I learned this from many veteran‑player stories; I was not a frequent arcade‑goer myself back then. Most arcade cabinets in China in that era were pirated units. The vast majority of players got their start with King of Fighters 97, rather than the more‑well‑regarded, better‑balanced KOF 98. KOF97 has poor character balance and very lenient move hit‑detection. Seen from today’s perspective these are flaws, yet they held a unique appeal for players in China with limited information back then. You could sometimes pull off flashy moves or cheap tricks just by mashing the joystick and buttons. I did not play much myself and cannot memorize all the move commands. Even to this day, a large group of long‑time KOF97 fans barely touch other fighting games. Inexpensive no‑brand arcade consoles are marketed toward this crowd, and they still enjoy the game a great deal. Within China’s older fighting‑game community, the moment where Xiao Hai (Zeng Zhuojun) took on ten top Japanese players is nearly as legendary as Daigo’s famous parry at the Tougeki tournament. His Street Fighter 6 championship brought fighting‑games to a wider audience, drawing in people who had never touched arcades before. He serves as a role‑model for many Chinese players. I also got into Street Fighter 6 because of this championship. Before that, fighting games felt overwhelmingly intimidating to me. I only relied on three basic moves: the shoryuken, hurricane kick and fireball, yet I got this unexpected sense of accomplishment. My skill level is still very low, but I have a lot of fun playing

Thank you for your long‑form question. I will try my best to answer.

First set of questions: What would a brand‑new game console made in China look like?

​ 1. The biggest problem is not hardware specifications or R&D capability, but its small target audience. Despite high spending from Chinese players on Steam, home‑console gaming in China is tied strongly to a sense of ritual. Console games are typically meant for the living‑room, yet this kind of living‑room gaming culture is largely absent here.

Some Chinese cultural content is hard to convey to overseas players through translation. Take Chinese Paladin (Xianjian Qixia Zhuan) for example. It has excellent writing and is fairly well‑known. Its gameplay experience is quite different from typical Japanese JRPGs, and it poses big challenges for translation.

Black Myth: Wukong has earned great reputation both domestically and internationally, and its Journey to the West theme is easy for foreign audiences to accept.

​ 2. Back before widespread internet access, we valued art‑style a lot. We appreciated games made with care despite limited hardware power. Pixel‑art retro aesthetics remain popular among Chinese players today. It is also a major consideration for independent developers, balancing gameplay and production cost.

When the PS4 generation arrived, game graphics improved dramatically. A segment of Chinese players grew fond of cinematic storytelling. Player preferences are simply diverse.

That is not to say we only care about visuals. A game’s popularity comes from many factors. Beyond gameplay, players appreciate good developer‑publisher attitudes, or warm real‑world stories behind the game, as well as games that showcase Chinese culture. These can attract us even more than graphics and art.

​ 3. Chinese gamers mostly use modern‑day devices. Old games are largely a collector’s hobby. There is nonetheless a group of people who are deeply into nostalgia. They want dedicated devices built for their purpose, free from constant internet distractions. ​ 4. We do not support a game merely because it is domestically‑made. A bigger question is: besides games in the vein of Chinese Paladin, what other distinct kinds of content can we create?

The Chinese games that reach international players are mostly highly‑acclaimed stand‑outs. If you look at the broader domestic game industry, you may get a different impression. Home‑grown console game development started late in China. Historically we have been stronger as publishers rather than original developers.

When a Chinese game banks entirely on nostalgia but has poor quality, it leaves players disappointed. Blood Lion (Xue Shi) is one such example, comparable to the infamous E.T. the Extra‑Terrestrial for the Atari — it dealt a serious blow to the whole domestic game industry.

Second set of sharp‑edged questions 5. About hostility between domestic and overseas player‑bases. It is not like fans defensively protecting something. I suspect the root is mutual misunderstanding. Some players seek recognition within games, getting instant gratification from heavy in‑game spending.

There are also younger players who have not been exposed to diverse perspectives. I do not agree with their viewpoints, yet this kind of phenomenon naturally occurs.

​ 6. Hostile player dynamics stretch back to the early MMO era. One notable example is Legend of Mir, published by Shanda. It was not originally a Chinese title, but it became huge in China. Chen Tianqiao, founder of Shanda, once became China’s richest man. Personally I do not approve of this game’s business design, which was adept at monetizing competitive human impulses, and this is one possible source of in‑game friction.

Later countless copy‑cat games popped up, alongside viral pop‑up web‑advertising. In many of these titles paying money gives you powerful advantages while free‑to‑play users have a rough time. Many players who value pure gameplay disliked this Legend of Mir‑style design.

Of course some players genuinely enjoy Legend of Mir. Its core audience included small‑business owners: they had disposable income but were not interested in learning complex gameplay mechanics, treating games purely for fun rather than cultural exploration.

A little‑known fact: Shanda released a handheld console 20 years ago that could run Legend of Mir. Few Chinese even know about it, and most owners mainly showed it off rather than playing it. I disagree with Chen Tianqiao’s business style, but cannot deny his industry influence.

​ 7. I haven’t played Helldivers 2. My guess is players there value pure gameplay competition over tight‑knit sub‑community drama.

Genshin Impact players in China suffer widespread stigmatization — this is not because the game itself is bad; plenty of its players are admirable. The stigma comes from a minority of young users posting poorly‑reasoned, anti‑intellectual remarks online, which triggers resentment toward the whole group.

Third set of questions 8. Talking about cheating: CrossFire actually has far more cheaters on its Vietnam server, though I do not know the exact reason. Chinese players have very low tolerance for cheaters. Early‑era CrossFire had terrible anti‑cheat systems, and players hated cheating intensely. Later Tencent built powerful anti‑cheat solutions, with relatively few innocent players getting wrongfully banned.

We call cheaters “Big Brother” online, it is purely a sarcastic nickname, not a term of respect. Nowadays when we spot cheaters, many people just watch it for amusement.

Some anti‑cheat systems will ban player accounts.

Skill versus cheating can sometimes be hard to tell apart in CrossFire. We are not all pro‑players, the cheating ecosystem here is just very complicated.

​ 9. The stereotype claiming Chinese gamers are prone to cheating spreads mainly via internet hearsay. In China, creating or widely distributing game cheats carries legal consequences. Game developers and operators take this matter very seriously.

Old‑era MMO cheats were mostly used to automate repetitive dungeon‑grinding. Modern cheats exist only to ruin the multiplayer experience.

Lu Benwei, former world‑champion League of Legends pro‑player, was caught cheating while streaming PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds. He did not apologize immediately, which drew strong backlash from Chinese gamers. He apologized years later, though I have not followed the rest of that story.

Disclaimer: These are only my personal observations, they do not represent all Chinese‑speaking gamers. Feel free to point out anything that might be ambiguous, so we can avoid misunderstandings.

The console‑sales ban was different from internet restrictions. Game content review and public social opinion were more important factors. Looking back, the policies made some sense for their time yet were far from perfect.

Back then there were two main ways people played pirated games: compatible all‑in‑one devices and hardware modifications.

The most famous compatible devices were the Subor learning machine and Xintianli VCD. The Subor, endorsed by Jackie Chan, was originally designed for basic computer learning, with gaming as an extra feature. Near the end of the FC product lifecycle, Nintendo calculated that cross‑border legal battles would be economically impractical, so they did not aggressively go after these products.

The Xintianli VCD had partial Sega licensing, but later moved into piracy. Its gameplay experience could not compare with genuine MD cartridges.

For hardware modification, people fitted mod‑chips into PS2 disc drives, and performed RGH pulse hacks on the Xbox 360. I don’t know much about how these work. Before the mainland‑release PS4, there were no official legitimate consoles sold here. Even players who could afford them did not exactly have decent purchasing options.

1. Nintendo once tried to launch an official‑licensed console for China, the iQue. They tried to keep pricing affordable, yet it was still out of reach for many ordinary players back then. The console‑sales ban was a major factor shaping the market, but not the only one. Purchasing power, the rise of the internet and the booming domestic online‑game industry all influenced player choices. It was a situation brought about by multiple real‑world constraints in a chaotic marketplace.

Online games grew wildly in China. Tencent started out with its QQ messenger, which overtook OICQ. Later titles including CF, DNF and LOL profoundly reshaped China’s gaming landscape. CrossFire, developed by a small South‑Korean studio, became hugely popular in China and Brazil, while staying relatively niche in most other regions. Its in‑game purchases could boost gear stats without completely breaking multiplayer balance, which fit the local gaming environment well. By contrast, many other online games were designed to constantly stoke spending desires. To get a decent gaming experience you might spend money equal to the price of a couple of physical game discs. This gradually formed a unique spending habit: many players were willing to pay for online games, yet hesitant to spend money on console titles, even when gameplay was somewhat similar.

2. PC emulators did introduce a lot of retro games to Chinese players, MAME being a prime example. Still, emulators could not satisfy every gaming need. Beyond emulation itself, Chinese players had a strong passion for fan‑made localization. Since official Chinese‑language versions were hard to come by in the old days, enthusiastic hobbyists freely released unofficial Chinese patches, hoping more people could experience great games. Pokémon was extremely popular, with lots of fan‑created modified ROMs circulating online, though I will not comment further on how those modified versions were played.

On the other hand, some players value the feel of real‑hardware gameplay. Those with better financial means collect official copies. Tech‑oriented enthusiasts do DIY work based on open‑source projects. It was unrealistic for most people to own legitimate copies of every retro game. There were locally‑produced clones of the overseas Ever‑Drive flash cartridges, alongside some original home‑grown hardware designs as well.

3. The core practical difficulty lies within game publication and content review. Not all foreign‑made games can be officially imported and released, which is a historical situation formed during China’s development. When the mainland PlayStation console first launched, only a small library of games was available. Many players turned to Hong‑Kong‑region accounts, which offered a wider game selection yet at higher prices. To put it simply: personal access to non‑imported games is a separate issue from the commercial sale of these unreviewed titles.

This is a great question. After 2000, the internet really started taking off in China, and huge numbers of people began playing MMOs in internet cafes. Naturally, with that many players came a lot of social controversy — the “internet addiction” panic was a real thing back then.

On the console side, we never had an official way to buy them. A ban on console sales was in place, so everyone just picked up grey-market machines with zero after-sales support. If something broke, you had to figure it out yourself. Even the local game shop owners had no real way to source genuine games.

Looking back, though, those rough conditions actually made for some pretty interesting stories.

I never experienced the golden age of MMOs firsthand — I’ve mostly gotten my sense of them from videos and old forum posts. To me, they always felt less like games and more like social platforms, where the point was teaming up with people to grind quests and raids together. But being competitive at them demanded a massive time sink, and plenty of titles also asked for real money. Once competitive online games took off, MMOs stopped being the default online gaming experience, though they’ve kept a loyal following ever since.

I got into console games about 20 years late. Looking back at that era from the outside has led to some funny moments — I’ve had veteran players assume I was around 40, when I’m actually only 27.

What was the main game you were playing back in the 2000s?

deleted by creator