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The source of those profits, ultimately, was operations like the one owned and operated by 26-year-old Liu Haibin in Jinhua, China, which I visited a few years ago. With about 30 workers on staff, Liu was able to keep a gold-farming setup running around the clock. While the night shift slept upstairs on plywood bunks, day-shift workers sat in the hot, dimly lit workshop, each tending three or four computers. They were “playing” World of Warcraft, farming gold at an impressive clip by hunting and looting monsters, their productivity greatly abetted by automated bots that allowed them to handle multiple characters with little effort. They worked 84-hour weeks, got a couple of days off per month, and earned about $4 a day, which even for China was not a stellar wage.
Liu’s income was better but not always by much. “Sometimes in a month you can lose all the profit you made in a year,” he said, admitting there were days he regretted getting into the business in the first place. Why bother? “We also love this game,” Liu told me.
Most American WoW players at the time knew little about how the farmers lived and worked. What they did know was that there seemed to be more and more of them in the game (broken English and repetitive playing patterns gave them away) and that WoW‘s publisher,
Blizzard Entertainment, did not look favorably on their presence. A Blizzard policy statement reads: “They spam advertisements, use bots that make it hard for players to find the resources they need, and raise the cost of items through inflation.” As the gold-farmer population grew, opponents flooded message boards with anti-Chinese invective and increasingly took note of the role a company called IGE seemed to play in the phenomenon.
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