Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

“Awakening of the Wukong”

No sight of Ling Mountain, winter greys my hair,
Ninefold mists veil the sea of clouds low-hung.

Chain the heart’s ape, rein in the mind’s wild steed,
Shatter stubborn void to awaken Wukong.

Taoist trinity reforges the primal spirit,
One scripture loosens the circlet’s binding might.

Ask not how many springs lie down the road—
Ling Mountain now dwells within your sight.

(Written sleeplessly at dawn on 8.20. Revisiting it now, it’s actually quite decent.)

Objectively speaking, Black Myth: Wukong still has many bugs and optimization issues. A friend of mine with a 4060 Ti couldn’t even launch the game and was locked out for a long time.

Personally, I haven’t encountered any bugs, with only occasional stutters or frame drops (running on a 12400F + 7700XT).

About Invisible Walls

The issue of invisible walls exists, likely due to Game Science’s lack of development experience or deliberate trade-offs. Many paths that seem passable turn out to be blocked by invisible barriers. While some are marked with broken logs or small rocks, in a 3D game with jumping mechanics, it’s hard to suppress the player’s urge to explore. Given that the game is packed with hidden content, I often find myself wandering off the beaten path—only to have my enthusiasm dampened when what appears to be a traversable bamboo grove turns out to be an invisible wall.

The game is essentially a series of interconnected “box garden” levels with multiple branching paths, elevation changes, and no map. Occasionally, two paths may converge. This isn’t an open-world game, and using invisible walls instead of physical barriers to block routes can easily mislead newcomers.

About Guidance

Near Land Temple (checkpoints), there are clear light trails guiding the way. For mainline bosses, torches are placed along the path as markers. In fact, the Land God hints early on to “follow the torches,” but this tip is easily overlooked, leading to confusion.

Without a map, it’s easy to get lost, especially in the first forested area where everything looks the same, and cave entrances are poorly lit. After defeating Guangzhi, I spent half an hour searching before finding Lingxuzi.

About the Map

Sometimes I wonder if a map would solve these frustrations. But for this kind of interconnected level design, knowing the layout in advance might spoil the surprises (every path leads to a boss, treasure, or other rewards). Perhaps a blank map that fills in as you explore could work—it doesn’t need to be permanently displayed in the corner but could be accessed via settings or the Land Temple.

About Lock-On

The current lock-on system is already well-implemented. One area for improvement is when bosses perform fast, wide-ranging attacks that pull the camera too abruptly. Some boss moves break the lock-on, forcing you to re-lock manually—a potentially fatal distraction in high-stakes combat. For example, Tiger Vanguard’s feint into a heavy punch often breaks lock-on. While the punch is easy to dodge, reacquiring the target is mentally taxing, and a follow-up slash from off-screen can cost you half your health.

I’m currently stuck on Tiger Vanguard, having lost dozens of monkey heads to his liquor (Git gud).

Final Thoughts

This is a flawed masterpiece, but based on what I’ve experienced so far, it easily deserves a score above 90—even without accounting for cultural or nostalgic bonuses.

I’d give it 100 points because it’s a unique source of pride and romance for the Chinese people. Foreign players will understand it—or they’ll learn to.

I believe the more national it is, the more universal it becomes.

Game Science has delivered a satisfying answer to players and themselves—Black Myth: Wukong isn’t perfect, but it stands as China’s first true AAA title and lives up to the four years of anticipation.

Keep moving forward. The journey itself matters more than reaching Ling Mountain.

Published on 2024-08-20 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2024-08-20

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Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

They Were Only Two, On The Planet.

I finished Eden* in the early hours this morning. After waking up, I’ve been in a daze all day—half due to lack of sleep, half because of the lingering emotional impact.

I barely paid attention in class. After P.E. this afternoon, I took a shower and tried to sleep. Despite being exhausted, I lay there for an hour without dozing off. Tenmon’s Sion kept playing in my mind, while scenes from the game flashed before my eyes like save points.

For me, playing visual novels (referring exclusively to all-ages titles here) is both an outward and inward journey.

As a hopeless anime fan, during the rough patches of my unsatisfactory real life, I reach out to visual novels for refuge—a fleeting escape to this untouched Eden. Even when stories feature profound suffering or cruel cycles, I know the writers will ultimately let me, as an outsider with godlike power, rewrite the predetermined bad endings. Or perhaps, amidst the sorrow, I’ll catch glimpses of existing beauty and march toward the future with hope. The worlds depicted in visual novels are places where hope always remains. This is truly eden (paradise).

While witnessing the diverse characters in these stories make their choices, I also turn inward to reflect: If it were me, what would I choose? Do I truly deserve such wonderful heroines? Am I like Eden*’s protagonist, failing to see what truly matters and muddling through my days?

Now, back to Eden*.

As a 2009 release from minori (now defunct), its visuals can only be described as “retro” by today’s standards, and its UI is nothing remarkable. Only its story and music elevate it to masterpiece status (and it will long be remembered as such).

The music is excellent, but the white screens during scene transitions and abruptly cut-off BGM always “perfectly” freeze my surging emotions in an awkward limbo, significantly hampering the experience.

But is Eden*’s story truly outstanding?

In terms of action, its combat scenes are merely passable—far inferior to titles like Fate/stay night (though Eden* isn’t action-focused, with its few fight scenes existing solely to highlight character conflicts).

As for slice-of-life elements, its depictions of daily routines neither transform the mundane into something magically entertaining (compared to today’s excellent moege) nor use them to create compelling conflicts.

Regarding narrative twists, the story contains few unpredictable suspense buildups. Most plot points, even the ending, become apparent after the first third—which is precisely Eden*’s terrifying strength. The lack of dramatic turns repeatedly thwarted my “reverse-thinking” predictions.

I kept expecting some “deus ex machina” to plunge the protagonists, fresh from one crisis, into new turmoil—or to alter their predetermined fate for a happy ending. But no, nothing happened.

After the morning glow fades, only the harsh light of reality remains. —The Three-Body Problem

This is Eden*—it pushes everyone toward an inevitable conclusion with a “realism” uncharacteristic of visual novels. Countless times I screamed internally: “This can’t be right, can it? There must still be a way to…” For once, I—the “outsider”—felt utterly powerless. With its linear design and absence of choices, I could only watch as the caged bird broke free, spread her white wings to soar, then folded them forever in eternal slumber beneath the open sky.

Yet beyond this reality lies something seemingly less realistic.

Future, life, responsibility, freedom… Eden* presents these choices to me and Haruna Ryou not as in-game options, but as existential questions. It doesn’t preach about “correct” decisions—it simply reveals possibilities buried under heavy realities, delivering a wake-up call to young people like me, violated by this garbage society.

I once wallowed in the visceral grief of “The courtyard’s loquat tree was planted by my late wife the year she died, now its canopy spreads wide and tall.” But Eden* tells me:

When early summer comes, pick the loquats and taste them. She would be delighted.

Yes, I should water and fertilize that loquat tree, then joyfully eat its fruit every summer. The beautiful memories with Sion and others will remain as sweet as those loquats, year after year.

Looking back, is Eden*’s understated narrative truly good? Many have praised it already—my clumsy words add little. Years from now, I may forget names like Sion’s, but I’ll never forget:

They Were Only Two, On The Planet.

Published on 2023-11-28 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2023-11-28

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Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

With ample funding and impeccable special effects—particularly the breathtaking long take of the space elevator, paired with the visceral impact of “Space Elevator”—this film fulfilled the dream of a megastructure enthusiast like me.

The themes are manifold, and I can’t quite pinpoint the central one. Perhaps it’s unity? The speech by Old Man Zhou struck a deep chord, and his resemblance to Premier Zhou Enlai is uncanny—so very uncanny.

We’ve never disliked patriotic narratives; what we dislike is hollow preaching and the forced feeding of so-called “positive energy.”

The countdowns at key moments and the concept of digital life carry strong echoes of Interstellar and Asimov’s Foundation.

The lyrics from the theme song Humans Are_—“Farewell, my moonlight, my blue, my love. The steel behemoths roar, as we refuse to go gentle into the night”—clearly reflect the influence of Interstellar on this work.

The first half of the line comes from Old Man Zhou’s dialogue in The Wandering Earth 2, while “the night” references Dylan Thomas’s poem Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, famously quoted in Interstellar. The “steel behemoths” likely symbolize the planetary engines, emblems of human technology and Earth’s hope for survival.

It’s fair to say this film fully meets the caliber of Interstellar.

Even more delightful is the second end-credit song, Flowing Water, whose folk style feels utterly “out of place” in a sci-fi setting, yet ignites a humanistic warmth in the cold vastness of space. This is something rarely achieved in Liu Cixin’s grand sci-fi universe, highlighting the distinct artistic strengths of literature versus film.

I lingered until the very last note of Flowing Water faded, leaving the theater as the final viewer, my mind echoing with the refrain: “Like flowing water, rushing la-la-la-la-la…”

— GuZheng
January 27, 2023

Published on 2023-01-27 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2023-01-27

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Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

Better to see once than hear a hundred times.

In 2021, I watched a full playthrough livestream by a content creator on Bilibili and was immediately captivated by its ethereal art style. Two years later, when I finally played it myself, the visual splendor struck me just as profoundly, while the emotional resonance felt freshly poignant.

On January 12, 2023, I embarked on this journey with two anonymous travelers. The first accompanied me through the desert, the second through the snow-capped mountains—neither left their names, mirroring how we meet, connect, and part ways like ships passing in the vast sea of humanity. Together we raced across dunes, climbed through blizzards, and soared above clouds, only to separate at the summit. Perhaps they tried to share contact details through Morse-coded chirps, but alas, I couldn’t decipher them.

Perhaps an encounter without full connection is the perfect ending—
My heart brims with regret, yet overflows with tenderness and love.

Though predating Sky: Children of the Light (2019), the 2012 Journey achieves superior visual artistry through platform advantages—every grain of sand, snowflake, dune, gust of wind, and wisp of cloud beckons beauty-seeking eyes. Its level design maintains remarkable freshness throughout.

In short: If you haven’t bought it yet, do so now. I paid full price (¥55 on Steam) with zero regrets.

Over its 11-year lifespan, Journey has garnered constellations of praise, so I’ll refrain from adding clumsy strokes. Below is an excerpt from user Baiyewlaef’s review on HEYBOX:

“What’s truly astonishing is its multiplayer system and unique player interaction—no text communication, only ambiguous concepts conveyed through chirps of varying length and pitch. This strips away all externalities, leaving only the essence of human connection. Completing the journey mirrors life itself: meeting strangers in solitary travels, walking together, then parting. Though brief in playtime, its afterglow lingers.

Having played ABZU and Sky beforehand, Journey clearly operates on a higher plane. ABZU falters narratively and mechanically, while Sky—constrained by free-to-play mechanics—expands communication systems and emphasizes cosmetic differentiation to boost social engagement, daily activity, and monetization. But these very mechanics introduce comparison metrics: ‘My hairstyle is exclusive,’ ‘My instrument is rare,’ ‘This veteran has epic gear—I must cling to them.’ Such competitive mindsets inevitably proliferate, shifting focus from spiritual fulfillment to vanity metrics.

Journey eliminates all such reference points. Your companion has no unique appearance or special colors—their gender, age, or skill level remain unknown. Each player becomes a pure human symbol. This intentional obscurity purifies motivations: You may abandon this stranger or selflessly collaborate. Your warmth may go unreciprocated; your indifference won’t be judged. Everything becomes fleeting moments preserved only in memory.

Playing Journey, I felt that beneath all exteriors, people are inherently kind. A single chirp exchanged in circles could fill me with contentment. Yet most modern games increasingly emphasize differentiation, opposition, and competition. When designers incentivize hierarchy and combat, how can players cultivate kindness within such frameworks? Over time, these adversarial systems became the norm, making Journey’s approach feel revolutionary—a marvel that praises the game while lamenting industry trends. Competitive games have merit, but when they dominate the landscape, it feels like a waste of gaming’s artistic potential.”

Published on 2023-01-12 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2023-01-12

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Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

If you’re a player primarily interested in the art style and have lower expectations for other aspects, I’d currently still recommend this game.

The biggest draw is undoubtedly the art style by the talented artist Cici. Personally, I’m not a fan of overly dark aesthetics in similar games.

As for the story… it’s quite confusing, especially in the first two chapters. Many events feel “convenient” – you fight monsters inexplicably, experience sudden emotional moments and reconciliations, yet even after two chapters, the background story remains unclear. The opening narrative needs significant improvement to properly introduce the world-building and the anomalies in the Mirror World.

The transitions are just black screens with white text or static images with text overlays, which feels embarrassingly low-budget. Even without comparing it to Ori, this falls short. Considering it’s a three-person studio with Cici still working at miHoYo, production capacity is clearly strained, so I’ll cut them some slack for now. Hopefully, after TT Games secures funding from the game’s release, they can hire more talent to boost production and refine the early chapters.

Regarding the combat system, TT mentioned they prioritized a smaller scope, so the combat isn’t overly complex. However, the Mirror Element Spirits mechanic gives off strong “4399 mini-game” vibes (laughs). I hope they can reduce the player character’s hit reactions while enhancing enemy feedback. Currently, enemies don’t even budge when hit, whereas attacks on the player cause stun locks and knockbacks – it feels frustrating.

Map design is decent in terms of guidance, preventing players from getting lost. But this is mainly because the maps lack depth, with very few explorable areas. For a deliberately small-scale game, this is forgivable. Judging by the TAB map design, TT doesn’t seem to be aiming for the intricate maps of Ori or Hollow Knight, opting instead for discrete room-based levels rather than maze-like structures. If they want to justify the price point without deepening map complexity, I’d hope they compensate with length – longer storylines, more varied scenes, and additional levels.

Overall, recommended for players who love the art style. Others might want to wait and see.
Five years in the making – here’s hoping Glimmer in the Mirror continues to improve and that we see more great indie games in the future.

Published on 2023-01-11 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2023-01-11

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Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

After watching too many thesis defenses, I went back for a second viewing of The Legend of Zhang Beihai to cleanse my eyes.

Personally, I don’t recommend starting the animation of sci-fi novels with The Three-Body Problem—the IP is too massive to handle. Right now, the domestic sci-fi scene seems fixated on milking Liu Cixin dry. In my opinion, the domestic film and TV industry, with its mature experience in romance productions, could start with authors like He Xi instead.
Top-tier funding, an ultra-long production period, and yet they delivered this—what a brutal blow to China’s sci-fi industry.
The team behind My Three-Body practically wore out their copies of The Three-Body Problem while making it, just like how the crew of the 87 Dream of the Red Chamber adaptation had all read the novel, even bringing in Redology scholars as consultants. I wonder how many people at Yixu Kaitian have actually read The Three-Body Problem cover to cover, even once?
Give sci-fi the means to thrive commercially, not the other way around. It’s hard to say whether the influx of capital has been a net positive or negative for the industry’s development.
Chinese sci-fi still has a long, arduous road ahead.

Farewell, the sunrise I once gazed upon, the guiding light now a dying ember on a stranger’s path.

Heh heh, Dongfang Yanxu, my Dongfang Yanxu, heh heh (even getting excited over blocky characters—impressive, huh? That’s me for you.)

Published on 2023-01-02 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2023-01-02

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Author: 孤筝(lvbowen040427@163.com)

Senren*Banka

Yesterday afternoon and evening, I spent eight hours straight completing the Murasame route. This morning, I went back to listen to the OST again—utterly unforgettable. It’s safe to say that Yuzusoft’s works are indeed a great escape from reality.

I’ve always believed that the story is the soul of a galgame, even for “butter” (eroge). Butter is first and foremost a game, and only then does it include H-content.

The ability of art (games being the ninth art) to evoke empathy is a crucial metric for judging its quality. Works that immerse readers (listeners/viewers/players) in their world, allowing them to grasp emotions and resonate with them, are, at the very least, outstanding for their time. Visual novels, like theater, music, literature, painting, and calligraphy, possess unique emotional carriers and expressive methods.

As a 2016 title, Senren*Banka boasts top-tier music, excellent UI (especially Yuzusoft’s flowchart system, which is incredibly convenient), and scenery/character art that still holds up as refined today (special shoutout to the dynamic chibi CGs—so kawaii, pat little Murasame’s head).

The protagonist is mostly sharp in both IQ and EQ, and the four heroines each have distinct, well-developed personalities. This is rare—many galgames suffer from weak writing, forcing characters into low-IQ/EQ roles to patch up plot holes, resulting in forgettable, cookie-cutter portrayals.

Regarding the story, I’ve only finished Murasame’s route, so I can’t comment on the others, but it’s genuinely outstanding. The H-scenes feel like natural progressions of the relationship, not forced for the sake of titillation. Across Murasame’s route (excluding the epilogue), the three H-scenes flow seamlessly, powerfully advancing both plot and emotional arcs, achieving true “mind and body” immersion for the player.

What’s even rarer is that the heroines’ routes are nearly equal in content. The seemingly “true heroine,” the poster girl Asakura Yoshino, doesn’t overshadow the others. Supporting characters don’t steal the spotlight but appear at key moments to set the mood and drive the plot forward without vanishing entirely. In contrast, Tricolour Lovestory repeatedly stabs Xiao Ju’s fans in both Xiao Ju’s and Wen Zhi’s routes, feeling gratuitously cruel—enough to make Ju fans want to strangle the writer.

Though much of the story is lighthearted slice-of-life, the interactions between these distinct personalities keep it engaging, never bland. The immortal Murasame, the pervy Mako, the earnest Yoshino, and the innocent Reina—vibrant characterizations, diverse appeal, and Japanese rural folklore give this sugar-coated moe fest broad appeal (which is why Senren*Banka is many players’ gateway galgame).

Now, for the flaws or regrets.

While the UI is well-designed, I wish it had progress bars for music and videos.

Multi-variant character sprites enrich dialogue expressions, but they lack the impact of dynamic CGs in H-scenes.

The game spreads the mystery of the崇神 (worshiped deity) across routes, incentivizing players to complete them all, but this leaves single-route players with gaps. Reina also gets less early development—a trade-off that’s hard to avoid.

The battle segments suffer from too few CGs and weak presentation (but for 50 yuan with six heroines and over twenty H-scenes, what more can you ask for?).

Murasame’s epilogue answer feels slightly forced, but as a classic fanservice finale, it’s unfair to be too critical.

Overall, Senren*Banka’s excellence is widely recognized by veteran galgame players—no need for excessive praise. It’s well worth buying. The Steam Autumn Sale is over, reverting to 88 RMB, but the dual-platform activation version on HIKARI FIELD’s site is just 50 RMB.

In recent years, truly outstanding new galgames are few and far between, while many acclaimed older titles are finally getting official Chinese releases (thanks to HIKARI FIELD and the countless veteran fan translators who paved the way for ACGN culture in China). From Tricolour Lovestory’s paid “true end” disaster to Mirror 2’s hypocrisy, and Ao Natsu Tracks’ official release coinciding with戲畫’s exit—butter and galgames have been declining for a while, stuck in a half-dead state, though not yet extinct.

Honeycomb’s kemonomimi lolis are great, but I’d prefer more galgames with emotionally gripping stories. Some say surface-level anime sells sex, while deeper works explore themes—but truly great titles blend both. Yosuga no Sora broke into the mainstream not just for its taboo sibling romance, but for its raw portrayal of ethical conflicts and societal pressures. Those moments—like穹妹’s desperate cries—are where galgames, as art, touch the heart.

Years from now, I might forget whether it’s “Murasame” or “Murasame,” “Xiao Ling” or “Xiao Ling,” but I’ll never forget that green-haired girl who waited 500 years under the moon. She gave me too much joy, warmth, and emotion.

Lastly, I’ll always love幼刀 (little sword).

***********SPOILERS BELOW**********

I couldn’t stop after starting yesterday. Initially treating it as pure “butter,” I mashed CTRL early on and stumbled into Murasame’s route without a guide. Then came the inevitable knife—not the sharpest, but catching me off-guard. When将臣 and Murasame first slept together, I nearly cried. 500 years—I’ll give her a normal girl’s happy youth! She endured 300 years as a sacrificial blade spirit (albeit through escape), so I’d swing that sword 3,000, 30,000, 300,000 times for her!

Later, I learned Murasame’s route is best saved for last—after her, other heroines pale in comparison. This is a common galgame flaw: non-harem routes breed guilt.

Early on, the blade spirit premise reminded me of Flowers -Le volume sur été-’s Rinka, and the deity lore felt similar too. The sacrificial wait then evoked Chinese Paladin’s Long葵—but eventually, Murasame became uniquely herself, a living, breathing girl. Rinka’s love was predestined across lifetimes; Murasame’s grew step by step, her early NEET traits making her feel real and relatable.

Though I claim to be a single-route player, I’ll likely try others eventually—otherwise, 50 yuan feels wasted (Yoshino, here I come!).

幼刀: “Men talk sweet, but in the end, they all just love pretty girls.jpg”

Published on 2022-12-16 at 孤筝の温暖小家, last modified on 2022-12-16

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