April 12th became another critical turning point for Northstar Games.
After several days of intense back-and-forth negotiations between Ethan Reed and StarForge Entertainment, the film and television adaptation rights for Neon Blade: Echoes of Lumen were finalized at 27 million.
A full seven million increase.
That single number stunned everyone who heard it.
But Ethan wasn't done yet.
Protecting the Soul of the IP
Along with the price, Ethan Reed made a non-negotiable demand.
As the original developer of Neon Blade: Echoes of Lumen, Northstar Games must participate directly in the film and television production.
In practical terms, this meant one thing:
Actor selection
Script adaptation
Major plot changes
All of it had to be communicated to Northstar in advance and approved before filming could proceed.
This was Ethan's line in the sand.
He refused to allow the series to become another hollow, traffic-driven fantasy drama—stuffed with young idol faces, lip-syncing performances, and storylines butchered into nothing but melodramatic romance.
Ethan didn't hate popular actors.
Popularity was a tool. Traffic mattered.
But actors had to meet three conditions:
1. Fit the character
2. Have real acting ability
3. Be willing to endure hardship
Why Ethan Would Not Compromise
There was a reason Neon Blade had once captured an entire generation.
A huge part of that legacy came from the original portrayal of its characters—especially the male lead archetype that defined an era.
Handsome? Yes.
Youthful? Absolutely.
But also capable, grounded, and believable.
Good looks alone were never enough.
So when it came to casting Jace Kellan, Ethan already had a mental standard.
And for Logan Fairchild, that cold, aloof presence with quiet dignity?
Even easier.
The entertainment industry never lacked good-looking people. What it lacked was restraint.
And Ethan Reed would not allow this IP to be ruined.
A Perfect Agreement
To Ethan's mild surprise, StarForge Entertainment agreed without hesitation.
Director Ma Chun was even pleased.
Having the original lead planner and writer involved would dramatically increase the quality and cohesion of the adaptation.
The contract was signed.
Vivian Frost received the funds.
StarForge acquired the rights.
Both sides were genuinely satisfied.
The Internet Explodes Again
StarForge moved fast.
Three days after signing, their Official Blog, followed by over 30 million users, released a public announcement—tagging Northstar Games directly.
Their production lineup for the year was revealed:
Super Little Coroner
The Prince Who Doesn't Understand Love
Neon Blade: Echoes of Lumen
Filming was scheduled to begin between June and July, with a target release before the end of the year.
The moment this news reached the gaming community—
The entire industry detonated.
---
Shockwaves Through the Game Industry
"What did I just read?"
"Hasn't Neon Blade been out for less than a month?!"
"Already getting a TV adaptation?!"
People were dumbfounded.
This wasn't a niche studio.
This was StarForge Entertainment.
And when the copyright fee was publicly revealed—
27 million.
The internet went insane.
For many game studios, that amount exceeded their lifetime revenue.
Northstar Games had effectively recouped massive profits just by selling adaptation rights.
At that moment, a terrifying realization spread through the industry:
> "Is Northstar really a 'small' game company?"
> "What exactly about them is small?!"
---
A Market Awakens
For years, the domestic single-player game market had been stagnant.
Now, it stirred.
Studios that had completely ignored large-scale single-player development suddenly reconsidered.
If Northstar could do it—
Why not others?
Under this influence, Skybound, the largest game distribution platform in the country, became extremely busy.
Proposals flooded in.
Skybound wasn't just a publishing platform—it also ran an indie game support fund, offering promotion budgets ranging from tens to hundreds of thousands.
This wasn't charity.
It was survival logic.
A healthy domestic game ecosystem meant long-term mutual benefit.
---
Skybound's Headache
This left one man buried under paperwork.
Zane Walker, one of Skybound's senior managers, was drowning.
"Damn it!" he cursed privately.
"We used to get a few major proposals a year—now we're getting over a dozen a month!"
"And they're all garbage!"
"One person wants to make a 'large-scale epic single-player game' alone? Are they insane? Even if it's possible, it would take years, not months!"
"What they need isn't promotion funds—it's a miracle investor!"
"Why are they all copying Northstar?!
Northstar is an exception!"
Zane only complained behind closed doors.
Outwardly, he stayed professional.
Because deep down, he knew—
This was still a good thing.
China didn't lack talented developers.
It lacked opportunity.
And if even one masterpiece emerged from this chaos?
It would all be worth it.
---
A Familiar Pattern
Still, Zane couldn't help feeling uneasy.
Northstar Games had been quiet for half a month.
And from experience?
That meant something big was coming.
They made games like… an unstoppable flood.
One after another.
There was no way they were idle.
---
Inside Northstar Games
His instinct was correct.
Inside Northstar's office, Daniel was currently leading a group of artists working on environmental assets.
Pixel-art trees bloomed across the screen—
Fresh green in early spring
Lush and bright in summer
Golden and desolate in autumn
Bleak and quiet in winter
Each season had its own visual identity.
Houses, paths, backgrounds—everything shifted with time.
As project lead, Daniel felt oddly calm.
This game wasn't difficult.
Ethan's plan was so clear that even beginners could follow it.
Pixel art lowered the technical barrier.
Skill affected detail, not feasibility.
Ethan had described everything in advance:
Trees.
Mountains.
Rivers.
Buildings.
Nothing was vague.
Daniel, frankly, found it a little boring.
---
But the Artists Were Thrilled
The newly recruited artists were ecstatic.
"So pixel art can have style too?"
"No wonder people say—at the end of all realism, there are pixels."
They were working on the core of a new game—on their very first project.
Of course they would give everything they had.
They all shared the same goal:
> Become permanent members of Northstar Games.
The company's reputation among creatives was already legendary.
And the Lead Planner?
Where was Ethan Reed?
Naturally—
In the boss's office.
---
A Naming Dispute Over Dinner
"Ethan," Vivian Frost asked while sipping coconut chicken soup,
"Why isn't the game called 'Farming Story' or 'Harvest Moon Farming'? Why call it 'Stardew Valley Story'?"
Ethan glanced at her, reached across the table, and snatched a chicken leg from under her chopsticks, calmly dipping it into sauce.
"The name doesn't matter," he said.
"The content does."
Harvest Moon?
Vivian Frost truly had talent—for accidentally naming the inspiration.
After all, Stardew Valley was born from that legacy.
Vivian sniffed.
"So I talked a lot… and said nothing?"
"Correct."
She sighed.
"Fine. You're the lead planner."
Then the two of them started fighting over the chicken.
---
A World Worth Waiting For
Vivian was genuinely excited.
Just listening to Ethan describe the game—
Fishing.
Farming.
Raising animals.
Watching seasons pass.
She could already see it:
A slow, gentle world.
A place people could rest.
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