Interview Aftermath

The candidates were dismissed to await results. As they packed up, one guy suggested exchanging contacts—but Mei Fang declined with a smile.

“You all can connect. The results should come tonight.”

“Huh? How do you know… inside info?”

“You could say that.” Mei Fang’s smile widened, pleased with his personal growth across lifetimes. “This was fun. Good luck, everyone.”

“What’s with this guy… so pretentious. Won’t even share contacts—”

The rebellious candidate who’d clashed with Mei Fang earlier was about to confront him when his friend (the timekeeper) hastily dragged him away—they were schoolmates.

“Dude… enough. Let’s go.”

“But he’s got insider info! Why won’t he—”

“Are you stupid?” The timekeeper smacked his friend’s head. “That was obviously Station Master Mei Fang himself!”

“No fucking way! He said he just looked similar!”

Another female candidate sighed. “I knew it when I saw him texting the interviewers mid-discussion.”

The rebel clutched his head. “Damn! If I’d known, I’d have argued harder—made him lose face spectacularly! That’d be worth dying for!”

“And gotten us all blacklisted. Some of us actually want this job.”

---

Post-Mortem Meeting

Chengzi bowed repeatedly to Mei Fang. “CEO, I’m so sorry for not recognizing you earlier—”

“Relax! You did great—friendly and professional.” Mei Fang grinned. “Just double-check resumes next time. Keep up the good work… for me.”

“YES, SIR! HAHA!”

Leaving hiring decisions to HR, Mei Fang moved to his real agenda: “Where’s Yueyue? The virtual idol meeting?”

Bai Ge coughed. “CEO Mei did say she’d… spank you if you’re late.”