After Waking Up I Inherited the Earth [Interstellar] – CH126

Chapter 126

Roder looked puzzled. “An auction?”

Why would someone from another civilization want to hold an auction at the Insectfolk Hotel?

Did Xie Xingchen even understand what the Insectfolk Hotel represented?

Roder frowned. “Boss Xie, I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

He can’t give an answer?

Xie Xingchen was genuinely surprised.

Could the Insectfolk Hotel be even more special than he thought?

Xie Xingchen had already experienced plenty of its “specialness,” but he truly hadn’t expected it to be this special—because the Insectfolk Hotel was, in fact, an Insectfolk military hotel.

When Roder told him that the “Insectfolk Hotel” was their military hotel, Xie Xingchen completely froze.

Then he asked the question straight from the soul:

“Then why am I allowed to stay there?”

Good question. Why are you allowed to stay there?

Roder: Looks like you really have no idea what situation you’re in.

If you weren’t an Insect Crest holder—if you didn’t have so many enemies—upper command wouldn’t have arranged for you to stay in the Insectfolk Hotel.

Roder just smiled and said nothing, but somehow Xie Xingchen felt like that smile was mocking him.

Xie Xingchen: “……”

Alright, you don’t have to answer. I get it.

Once Roder put it that way, Xie Xingchen immediately understood that trying to hold an auction at the Insectfolk Hotel was pure wishful thinking.

A military stronghold like this—he didn’t even need to think. The Insectfolk would never allow large numbers of outsiders to enter for a commercial event.

Xie Xingchen instantly dropped the idea of hosting the auction at the Insectfolk Hotel.

But—

If not here, he could host it at another hotel.

After all, this was the once-every-three-years Trade Day!

A galaxy-wide event where the richest people were concentrated in one place—if he missed this, he’d have to wait another three years.

How many “three years” did a person even have to waste?

Besides, if he waited three years, his cotton cloth would have built a reputation just from steady sales anyway—so why would he need gimmicks then?

Xie Xingchen made up his mind: once he finished what he needed to do, he’d go online and look for another hotel.

So he didn’t argue or dig deeper. He simply said, “Okay then. I’ll find another hotel to host it.”

His tone was so light, you’d never guess he’d just been turned down.

Seeing how readily he accepted it, Roder fell silent for a moment instead.

Then he frowned and said, “Maybe you can ask the hotel front desk. They might have another solution.”

Ask the front desk?

Xie Xingchen thought of the two front-desk staff with the ridiculously good attitudes.

He rubbed his chin.

Mmm… not impossible.

He didn’t bother asking why Roder couldn’t answer but was telling him to go ask the front desk like some idiot.

Since it was apparently safe to ask, Xie Xingchen stopped thinking about finding another hotel online and decided he’d ask the front desk first.

Because—

If he didn’t have to leave the Insectfolk Hotel, it would be best not to.

Honestly, just today alone, he’d received who-knew-how-many complicated looks.

Most were envy and jealousy, sure—but some were outright malicious.

Call him timid. Call him a coward.

Xie Xingchen was genuinely, truly afraid of dying.

In a crowded, chaotic place like this—when he didn’t have much self-protection ability yet, and Earth still hadn’t fully developed—he’d rather lay low whenever possible.

After everyone happily finished eating, and the robots cleaned up the dishes, Xie Xingchen put away the small energy shield that blocked sightlines.

By now, there weren’t many lingering lifeforms outside who’d been bewitched into stopping by the aroma of food.

Seeing everyone sitting comfortably on the sofa, drinking tea and chatting, Xie Xingchen’s hands started itching.

He pulled out his tools, set them on the big dining table they’d just used, and forcibly showed off a skill—he made everyone mango pomelo sago.

There was no need to talk about how gorgeous it looked, and in Xie Xingchen’s opinion, its deliciousness deserved a full five stars.

Even though everyone’s stomachs were already full,

once they saw the mango pomelo sago, they all felt like they could still cram in “just a little more.”

So that’s how it went—everyone ate again, suffering and happy at the same time.

Their expressions… tsk. Anyone who saw them wanted to replace them on the spot.

Especially the employees from neighboring booths. The way they looked at Earth Trading House’s staff was pure, concentrated envy.

When would their boss ever be this generous?

Look at themselves, then look at others—

These people weren’t here to work at all!

They were obviously here on vacation!

No pressure to close deals, not even required to keep watch at the booth.

They wandered around all day, and when they came back, they ate well, drank well, and had fun.

Everyone: [ugly sobbing.jpg]

Waaah, no wonder people online call Boss Xie a “fairy boss”!

They wanted a boss like that too!

The more they thought about it, the more jealous they got—and the more they felt they couldn’t suffer alone.

So in a group chat (created by who-knows-who) filled with employees stationed across different booths at this Trade Day, a photo suddenly appeared: Earth Trading House’s staff, bellies out, devouring mango pomelo sago like their lives depended on it.

The chat—previously scrolling nonstop, clearly lively—instantly looked like someone hit pause.

Not just no messages—there wasn’t even a punctuation mark for a full five minutes.

Then, as if everyone suddenly snapped back to life, the chat flooded with question marks.

With the spirit of “why suffer alone when we can suffer together,” the neighboring-booth employees who’d been deeply “hurt” used every ounce of their literary skill to vividly describe how Earth Trading House’s people had spent such a pleasant, beautiful day.

And that was when things really exploded.

After the question marks came an endless wall of: “I don’t believe it!”

Even the contrarians started yelling: no pics, no truth. No pics means you’re just making things up based on a picture—making things up means you’re lying.

But—

Oh, they didn’t just have pictures. They had video.

In the video, not long after Xie Xingchen left Earth Trading House, most of the staff cheerfully ran off to play too. And the one person staying behind? Before everyone left, she very seriously reminded them:

“Remember to come back later for food, okay? Don’t go eating random stuff outside and filling up, or you won’t be able to eat what the boss makes!”

Everyone instantly: !

[#@*?{ : Waaah this is the difference between my boss and other people’s boss—bigger than the difference between a person and an oink-beast!]

[……&* : We’re both employees—why is other people’s employee life so wonderful? The boss even cooks for employees… (:???) I’m openly jealous.]

[159%&*@ : Sigh, isn’t that the truth. My idiot boss wouldn’t cook for us even if hell froze over—if he could just assign less workload I’d thank the heavens… Seriously, I think my boss has a real disease. Do you not know what your own products are like? And you still go “you must work hard, you must sell X quantity, X orders”… I swear to—]

This was an anonymous group.

Everyone used gibberish and random numbers as names.

So people spoke with zero restraint.

Seeing someone else’s “fairy boss,” they stopped giving their own brain-dead bosses any face at all.

They just started swearing in the chat.

Since nobody used real names, the ones swearing didn’t get doxxed.

But—

When the group is big enough, you’ll always have busybodies.

Sure enough, within ten minutes someone posted screenshots from the anonymous group on StarWeibo.

And—oh wow—instant uproar.

That treatment at Earth Trading House? Not just workers—small business owners would envy it!

Is that “working”?

That’s literally “vacation” plus “self-fulfillment”!

That’s the “perfect workplace world” all the best pie-in-the-sky bosses are always talking about.

Except—those bosses only talk.

Boss Xie doesn’t talk—and yet he’s actually made all of it real.

[It’s me crying : Waaah I’m crying from envy. Day N check-in: BOSS! XIE! WHEN! ARE! YOU! OPENING! RECRUITMENT!]

[I also want a fairy boss : Aaaa hurry, please hurry, I can’t wait! Earth is huge, right? You definitely need people, right? Look at me! Please look at me, Boss Xie!]

[I admit I’m jealous : Develop faster! Earth Trading House develop faster! Xie Xingchen hire faster! I’ll quit and apply the moment you recruit—if I don’t, I’m an oink-beast!]

That kind of job treatment was genuinely incredible.

Especially for casual fans.

Back when people slapped the “fairy boss” title onto Xie Xingchen, it was mostly for fun—a meme. Like, sure, whatever, it’s a joke.

But now?

He didn’t need the title—he actually was a fairy boss.

Look at his employee treatment.

Not just ordinary workers would cry from envy—

Even high-level professionals would cry from envy.

And just like that, the hashtag #WaaahWaaahWaaah rocketed onto the trending list.

It climbed fast. In under thirty minutes it locked down the number-one spot on the general trending board, with a dark red “HOT” tag behind it.

During their break, some planet lords and plantation owners happened to open StarWeibo and see this trending topic, and their moods turned complicated.

Xie Xingchen treated employees so well it honestly made them feel afraid.

No wonder they’d felt like their employees’ emotions had suddenly gotten weird earlier.

So that was the reason!

Forget ordinary workers—if they put themselves in an employee’s shoes, even they felt unbalanced.

Why were they so exhausted while someone else was so comfortable?

Why was their workload so heavy while someone else’s was so light?

After reading the trending post, a single word popped into their heads:

“We’re screwed.”

They’d found the cause of their employees’ low spirits—but could they solve it?

Match Earth Trading House’s standards and raise benefits?

Or reduce pressure, ease KPIs, give more rest time?

No matter which option they considered, it felt like slicing their own flesh.

After struggling for a long time, some planet lords and plantation owners decided to keep things the same.

But some softer-hearted ones chose to reduce pressure or increase rest time.

When those changes got reported in the anonymous group chat, the employees who received no changes became even more depressed.

And for that “depression,” the bosses who loved to sell dreams had plenty to say.

They gathered employees at their booths and started pitching grand visions again, trying to force morale back up.

But—

Under that “motivation,” employees looked a bit more energetic on the surface—yet inside, they felt even more disappointed.

Other people’s boss ? never sells dreams.
Their boss ? only sells dreams.

After this fiasco, many capable employees who’d been sitting on the fence got fed up.

When Trade Day ended, a lot of high-potential staff quit and jumped ship, escaping the dream-selling bosses.

Meanwhile, completely unaware that he’d accidentally screwed over the competition again, Xie Xingchen was humbly DMing Professor Ni, asking her how to choose the right fertilizer.

Fertilizer had never disappeared since the day it was invented.

Even in the interstellar era—despite better plant nutrient solutions, growth solutions, disinfectants, and so on—the function of fertilizer still couldn’t be fully replaced.

Small household planting might not need fertilizer, but large-scale cultivation? Fertilizer was still a major resource.

So how to choose the right fertilizer was an important lesson—also a very professional one.

The original owner had studied it, but only so-so. And Xie Xingchen was even worse: he’d only inherited the original owner’s memories, and those memories felt like a dream—present, but like watching a movie.

How much he could truly “learn” from that was… anyone’s guess.

And since the original owner hadn’t learned it that well either, how could Xie Xingchen—who was basically “auditing his memories”—possibly be better?

No way.

So he could only shamelessly ask the professor for a refresher.

Professor Ni Kunqi was furious—utterly exasperated.

Listen to yourself! Does that sound reasonable?

You graduated only a year ago and you’ve already forgotten everything they taught you?

Is that the attitude a planter should have?

Is that the behavior a planting-planet lord should show?

She thought that after becoming a planet lord, Xie Xingchen had become complacent. She scolded him for a full ten minutes.

Only after Xie Xingchen raised both hands in surrender, and repeatedly listed out the books he’d read and the online courses he’d taken this past year, did she finally stop.

Hearing that he’d kept studying even after graduation, she finally felt satisfied.

She went from fire-breathing dragon to elegant intellectual lady in an instant.

Her face-changing skills were so sharp even people from famously spicy regions would bow in admiration.

Satisfied now, her tone softened. “Xingchen, you’re not bad. Unlike your senior, Lu Fei—perfectly good planter and he insists on making movies. Keeping up a learning attitude like this is what a good planter should do.”

Xie Xingchen’s teeth ached.

That comparison was brutal.

But it also meant Professor Ni and Emperor Lu had reconciled.

Because back when they’d fallen out, Xie Xingchen had never once heard her mention Lu Fei’s name.

Xie Xingchen laughed awkwardly and dragged the topic back. “So, teacher… what fertilizer should I buy?”

There were endless kinds of fertilizer—buy wrong, lose big.

With that many options, “just buy anything” wasn’t happening.

Only buying the right fertilizer would save him money.

Knowing Earth’s actual situation, Ni Kunqi said casually, “With Earth only just starting to develop, you can buy the most basic fertilizer.”

When Xie Xingchen looked like he still wanted to ask more, she added lazily, “Pick the cheapest one.”

Xie Xingchen couldn’t help rubbing his nose.

Well… she really understood him, didn’t she?

But at the same time, hearing it from her mouth was oddly embarrassing.

He felt awkward for a moment, then thickened his skin and asked for a recommendation anyway.

Eyes bright, he said, “Teacher, do you recommend any fertilizer brand?”

He might as well have had the words “I want to freeload your connections” written on his face.

But Professor Ni didn’t get annoyed—she was actually pleased, because to her, this meant their teacher-student relationship was close.

After thinking seriously, she really did pull a name from deep in memory.

“Go take a look at Da You Fertilizer.”

Xie Xingchen blinked. “Da You Fertilizer?”

He’d never even heard of it.

Professor Ni nodded. “Yes, Da You Fertilizer. It’s an old brand. They don’t have many types, but the price is practical. They had a period of glory, but the owner doesn’t know marketing, so over the past few decades they gradually declined.”

They weren’t losing money—old customers still existed.

But becoming big again? Without a major opportunity, forget it.

Xie Xingchen wasn’t surprised.

Because in his old world, stuff like this happened all the time.

Weren’t lots of once-famous legacy brands facing exactly this?

Xie Xingchen wrote down “Da You Fertilizer,” chatted briefly with Professor Ni about Trade Day, then ended the call.

He opened the official attendee list and searched for a long time until he finally found where Da You Fertilizer was located.

It was remote—basically the most remote corner of the entire Trade Day venue.

How remote?

If other zones got, say, 10,000 people a day, this area might get 100.

As soon as Xie Xingchen turned into the area, he felt how “open” it was.

Aside from booth staff, only a few scattered customers were strolling around.

And the staff here were extremely “zen.”

They didn’t even try to solicit. They just let people browse.

It felt like a retirement department.

No wonder Professor Ni said they didn’t know how to market.

This scene screamed: we absolutely do not know how to market.

Xie Xingchen walked all the way to the end and finally found Da You Fertilizer.

A teenager—around seventeen or eighteen—was watching the booth, playing games.

When a customer arrived, he only said, “Feel free to look around,” and then… nothing else.

Xie Xingchen was surprised at first, but soon found it relaxing.

Especially since Da You Fertilizer’s product pages were incredibly detailed—so detailed even a fertilizer newbie could buy correctly just by following the descriptions.

Xie Xingchen: No wonder the parents dared let a kid run the booth. They’d prepared everything.

Da You Fertilizer didn’t have many total products. Basic fertilizers were only two options.

Xie Xingchen chose the cheapest one, then went to the kid playing games.

He knocked on the table. “Hi. I want to buy fertilizer.”

Hearing that, the teen closed his offline game, opened his terminal, and without even lifting his head, asked with practiced ease, “How much do you want?”

Xie Xingchen thought, then said, “More than the maximum amount on your price sheet. And I want long-term cooperation too.”

He’d expected the teen to be shocked.

Instead, the teen calmly went, “Oh.”

Then he found the long-term bulk contract template among a pile of templates and sent it over to Xie Xingchen.

“Take a look. This is the price for super-large-volume long-term cooperation. If you think it’s fine, you can sign right now.”

Seeing the kid put on a serious “adult” act, Xie Xingchen couldn’t resist teasing him.

“What if I don’t want to sign?”

The kid looked at him like he was weird. “Then don’t sign. It’s not a big deal.”

That answer was surprising.

Wasn’t Da You Fertilizer supposed to be struggling?

This kid’s attitude didn’t match that story at all.

Xie Xingchen was shocked, but felt awkward asking.

Instead, the teen noticed the question in his eyes and waved it off. “Eh, Da You Fertilizer doesn’t make much money, sure. But it’s my great-great-grandfather’s great-great-grandfather’s business, so our family just keeps it going. My dad says if it doesn’t make money, it doesn’t make money—our family doesn’t rely on it to eat.”

Xie Xingchen instantly understood.

A rich heir.

And probably really rich.

As for this “unprofitable fertilizer company”?

They were probably keeping it purely as a family legacy.

No wonder their prices were so low. No wonder Professor Ni’s expression had been complicated when she mentioned them.

The teen scratched his head. “So are you signing or not? If not, I’m going back to my game.”

Then he added, “This contract is one of Da You Fertilizer’s newer templates. We’ve been using it for over ten years. Not a single word has ever been changed. If you sign, you can only sign this. Otherwise, we won’t do business with you.”

So many things to complain about, he didn’t even know where to start.

Should he complain that the contract was used for ten years, or that it hadn’t changed a single word in ten years?

Forget everything else—shouldn’t the prices have gone up?

But listen to the kid:

“No need. It’s so little money. No point raising it.”

Xie Xingchen felt personally flexed on.

So—so rich!

Xie Xingchen stayed at the booth, sent the contract to his lawyer to review it, and after confirming there were no issues, signed.

Watching the teen carefully organize the documents, Xie Xingchen suddenly remembered he still had plenty of mango pomelo sago in his storage.

He thought for a moment, took out a bowl, and gave it to the teen.

Watching the kid eat dessert with sparkling eyes, Xie Xingchen finally left in a good mood.

When he returned to Earth Trading House, it was already late.

Remembering he still needed to ask about the auction venue, he left the Trade Day venue early.

Back at the Insectfolk Hotel, seeing the two familiar front-desk staff, Xie Xingchen greeted them. “Moore, Diya, good afternoon.”

After greeting them, he pulled out mango pomelo sago from his storage.

“This is a dessert I made at noon. It’s called mango pomelo sago. Want to try some?”

Moore and Diya looked at the bowl still releasing cold vapor, and their throats moved involuntarily.

Remembering they’d received small gifts from Boss Xie before, they didn’t refuse this time and accepted the dessert.

It was served in a white crystal bowl, with a matching crystal spoon.

Under Xie Xingchen’s enthusiastic urging, they each took a bite.

So—so delicious!

The two exchanged a look.

The work rules don’t say you’re not allowed to eat at the front desk, right? (A loophole caused by the galaxy lacking food culture.)

They silently agreed and sped up their eating.

Before long, the whole bowl was gone.

Remembering how wolfish they’d just been, they smiled at Xie Xingchen a little embarrassed.

Then they forced themselves back into “professional mode” and said with fake seriousness, “Boss Xie, what can we help you with?”

But at this point, it was too late.

Their “serious front desk” filter had already shattered completely in Xie Xingchen’s mind.

Xie Xingchen chuckled, nodded, and when they asked what he needed, he brought up the auction venue question.

Moore frowned. “I see… I don’t know if that will work.”

Diya was more blunt. “We can submit the request, but it depends on whether upper management approves. If they don’t, there’s nothing we can do.”

Xie Xingchen thanked them repeatedly.

Seeing how polite he was—and thinking of the mango pomelo sago—they decided to help him out. They found a relatively easygoing superior and reported it.

Two hours later, Xie Xingchen received an internal call to his room. The front desk told him to come down to the second-floor reception room—his question had received an answer.

After Waking Up I Inherited the Earth [Interstellar]