Xiakong is a five-star resonator who will be launched in Mingchao version 2.3. Its development path and complicated material requirements have attracted countless players, but they have to face a long and expensive ordeal. This scene reminds me of the various alienation phenomena in today’s game culture and the addiction dilemma of the player group.
In the virtual world of Mingchao, Xiakong’s growth is no longer a simple level increase, but relies on a string of seemingly endless materials: from low-frequency tidal eclipse sail cores to full-frequency tidal eclipse sail cores, from burning phosphorus bones to “golden fleece”, and then to different levels of crystallized phlogiston, each of which is a plunder of resources and a consumption of time. Players constantly shuttle between dungeons, challenges and transactions, just like the endless running of laborers in the old times. The game designers cleverly distribute these materials in different difficulties and different locations, forcing players to repeatedly swipe, day after day, year after year.
These materials are not only the “passes” for the game process, but also more like spiritual shackles that bind the players’ minds and wallets. To obtain the Burning Phosphorus Bone, you need to repeatedly defeat the powerful Sighing Ancient Dragon, just like the endless labor in reality. The passively accepted “limited purchase” Golden Fleece is like the monopoly resources in the market, and has become the focus for players to find a balance between virtual and reality.
However, what is more thought-provoking is the absurd meaning behind the names of these materials: the Tidal Sail Core symbolizes the fragile existence eroded by time and environment; the Burning Phosphorus Bone, with the meaning of scorching and burning, seems to reflect the player’s inner anxiety and struggle; and the “Golden Fleece” is the embodiment of illusory dreams and desires. Such a design undoubtedly makes players lose their sober judgment of reality while pursuing virtual glory.
The various shackles and crystallized phlogistons required for special weapons are like invisible chains for players, binding them firmly in the quagmire of upgrading. The ways to obtain various materials in the game, some require high-intensity challenges, while others are limited by time and transaction restrictions. Players’ lives seem to be dominated by these virtual materials, and daily happiness is replaced by layers of levels, and the game experience gradually becomes mechanical and cold repetitive labor.
The cultivation of resonance circuits also requires a lot of resources, especially the scarce material “Iris Blooming Day”, which makes countless players crazy. Although this flower name is beautiful, it is a symbol of cold competition. It can only be obtained through weekly limited challenges, just like the scarce resources in reality, which makes people exhausted.
Although the “Stuffed Meat Tofu” props in the game can increase the drop rate of materials, it can only be a drop in the bucket. It is like those insignificant little happiness in life, which allows people to barely get some comfort in the long collection journey, but it cannot fundamentally change the player’s predicament. This is exactly the “reward mechanism” in modern game design, which induces players to continue to invest, but rarely gives real feedback.
The discount code of the recharge platform Treabar reveals the ruthless exploitation of players by capital. Using low-price discounts as bait, players are lured to spend more real money to invest in the virtual world. Players’ happiness is hollowed out by commercial interests and becomes a slave to the logic of capital.
Behind all this, we see a cultural alienation. Games should be a paradise for relaxation and entertainment, but driven by interests, it has gradually become a capital arena. Players’ free will is deprived of layers of levels and materials, and they become mechanical bodies that constantly consume resources.
The collection of Xiakong materials in Mingchao is not only a test of the game mechanism, but also a severe challenge to players’ patience and economic strength. It reveals the spread of consumerism and the intensification of addiction in contemporary game culture, which makes people have to reflect: What are we chasing? Have we lost the distinction between virtual and reality?
If players are not alert, they will be drowned by the accumulation of materials and numbers like the pile of materials for Xiakong’s growth, and lose themselves. Only by staying awake can we find real fun and meaning in the virtual ocean, rather than becoming a gear under the wheel of capital.
In summary, the material system of Xiakong in Mingchao is not only an ingenious game design, but also a mirror reflecting the alienation of modern social culture. I hope that players can stay rational in this complex material world and never lose themselves.