Hello, I’m BK.
原来的娱乐圈是这样的。小苍看到我这个朋友圈跟我说，你要创业具体要做什么呀，晚上跟我约个饭，他第二个星期投资款就到账了。每个月公司就是让我花出去500万，我花不完这些钱，即使失去了全世界还有一个人很需要你，愿意跟你在一起，那种感觉真的是非常的好。
我平时自己吃饭的话，一般就是吃这个大食堂。刚来上海的时候就发现吃食堂有一个好处，就是手上不会长那个欠差，就不会开裂，真是很神奇。我如果只点一个东西，定着点的话，过一段时间手上就会开裂，嘴里边会溃疡。如果我发生这样的事情，就去吃食堂，吃个两天就好了，真的很神奇。可能它的东西配的比较全，不会偏，所以它的营养会比较均衡。
我可能要先打一个胰岛素，因为现在血糖感觉有点升高了，刚才吃饭之前乱急打了，所以现在补一下。当然等会儿聊起来，我会有点难受。好，我们准备开始吧。
BK这个名字其实就是98年的时候玩CS，那时候需要有一个英文名。刚好上初中，学习吉他，知道有一个BB King弹蓝调的。只是觉得这个名字比较好记好念，所以就用了这个名字。2017年、2018年的时候，自己创业开公司的时候，我就发现这个名字没办法注册为商标，所以就用了BK这样一个名字。但没想到BK这个名字竟然在天津话里面是另外一个意思，所以我现在也只能说自己是精神天津人。
我其实一直不是太擅长玩游戏，这个是我从小对自己有一个比较清晰的人知。我这儿游戏机倒是挺全，但其实我很少玩。一个是现在没太多时间玩游戏，还有一个问题就是我小时候，我们那边没有主机游戏，也没有掌机的氛围。毕竟太内陆地区了，地方又小，其实这种东西都是我上大学后才见到的。PS，我上大二时才见到别人寝室里边有一个大黑盒子，我问这是啥？它是PSR，所以小时候没有形成玩主机的习惯，手柄这些习惯也就很难形成了。
所以我大多数的时候还是在电脑上玩游戏，因为我们这一代人都是独生子女，小时候渴望有人一起玩，这可能是我们这一代人电竞为什么那么火爆的一个原因。那时候接触到电竞的时候，其实还没有电竞这个词，我们那时候就叫打比赛。高中的时候，我们年级里边组了个战队叫Color，就是颜色战队，每个人起一个颜色的名字，我记得我还叫银色。然后就跟别的年级或者别的学校去约打比赛，打CS，我那时候狙击枪用得特别好。
所以就一直很喜欢有组织的这种感觉，电竞在整个内陆地区发展的特别厉害，因为那边个人电脑的普及率比较低，所以网吧的规模特别大。造成我们那个时候想组织电竞比赛，比沿海的或者一线城市容易多。做一个比赛，一般来说网吧老板就痛快跟你说可以，没问题，而且特别支持出奖品，甚至出奖金，他们都愿意。
所以在内陆地区诞生了很多电竞赛事组织，甚至一些大型赛事主办机构，其实那个时候诞生于四川、重庆、西安这样的地方。这边是我工作的一个地方，你看到这个比较小的情况下，专门弄了一个做视频播客的桌子。位置其实只能说刚刚好，平时驾计位的话可能要驾到门口。
我01年、02年的时候就考到西安，在西安上学读计算机相关的。其实那个时候自己并不喜欢理科，从小算是比较擅长写文章，想读文科。但是我上面有一个堂哥，他已经读了文科，家里就说你俩一人读文一人读理。所以我那时候数学还可以，就让我读理科。我没概念嘛。
上学的时候，上到大一还是大二的时候，觉得好像记者更适合自己。所以就那个时候又回到了文科的轨道。我现在其实依然有采访的时候，用手写记录采访的习惯。写得比较乱，但这是从小写东西的习惯。小时候我其实很想学东西，但因为我们那个小地方难找到音乐或者美术的老师。我那时候很想学画画，但我们那山沟里找一个画画的老师都很困难。
后来到了初中时，发现看书是我能自己执行下来的事情，而且家里有很多书。记得家里有很多人民文学，还有很多人物传记类的书，所以那时候发现看这种东西很有意思。从那个时候开始进行一些模仿，学习它的写作方式。再到后来，这种写作方式各方面的学习也让我对后来的工作受益匪浅。所以最后的这个好处，可能就是形成了这样一本书，我可以完成这种成就。
我在西安上大学的时候，西安的电竞氛围已经非常强烈了。那个时间点是WCGC、WCGESWC这些国际性的大比赛，开始进入到中国，并且有西安赛区。然而当我到西安时，这样的氛围刚好是处于顶点。
我就在西安参与了一些电竞赛事的组织和活动报道，所以我当时基本上就是从电竞记者进入到电竞行业。这应该是2003年。2003年的时候，我在CGA的后方平台新闻组报道WCG2003中国区总决赛。那时候在后方新闻组去北京，北大门口拍了张照，真的是很瘦。我瘦过，也帅过，所以现在不留遗憾。
因为我在西安做活动，西安有一个后来的WE战队的前身，亮战队。经历了星际时代和WE3时代后，吸收了SKY、苏浩，基本上把中国最一线的WE3的选手都吸引进来，并且在05年拿到了WCG的世界冠军。在西安，我跟他们因为经常跑赛场就认识。认识后，开始相互帮忙，维持着一种良好的合作关系。
我在西安也做了很多活动，包括西安的高校电竞联盟。自己去招商、组织，从头到尾做。所以他们都看在眼里。等到05年WE战队在上海正式成立时，我刚好毕业，他们告诉我需要有一个人来做商务相关的事情，觉得我很不错。我就直接进入电竞的职业领域，负责WE的一些商务事情，以及当时正在做的Stars War国际明星邀请赛。
我们的社区绿化特别好。当时过来看这个小区时就觉得哇，这个小区真不错。因为我从小长大的地方，其实跟上海的气候很像。汉中被称为小江南，虽然是一个富饶的地方，但信息很闭塞，观念比较保守，所以我和家里在这方面有不少矛盾，伴随我整个青少年的时期。
我是一个比较倔强或者有自己想法的人。后来上到大学，翻过了秦岭，到了西安后，就开始做自己想做的事情。和家里的矛盾其实一直没有缓和，因为他们也不知道我在做什么，想办法帮我安排工作，他们也不会理解。
我记得上大学后再也没有回过家，工作后算下来可能六七年都没有回过家。那时候觉得很难受，心里只想逃离那个地方，因为所有观念都是想把你拉回他们原本的生活状态。上学的时候，01年还是02年，我来过上海一次，觉得这里真的很不错。然后在05年毕业时，完全没有考虑其他地方，直接来上海。现在想起来，今天是我来上海20年了。
我妈偷偷给了我两千块钱，我基本上就带着这两千块钱，一直到现在。现在回想起来也觉得很神奇。现在经常听到的话叫做“世界是一个巨大的草台班子。”我觉得这句话非常有道理，因为我们那时候是属于一帮草台班子的人。
当时什么都不懂，做过一些小活动，就觉得办一个大型活动也不是那么难。我们去把上海的常宁国际起草中心租下来，做了一个现场4000人的场地，做两天。没想到这个场地后来做满，成为电竞爱好者当时的难忘记忆吧。
这是2006年的第二届Stars War，就是在这个上海场景起草中心做的最后的一个结尾的ending pose。本来打算05年11月份办这个活动，最后拖到06年1月份才开始办。中间因为几个月的时间，招商处于到处碰壁。
我自己去写中文和英文招商材料，整整一本厚厚的，去上海各大企业跟人打交道，谈耐克、可口可乐、百事可乐，跟他们谈电子竞技是什么，电竞赛事是什么。我们要做什么，但最后很多时候，人家愿意见我们就已经很不错了。 可口可乐的市场总监跟我说一句非常不客气的话：对于可口可乐来说，互联网上的广告曝光是可以忽略的。
在那个时间点上，他们只看电视广告，完全忽略互联网的影响力。这就是当时互联网的现状。最后硬是谈了三个月，谈了一个游戏场上的街头篮球的人。他们原本打算做一个街头篮球的比赛，但又很担心现场没有人气，所以发现我们要办这么一个活动，人气各方面的影响力，他们觉得搭个车挺好。
于是他们出了20万，我们公司借了20万，凑了40万去办比赛。现场很冷，大家选手被冻得瑟瑟发抖，观众也一样，因为我们拿批文是国家体育总局给我们的，现场有国家体育总局领导来开场。大家把老板都冻得动不了，然后说暖气打开吧。但我当时才知道场地费里面是不包含暖气费的。
如果开暖气，他们起开是4个小时，每小时要几千块。我有点忘记了，反正非常贵。如果连续两天都开暖气，又要几万，但老板既然说了，于是后来我就去打开。第一次引入P2P技术，在现场做直播，但当时没有网络，租不起商业的带宽，只能租两根家用宽带。
没想到最后用的那两根家用宽带成功完成了P2P直播，数据统计时都觉得惊讶，因为当时有21万还是22万独立IP观看了比赛，这其实是非常大的数字。有很多网吧，上百台机器只有一个IP，所以对应的人数非常恐怖。最后硬把这个4000人的大型活动，从招商到拿批文，跟公安消防打交道，现场组织管理、排队检票，我们几个人竟然做下来了。那种喜悦到现在仍然非常刻骨铭心，成就感真的是爆棚。
这右边就是文心报业大厦，我们那时候就在这里，十七楼，十七楼好像。再往后，我一直在公司处理各种赛事，也做了replace.net，这个卧三的论坛，应该算是卧三时代中国最大，世界最大的中文电竞社区，很多国外的电竞选手、爱好者都从我们这个网站去下载录像。
所以WG俱乐部从那个时候开始，慢慢往前推进。我们这个母公司还收了另一个网站GamesTV，之后几年里边大名鼎鼎的游戏风云GamesTV，但当时只是叫GamesTV，还没跟游戏风云进行合并。我们那个时候是个非常快乐的电竞创业时代，觉得运气蛮好，直接找到一个4000块钱的工作。
我不知道现在大家能不能理解当时那种感觉，4000多块钱对我来说是什么样的概念呢？一年的学费才5000块，公司的待遇4000多块，还包住宿。我们公司租的那个房子，在静安区很中心的位置，因为上班的地方在文心报业大厦，离上班打车也就五到十分钟，吃饭那个时候也很便宜。记得一份饭才六块钱，所以4000多块完全可以自己全部花掉。
第一个月发工资时，记得拿4000多块出来摊在床上，我数了好久，真的是数了好久，真的是像做梦一样的感觉。那个时候上班，各方面都很开心，BBC老杨就在隔壁房间，Games TV的他们已经开始进行一些比赛、解说的录制了。做电竞这一帮人，在那个时间点基本上开始往上海聚集。
我们在06年继续办了Stars War，到了07年时，我对办比赛这件事开始失去兴趣。觉得这个办比赛已经算是学不到什么新东西了。我们每年都是赚一年的钱，想办法攒一年的钱，办这么一次比赛，实际上我们就几个人，两三个人的核心成员。
所以在这个上面，如果想有一些新想法，或者怎么没有实践机会。就是办不大，也做不小，我就被卡在那里，学不到新东西。于是我想要做一些改变，跟我们公司谈能不能转到游戏风云那边做节目。我对做节目的事情蛮感兴趣，因为本身喜欢写东西，觉得内容上的东西想去尝试一下。
所以通过公司内调，进了当时合并的游戏风云GamesTV。07年的时候游戏风云搬到这个里边，应该是文广下面的影视基地里。以前《家有好男儿》录制就在我们宿舍对面，电视台里学习做片子怎么做，跟那些老师们一起看别人怎么剪片子，打下手，学了一年。
在一年之后，开始尝试自己做一些内容，刚好整个频道做组织架构调整，成立了电竞部门。现在这些地方都已经修起楼了，以前从这儿往后全是荒地。不过当时会觉得这里蛮大的，但现在怎么觉得这么小？以前《家有好男儿》，还有做电视导购的那些人，他们录制都在这儿，因此我们经常能在这里碰到明星。
所以我还蛮想念那个时代，每天做片子。成立电竞部门后，我们有了更大的自主权，去自己做节目设计。我当时报了两个节目，一个是电竞人生，后来改成游戏人生，另一个是游戏大家谈。其实从那个时候开始，我就已经做了一个游戏纪录片，叫人物专访，另一个就是谈话节目。
实际上对应到现在，大家可能也发现，我的频道内现在有两个节目，一个是游戏纪录片，一个是视频播客，实际上是一模一样。我现在想起那个时候就很想做这样的节目，但遗憾的是遇到了08年的经济危机。08年经济危机导致当时很多赞助商、大的金主破产，很多电竞赛事组织、公司倒掉了。
当时游戏风云也遇到这个情况，大幅度缩减了人员。我们频道拖欠工资，拖欠了半年，所有的资金都消耗完。我以前有一个攒零钱的袋子，上海不是很多硬币吗？每次硬币多了，就往那个袋子里扔。记得有一次，数到最后只剩六七块钱，想这七八块钱再撑半个月该怎么办？我就跑去超市，买了三把挂面，一瓶醋，拿回来说后面就靠这三把挂面、一瓶醋撑一个月。
很痛苦，也很开心的时代。因为到那个时候，我已经上手做片子，算是做得还不错。我做的人物专题和访谈类节目的时候，在当时整个大环境里面是没有的。 所以很快，我的片子就到了频道的收视率第一。每天都有很多的表扬，论坛上有一些表扬的回复，但是你另一边就在瞅晚上吃什么。从那个地方走出来，下班回家的时候，就是一段蛮难受的，蛮矛盾的一种心理。
那时候这条路上有一个报刊亭，然后报刊亭里面还卖彩票。那个老板也是属于两眼无神的望着远方。就当时那一刻就很有共情，花两块钱买一张彩票，给他一点希望，也给我一点希望。当时就是那样的一种感觉。
整个电竞大概在08年09年的时候，就经历了彻底的寒冬。很多电竞公司就倒闭掉了，很多的电竞人其实就分流到了其他行业里面去了。我们在那一年里面，基本上也算是散掉了，经历了半年时间没有任何工作。到了2010年的时候，我们之前的赞助商，冠名赞助商技嘉科技，把我们这帮人重新从天南海北的地方重新又聚集起来。
他们说现在经济危机过去了，他们要开始重新去投入市场，把过去的这些活动和行销方式重新建立起来。所以我们在2010年的时候又重新聚集起来，开始有了新的机会，去成立了自己的电竞公司。
一年之后，当时W俱乐部其实也被分出去了。我们不断努力把W俱乐部并回来，把电竞赛事做回来，把我们手头上的一些业务，包括一些校园型接的一些广告活动，都开始接回来。然后就成立了自己的电竞公司，开始想办法自己去赚钱。
而且就在那个时间点，我们遇到了一个非常好的时代。优酷当时经营了大概四五年之后，他们的视频观看习惯，以及网站的整体体验，已经得到巨大的提升。他们在2010年的时候也上市了。此时，有一些解说开始在自己视频里插播淘宝店的广告。当时还有一个游戏叫夜游，连运模式也出来了。
11年的时候，心动推出神仙道，神仙道的负责人就是从我们电竞圈出来的。他很清楚电竞圈有巨大的关注度，但不知道该怎么变现。他联系到了SKY和星级老男孩，他们想试试看，可以给他们开专属的服务器，心动愿意进行到期三的分成。这个到期三是什么概念呢？就是明星主播可以拿七成，他们只拿三成。我还记得当时阿峰跟我说了一个很有趣的事情，他找小仓做游戏的连运，跟小仓说我们按照七三的分成。
当时小仓怯生生地问，”是我拿三吗？”因为这在当时是属于非常不可思议的一种给钱方式。大多数时候的分成方法是找一个明星主播做视频，插一个广告，给个两百块钱就算不错了。这也导致后来基本有名气的、有号召力的名人们都开了神仙道的服务器，夜游连运最辉煌的时候，电竞明星几乎每个人都在那个时代赚了几百万，那真是电竞人的第一桶金。
离开电竞圈其实主要是因为在经过2015年和2016年电竞遇到了一个巨大的风口，市面上有很多热钱，恰好又赶上中国投资热的时期，所以整个电竞圈涌入了很多看不懂这个行业的人，也发生了很多荒唐的事情。那时候每个月被拉去各种证券公司、投资公司演讲，讲电竞是什么，讲电竞的历史。每天有人问，你想不想做一个直播平台，我们给你凑点钱，你们做要多少钱，几千万上亿都可以。
“你们这么多资源，为什么不去做一个大型电竞综合体呢？”又做直播、又做俱乐部、又做MCN、又做经纪公司，做的这些东西其实就是一个大的电竞综合体的概念。各种各样奇怪的事情，比如电竞地产，很多人不是来做事的，而是来炒作概念、跟风追热点的。
市场上特别吃这一套，如果真想做事的人其实很难获得投资或者这些人的青睐，因为他们需要的是足够疯狂的想法，这样才能快速转手、再次退出获取高回报。我们那时候看懂这些事情时，我觉得这个行业已经疯了，因为没有解决基本面的问题。你要想办法从观众、目标人群身上赚到钱，才能让行业正态地滚动和循环。如果大家一直都是亏着砸钱，明显感觉这不是长期生存状态。
我那时候觉得这是我的见识不够，所以在经历人生中的第一个大风口时选择的是退，而不是利用这个风口去做自己想做的事情。那个时候还是缺乏经验、见识和胆量，所以错过了这个风口。这个珠江创业中心，我们以前就在这，应该十楼吧，我记得忘记了，下面有一个宇宙电竞中心。我们那时还没有这个部分，但我们是第一批入住这个园区的，以前那个Snaker俱乐部就在这，现在ED俱乐部还在。
以前那栋楼是王思聪他们的香蕉游戏，这个整个的香蕉文化，现在也改成另外一个楼了。在我最疯狂、最热的时候，大量热钱和富二代们涌到行业里来，发生的现在已经只剩下EDG了，其余的都已无存，物是人非。
所以在17年的时候，我从这个行业就退出来了。我就去心动，去心动的原因其实也和之前的想法有关。心动在神仙道那个时期做事情非常厚道，分成也很合理的体验，合作那么长时间，我觉得这个公司有很清晰的商业模式。于是我就想去一个成熟的公司，真正了解它是怎么赚钱的，以及如何开始正向滚动的。
所以我进入心动，进去后负责投放。在那之前我全是在做乙方，想办法从一些甲方那里获得赞助资金，获得投放机会。变成甲方后，我才发现做甲方也挺累的。每个月公司让我花出去五百万，我所有能找到、所有名气的人才哥，我做下来的话可能也就只能花三百多万，花不完这些钱。
当时明星主播和B站的UP主都非常便宜，做广告大概五百块钱，最高也就两三千，非常便宜。当时UP主也愿意配合，想尽办法在他的片子里把植入广告做得有意思。这和我们那个年代的人是完全不一样的。让我非常惊讶的是，我们那个年代的人对于商业广告或者植入非常敏感和反感。我们那时候就算做Google的广告条Banner，至少会被骂一两个月。
所以，当我在B站里做那些防不胜防的广告植入时，我才发现市场或观众的接受度已经和前面不一样了。在一年投放工作中，我深切地感受到当时的游戏公司真是太有钱了，面临的情况是可以投放的地方是不足的，选择的品类也非常少。因为那时候游戏已经不再是换皮和积量，很多游戏追求品位和质量。
所以，到了2018年，我觉得与其让别人投放，倒不如自己创业做内容，因为这么好的创业时代不能错过了。我很喜欢地图，尤其是世界地图和带地形的中国地图，这得益于我曾经喜欢玩一款叫做《大航海时代》的游戏。我最喜欢的游戏是《大航海时代Online》，真的玩了四五年，一门心思玩这个游戏。而且，这个游戏的时间点正好与《魔龙世界》一致，所以因为玩这个游戏，我错过了《魔龙世界》的时代。
因此我进入游戏风云的时候，所有编导都在玩《魔龙世界》，他们是工会的人，我在那时变得和他们没有共同话题，大家聊的都是《魔龙世界》的故事，而我只能傻傻听他们聊。但是我一点也不后悔，觉得《大航海时代Online》这款游戏改变了我对整个世界的认知，甚至思考问题的方式，让我受益匪浅。
我平时在这里工作，偶尔做直播，用双击直播，有时候想玩游戏又不想一个人玩，就打开直播和大家聊聊。但现在其实很少直播了，因为自己玩游戏玩得不好，直播也完全是自己有时想玩游戏的时候才会打开。我的创业过程其实非常简单，因为我在这个行业里已经做了很久，各种人脉关系和信誉已经积累到了一个程度。
在创业时，我已经34岁，年纪、人脉和经验都有了，所以在那个时候创业非常顺利。我还记得创业融资的过程也很简单，朋友圈发了一个说我打算自己创业，做游戏纪录片的动态。当天小苍看到后就问我具体要做什么，约晚上吃饭，想投资，愿意一起做。于是我们俩聊了聊，他第二个星期投资款就到账了。
在我这个自媒体一开始定位，由于原本喜欢写人物传记和专访，结合起来发现其实就是一个纪录片。因此，一开始就明确了自己要做一个纪录片的自媒体，因为行业里没有这样的东西。就这样，我定好了方向，融资也融到了，在做片子的时候，第一个片子就有了赞助商，就是心动的Type Type。
我以为自己已经绕开了很多当年其他人没有意识到的坑，会有一个良好的开局，没想到拥有的这些条件在这个平台反而遇到了很大问题。其实播放量焦虑从我创业一开始到现在一直都有。我们做的比较严肃且长的纪录片，受众群体本身就很小，和B站大家喜欢看的片子差异很大，而选题又局限在游戏行业这个狭窄的赛道。
所以我们这种片子要怎样去大众化，提高播放量，一直是我焦虑的问题。开始定位做电竞纪录片后，发现原来之前准备好的商业模式、广告之类，都在平台那儿遇到了第一个大问题，就是限流。渠道的编辑们跟我明说，你把广告去掉，我们帮你推，否则播放量肯定上不去，甚至还要限制播放量。
渠道在那个时候主推UGC，认为你是机构媒体，能自己解决生存状态的媒体，反而不支持你。因此，我就出现了定位上的巨大尴尬，一方面做的内容成本较高，激励金等分成机制无法平掉成本，另一方面又不允许我解决生态问题。我在这样的矛盾中度过了创业的前两年，粉丝量和播放量都很差。
我们的开支大头实际上还是在购买流量上。因为我们的片子本身小众，在平台上还会因为怀疑是商业合作而限流。如果不去购买流量，播放量就会很惨。现在我们还要做平台的推广，仍处于品牌影响力在扩大和上升的阶段，所以要花很多钱去买流量。而且，现在平台又多，算下来主推的平台就只有四五个，每个平台每月一两万块钱，十万块已经难以避免。
其他部分一个月因为人力成本控制好，一个月开支大概六七万，所以整体开支可能要到十多万。还有一些设备、管理和出差费用，加起来一个月可能要二十万这样一个成本开支。
当然还有另一个问题，就是我的定位问题。此前对于视频和电视的理解仍停留在游戏风云那个时代。游戏风云那个时代，电视缺乏与观众的互动，观众的反馈只能通过短信、论坛获得。但进入B站或自媒体时代后，获取观众需求的反馈非常直接。发现做的内容在大众市场上没有需求，比如我制作了一些行业幕后大佬的采访，我认为非常重要的内容，结果发现观众对这些幕后人物不认识，自然也没有兴趣了解。
19年时，我开始进入一个奇妙的焦虑状态，发现这种长期发展不起来会给团队带来很大焦虑。不是焦虑收入的问题，发工资或现金流没什么太大问题，但发的片子老是没有人看，团队对我们做的、花了很大精力的片子影响力上不去，总会带来挫败感。因此，到了19年中，我决定转换思路，拍观众喜欢看的东西，想办法让他们提选题。
我的编导们都很年轻，基本都是二十出头，也开始和我提一些选题。他们提的选题就是孙小川、药水哥，大家懂的这些人物。我觉得可以试试看，反正这些人都在我人脉范围内。 为什么又把我疯了? 我又没开挂。
拍了之后就一下子播放量就炸了，然后视频就是几百万几百万的这样的上场，粉丝量基本上也就是马上翻了个背。我当时其实觉得怎么说呢? 就是一种失落的快乐。失落的快乐，就是一直处于很矛盾的状态。我有时候觉得如果我自己选题的话，我可能不会选这样的一个拍摄对象。但是这样做下来之后，发现它的效果是很好的。就是我当时觉得说原来我们要做流量，或者是我们要做影响力，关注度的话，原来是要这么做。我以前的拍摄拍这些幕后的人，拍这些我认为很核心的一些人，有可能是错误的一个方向。我可能需要转变这样的思路。
我原本以为这个事情就能这样继续往下发展下去。就拍这样的东西。但隐约的觉得有点不太对。因为当时已经进入到了全球的视频网站的流量红利期，已经过去的那个阶段，它在不断下降。就是平台的分成各方面的东西，已经开始在足足减少了。那我们拍这些东西，它的播放量的确是在变好。但是这个播放量变好的情况下，我们得到的激励基金，就是播放量的这个变现的东西，它依然不足以我们去平掉我们的成本。那钱从哪来呢? 我那个时候又产生了一些新的疑问。
还没等我这个疑问想到一个很明确的结果，然后20年的疫情就来了。然后20年的这个疫情呢，就造成了我的员工们整个团队，因为我员工基本上都是外地人嘛。然后过年回了家之后，后面有六个月都没有办法再来上海。所以那个时候我就只能说把团队解散，然后把办公室都退掉，算是暂停下来。因为我们啥也拍不了，门都出不了，我们拍纪录片的，对吧。然后一直到半年之后，我才又开始重新组建团队，来去做一些零零散散的一些片子。这个其实我到现在也不是太明确这个东西的原因是什么。就是有看到说是什么小时候断奶断的太早太突然，然后就会产生某种焦虑，然后就捏着一个，或者是有一个其他，我还见过其他的那种喜欢握着一个枕巾脚，或者是一个小时候盖的小被子什么之类的这种东西，一定要手上握着，或者是挨着碰着才能睡得着觉，或者是心情就会缓解下来。
我也不知道这个具体原因是什么，如果你知道的话你可以告诉我，但是就是捏着它会稍微让我有一点就是没有那么焦虑，或者是会稍微平静一点吧。
大概到了这个20年的年底，正在我处于这样一个我要不要延续19年的那样一些模式，然后继续往下做，但是又不知道怎么赚钱的那个时机呢，心动上找到我，就是我的甲方，我原本的甲方，你看到我们好几次，这个绝数的时候，绝数逢身都是我们这个甲方，然后把我拉回来的。所以这个心动当时就找到我说，他们做了一款游戏，然后是一个平台跳跃的一个格斗游戏，然后想拍一个为期一年的研发纪录片，然后把它的整个研发的过程记录下来，我说那就拍呗，因为有人出钱对吧，然后我就在21年的整个这一年里边，就去拍了这个Flash Party的这个研发的纪录片，我们拍了11期的片子。
这11期的片子的制作过程里边，我其实发现，这好像是一个比较不错的一个拍摄方向，因为它有很多的一些幕后的故事，这跟我当初喜欢去拍一些幕后的这个研发的，或者是这个发展过程的这么一些东西的记录，它里边有很多一些矛盾啊，思考啊，前后的变化啊，包括内部的争吵啊，我其实很喜欢这样的东西。然后另外一个方面是，有人出钱，我竟然发现，哦，游戏公司愿意出钱让我们来拍这么一个东西。那其实就是，对吧，我又喜欢有人愿意出钱，这个模式，然后就，哎，就卡上了。
我们在拍完那一年之后呢，我没想到的是，效果很好。虽然我们的播放量并不高，因为那时候还是会牵扯到里边有广告，或者是被怀有植入什么之类的，它的播放量不高。但心动那边很满意，然后我们拍的这个团队，他们也很满意。心动满意是觉得，哎，这个事情好像让这个公司有了一种新的这个记录和了解内部情况的这么一种方式。然后他们这个游戏的这个团队也很开心，就是他们有了一个表达自己以及获得正反馈的这么一个途径。然后从我的角度上来说，我也觉得很开心啊，有人愿意出钱让我们做这样一个很长期的这么一个节目，让我这个整天在那里听故事，然后去了解这个行业的一些更背后更深入的一些东西的时候，我也有了自己的一些满足。
所以我们当时呢，就觉得说，哎，这个事情其实可以把它做得更大一些。然后呢，把它从单一的这么一个游戏项目扩大到整个游戏行业。所以这就有了后来的《钱从哪来》系列。我们现在选题，其实主要还是看游戏本身的一个测试的情况和口碑。所以我一般选题会选至少已经上线测试，然后最好是这个游戏已经上线了。我会综合性的评估这个游戏本身的这方面的影响。还有一种另外的选法就是这个游戏本身游戏公司很有钱。哈哈哈，它可以出钱让我们来拍。那其实这就是一个纯商单的一个形式。我觉得纯商单的形式我也不会拒绝吧。因为毕竟我们也要吃饭嘛。但是还是会看一下这到底是一个什么游戏吧。那种真的非常烂，而且烂的又没有故事，又没有特点的那种，我是倾向于根本不会去拍的。
我们现在遇到这个困难，就是说我们现在这个定位呢，还是过于依赖我们的甲方的赞助商。就是如果没有赞助商，如果没有这些广告商，我们可能很难从这个C端用户上马上就赚到钱。就是这个市场的培养是需要一个时间的。但是现有的所有的平台，特别是视频平台，它基本上都是用的一种免费的观看的模式。这种免费的观看模式，对我们这些内容创作者来说，特别是像我这种比较垂直的内容创作者来说，其实是很难有一个比较好的发展。它没有什么很好的解决办法吧，除非我们也去做一些银河市场的行为。这个我在考虑，不是说我不愿意做，而是有时候我们不擅长。抽象啊，搞笑啊，这些东西，我们不一定擅长这些事。就是万一你做这个事，你不擅长，然后你再去做，很有可能是把你自己最后也搞没了。
我们的这个观众人群，其实是在我们不断的做片子的过程中，我一步一步发现，他其实主要是这个游戏从业者，喜欢看或者是想看另一个项目发展的如何，或者另一个公司发展的如何的这样的人，大多数都是游戏从业者。虽然说这群人在中国或者在全世界的范围来看，他们的数量都不是太多，但这个人群却处于整个游戏行业的一个核心的位置。我对于我的片子最后是定位在这样一个人群身上，我觉得是非常幸运的一件事，因为他们是整个游戏行业里边最有价值的这群人。
《钱从哪来》这个系列也拍了三年了，拍了也将近一百期了吧，因为我们拍了很多的游戏项目是独立游戏。独立游戏的这群人让我非常有亲切感，因为他们这些人跟我们当年做电竞的那些人，非常的像。当一个行业还没有证明自己，或者说还没有爆发的时候，会来做这个行业的人，那真的就是非常的热爱。我看到他们，然后跟他们聊一些他们的经历和故事的时候，就经常能够想到我们以前的某一些人，在做某一些事情的时候，就经常能够产生一些共鸣。通常这样的人，身上都会有一个特质叫做偏执，他坚信说这个东西没有，我就去创造一个，遇到困难了我就去学，我就去理解，然后他从来不会冒出来一个念头说，这件事情我不做了，我等什么东西出来之后我再做。所以有那句话，只有偏执狂能成功，其实他的逻辑就是这样的。
你会发现这个行业里边，有很多这样的人，比如说像太武会院的茄子，他就是想把这个游戏做到完善，但是他自己本身之前又没有做过游戏，也没有这方面的团队管理经验，他的性格也是比较内向这样一个人。在这种情况下，他的项目出了巨大的拖延，大家都觉得他是跑路了，或者是一种最后的结果，并没有达到大家的预期，然后又遇到疫情，又遇到什么。我作为一个能够近距离跟他们观察，或者是跟他们探讨这样的问题的人，又很能共情的这样一个人的时候，我其实是非常非常信任他们，因为这样的人，在独立游戏的圈子里边真的很多。
如果说这些年有什么印象比较深的拍摄的经历的话，我觉得他们可能是我觉得印象比较深的，因为我觉得都是一群非常悲情的英雄。这个本子有很多本，这些可能将来会把它再整理成一个中国游戏幕后史，把它整理成一个文字版的，但这个其实现在我们在做的视频的这一块的游戏剧股片，其实就是一个视频版的中国游戏幕后史，未来是否会把它再整理成一本书，我觉得就是看机会。
我今年已经41了，其实我觉得人老了有一个好处就是，各方面的情绪的反应会没有那么强烈了，或者说没有那么大了，像以前会对于一些焦虑啊，或者是恐慌啊，恐惧啊，这样的事情发生的时候，会有很强的一些反应啊，几天都睡不着觉啊，或者是这个心里慌的都不行啊。但是年龄大了有时候有一些好处就是，这种事情可能经历的次数多了，然后你发现焦虑也没什么太大的用处的时候，你也就不会有那么焦虑的情况。
比如说最近发生的这个我的YouTube账号，然后被因为一个小事情，被封掉了，然后这件事情如果放在十年前二十年前的话，可能这件事情会让我非常的非常的难受，因为花了很多的心血才做到30万粉丝这个量级。那现在的话，我可能睡一晚上就好了，就觉得哦，这个东西拿不回来就拿不回来吧，然后从头开始再做一个嘛，反而是有一种开心，就像你玩的一个新游戏，这个游戏你每一次重新开始的时候，你都会有一种莫名的期待，你会觉得哦，现在我已经知道哪个时间节点，哪个地方我要怎么做了，那我就可以有一个更长远的一个布局，在从头开始的时候，我就知道哪些事情要先做，哪些事情要后做。
然后你在开这具游戏的时候，就会有一种莫名的期待，可以做得比上次还要更好。所以现在的话，就大概是这样一种心态。
大咪咪害怕呀，不怕啊，这是我大女儿，她可能稍微有点紧张，咪咪啊，不怕啊，不怕啊。她是属于平时很喜欢被抱的，她会走到我的桌子旁边，然后要我抱，嘖，虎牙。它们可能还是有一点点怕生，四只猫都是流浪猫，都是我们捡回来的，一年捡一只，然后现在可能最大的有七八岁了，我们还是蛮喜欢她们的。
就是家里边养猫这件事情，其实是对我的整体的性格的改变是非常大的。我其实是一个生活不太能自理的人，就当一个生活不能自理的人，你还要去养猫。这个对我的改变其实相当大，就是很多时候，家里的猫都是我老婆在照顾，但是，因为时间长了之后，有很多事情，我也要去，我老婆不在的时候，我要去做，你会发现这种变化慢慢改变，就是你发现，原来你会有一个羁绊，你会有一个牵挂，然后在这里，它会时刻的惦记，等它对你产生信任之后，跑过来铺在你怀里的那种信任感，就会让你在心里产生一种非常难以描述的一种情感，就是它是如此的信任你。
它是如此的信任你，就会让你在心里产生一种非常难以描述的一种情感，就是它是如此的信任你，如此愿意的跟你亲近，这是一种亲人的感觉。尤其是当你精神情况不是太好，或者说是情绪不是太好的时候，它平时是属于不会去喜欢让我摸或者让我抱的，但是有几次就是我性情特别不好的时候，当我坐在那里，它会突然间跑过来，然后跳在我怀里，在我怀里蹭来蹭去，然后让我摸它，抱它的时候，你会发现，原来即使失去了全世界，还有一个人很需要你，很信任你，愿意跟你在一起，那种感觉真的是非常的好。
游戏纪录片或者是纪录片这件事情，我是会一直做下去的，我是打算把这件事情当成我一辈子的事情，继续往下做的。就讲故事，听故事，它本身是我自己的一个喜好，所以它不会因为说有人给钱或者没人给钱，我就把它停下来。只是说，钱多有钱多的做法，钱少有钱少的做法。我们这一批人，就是刚才我说的这个做独立游戏的这一批人，包括做电竞的这一批人，其实我们想过所有的结果，但我们从来没有想过说不做。
你想电竞那么艰难，我们能做二十年，然后在这样一个领域生根下来。我现在做这个纪录片的自媒体创业，满打满算也才八年，所以我相信说将来如果遇到一些什么样的事情，我觉得我应该不会不做了，而是说我可能会去稍微改变它的一些选题或者它的形式，然后让它能更好地适应这个时代，然后把这件事情继续做下去。所以这大概应该就是我，我们这样一些很偏执的人，最后会发生的一些事情吧。
我小时候玩一个游戏，那是很早以前的玩一个游戏，那时候上初中外文的吧，既看不懂，然后都不知道要怎么查，那时候不是网吧，是黑电脑房，都没有网络，你想查它的相关资料，根本查不到，然后周围人也都没有就是玩这个游戏的，所以就只能自己一步一步的探索，一步一步的去往下走，只是觉得这个游戏好像挺好玩的，它是个动作游戏，那个时候探索剧情，就探索这一步完成了之后，往下一步走，你任务也看不懂，然后你要去哪里也看不懂，这种时候我就发现有一个窍门，就是我每次这个任务一旦完成之后，我就想办法去下一个地方的时候，我就到处去探路，只要这个路上我发现有怪，就是有小兵跳出来打你，就说明我路走对了。
如果这个路上一个人都没有，一个鬼都没有，那就说明我路走错了。所以从那个时候就留下一个习惯，就是我如果去做一件事情，这个路上很顺，我反而会有点担心，就是事情越顺我越担心。就很多做线下执行的人可能也有同感，就是一件事情如果越顺，你会心里越没底，所以反而是中间出一些各种各样的小问题，你不断地在解决问题，反而心里还能踏实一点。所以到后面就发现，如果我坐这个方向，遇到很多问题很难，很疼，那说明有可能我路走对了，就这种思维，也是让我受益匪浅吧。
This is an experimental rewrite
Hello, I’m BK.
The entertainment industry used to be like this: Xiaocang saw my posts on social media and asked me what I wanted to do for my startup. He invited me to dinner, and by the following week, he’d invested. Every month, I found myself with five million to spend, a sum I couldn’t use up. Even if I lost the whole world, having just one person who truly needed me and wanted to be with me felt overwhelmingly good.
When it comes to meals, I usually eat at a big cafeteria. I noticed that one benefit of eating there when I first arrived in Shanghai was that my hands wouldn’t crack or get chapped. It was quite strange! If I only ordered one dish consistently, my hands would split and I would get ulcers in my mouth after some time. If that happened, I’d eat at the cafeteria for a couple of days, and I’d be fine again. It must be because the cafeteria offers a balanced diet with varied ingredients.
I might need to take some insulin first because my blood sugar feels a bit high after I hurriedly took some before eating. I might feel uncomfortable during our chat later. So, let’s get started.
The name BK actually comes from back in 1998 when I was playing CS and needed an English name. I had just started middle school, was learning guitar, and discovered BB King who played blues. I thought that name was easy to remember, so I used it. However, when I attempted to register the name as a trademark for my startup in 2017 or 2018, I found it was unavailable. So, I ended up using BK, only to discover later that in Tianjin dialect, it means something entirely different. Now, I just consider myself a spiritual Tianjin resident.
I’ve never really been good at gaming, which is something I’ve been aware of since I was young. While I own a lot of gaming consoles, I hardly play. One issue is that I simply don’t have much time for it now. Another reason is that when I was a child, there was no gaming console culture where I grew up. I lived in a relatively rural area, and I didn’t encounter things like this until much later in my life, especially when I saw a big black box in a friend’s dorm room during my second year of college. I asked, “What’s that?” It was a PSR. I never developed a habit of playing on consoles, so understanding controllers didn’t come naturally to me.
Most of the time, I played games on the computer. Being part of the only child generation, I often wished for someone to play with, which could explain why esports became so popular among my peers. Back then, we didn’t even have a term for esports; we just called it “playing in competitions.” In high school, we formed a team called Color, where everyone had a color name. I remember mine was Silver. We challenged other teams from different grades and schools to play CS matches, and I had a knack for sniping back then.
I have always enjoyed the sense of community, and esports boomed in inland areas because personal computer access was low, leading to the proliferation of internet cafes. This made organizing gaming competitions far easier than in coastal or first-tier cities. Generally, the internet café owners were open and supportive of our events, often providing prizes and even monetary incentives.
Many esports organizations and events originated in places like Sichuan, Chongqing, and Xi’an. In this picture, you can see a workspace I’ve set up specifically for video podcasts, situated somewhat snugly. I often have to maneuver just to get in.
In 2001 or 2002, I enrolled in a computer science program in Xi’an. At the time, I wasn’t particularly fond of sciences; I’ve always been more adept at writing and preferred the arts. My cousin was already pursuing a liberal arts degree, so my family suggested I take on sciences since I was decent at math. I had no strong perspective on it back then.
While in college, particularly during my first and second years, I began to feel that journalism suited me better. I returned to my original academic path of liberal arts. People still ask whether I prefer handwriting my interview notes, and although my handwriting might be messy, it’s a habit I’ve had since childhood. Growing up, I wished to learn various subjects, but in my small hometown, it was hard to find music or art teachers. I once yearned to learn painting, but we couldn’t find even a single instructor.
During my middle school years, I realized I could indulge myself in reading, especially since my family had a substantial collection of books. I recall having many works of literature and biographies, which made reading a thoroughly enjoyable pursuit. This led me to some imitation and analyzing writing styles, which has helped me immensely in my later career. Ultimately, these experiences contributed to the formation of this book—an achievement I’m proud of.
When I attended university in Xi’an, the esports culture there was already vibrant. Events like WCGC and WCGESWC were breaking ground in China, particularly with a Xi’an qualifying round. By the time I arrived, the esports atmosphere was at its peak.
I became involved in organizing esports events and reporting on them in Xi’an, effectively transitioning from being a gaming journalist into the esports industry around 2003. That year, I reported on WCG2003’s Chinese finals from CGA’s news team. I remember taking a photo outside Peking University’s gate, and I was indeed quite thin back then. I’ve gone through phases of being both lean and handsome, so I have no regrets.
While I was in Xi’an, I became acquainted with the early members of what would later become the WE team, called the Liang team at that time. They transitioned through the StarCraft and WE3 eras, absorbing top players like SKY and Suhao, eventually winning the WCG world championship in 2005. Due to my frequent participation in esports events, I built solid connections through consistent support and collaboration.
In Xi’an, I organized numerous events, including the university esports league. I managed everything from sponsorship to event execution all by myself, which didn’t escape my friends’ notice. By the time WE officially formed in Shanghai in 2005, I had just graduated, and they needed someone for business-related tasks. They found me a good fit, so I dove right into the esports profession, handling WE’s business aspects and an international gaming tournament called Stars War.
The community and surrounding environment were beautiful. When I first viewed the neighborhood, I thought, “Wow, this place is incredible!” It reminded me of my hometown, which shares a similar climate. Although Hanzhong is fertile, it suffered from insularity and conservative viewpoints, leading to considerable family friction throughout my adolescence.
I’m somewhat stubborn and opinionated. When I entered university and crossed the Qinling mountains to reach Xi’an, I began pursuing my dreams. Conflicts with my family persisted since they couldn’t grasp what I was doing, opting instead to help me find jobs they deemed fit for me.
After starting university, I didn’t return home again for years. It was tough; I just wanted to escape that environment as my family tried to pull me back into their worldview. I had visited Shanghai briefly in 2001 or 2002 and thought it was a fantastic place. By the time I graduated in 2005, I decided to move there immediately. Today marks 20 years since I first arrived in Shanghai.
My mother secretly gave me 2,000 yuan as I left, and I’ve carried that small amount with me ever since—what a remarkable thought! I’ve often heard the saying, “The world is a huge troupe of amateur acts,” and I truly believe it captures our reality; we were just a bunch of dreamers.
I was utterly clueless back then but had organized a few small events, leading me to believe that I could manage a larger one. We ended up renting out the Changning International Convention Center in Shanghai, hosting an event for 4,000 people over two days. To my surprise, it filled up, becoming a cherished memory for esports fans.
This photo captures the conclusion of the second Stars War in 2006 at the Changning venue. Initially, we planned to host the event in November 2005, but it got postponed to January 2006 due to several hurdles during the sponsorship phase.
I wrote extensive sponsorship proposals in both Chinese and English, spending weeks meeting with various companies like Nike, Coca-Cola, and Pepsi, trying to explain what esports was about. Many were willing to meet till I realized that simply securing a meeting was a big win. One Coca-Cola marketing director was quite blunt: “For Coke, internet advertising exposure is negligible.”
At that time, they only focused on television ads and completely disregarded the internet’s influence; that was how things were. After hard-fought negotiations spanning three months, I finally landed a partnership with a basketball gaming tournament seeking to draw crowds, which eased their concerns about attendance. They committed 200,000 yuan, and we borrowed another 200,000 for our event.
The temperature in the venue was freezing, and the players were shivering. People from the audience were equally uncomfortable. The National Sports General Administration provided us with permission, and we even had leaders from there as our guests. As the cold made it hard for everyone to move, someone suggested turning on the heating. I learned the hard way that heating wasn’t included in the venue rental fee.
To turn on the heating, we would have to pay several thousand yuan for just four hours. I vaguely recall that the cost would skyrocket if we needed it for two days, but since the bosses insisted, I went ahead with it anyway. We introduced P2P technology for live broadcasts, even though we couldn’t afford business-grade internet bandwidth, managing with just two domestic internet lines.
Surprisingly, those two residential lines successfully facilitated P2P streaming, and the view counts were astonishing, with about 210,000 to 220,000 unique IPs watching. This was a remarkable figure since many internet cafes had multiple machines utilizing a single IP, so the actual viewer count was significantly higher. We successfully managed everything—from securing partnerships and obtaining permits to coordinating with law enforcement and ticketing for the large event. The joy from pulling this off still resonates with me today; the satisfaction was immense.
On the right side of this picture is the Wenxin Report Building, where we were located on the 17th floor. Subsequently, I kept managing esports events and developed replace.net, a gaming forum that flourished in the era; it became the largest Chinese esports community, drawing gamers and fans from around the world to download videos.
From that point onward, the WG club began its gradual advancement. Our parent company also acquired another site, GamesTV, which later became well-known as GameFengyun GamesTV, but at that time, it was simply known as GamesTV before merging with GameFengyun. During that joyful time of esports entrepreneurship, I felt fortunate to secure a 4,000 yuan job effortlessly.
I wonder if anyone else understands the feeling of having that kind of income? My year of tuition was only 5,000 yuan, and I was earning over 4,000, including accommodation. The rental we had in Jing’an was centrally located, and since our office was at Wenxin Report Building, the taxi rides barely took five to ten minutes; food back then was quite cheap, costing only six yuan a meal. Life was affordable with that monthly salary.
I recall the first time I received my paycheck, spreading the money on my bed and counting for what felt like an eternity—it truly felt like a dream. Work was gratifying, with Old Yang from BBC just in the next room. Games TV had also begun recording their competitions and commentary. At that time, a lot of people in esports were congregating in Shanghai.
In 2006, we organized Stars War again, but by 2007, I began losing interest in hosting competitions. It felt like organizing events wouldn’t yield new learning experiences anymore. Our small team would save money all year just to manage a single event, which became quite limiting for us; we couldn’t grow or innovate. I wanted to pursue new ideas and asked if I could transition to GameFengyun to develop programming. I’ve always been interested in content creation because writing has been a passion of mine.
Thus, I transferred to GamesFengyun in 2007, when they moved to the Media Base under Wen Guang. Our studio neighbor was where “Good Men at Home” was filmed. I learned the ins and outs of video production by observing all those professionals at work. My first year was spent getting acquainted with the production process while I learned to collaborate with directors and editors.
A year later, I began trying to create my own content. During that restructuring, they created the esports department. Nowadays, all those places have been redeveloped, but it once felt so spacious back then. Since productions of shows like “Good Men at Home” were taking place nearby, we often ran into celebrities.
I have fond memories of those times spent creating content. When the esports department was formed, we gained greater autonomy, enabling us to design our shows. I pitched two programs: one called “Esports Life,” which later became “Gaming Life,” and another named “Gaming Talks.” From that moment, I essentially began producing a gaming documentary series and discussion program.
You might notice that my current channel features two programs that align closely with this format—a gameplay documentary and a video podcast. Reflecting on that time makes me think about how I wanted to create similar content, yet the 2008 economic crisis hit us hard. This crisis caused many sponsors and major financial backers to collapse, and several esports companies went under.
During this challenging period, GamesFengyun was also affected significantly, reducing personnel drastically. Our channel even faced salary delays for half a year as funds ran dry. I used to save spare change in a pouch, and I remember when I got down to just six or seven yuan and wondered how to get through two weeks. I once went to a supermarket and bought three packs of noodles and a bottle of vinegar, relying on those to last a month.
It was a difficult yet rewarding time since I began to excel at making videos. My segments on personality profiles gained traction in that challenging climate, and I quickly created content that topped our channel’s viewership ratings. Daily praise filled the forums, but I was also preoccupied with deciding what to eat for dinner afterward. Leaving the office each day brought me mixed feelings, creating a complicated psyche.
There was a newsstand near my workplace that also sold lottery tickets. The shopkeeper often stared blankly into space, and in that moment, I resonated with him. I would typically buy a ticket, hoping it would bring us both some luck. That was the kind of atmosphere we were in.
From about 2008 to 2009, esports faced a severe downturn. Numerous companies collapsed, and many individuals shifted to other industries. During that year, we essentially dispersed after experiencing around six months without work. By 2010, however, one of our old sponsors, GIGABYTE, sought to regroup all of us.
They mentioned that the economic crisis was over, and they wanted to reinvest in the market, reigniting past events and marketing efforts. Thus, in 2010, we gathered once more, creating new opportunities to establish our own esports company.
A year later, we also reconsolidated the W Club. We tirelessly worked to reclaim the W Club, revive esports events, and reestablish our previous business activities and collegiate advertising efforts. Eventually, we founded our own esports company, determined to find ways to generate revenue.
During this time, a significant shift occurred. After four or five years of operation, Youku had vastly enhanced its viewer experience and overall website engagement. They also went public in 2010. Some commentators began inserting ads for their stores into their videos. A game called “Night Fishing” also emerged.
In 2011, Xindong released “Gods and Demons,” which was led by someone from our esports circle. They understood the immense attention esports generated but didn’t know how to monetize it. They connected with SKY and the star player community, exploring an exclusive server with a revenue share. This kind of partnership was astounding back then—top streamers typically earned a few hundred for appearances and commercials, leading many popular gamers to establish their own servers and make millions during that peak.
Leaving the esports scene resulted from experiencing a massive wave in 2015 and 2016. An influx of quick money came in as investors started chasing trends in the Chinese market, and countless individuals uninformed about the industry joined in, resulting in sometimes absurd circumstances. Back then, I was bombarded monthly by securities and investment firms inviting me to speak about esports, its history, and the possibilities.
They often asked if we wanted to create a streaming platform, proposing large sums of money. “With your resources, why not establish a comprehensive esports enterprise?” they would suggest, including everything from streaming to managing clubs and agencies. The market was enamored with these concepts, and genuine entrepreneurs found it challenging to gain support. Those willing to take risks reaped quick profits but rarely addressed core issues in the industry.
Back during this first significant market boom, I recognized that my understanding was insufficient, so I chose to step back rather than capitalize on the upswing. Lacking experience and insights at the time, I regrettably missed that tide. This is a recollection of the Zhujiang Entrepreneurial Center, where we first set up; I believe it was on the tenth floor. Below us was an esports center once anchored by the Snaker Club, while ED’s club is still around today.
In the height of my racing career, many affluent individuals poured into the industry, leaving behind only EDG as many other organizations faded into obscurity.
Consequently, in 2017, I decided to leave the industry altogether. I joined a company called Xindong, a choice aligned with my earlier thoughts. Xindong treated its collaborators fairly during the Gods and Demons period, and I respected their business model. I wanted to work with an established organization to understand operational profitability and positive sustainability cycles.
Upon joining Xindong, I focused on marketing. Previously, I had been on the receiving end of sponsorship and partnerships but became the one to handle them. I quickly discovered that being on the receiving end brought challenges too. The company budget allowed me to spend five hundred thousand monthly, but I couldn’t make full use of that funding; all I ever managed was closer to three hundred thousand.
At that point, popular streamers and Bilibili UPs were affordable—ads only cost about five hundred to two thousand yuan. UPs were willing to cooperate, keen to make products engaging within their videos. This starkly contrasted our earlier experiences where we found our market very sensitive and resistant to ads. We would receive weeks of criticism for incorporating ads into our Google ad banners.
During my time at Bilibili, I realized that audience acceptance had significantly changed. Over a year of marketing, I recognized how wealthy gaming companies were, offering ample funds while fewer opportunities existed to promote their endeavors due to limited product diversity. As game designs evolved from mere re-skins to quality-oriented creations, the landscape transformed.
By 2018, I pondered whether to continue facilitating promotions or create my own content, driven by my desire to leverage this favorable start-up environment. Maps, especially world maps and topographical maps of China, have long been a fascination of mine, fueled by my affection for the game “Age of Sail.” I spent years devoted to “Age of Sail Online,” greatly affecting my perceptions of the world and problem-solving skills.
When I elevated myself into the gaming realm, all my colleagues were engrossed in “Dragon World.” Eagerly discussing experiences, I often felt out of place. However, I have no regrets; “Age of Sail Online” transformed my worldviews and cognitive frameworks.
I continue to work here and stream intermittently, occasionally opening live chats while gaming. Though I rarely stream now, I resort to it when I want to play games but prefer not to do so alone. My entrepreneurial journey, therefore, has been relatively straightforward given my long-standing presence in the industry, alongside the relationships and reputation I had built up.
Starting my business at the age of 34 felt smooth; I had the age, contacts, and experience necessary for success. I distinctly remember the ease with which I sought financing— after posting on social media about seeking investors for gaming documentaries, Xiaocang contacted me, inquiring about my plans and arranging a dinner. By the next week, I had his investment funds.
In my self-media phase, I initially positioned myself as someone who wanted to create content reminiscent of biographies and interviews, eventually realizing that it aligned closely with documentaries. Therefore, I committed to establishing a documentary-focused platform since nothing else existed at the time. With funding secured, I started making films, launching my first project, sponsored by Xindong’s Type Type.
I believed I had circumvented many pitfalls others failed to see, anticipating an impressive start; however, I quickly faced significant challenges. Concerns over view counts persisted from the outset. The serious and lengthy nature of our documentaries naturally limited our audience, diverging from the more accessible content patrons typically sought.
After deciding on a documentary pathway, I encountered my first major challenge, which stemmed from the platforms limiting content reach. Editors clearly stated that we needed to omit ads in order to receive promotion; failure to comply would result in restricted view access.
Back then, platforms favored UGC content and saw institutional media as fully capable of sustaining themselves, denying us the support we needed. This led to a substantial dissonance in positioning my content strategy. On one hand, I produced higher-cost content with limited potential to recover expenses, while on the other, I was barred from resolving the ecological issues in the space. Thus, I spent the first two years of my startup navigating this contradiction, facing poor follower numbers and views.
The majority of our expenditures covered traffic acquisition. Because of the niche nature of our content, platforms often flagged it as collaborations or questionable content, further limiting views. If we abstained from purchasing traffic, our view counts would plummet. Now, we still need to invest in platform promotions, remaining in the early stages of expanding our brand influence.
Moreover, platforms were plentiful, and calculating costs meant we needed to allocate tens of thousands each month to just a select few primary ones. Our monthly expenditure on people was around six to seven thousand, bringing the overall average out to around twenty thousand per month.
Additionally, I struggled with positioning. My prior understanding of video and television reflected an era devoid of audience engagement; feedback was only accessible through texts or forums. In the era of Bilibili and self-media, however, audience feedback was direct. I quickly learned that the content I produced for prominent gaming figures was meaningless to an audience that wasn’t aware of them, leading to little interest.
In 2019, I entered a peculiar state of anxiety, worrying that stagnant growth would demoralize the team. Although managing payroll and cash flow was trivial, consistently underperforming projects led to frustration. Amid this discontent, I opted to shift focus, prioritizing audience interests and soliciting topic ideas from them.
My younger team members, mainly in their twenties, suggested ideas focused on popular figures such as Sun Xiaochuan and Yao Shui Ge, who were prevalent in common discourse. I decided to experiment with them since they were all within my network.
Surprisingly, once I filmed those segments, they exploded in popularity, attracting millions of views and dramatically increasing our followers. Yet, amid this surge, I experienced a bittersweet joy—an internal conflict arose. I often thought that, had I been left to choose topics, I might have selected different, perhaps more authentic, subjects. Yet, I acknowledged that for generating traction and influence, this method worked exceptionally well.
Originally, I believed this path could lead to seamless progress, but I intuited something was amiss. The global video viewing reward period was drawing to a close, and we observed a steady decline in traffic. Our video views improved, yet the monetization incentives were insufficient to cover our operational costs. Inevitably, I began to question where funding would come from.
Before I could formulate a concrete response to this dilemma, the pandemic hit in 2020. Subsequently, my team, consisting primarily of people from other regions, was hindered from returning to Shanghai for six months after the holidays. I ultimately resorted to disbanding the team and letting go of our office, pausing operations as we couldn’t film anything due to lockdown. It wasn’t until six months later that I managed to reestablish a team to create various sporadic films.
Currently, I’m still unclear regarding the relevance or implications of this incident, perhaps stemming from a form of acute anxiety due to my abrupt transition. The sensations I experienced reminded me of childhood; suddenly losing familiarity triggered unease, akin to having a childhood object, like a comfort blanket, nearby to alleviate tensions.
As the end of 2020 approached, I faced a dilemma regarding whether to continue the patterns established in 2019 when Xindong reached out to me, pulling me back. They wanted to document the development of a new fighting game over the span of a year. I was excited to take on this project since someone was willing to pay me, and in 2021, I produced that series of videos documenting “Flash Party.”
In producing those episodes, I unearthed a promising filming direction filled with internal conflicts, thought processes, and narrative developments, including team disagreements—elements I genuinely appreciated. To my pleasant surprise, game companies were willing to finance such long-term projects. I relished the opportunity to explore stories within the industry.
After our year-end filming finished, I was pleased to find that the results were received positively, even if the views weren’t sky-high. Despite that, both Xindong and the game team expressed satisfaction, appreciating this transparent method of storytelling about their progress. The team seemed thrilled to share their thoughts and enjoy validation, while I gained fulfillment from capturing these stories and learning more about the industry dynamics.
Eventually, this project led to the expansion of our filming to encompass the broader gaming industry, culminating in our series “Where Does the Money Come From?” Now, we assess game testing and audience reception closely. I typically select games that have been tested and preferably launched. My evaluations weigh the impact of games along with the financial capability of their companies to ensure they can fund documentation.
Currently, we face logistical challenges in relying on sponsorships exclusively. Without advertisers, we’d struggle to monetize from consumer engagement quickly. Nurturing a strong market takes time, yet most video platforms operate on a free view model. For content creators like me, especially within niche genres, this poses significant growth hurdles, with little potential resolution unless we engage in mass market strategies.
While it’s not that I’m unwilling to adapt, I hesitate as I lack expertise in certain forms, such as abstract or comedic content; venturing into that territory may result in diminishing returns or missteps.
Through the ongoing production of videos, I’ve observed that my target audience primarily consists of industry professionals intrigued about developmental endeavors or other companies. Although this group is relatively small on a global scale, they embody a core essence within the gaming landscape. Channeling my documentaries toward them feels incredibly fortunate, given their significance in the industry.
The “Where Does the Money Come From?” series has run for three years and produced nearly one hundred episodes. Many subjects are indie games, and I’ve felt an intrinsic connection with their creators, who resemble the early esports pioneers. People drawn to emerging fields often carry profound passion; I savor hearing their stories and experiences, finding echoes of those who pursued similar paths during their journeys.
These creators tend to display a shared tenacity, believing in their creations and learning through challenges; they seldom consider giving up, valuing creation over passivity. That’s very much representative of the adage that only the passionate can succeed.
Many in the industry exhibit such commitment, including people like Qiezi from Taiwuhui Academy, who aspires to refine his game despite lacking previous experience and struggling with project delays. Observing those striving against the odds resonates with me deeply; many such passionate individuals populate the indie gaming scene.
If I had to recount notable filming experiences over the years, I’d say these creators stand out—their tragic heroism speaks volumes. I envision compiling these stories into a written account of China’s gaming history. Currently, my videos serve as a visual narrative of this history. Whether I’ll transcribe it into a book remains contingent on future opportunities.
Now at 41, I find that aging presents a distinct advantage; emotional reactions are less intense and more tempered. In the past, anxiety and panic influenced me profoundly, leading to sleepless nights. However, age brings perspective; experiencing various challenges often illustrates the futility of worry, fostering resilience.
For instance, there was an incident involving my YouTube account getting suspended over a minimal issue. If this had occurred a decade or two ago, it would have upset me deeply, considering how hard I worked for those 300,000 followers. Yet today, I slept on it, accepting the loss and contemplating restarting anew with a sense of optimism. The excitement of a fresh beginning feels revitalizing—knowing I can map out specific steps ahead provides confidence.
This mindset elicits a certain euphoric anticipation as I look forward to rebuilding in a more calculated manner based on prior learning.
My eldest daughter, Mimi, seems a tad anxious. “Don’t be scared,” I assure her. She often craves being held and approaches my desk for comfort. Our four stray cats, rescued over the years, now range from ages seven to eight. They’ve grown dear to us.
Raising cats has notably altered my lifestyle. Though I’ve often struggled with daily tasks, caring for them initiated significant change. While my wife tends to their needs, time and necessity have pushed me to contribute. Over time, I recognized the emotional bond—it’s a responsibility, a connection that generates a sense of concern, and as they learn to trust and approach me expressing affection, it creates a deep, indescribable feeling of companionship.
Realizing that, even amid turmoil, I hold a role in someone’s life demonstrates how profound relationships can be. The feeling of being needed is precious.
I intend to continue producing gaming documentaries for the long haul, as storytelling aligns with my passions. My enthusiasm won’t wane based on financial circumstances; the approach will adjust depending on conditions. I believe in our cohort of independent game developers and passionate esports figures; we may consider various outcomes, yet the idea of quitting has never crossed our minds.
In the face of the gaming industry’s challenges, our perseverance through two decades illustrates our deep commitment. My self-media venture focused on documentary content is around eight years old. I firmly believe that regardless of future hurdles, we won’t cease our efforts—instead, we’ll adapt our topics and formats to align better with the times and persist in our pursuits. This is a hallmark of our stubborn nature, ultimately leading us forward.
When I was younger, I played a game that was quite complex, especially in its storytelling and mechanics. Since there wasn’t easy access to resources or even a local game community, I had to rely solely on exploration and trial and error. I adopted a crucial habit: in games, when attempting a new objective, if I encountered enemies along the way, I knew I was on the correct path. Conversely, if I encountered nothing at all, I was likely headed the wrong way.
As a result, whenever I face challenges in pursuing an endeavor, I perceive those struggles as indicators that I’m likely in the right place. It’s a mental framework that has served me well.