Recently, the game Mingchao has attracted considerable attention. In particular, the complicated accumulation of materials for the cultivation of the new five-star resonator “Xiakong” has become the focus of controversy and complaints among players. Looking closely, these piles of materials are complicated and progressive, with low-frequency tidal erosion sail cores, medium-frequency high-frequency and even full-frequency, all of which symbolize the increasingly heavy burden on players; and rare materials such as burning phosphorus bones and golden wool are more like bait, tempting players to indulge in endless brushing and pursuit. If you look at the accumulation of materials in this game from the eyes of Lu Xun, you can see the deep spiritual dilemma and the reflection of the times behind the design of modern games.
To cultivate Xiakong, you must collect low-frequency, medium-frequency, high-frequency, and full-frequency tidal erosion sail cores, the number of which can be as many as dozens or even dozens. The large number makes people think of the busyness and complexity of the world today: people are entangled in layers of affairs, and if they want to move forward, they must overcome many obstacles. The accumulation of numbers in the game seems to be a microcosm of the mental burden of modern people. Players follow the so-called “growth” in the virtual world, just like the nameless people who are bound by various rules and expectations in life, walking in endless anxiety and fatigue.
The names of “burning phosphorus bones” and “golden fleece” sound mysterious and poetic, but in fact, the way to obtain them is a long and boring grinding, which consumes the time and patience of players. This reminds people of countless helpless individuals in reality who have exhausted their energy for the “rare materials” of life, but still lament that the harvest is meager. The game is named after materials, as if it condenses the suffering of reality into a string of numbers. Players are both participants in the game and a portrayal of the dilemma of reality.
Even more annoying are the materials for special weapon cultivation: simple shackles, basic shackles, modified shackles, and special shackles. The names of these “shackles” have their own symbolic meanings. They are like shackles, encircling the players’ hands and feet, locking the freedom and happiness that should have been there into layers of demands and tasks. Game designers cleverly use the metaphor of “shackles” to make players sink deeper and deeper in the pursuit of power, unable to extricate themselves. This is the most alarming aspect of modern games: they are no longer just entertainment, but the creators of spiritual shackles.
The introduction of recharge systems and discount codes has dragged games into the vortex of capital. The so-called moon phases, points, and tokens, which seem to be complicated numbers on the surface, are actually converters from real currency to virtual currency. Players invest real money in the virtual world in exchange for short-term power and pleasure. However, this pleasure is as short-lived as fireworks, and in the end, only emptiness and regret are left. Games have become tools for capital manipulation, and players have become consumers who are coerced.
The material name of “Iris Blooms Day” could have been an expression of a beautiful image, but it was limited to the cruel conditions that must be defeated to obtain it. For this “beauty”, players have to challenge their limits repeatedly, exhausting their time and energy, just like workers in reality who struggle for their dreams but suffer repeated setbacks. Games and life are so similar.
“Stuffed meat tofu”, a seemingly friendly little prop, is actually full of irony: it allows players to increase the material acquisition rate within a limited time, but also accelerates the oppressive rhythm of the game. This is like the “efficiency first” logic in modern society, pushing people into a more intense competition, making it difficult to breathe. Everything in the game is nothing more than a projection of reality and an amplification of reality.
These layers of material requirements, and the high cost of time and money, make the game no longer a pure entertainment, but a silent spiritual battle. Players struggle in the ocean of numbers, not only for growth in the game, but also to find the rare satisfaction and meaning in reality. However, this satisfaction is often short-lived, and the design of the game pushes them to the next more difficult challenge.
Mingchao Xiakong, on the surface, is a glamorous game, but behind it is a portrayal of the mental state of modern society: anxiety, fatigue, pursuit and loss intertwined. The game production team cleverly created invisible shackles with a complex development system to lock the players tightly. Just like “Ah Q” in Lu Xun’s works, who anesthetized himself in false victory, the players in the game world are also struggling in the digital maze.
Finally, I hope we can see clearly this network of virtual and reality, and be alert to the spiritual crisis of the game while not losing our expectations for a good game experience. The story of Mingchao Xiakong is ultimately a mirror that reflects the contradictions of the times and the struggles of people.