Giving Interstellar Players a Horror Ghost Game Shock - Chapter 66

As soon as that arrogant comment appeared, not only did Ye Yuxi’s expression darken, but the entire comment section exploded.

[A true pro indeed! Only a legend could call a game this terrifying ‘not scary’!]

[Master, teach me how to dodge ghosts like that!]

M612879: Every time a ghost appears, the sound effects change. You can predict when they’re about to show up just by listening—same principle as sound-based positioning in FPS games.

[ChubbyMeatLover: Whoa, that actually makes sense! But what about when the ghost teleports? How do you dodge that?]

M612879: I’m not sure if it was intentional game design or just a programming glitch, but every time a ghost teleports, a faint black shadow flickers at the spot where it’s about to appear. It’s brief—only about a second—but it’s enough time to react.

[LilBlack: Damn, you’re sharp! I rewatched the footage three times and still didn’t catch that flicker!]

This mysterious pro casually dropped more tips in the comments before shifting to a full-on critique of Residential Area Battle Royale.

M612879: Honestly, I don’t even think Residential Area Battle Royale is as scary as Miss Ye’s previous game, Campus Nightmare. The new four-player co-op mode enhances the entertainment value, but it also lowers the horror factor.

I wouldn’t say this was a bad decision—at the very least, Miss Ye successfully expanded the game’s audience. My prediction? Within a week, Residential Area Battle Royale will surpass its predecessor in downloads.

That said, Miss Ye first made her mark in the industry with her horror elements. I just hope she won’t lose her signature style by going too mainstream.

Ye Yuxi had been reading with mild amusement—until she saw that.

Her expression turned cold.

This guy wasn’t just critiquing the game. His words carried an air of superiority, like some high-ranking figure evaluating a lesser creator. And that pissed her off.

It wasn’t just the arrogance—it was the fact that he had the nerve to do it right in front of her.

She hated people who acted superior in her presence.

But after taking a deep breath and forcing herself to cool down, she had to admit—he did have a point.

Compared to Campus Nightmare, Residential Area Battle Royale was less terrifying.

That wasn’t an accident. A lot of players had found the first game too scary and had asked for something a bit more balanced.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.

More importantly, Residential Area Battle Royale was just one piece of a much bigger vision—her ultimate horror game universe.

A vision she simply wasn’t capable of executing yet.

Taking another breath, she scrolled through the comments under his critique. Sure enough, many thrill-seeking players felt the new game lacked the raw, heart-pounding adrenaline rush of Campus Nightmare.

Ye Yuxi frowned slightly, then opened the game’s store page and quickly skimmed through more player reviews, pinpointing the main reasons why the horror factor had weakened.

Aside from the reduced fear factor due to co-op play, there was one recurring complaint:

The setting.

Most players said that the game’s primary location—an old residential building—lacked immersion.

Unlike Campus Nightmare, where the haunted school environment felt familiar to nearly everyone, this setting didn’t trigger the same deep-seated fear.

After all, almost everyone had spent years in school. Even with futuristic changes, the overall structure remained recognizable, making it easier to feel personally trapped in the horror.

In contrast, an outdated residential building? That just felt… distant.

“I almost forgot—what I love most about Chinese horror is how the fear slowly builds up from the smallest, most ordinary things. The more familiar something is, the scarier it becomes when it starts to change in unsettling ways. That’s what really makes players scream.”

Looking at it this way, Residential Area Battle Royale might be great for entertainment, but in terms of pure horror, it had actually taken a step back compared to her first game.

Now that Ye Yuxi had figured it out, everything felt much clearer—so clear, in fact, that even M’s comments didn’t seem so annoying anymore…

Yeah, right.

So he thinks her game isn’t scary enough? Fine. She’d fix that. Even if he refused to buy it, she’d personally send him a copy just to make sure he played it!

Ye Yuxi had originally planned to take a break, kick back, and enjoy her earnings for a while. But now, her fighting spirit was burning hotter than ever, and ideas were bursting out of her brain like an unstoppable fountain.

…

One hour later, the fountain ran dry.

“Ughhh! I really don’t want to pull another all-nighter!”

Ye Yuxi clutched her head, her hair now a tangled mess, looking utterly defeated.

Just because junior-year classes were lighter didn’t mean they didn’t exist. She wasn’t the type to drop out just because she could afford to. She still wanted to graduate and get that degree.

That meant she couldn’t skip classes. She had to finish her assignments properly.

On top of that, she wanted to keep making horror games well into her old age, maybe even until she was 150. That meant taking care of her health—no reckless all-nighters, no ruining her body while she was still young. Proper sleep was non-negotiable.

The problem? Every horror game developer knew that night was the best time for inspiration to strike.

And making a fully polished, commercial horror game was a nightmare in itself. Building environments and writing storylines was the easy part. The real challenge?

Buying all the environment and character models.

This time, she wanted to focus on her favorite type of horror—traditional Chinese horror. That meant she needed real voice actors for immersive audio.

Which meant more expenses.

Worse, she had to personally audition and select the right voice actors for her NPCs.

Oh, and the new game? She’d tentatively named it Campus Nightmare 2, but it wouldn’t be a single-player experience. This time, up to three players could join in co-op mode.

Which meant she needed to buy server plugins, expansion packs, multiplayer modules…

And then there was distribution, patent applications, budgeting—

Just thinking about it made her scalp tingle.

How had she managed to create two entire games by herself before? What kind of madness had driven her to pull that off?

Yes, she loved horror games. But what she truly enjoyed was designing the story, the mechanics, and the characters. She hated dealing with all the logistical nonsense.

Wasn’t there some way for her to focus only on what she loved and let someone else handle the rest?

Ye Yuxi sat deep in thought, then suddenly caught sight of a job recruitment ad on her light-brain screen.

And just like that, it clicked.

She was a well-known designer now. So why not start her own studio?