Chapter 112
[Questions Come to Life]: ? Is something wrong with me, or with Boss Xie, or with the world?
[This Is Insane]: Where’s your shame, Boss Xie? How can you so calmly strip a peach blossom grove completely bare—and after you’re done, still look at us like you want praise?!
Seeing that dreamlike peach grove reduced to a bald wasteland, most people felt so heartbroken they were practically suffocating.
Stop! Those are plants—harmless plants! A natural psychic training ground, for heaven’s sake!
Other people couldn’t beg for something like that even if they tried—so how can you destroy it without a second thought?
[So Tired]: Mixed feelings. Don’t want to talk.
[Beyond Words]: Same, exhausted +1. The result is good for us, but if I put myself in Boss Xie’s shoes, I feel sick?
[All Over the Place]: Hahahaha “sick” doesn’t even begin to cover it. If I imagine being Boss Xie, my heart hurts so much I can’t breathe. Forget money for a second—an irreplaceable natural psychic training ground got wiped out like this?!
That’s a bit exaggerated. If you have enough money, you can build a “natural training ground.”
But the thing is…
Building that kind of “natural training ground” is insanely expensive—so expensive that an ordinary person could work their whole life and still never manage it.
So imagine: the kind of opportunity you’ll never touch in your lifetime gets ruined right in front of you. That’s genuinely suffocating.
Of course, if they knew Xie Xingchen had done this kind of thing countless times before, then… well, they still couldn’t do anything about it.
But anyway—thinking is thinking, complaining is complaining. The good stuff was already listed for sale, so of course people had to rush to buy it.
Didn’t Boss Xie even livestream tutorials for peach blossom pastries, peach blossom cakes, and peach blossom jam?
If you don’t buy, aren’t you basically disrespecting Boss Xie?
So in just a few seconds, the warehouse full of peach petals sold out.
From today onward, most netizens’ recipe lists gained new items like peach blossom pastries, peach blossom cakes, and peach blossom jam. And for the clumsy-handed crowd, daily life gained peach blossom tea drinks.
Xie Xingchen was extremely satisfied.
One deposit after another finally made him willing to accept another infrastructure task the system had published long ago.
Ding-dong. Congratulations, player: Infrastructure Task (2) triggered — Build a Large Logistics Base Station.
Infrastructure Task (2) — Build a Large Logistics Base Station:
Please build one large logistics base station within your territory within 1 month.
Reward: 1 random draw (weapon).
Xie Xingchen was only checking tasks out of habit, but the reward instantly jolted him awake.
“Weapon draw reward?” he muttered.
Really? A weapon draw? The kind of weapon draw he was thinking of?
He snapped back and immediately asked, “Xiao Mo, is the reward for Infrastructure Task (2) a weapon draw? Like, the kind where you can pull super-large planetary defense or attack weapons?”
Ding-dong. The system has detected a player question. Answer as follows:
A random draw (weapon) is generally a random draw from the weapon page. As for whether you can draw large planetary defense/attack weapons, that depends on whether you pull the relevant item.
Great. Classic useless “explanation.”
But Xie Xingchen still extracted the information he cared about.
He became cautious. “Since it’s a system weapon draw, there won’t be garbage prizes like a dagger, right?”
If there are, he’s going to make a scene.
A cold weapon in the era of firearms—and not even a sword, but a tiny short blade. Does the system want him to throw a tantrum?
He said it half-jokingly at first.
But when the system stayed silent, the uneasy feeling in his chest grew stronger. Finally his voice trembled a little.
“Xiao Mo… I’m not right, am I? What I guessed isn’t true, is it?”
After a long pause, the system finally played a prompt that sounded exactly like an advertisement.
System friendly reminder: Weapon draw probabilities are random. Prizes are rich and diverse—come try your luck!
Xie Xingchen: Damn (a plant).
This time he’d been tricked hard.
He knew the system well. Once it dodged the question and played an ad instead, his heart turned cold.
No need to ask—this so-called weapon draw definitely includes plenty of trash-tier bait prizes.
It wouldn’t even dare answer directly, so the worst prize probably isn’t even a dagger.
Interstellar era. Weapons. And the worst isn’t a dagger?
Xie Xingchen didn’t even dare imagine how bad the worst prize could be.
Don’t tell him the weapon draw page might include an ordinary kitchen knife or a box cutter.
No, no, no—bad luck, go away. Forget he said that.
He sighed. After a long while, he asked resentfully, “Xiao Mo, does the weapon draw include planetary defense weapons and planetary attack weapons?”
System: Yes.
This time it answered fast.
Xie Xingchen continued, “Then what’s the probability of drawing one?”
System: One in ten thousand.
Xie Xingchen complained, “That’s so low.”
System: Planetary-class weapons are expensive and in short supply.
The subtext: you’re getting a free draw—what are you whining about?
Other people can’t even buy them with money, and you might luck into one for free.
Understanding the subtext, Xie Xingchen felt too embarrassed to keep acting pitiful.
He quickly selected the corresponding engineers and robot construction team on the system page. After paying 1 billion star credits, he opened his contacts and found the manager of the Mechanical Commerce Group.
As a major client and the boss’s good friend, the manager replied instantly.
For a super client holding an 80%-price card, the manager’s attitude was respectful and professional.
Once he learned Xie Xingchen wanted to build a large logistics base station, he immediately used his rich professional knowledge to send a long list of required equipment.
After reading it, Xie Xingchen hurriedly stopped him.
[Xie Xingchen]: Manager, um… does building a large logistics base really require this much equipment?
Just the wormhole receiver section listed six units: one large wormhole receiver and five small ones.
That was only because medium receivers weren’t cost-effective and had been replaced with small ones—otherwise the list would probably include two additional medium receivers.
On top of that, there were dedicated delivery robots, sorting conveyor systems, packaging machines, security machines, self-service after-sales kiosks… and more.
So many devices Xie Xingchen had never considered were all on the list.
[Manager]: These are the mandatory basic devices required for private-planet construction of a large logistics base station. Under Regulations XXXX and XXXX, private planets must possess these items or the application will not be approved.
Xie Xingchen: Crap. This is bad.
He’d lived on Earth for so long that he’d forgotten Earth was a private planet and had to follow Star Alliance regulations in certain areas.
Luckily, it was still in time. The engineers hired from the system hadn’t produced the final blueprint yet. Once the blueprint came out, he could apply.
For private-planet infrastructure, as long as you meet the application minimums, you’ll pass.
Since the manager was clearly configuring everything to meet the legal standard line, Xie Xingchen didn’t argue. He obediently accepted the entire list.
They agreed that once the base station “shell” was built, the equipment would be delivered and installed on-site.
Then Xie Xingchen used his 80%-price card, paid another 3+ billion star credits in tears, and said goodbye to the mechanical commerce manager.
After he closed the comms device, he took the purchase list and the system engineer’s blueprint and entered the Planet Owner section.
In the Planet Owner personal center, he found the infrastructure application button. He uploaded the blueprint and the payment screenshots from the mechanical commerce order, then waited for review.
Normally, review took 24–72 hours. But Xie Xingchen had a fast-track channel, so he didn’t need to wait until tomorrow—just a few hours.
After submitting, he jumped to the Planet Owner forum homepage.
The pinned posts were still the planet management regulations and related laws.
Seven or eight pinned threads, and only then came private posts.
But 70% of those were mutual flattery, 20% were subtle bragging, and only 10% were actual information about other planets—and even within that, there was plenty of “junk info.”
That was why Xie Xingchen had only visited the Planet Owner forum enthusiastically for a few days before losing all interest.
It was just too boring.
These planet owners weren’t as cute or generous as ordinary netizens.
Everyone was used to hiding everything. Even if they had useful information, they wouldn’t share it. They were masters at evasive “tai chi.” Every sentence was slick and greasy. Mutual praise, sure—that could be entertaining. But when they sparred with hidden barbs, it was even more roundabout and passive-aggressive than palace concubines.
Xie Xingchen didn’t want to stay in that atmosphere.
That was just his personal preference, though. For someone else, it might be different.
Because whether they were trading barbs or flattering each other, they always leaked bits of information. If you used those clues well, you could probably make a fortune.
Earth Commerce had long been in a constant state of demand exceeding supply. It didn’t need that kind of information to get rich.
But for others—especially small planet owners—even if they hated the forum atmosphere, they still had to grit their teeth and check regularly.
He scrolled titles quickly.
Further down, he got a little interested for two reasons:
First: the manor Yu Cheng founded successfully cultivated “Edelweiss.” The green-matter content inside it reached 20%, setting a new record.
Second: the upcoming “Trade Day,” the Planet Owner Trade Expo Trade Day.
This year, the insectoid faction scheduled Trade Day for May 1, a date Xie Xingchen found very familiar—the triple-pay holiday.
It was almost April now, meaning there was about a month left before the insectoid territory’s “Trade Day” event began.
As the core participants of the event—planet owners—were about to welcome a new carnival.
But because this Trade Day was hosted on insectoid territory, and insectoids were famously arrogant and domineering, people worried about how the event would proceed.
After all, a considerable number of planet owners still hadn’t gotten their Trade Day applications approved.
This was supposed to be a feast for planet owners.
If you got excluded, you’d become a joke for years—so the planet owners still waiting for approval were extremely anxious.
And the planet owners whose applications were already approved were also anxious.
Because they’d heard that Yu Cheng, as a manor owner, had also been invited.
He might bring the Edelweiss to Trade Day to look for buyers.
Edelweiss—that Edelweiss, with 20% green-matter content!
Who wouldn’t want it?
And nobody knew how much Edelweiss Yu Cheng could cultivate.
Was he like some genius growers—able to produce one insanely strong new variety, then never reproduce it again?
Or could he reproduce the variety, but never replicate the 20% content?
Both possibilities were quite plausible.
In that case, his first pot of Edelweiss was even more precious, worth lowering one’s pride to compete for.
“So he really is the ‘main character’ type, huh?”
Yu Cheng’s career development differed slightly from the trajectory Xie Xingchen had recorded.
But he still became a guest of honor in a very short time.
And…
Xie Xingchen wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he felt like the world had become a little more normal.
Yu Cheng, who used to be forced into a “everyone loves him” attribute, seemed to be walking an “independent career” route now?
At least so far, Xie Xingchen had barely seen any trending gossip in human civilization about Yu Cheng being entangled with some man.
And maybe because his romantic entanglements were lighter, Yu Cheng seemed to run into fewer brainless villains who existed solely to target him—so there were fewer dramatic “face-slapping” incidents too.
He hadn’t noticed before, but once he thought carefully, Xie Xingchen realized the entire story’s direction seemed to have gone off the rails.
His expression turned strange.
Could this be the butterfly effect?
Having not thought about the original body’s mess for ages since arriving on Earth, Xie Xingchen left the Planet Owner section.
He searched the storage interface for a long time and finally found a wooden box hidden in a corner.
Inside was a sheet of paper filled with writing.
It was Xie Xingchen’s “masterpiece” from right after he transmigrated—full of the book’s plot points.
He read it from start to finish, then searched related topics online.
To his surprise, nothing had happened the way it was written.
Xie Xingchen: 0.0
The plot really did drift away!
But it also seemed like there was still a faint thread connecting things?
He scratched his head, unable to figure out what had changed.
He hadn’t done anything—he was just a tiny butterfly.
He had only focused on building himself up on a remote planet.
Yet the moment he remembered the plot again, it had already turned into some corner he didn’t recognize.
But Xie Xingchen was being too modest.
It was true—he hadn’t done anything.
And precisely because he hadn’t done anything, the situation became what it was.
Focused on his own development, Xie Xingchen had no idea how huge an impact he himself had on everyone who knew him.
A love-brained person suddenly “waking up” is terrifying.
Even more terrifying: that love-brained person becomes career-brained, and not only has ambition but also the talent to match.
The original owner’s planting talent wasn’t top-tier at First Academy, but compared to ordinary people he was already outstanding.
He was young, and his psychic level could still grow. In terms of potential, he couldn’t match true prodigies, but he could absolutely crush the average person.
With a good background on top of that, if he worked hard, he could become a major figure in the field.
But the original owner wasted his talent, humiliating himself in various ways until everyone looked down on him. Add in a badly executed way of recruiting classmates, and even if people didn’t say it aloud, they all underestimated him.
But now?
The person everyone once looked down on became a high-and-mighty planet owner.
He returned to the planter profession, kept releasing new plants, and even pushed plant prices toward affordability.
He opened a commerce shop—and in less than half a year, made it famous across the entire galaxy, gaining countless fans across different species, accomplishing things even large commerce groups couldn’t.
And in the end, he turned out to be the descendant of a hidden great clan. Even if that clan no longer existed, he inherited a massive cultural legacy and stood backed by deep historical foundations.
All of it made those who once looked down on Xie Xingchen fall silent.
They finally understood, painfully, that the classmate who had once needed to please them had reached a height they could never touch.
In this lifetime, let alone compare themselves to Xie Xingchen—they might never even see him again.
And such a massive transformation happened in less than a year.
In just a few months, they became people from entirely different worlds.
That enormous gap in mindset and status forced these so-called “chosen ones” to quiet down.
When they first graduated, they were arrogant; now they were calm—and that calm was “tempering,” forged by repeated painful comparison.
Yu Cheng was no exception.
Among their classmates, he had always been the most famous and most gifted, long accustomed to the halo of genius.
But now, a classmate even more brilliant existed. Xie Xingchen became the goal he aimed upward toward.
Don’t talk to him about travel and fun—didn’t he see how desperately Xie Xingchen was working?
If he was just an ordinary person who couldn’t measure up, what right did he have to travel, to play, to relax?
And so…
Xie Xingchen, who had quit every social app and every class chat group from his school days, somehow became the symbolic “workaholic mascot” of their graduating class.
Because of him, everyone unconsciously started grinding harder.
And because First Academy’s planting department produced this bizarre batch of grind-addicted graduates, other newly graduated students also started grinding—until it reached a ridiculous extreme.
The concrete result: major research institutes, major enterprises, and relevant departments all said this year’s graduates were better than many previous cohorts.
Not only were they strong workers and quick to learn, even their sense of responsibility was higher than before.
Xie Xingchen, who knew none of this: 0.0
If he knew, he’d probably laugh himself to death.
Reading and rereading, Xie Xingchen felt the story’s direction was too surreal.
So he decisively stuffed the paper back into the wooden box and put it back into storage.
He had once treated it with great seriousness. Now he treated it casually.
Because—
If it doesn’t come true, it doesn’t matter.
Even if someone found it, they’d probably just think it was a novel outline.
So there was no need to hold onto such a solemn attitude.
He was already used to focusing on himself and on Earth’s development.
The main couple’s love story had nothing to do with him, a background extra.
He wasn’t provoking Yu Cheng.
Love, hate, together, breakup—none of that mattered to an “offline” person who stayed on Earth and never went out.
With that thought, Xie Xingchen finally let go of his last bit of worry.
He reopened the Planet Owner section on his light-brain and carefully read the “Trade Day” information.
Just as he finished a pinned explainer post, his approval notice arrived.
He left the forum, encrypted and saved the stamped electronic approval document, and then sent the system engineer to lead the robots to the wasteland he’d designated for the large logistics base station.
The wasteland wasn’t too far from the flower fields, but it wasn’t close either—ten minutes by hovercar.
He chose this area partly for future expansion of the flower fields and the space required for the base station.
But most importantly—
The soil here was bad.
Not just “a bit bad”—it was horrible.
So rather than spend a fortune improving the land, Xie Xingchen kept it as backup construction land.
Now that he needed a large logistics base station and this location was suitable, he waved his hand and decided to build it here.
After walking around and inspecting the area, the system engineer finally nodded with satisfaction, then made two “chirping” sounds at Xie Xingchen.
Hearing that sound, Xie Xingchen naturally trotted backward.
Only after he retreated beyond the boundary line did the engineer happily bounce a few times, then wave its hand.
A familiar thick fog rose and enveloped the land again.
Xie Xingchen reached out and touched the fog.
A moment ago, there had been nothing. Now there was a transparent boundary.
System friendly reminder: Large logistics base station under construction. Please do not disturb!
Time remaining: 239:58:02
Building the base station would take 240 hours—ten days?
That wasn’t exactly fast.
But it was just an empty shell. Why would it take that long?
The system had its own reply.
System friendly reminder: Slow work makes fine products. System-made equals premium quality!
Great. Xie Xingchen was instantly convinced—and even strongly agreed with “slow work makes fine products.”
It wasn’t like he had to do any labor himself. And his need for the base station wasn’t so urgent that he’d die without it.
So let the system take its time.
Ten days was fine. He could wait.
Add the mechanical commerce installation team’s setup time, and it would probably be about thirteen days total.
Thirteen days—compared to some planets’ construction speeds, it was actually quite fast, especially with good quality.
Not the type to make things hard for others or for himself, Xie Xingchen left once he knew it would take that long.
The next day, Xie Xingchen called Get-Rich, Prosperity, and Long-Life, and once again drove out in the hovercar.
Exploration time again. Hopefully they’d find something even better this time.
Maybe Xie Xingchen had been doing too many good deeds lately and his luck finally exploded.
Near the peach grove from before, he actually found a waterfall.
And there, he also found a plant that was both common and precious—honeysuckle.
![After Waking Up I Inherited the Earth [Interstellar]](https://i1.wp.com/panda-translations.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/02/20220822190944_300_420.jpg?resize=151,215 "After Waking Up I Inherited the Earth [Interstellar]")
