155: Chapter 155 Qiao Linlin Asks for Leave

The only problem now is that there are too few levels.

The lifeblood of this kind of casual game is the number of levels; players clear them quickly, and content is consumed just as fast.

If there aren't enough levels to support it, it's very easy to end up in a situation where players "clear the game in two days and then uninstall it."

We need to add enough levels before it can go to market, and we also need to conduct a round of closed beta testing to avoid any major bugs when it launches.

For example, errors in elimination detection, stamina system crashes, or certain levels being impossible to clear.

According to Zhang Tao's estimation, launching this month might be a bit tight; it will have to be next month.

Hearing this timeline, Chen Fan nodded.

Right now, "defend the carrot" is already profitable; last month's revenue was over 18 million, and only eight days into this month, it has already exceeded 8 million, with the momentum showing no signs of slowing down.

At this pace, breaking 20 million this month shouldn't be a problem.

Therefore, for the launch date of "happy elimination," Chen Fan isn't too anxious.

Launching a bit later will allow the game to be polished better, with richer levels and fewer bugs.

Anyway, the cash cow is already there; the pace for the new product can be slowed down a bit—steady progress is better than anything else.

He handed the test device back to Zhang Tao and patted him on the shoulder: "Thanks for your hard work. No rush, just take your time."

Zhang Tao grinned, then turned back to continue adjusting the parameters.

"Knock, knock, knock."

The sound of knocking on the office door interrupted Chen Fan's contemplation.

"Come in."

The office door was pushed open, and Qiao Linlin walked in.

Today, she was wearing a white chiffon shirt paired with dark, high-waisted wide-leg trousers, and her hair was tied into a low ponytail, making her look much more professional than usual.

"Boss, I'd like to ask for some time off."

Chen Fan leaned back in his chair and looked at her: "What's wrong?"

"I want to go home for a bit; something came up at home." When Qiao Linlin said this, her tone was much lower than usual.

"How many days?"

"Three days."

"That's fine."

"Thank you, Boss."

Qiao Linlin nodded gratefully and turned to leave. After taking two steps, as if remembering something, she turned back and looked at Chen Fan.

"Oh, right, Boss, I've already briefed the contractor on the Software Park office side, so it won't delay the progress. You can rest assured."

"Alright. Since there's something going on at home, you should take care of that first." Chen Fan waved his hand. "The office matters can wait a couple of days."

Qiao Linlin nodded and turned to walk out of the office.

After a three-hour car ride, Qiao Linlin returned to her home in the town.

When she got off the long-distance bus, it was already getting dark.

The town's streets were still the same—narrow, with three or four-story buildings on both sides. The ground floors housed grocery stores, barbershops, and steamed bun shops, with faded signs and dim, yellowish lights.

The air was filled with a mixture of cooking fumes and dust, a scent so familiar it made her nose sore.

Carrying her bag, she walked step by step along the road she had walked for over a decade, heading home.

When she pushed the door open, her father was sitting on the sofa watching TV.

On the TV, a man in a leather jacket was betting on whether there were bullets in his opponent's gun.

Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen, still holding a spatula, her apron stained with grease, and said with a smile: "You're back? Are you hungry? Mom made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs."

Qiao Linlin stood at the doorway, still holding her bag, stunned for several seconds.

She looked at her mother's rosy face; her complexion was ruddy, her voice was full of energy, and her mental state was not at all like someone who was "seriously ill."

"Mom, didn't you say you were seriously ill?" Her voice trembled, as if squeezed out from her throat.

Her mother stood up, walked over with a smile to take her hand, "I was just afraid you wouldn't come back. Come, come, sit down and rest for a while. You must be tired from the trip, right? How many hours were you on the bus?"

Qiao Linlin didn't move. She stood in place, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her bag, her nails almost digging into the artificial leather texture.

"What is this really about?"

"It's like this, your Auntie Zhang introduced you to someone. He does business locally, earns over 200,000 a year, is thirty years old, and has quite good conditions. You always say you're too busy with work and don't want to come back, so we just—"

"So you lied and told me you were sick?" Qiao Linlin interrupted her, her voice not loud, but every word seemed squeezed out from between her teeth, carrying a chilling coldness.

The living room went quiet for a moment.

"Aren't we doing this for your own good?" Her mother came to her senses and reached out to take Qiao Linlin's hand again, her voice softening, "You're a girl working away from home, how much can you earn in a month? Rent, food, transportation—once you deduct all those miscellaneous expenses, how much is left? He has such good conditions; it wouldn't hurt to just meet him once—"

Qiao Linlin pulled her hand away and took a step back. The strap of her bag slid off her shoulder and hung on her arm, but she didn't bother to adjust it.

"I won't meet him."

Her mother's smile froze completely; the corners of her mouth were still upturned, but there was no warmth left in her eyes.

Her father sat on the sofa without speaking, but his expression clearly showed he was on her mother's side.

He picked up the remote control from the coffee table and turned down the TV volume.

"He has a house and a car, and his parents both have pensions. If you marry into that family, you'll be living a life of comfort. Your Auntie Zhang said he agreed just by looking at your photo, saying you're pretty. With conditions that good, what else are you being picky about?"

Her mother's words came like a machine-gun volley, one after another, each sentence prefaced with "he" or "his family"—how good he was, how excellent he was, as if that thirty-year-old man she had never met was her own son, and the daughter standing right in front of her was the outsider.

Qiao Linlin looked up at her parents.

She suddenly felt very tired.

It wasn't the fatigue from sitting on a bus for several hours; it was a weariness rising from the depths of her heart.

Standing in her own living room, looking at those two familiar faces—faces she had looked at for over twenty years—she felt so tired she couldn't catch her breath.

In their eyes, girls are just meant to get married, and marrying someone with good conditions is the best possible outcome.

Her own thoughts, her work, and that little desire she had to struggle and make something of herself in the big city—none of that mattered.

"I'm going to take a shower." She carried her bag into the bedroom and closed the door.

The sound of the door closing wasn't loud, but it was heavy, as if shutting something out.

During dinner, she didn't say much.

The sweet and sour pork ribs were placed right in front of her, bright red and glistening, sprinkled with white sesame seeds—it was the dish she had loved since childhood.

She picked up a piece, chewed twice, and felt it was no different from chewing on wood.