Pei Qian writes first
The office is small, bright and suspiciously well equipped: top-end computers, ergonomic chairs, a coffee machine nobody seems to use. Behind the desk sits a young man in a plain shirt who looks barely old enough to run anything. He is reading your résumé very, very carefully.
“Please, sit.” Boss Pei’s voice is calm and steady, the voice of a man with everything under control. “I’ll be honest. Your résumé is... interesting.”
He turns a page. His eyes linger on one line near the bottom, and for a moment something like hope crosses his face before he smooths it away.
“Tengda isn’t like other studios. We don’t chase trends. We don’t care about short-term profit.” He pauses, as if choosing words of great depth. “Or long-term profit. Ideally.”
He sets the résumé down and folds his hands.
“So, one question, and take your time. If I gave you a game and a generous budget, what’s the worst idea you could put into it? The one every sensible studio would reject.” He leans forward, just slightly too eager. “How would you make sure it never sells?”
