Chapter 82: Progress of the Arcade Machine

The mood among moviegoers was thoroughly joyous; Americans adored these family-friendly plotlines, and even the villains seemed less detestable—their stupidity had reached new heights.
“I’ll be back!”
William White shamelessly borrowed this phrase once again, and from that moment, its meaning changed. Many films would end with this line as a nod to its new significance.
Book lovers, however, were somewhat disappointed. The ending was decent, but the storyline felt too bleak—were all those imprisoned truly good people?
William White’s novels, though engaging, rarely left readers in high spirits; every plot was driven by conflict, and ultimately, the warden met his end by his own hand.
In a certain sense, seeing the villain brought to justice was more satisfying, but William White deliberately avoided this, instilling in readers the notion that villains never truly believe in the law.
Capital punishment in America was rare; unless it was premeditated murder, most sentences amounted to life imprisonment. The warden’s crimes left him a way out, yet he chose to end his own life.
One must admit, this was quite a shock for readers. Achieving such an effect wasn’t easy—the innate desire for survival is hard to overcome.
Forrest Gump is another story altogether; though the fool repeatedly triumphs, he loses what he cherishes most. The entire narrative seems designed to torment the heroine—a beautiful and kind-hearted woman, whose death was written without hesitation.
How much darkness the author harbors, readers could not know, but their own sense of gloom now spread like a shroud.
Most importantly, the novel’s sense of era was unmistakable. Readers felt a strong sense of immersion and desperately did not want to accept such an ending.
Fortunately, while The Shawshank Redemption was somber, it wasn’t overly heart-wrenching. Readers were thoroughly wary of this author; if another tragedy were to unfold, they’d be utterly despondent.
Those who had seen his films could not understand—the movies brimmed with sunlight and innocence, perfectly matching his age. How could there be such stark contrasts?
One thing was certain: William White was a genius. His handling of language was deft, always able to tug at the reader’s heartstrings and guide their emotions along with the plot.
This was the art of storytelling, and William White clearly held its secret.
Readers now only wanted to know: Which William was the real one? What sort of family could nurture such a person?
He was no sudden prodigy—classmates and friends could attest to that.

Had his personality not been so unconventional, he might have graduated from college long ago. His professors felt there was nothing more to teach him; his time at school was more about consolidating knowledge.
For such a prodigy, other writers could only sigh in silence. Writing was merely his hobby, and if not for someone provoking him, The Shawshank Redemption would not have appeared so quickly.
Arriving at the temporary studio for the game console, William White didn’t even need to look inside; he knew it would be bustling.
Uncle Ford opened the door, and sure enough, it was chaotic—not only were engineers playing, but cowboys from the ranch and their children were also enjoying themselves.
These devices had already been patented, and the ranch was quite isolated; even if a few details leaked out, it mattered little. The product launch was imminent, and the outside world would soon learn of it regardless.
Though William White was the ranch owner, he was approachable, and the children loved to joke with him. The cowboys were even more at ease—their relationship was more like family.
The game console still needed testing, and with these rough-and-ready users, future usage was bound to be problem-free.
Uncle Ford did not fully understand the value of computers, but this device was sure to be profitable. Whether placed in a bar or a shopping mall, children would flock to play. Even a dedicated gaming venue would surely attract patrons.
It was all coin-operated, requiring no staff; just electricity and space. With enough foot traffic, the profit was enormous. Anyone with a need—provided they weren’t blind—would definitely buy a few units.
Every cinema could easily install ten, couldn’t they?
How many cinemas were there in North America?
Did Europeans not play games?
This was a multi-billion-dollar business. The sheer potential for wealth was enough to drive anyone mad.
How did their young master’s mind conceive so many good ideas?
“Young master, manufacturing these devices is still quite labor-intensive. Are we going to OEM again?” The products were excellent, but production was problematic; timely delivery in the States was impossible.
“No need. Just like those adapter cards, we’ll collect a 10% licensing fee. If the orders are ours, the profit is even higher.” William White was powerless here; without the manufacturing capacity of the East, the Japanese would have to benefit.
The Japanese had mixed feelings about William White; though he only took 5% from adapter cards, all risks and costs were borne by them.

As the patent holder, he was guaranteed profit regardless of circumstances. Some clients preferred to order directly from White Software, and those orders were even more lucrative—almost daylight robbery.
As microcomputers became more numerous, the market’s capacity grew ever larger.
The Japanese dared not pull any tricks, as William White kept releasing new products. If they wanted to make money, it was best to uphold the contract.
Comparatively, the Japanese were more disciplined; Americans had always been taken advantage of—one could only say they were too naïve.
Don’t be fooled by the Japanese’s humble demeanor; it’s simply their way of life, not genuine respect.
Their sense of hierarchy is strong; the angle of their bows is carefully calculated—the higher the status of the person, the deeper and longer the bow.
When seeing off their company president, even after the car has left two blocks, they’re still bowing—the larger the company, the more particular the ritual.
Most Japanese companies operate on seniority. To rise from a junior manager to a department head might take thirty years, and after that, advancement depends on luck. If the chairman and president remain vigorous, you may retire as a department head.
That’s already quite an achievement. Female clerks would invite the department head to their homes for appreciation; if you became a department head, it was like a mouse falling into a rice jar.
This wasn’t considered a rule in Japan; it was just common sense. Rarely did harassment cases end up in court—Japanese women were remarkably tolerant in such matters.
The crucial point is, the women never felt short-changed; it was simply a form of social interaction.
Japan’s Westernization was fundamentally misguided—Europe and America were never so absurd.
The cultural differences were stark; Japanese men in their youth were quite weak, needing to work relentlessly to climb to their desired position.