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[Genshin Impact] Chapter 548: Going Live (2-in-1 Chapter)
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 04:00:04 +0000 UTCSumeru City, Dori’s Genius Invokation TCG-themed store.
At the entrance, cardboard standees of a sword-wielding adventurer and a Stonehide Lawachurl faced off against each other, while a young clerk busily wiped them down.
“Hello, I’m here to see your boss,” Nolan greeted the clerk.
“Ah, hello. Our boss hasn’t arrived yet, please wait a bit.”
The young clerk paused in his work, turned, and explained politely.
“Mm, all right, I’ll wait.” Nolan nodded.
Dori loved to run around looking for business deals, so it was no surprise that even though she owned a card shop, she might only watch over it for the first few days before hiring others to manage it.
Before long, the petite, loli-like Dori came skipping in, with a scholar in Akademiya robes following behind her.
“Hehe, you came this early?”
As soon as she entered, Dori spotted Nolan sitting in a chair and smiled in surprise.
“Business is all about efficiency,” Nolan replied with a smile, glancing at the scholar behind her. “And this is…?”
“This is one of the two creators of Genius Invokation,” Dori explained.
“Hello, Adventurer,” the Akademiya scholar greeted politely with a slight bow. “I am Garvipidam.”
“Hello,” Nolan returned the nod with a smile.
“Ah, after an entire afternoon of hard work yesterday, I finally convinced him—and his partner Gulab, who’s currently in the hospital—that they’re willing to license Genius Invokation to you. We’re here to discuss the licensing fee,” Dori said, though her expression carried a faint sigh.
“Of course, a licensing fee is only fair. How would you like it, Mr. Garvipidam—installments or a one-time payment?”
Nolan briefly outlined the two options.
Since the online version of Genius Invokation for the “Akasha Network” would be fully developed by Nahida, with Garvipidam only providing the rights, profit-sharing would make little sense.
Given the “Akasha Network” would cover all of Sumeru—and perhaps, one day, all of Teyvat—even a 10% share would amount to astronomical sums.
Completely unnecessary. With the Network’s monopoly, even uploading something like poker would make it sweep across Teyvat. Genius Invokation wasn’t the only possible choice.
Thus, installment or one-time licensing was the most reasonable approach.
An installment license meant paying an initial fee so the game could go live, and then paying again for any major updates—like new cards or rule changes—in the future.
A one-time license meant a large lump-sum payment up front, after which any future updates could be added without further fees.
“That’s a very reasonable arrangement.”
Garvipidam wasn’t overly concerned about the fee. He thought for a moment, then said:
Genius Invokation was just something my friend and I came up with in our spare time to pass the days. We never imagined others would like it so much.
“More than money, we’d love for more people to be able to play easily. If it could be played anywhere, anytime on an Akasha Terminal, that would be wonderful!
“Maybe everyone could even make more friends through it. So yesterday, Gulab and I agreed—we don’t need a licensing fee at all. Having it playable on the Akasha Network would be the greatest reward for us!”
“Oh?”
Nolan hadn’t expected Garvipidam and his partner to be so open-hearted. But the “Akasha Network” belonged to none other than the Dendro Archon—there was no way he’d just take advantage without paying.
“I’m afraid not—a fee must be paid, otherwise it would look like we’re taking advantage,” Nolan said firmly, explaining his reasoning.
He smiled lightly and continued:
“If you don’t care for the money, you can use it to help others—start a charity, create scholarships, anything.
“And you’re scholars, right? Whether continuing to develop Genius Invokation or researching other fields, you’ll need funds. With licensing fees, you won’t have to worry about Mora.”
“Mm?” Garvipidam seemed to have an epiphany. After thinking for a moment, he replied:
“Hah… Adventurer, it seems our decision was a bit rash after all.” He nodded and added:
“In that case, let’s go with the installment option. Long-term returns are better than short-term.”
“Haha, of course.”
Nolan smiled and began discussing the specific terms.
Knowing Genius Invokation’s future potential, he didn’t skimp—offering an initial licensing fee of 80 million Mora for the current version.
Future fees would be adjusted according to the game’s popularity and the scale of new content.
For a game that was only modestly popular in a small circle, 80 million was a huge figure.
Garvipidam hadn’t expected such generosity for the first payment, but he didn’t refuse. Thanks to Nolan’s reminder, he was already considering how to use it for social good.
With the agreement reached, they quickly signed the license contract. Nolan handed over a Sumeru Bank withdrawal note he’d prepared in advance.
The deal was done.
Garvipidam hurried off to report to Gulab. At that point, Dori rubbed her hands together and said:
“Hehe, I went through so much trouble and expense to help you—what about that advertising deal?”
“I know, I won’t shortchange you,” Nolan replied with a smile.
“Soon, the Akasha Terminals will have a social feature, and ads will go there. You’ll get the very first one—though of course, it’ll cost you. The exact price is undecided.”
“Hehe, you said it!”
Dori trusted the legendary adventurer’s word.
With Genius Invokation fully settled, Nolan bought a set of cards from Dori’s shop to take back to the House of Daena so Nahida could make the online version.
And since he was going to produce it anyway, he figured he might as well head to Liyue and buy poker, mahjong, chess, and Ningguang’s Liyue Millennia too.
Better to make them all in one go, without the hassle of doing each game separately.
Poker and the like were things Nolan had directly copied from Earth, so there was no need for licensing fees. Ningguang’s Liyue Millennia also didn’t require one—he’d spoken to her about it before, and she’d said the fee wasn’t worth much Mora anyway, so she’d treat it as supporting the development of the “Akasha Network.”
Since they were all like family, there was no need to be so particular, and Nolan didn’t mind.
After buying up all the existing recreational games in Liyue, he teleported back to the House of Daena so Nahida could help create online versions.
It wasn’t like writing code—he just needed the Akasha system to scan and copy the physical games as templates.
Then Nahida would design the interaction logic and user interface according to the game rules. It was simple enough to finish in under an hour.
Since these weren’t coded programs, there was no risk of software bugs, so they could go live immediately without worry.
Of course, they still had to decide on a payment model before launching.
These games weren’t just for entertainment—they also had the mission of generating revenue, which would mainly go toward funding academic research.
Without enough funding, even the best ideas couldn’t be realized.
After a quick discussion with Nahida, Lumine, and Paimon, they decided to price each game individually according to its nature.
For example, Genius Invokation was a social game—it was only valuable if lots of people played—so the best approach was to make the game itself free, but sell visual effects like special card fronts and backs.
In other words, an item-based payment model.
Liyue Millennia, on the other hand, had complex rules. It reproduced the terrain and streets of Liyue Harbor to scale, and players rolled various dice—six-sided, ten-sided, twelve-sided—to move pieces.
Landing on spaces like Wanmin Restaurant, Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, tea houses, or street vendors would trigger events that could bring rewards or penalties.
The winner was determined by who had the most chips at the end.
Nolan felt Liyue Millennia had little potential for item-based monetization. At best, they could sell different designs for the pieces and dice—but changing the style of the board would clash with the rest, hurting the aesthetic and player experience.
So it was better suited for a buyout or subscription model.
However, since the Akasha Terminals weren’t like phones or PCs, games weren’t stored and run locally—they ran on the Akasha system itself.
Providing server resources, even if minimal, still consumed some energy.
If they sold it as a one-time purchase, they’d still be spending money to maintain it without any recurring revenue—unsustainable from a business perspective.
So a subscription model was more suitable—monthly or yearly payments at a low price, like 1,000 Mora a month, which most people could afford.
Poker, mahjong, and chess fell into the same category, but since they were smaller games, charging subscriptions individually might make players feel they weren’t worth it.
Bundling them together for the same 1,000 Mora a month—and adding any future mini-games into the bundle—would make it a much better value.
Once they settled on pricing, they also put in measures to prevent gambling or excessive gaming.
This was necessary—they couldn’t just chase Mora at the cost of letting players spiral into bad habits. Games should guide players toward positivity, not drag them down.
With everything ready, Nolan posted an announcement on the Akasha Network about the new entertainment games, noting they’d be free to try for the first week.
Since there was no need to download anything and Sumeru’s citizens all had Akasha Terminals, everyone was naturally curious about such an integral part of their daily life.
Once they discovered the new games, people of all ages gave them a try in their free time.
The online player counts for each game quickly broke ten thousand and kept climbing.
“These games are doing well. In a few days, when we launch the Akasha Forum, everyone will have a place to discuss them,” Lumine said, crossing her arms under her half-exposed white chest, pleased at the growing numbers in the backend.
“Good—our efforts weren’t wasted.”
Nolan had expected this, but seeing it with his own eyes still made him happy.
Now they just had to see how revenue looked after the free trial week.
If it went well, Nahida could start more research projects and infrastructure builds. With a steady flow of funds, elemental technology was bound to advance.
Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, and Sumeru’s research and development were already on track, and the Sweet Flower Merchant Association was opening branches in each nation, spreading new technology far and wide.
The next step was to wait for milestone results—small breakthroughs would eventually snowball into greater ones.
He believed the day they could build a spaceship wasn’t far off.
That was why he felt he should also learn more skills himself, to handle whatever situations might come in the vast sea of stars.
Right now, leveling up required a lot of Adventure EXP, but Teyvat didn’t have enough powerful monsters left for him to fight.
Maybe venturing outside would lead to new discoveries.
Not that it was urgent—spaceship or not, the Sustainer of Heavenly Principles was still guarding the skies, not letting anyone out.
For now, he still had to rely on “training” with the girls to improve his power—and that training pace wasn’t bad at all.
If he worked hard each day, he could gain around 100,000 EXP, which meant 36.5 million in a year—enough for three or four levels.
Of course, the better approach was to learn more skills—maybe even combine them into something that could sneak him past the barrier.
His eyes drifted to his Arcane Level skill, Abysswalker. He’d wondered before—if he could raise it to Divine Level, maybe it could make that idea a reality.
(End of chapter)
