Chapter 62
[Huh? Milk tea? What is that?]
[Looks like a new drink?]
A bunch of people who’d never had milk tea before stared at Xie Xingchen’s Starblog, wide-eyed and bewildered.
They had no idea what “milk tea” was.
But strangely enough, the moment they saw the word milk tea, they instinctively swallowed.
What was this weird, exciting feeling?
[Is this milk tea good?]
[Is it like that lemon–passion fruit tea Boss Xie made before?]
[Ah! Really? If it’s like that, then I have to snag the milk-tea blind box!]
At the mention of lemon–passion fruit tea, the fans who’d been lucky enough to receive gifts during Xie Xingchen’s livestream beamed so hard you could see their teeth.
That sweet-and-sour flavor was way too addictive!
It was the kind of drink that made you crave another sip the moment you finished.
A drink unlike anything sold on the StarNet marketplace—they were willing to bet that any lifeform with functioning taste buds would fall in love with it after one try!
[Hahahaha I saw it—I did! Boss Xie really did decorate a new shop on Earth Commerce’s specialty street called “Milk Tea Blind Box.” It’s so pretty! I want to go!]
[Oh my gosh—there’s actually a link up, and the product page is written so clearly. That’s never happened before!]
[What, what, what—there are twenty-eight kinds of milk tea?! How are there so many? How am I supposed to choose?!]
[You’re overthinking it, 0.0. Choose? It’s a blind box. Read the rules—pay 100 star-coins for one blind box, and whatever milk tea you get depends on luck.]
And that’s assuming you can even get one in the first place!
Talking about “choosing” during a flash sale—who gave you that confidence?
[Wait—why does each milk tea have different ingredients? Some have tons of fruit, but some don’t seem to have any fruit at all. Doesn’t that mean people who get more fruit are getting a better deal?]
Just look at that one called “Lychee Overload.”
If the product page wasn’t using fake photos, then it really was a whole cup full of lychees!
A full cup of snowy-white fruit!
No one even knew whether this fruit called “lychee” tasted good, but if you could get that many lychees for only 100 star-coins—wouldn’t you hit the jackpot?
Anything with a “gambling” element like this was bound to ignite that hot, eager thrill in people’s hearts.
Add in the gorgeous packaging and the high-appearance “looks,” and before it even went on sale, the milk-tea blind box was already gathering its own hype.
Plus, people had long since developed a habit of “blind-buying” anything new from Earth Commerce.
So now there was nothing to discuss and nothing to think about—just snag it!
Because… if you get one, you profit whether you drink it yourself or change the shipping address and resell it.
After all the fancy analysis, it boiled down to one blunt truth:
If you can buy it, you’re winning.
But once milk tea started trending, there was one thing Xie Xingchen was delighted about—yet the crowd completely overlooked:
Milk tea helps you lose weight.
In the end, that was because this was a society where nutrient solution was the main food, and nutrient solution filled you up without making you fat.
Unless you had special circumstances or were ill, there basically weren’t any overweight people in the interstellar era—so naturally, no one understood what the “weight-loss” effect was even for.
But that “useless” weight-loss effect would become utterly insane in the future, when Earth products swept the entire Star Alliance and other planets started rolling out more and more natural foods—so powerful people would be moved to tears.
But that’s a story for later.
Ye Zhongxi was also excited about milk tea.
From the mugwort–mint balm to the wild chrysanthemum tea, he’d become a diehard Earth Commerce fan.
Now Earth Commerce was launching something new—Milk Tea Blind Box.
As a true diehard fan, Ye Zhongxi diligently analyzed the product page line by line with professional seriousness and the self-discipline of a devoted dad.
And in the end, he reached a conclusion:
Milk tea is a health food!
Why?
His argument went like this:
First, milk tea contains no dark matter.
Second, it’s made from healthy things like milk, tea, and fruit.
Finally, it even has a weight-loss effect.
Ye Zhongxi didn’t know what “tea” was, but since Boss Xie used it in a food name, it had to be a good thing—otherwise no seller would use it as a headline to hype a product unconsciously.
And according to the ingredient list, tea, milk, and fruit were listed together, along with things like sugar—expensive natural products, all of them.
As for the “weight-loss” effect, Ye Zhongxi felt it was kind of pointless, but since Boss Xie made a big deal out of it, it must have a major use.
With the power of his “brilliant intellect” (not), Ye Zhongxi arrived at a magnificently perfect conclusion.
He posted his reasoning in the group chat and easily racked up a wave of likes.
Xie Xingchen had no idea that after all that “thoughtful packaging,” his milk tea had somehow transformed into a symbol of health food.
All he knew was that the milk-tea blind box had over ten million people signed up to reserve it!
So here was the problem:
Milk tea needed to be made fresh and drunk fresh—he couldn’t stockpile it like before.
That meant he could produce only 90,000 cups a day.
Ninety thousand sounded like a lot… until it was tossed into an ocean of eight-digit demand. It didn’t even make a splash.
And sure enough, the moment 90,000 cups went live, they sold out instantly.
A lucky few got some.
Countless others didn’t.
Xie Xingchen couldn’t do anything about it.
Not even a half-hearted consolation—he just happily trotted off to the milk-tea room to watch the robots pack blind boxes.
As a military family member and a civil servant, Ye Zhongxi’s light-brain was a military model. Its specs were better than the ones sold on the market, with faster signal reception.
He’d never thought of that as a perk before, but once he started joining flash sales, he became a believer.
Like everyone else, he camped out at the scheduled time. And to increase his odds, he shoved his son Abao’s light-brain in front of the nanny robot, enabled permissions, and had the robot help snag one too.
Normally, with two light-brains competing, at most one would succeed.
But today, luck exploded—both Ye Zhongxi and the nanny robot got a Milk Tea Blind Box.
“Aba, aba!” Abao tugged on Ye Zhongxi’s pant leg and stood up. His round eyes darted around—clearly scheming mischief.
Ye Zhongxi scooped him up and buried his face in the milk-scented softness of his little belly, chuckling into him.
“Abao, tomorrow Daddy will let you eat something really tasty.”
The moment he heard “tasty,” Abao got excited, kicking his little short legs so hard Ye Zhongxi almost lost it.
“Abao, be quiet—don’t jump around,” Ye Zhongxi said, patting his head.
The little kid flashed an innocent grin, showing a row of tiny rice-grain teeth, and then—still dumbly—kept bouncing.
“Abao, I know you understand Daddy. Don’t play dumb,” Ye Zhongxi sighed, pinching his chubby cheeks.
He didn’t know who the kid took after. Always acting like he didn’t understand adults—when he was actually smart as could be, a real little rascal.
Seeing Daddy “angry,” Abao finally calmed down, obediently hugging his neck and staying still.
After a while, the sleep-deprived kid got drowsy. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and pointed at the bed with a soft little voice:
“Daddy… Abao… sleep-sleep… okay.”
Ye Zhongxi put him in his little bed and soothed him until he was truly asleep, then crawled back to the big bed himself, exhausted.
The next day, Ye Zhongxi woke up to Abao’s beloved chorus of “Daddy, daddy!”
After washing up and brushing his precious baby’s teeth, Ye Zhongxi drank a tube of nutrient solution and then mixed formula for Abao.
Star Alliance meals were simple—nutrient solution, nutrient solution, and more nutrient solution. Even kids weren’t much different, except they also had formula.
Infant nutrient solution tasted better than the adult kind, but nutrient solution wasn’t a beverage—no matter how “good” it was, it was still… nutrient solution.
So when kids reached weaning age, it was genuinely painful. Parents struggled until many eventually gave up: as long as the kid drank a bit of nutrient solution each day, then fine—if they still wanted milk, let them. They’d stop when they stopped.
And so a bizarre scene became common…
Interstellar kids started weaning later and later, until eventually you could see kindergarten children walking to school with baby bottles on their backs.
As a three-year-old, Abao hadn’t weaned yet, but he still needed nutrient solution for nutrition.
So after Abao finished his milk, Ye Zhongxi coaxed him into taking two spoonfuls of nutrient solution.
The kid sighed in relief. Ye Zhongxi also sighed in relief.
No joke—coaxing a kid to drink nutrient solution was hard!
Only slightly easier than coaxing them to take medicine!
By the time they were done, it was already 8 a.m.
Sweaty from all the fuss, Ye Zhongxi changed clothes and carried Abao to the living room to play.
He’d barely gotten through two pages of a picture book when the doorbell rang—delivery robot, at the door.
Ye Zhongxi jumped up, opened the door, and accepted a pretty blind box from the robot.
He put it on the table and rubbed his hands, then carefully opened it.
Inside was a beautifully sealed milk-tea cup. The frosted transparent cup showed many snowy-white fruits bobbing in the liquid.
Lychee Overload?!
Ye Zhongxi’s mouth fell open in shock at his own luck.
Th-this… wasn’t this the hidden rare one Boss Xie mentioned?
“Daddy, daddy!”
Abao’s sharp nose caught the sweet scent from the table. He stumbled forward in a clumsy pounce, urgently tugging at Ye Zhongxi’s pant leg and trying to climb up.
Ye Zhongxi reflexively bent down and patted his head—then straightened and pushed the cup farther away.
He came back to himself and saw the kid looking utterly wronged, eyes shimmering with tears.
As long as he wasn’t actually crying, it was fine.
So thought Ye Zhongxi, the exemplary father.
He picked up the Lychee Overload to admire it. The seal was excellent—you could even turn it upside down and it wouldn’t spill. There was also a sticker on it with the best-by time and the milk-tea name.
“Best flavor if finished within three hours?” Ye Zhongxi murmured, nodding as if he understood.
Then he checked the shipping box and realized this cup was from Abao’s light-brain order—his own hadn’t arrived yet.
So he put the Lychee Overload into the freshness cabinet and kept playing with Abao while waiting.
The deliveries were scattered and slow.
In the group chat, people who received theirs began posting photos. Plenty of others complained their packages still hadn’t arrived.
Ye Zhongxi didn’t post his, but he watched the messages.
When he saw that nobody else had gotten Lychee Overload, the joy of pulling a hidden rare skyrocketed another 100%.
When his own order arrived too—a cup of “Banana Milkshake”—his mood got even better.
Not only did he pull two milk teas, he pulled two hidden rares!
No one would believe that if he said it out loud.
Ye Zhongxi thought foolishly.
“Daddy… play… go out play.”
Abao pointed at the door, demanding to go out.
Ye Zhongxi glanced at the clock. After 9 a.m.—it was indeed time for Abao to play with his little friends.
He didn’t refuse. He put Abao in the stroller and took the Lychee Overload downstairs.
In the little garden, three kids played together, giggling. When they tired out, Ye Zhongxi called Abao over, wiped his sweat, opened the Lychee Overload, and let him drink.
Kids were huge “looks” snobs—sometimes even more shameless about it than adults.
Seeing the pretty fruit tea, Abao’s eyes lit up before he’d even tasted it. As Ye Zhongxi offered it, he stamped his little feet impatiently.
After one sip, Abao’s eyes turned sparkly. The fruit tea tasted so good he held his cheeks and spun around in delight.
And when Ye Zhongxi scooped out the lychee flesh to feed him, Abao basically floated into heaven.
In his entire life—short as it was—he’d never eaten fruit this delicious. The lychee instantly conquered him.
Maybe Abao looked too blissful, because the two nearby playmates wobbled over as well.
They stared at Abao’s eating with envy, but with strict upbringing, they didn’t dare grab. They just looked at Ye Zhongxi with pleading eyes.
Ye Zhongxi: “…I messed up. I should’ve finished this at home.”
As an adult, he couldn’t let two well-behaved kids stare like that.
And since they were his son’s playmates, he really couldn’t bear it.
So he had no choice but to feed each of them one pitted lychee, then pour a small cup of fruit tea for each.
Three kids sat in a row, eating happily. The scene was so absurdly adorable that residents walking nearby started gathering.
When someone shouted “Lychee Overload,” Ye Zhongxi bolted—dragging three kids with him—while three nanny robots hurried after them.
All three kids lived in the same building. One even lived right across the hall from Ye Zhongxi, so he simply brought them all home.
There wasn’t much Lychee Overload left. He swallowed hard, then—despite the heartbreak—let the three kids share what remained.
After it was gone, the kids licked their cups wistfully.
Ye Zhongxi found it hilarious and exasperating.
He didn’t stop them. Instead, with a little wickedness, he recorded it—planning to show his husband later.
After another hour of playing at home, the nanny robots came to take the children back.
Only then did Ye Zhongxi finally have time to drink his own Banana Milkshake.
The flavor was completely different from Lychee Overload, but each had its strengths.
For Ye Zhongxi, even if Lychee Overload was “worth more,” Banana Milkshake was more to his personal taste.
Maybe Abao inherited that taste—because he had zero resistance to Banana Milkshake too.
Seeing Daddy drink something, even though he’d already eaten and drunk plenty, Abao still rose on tiptoes and did his cutest begging.
Ye Zhongxi tapped his forehead, then gave him a sip anyway.
That one sip blew open Abao’s world.
He was stunned. In his short life, he’d never tasted something this good.
And now he could drink something this good every few days!
Abao didn’t know how hard Daddy had fought to snag it. He just assumed he could drink milk tea like this every day, and he got so happy he hugged Ye Zhongxi and kept sweet-talking, saying he “loved Daddy,” making Ye Zhongxi grin from ear to ear.
The same thing happened all across the Star Alliance.
Because of the mugwort–mint balm and wild chrysanthemum tea, there was always a crowd of moms and dads under Xie Xingchen’s Starblog.
When these parents met the milk-tea blind box, it was like dry tinder meeting lightning.
Any parent who managed to snag one saved it for their kids—and the kids loved it to death.
Xie Xingchen could only be grateful that the System’s milk-tea machine was top-tier.
Made from purely natural, uncontaminated ingredients, with no weird additives, plus high-end sterilization and disinfection—the milk tea was safer and healthier than homemade.
And since supply was so limited, nobody could snag it very often.
Otherwise, with how carefree these parents were being, Xie Xingchen would’ve wanted to blacklist them one by one from the milk-tea shop.
Even so, he still asked the System again:
“System, are you sure the milk tea and fruit tea made by the milk-tea machine are really fine for kids to drink?”
[System: Unless consumed excessively, there are no safety risks.]
Xie Xingchen still wasn’t fully reassured.
“You’re sure—certain—and absolutely sure?”
[System: Yes. Please rest assured. Products made by the System are safe and guaranteed.]
Only then did Xie Xingchen finally let out a full breath.
Obviously, he knew that with his production volume, these parents couldn’t possibly let their kids drink “too much.” If they could snag even one cup a day, that would be ancestral blessings.
He tapped the desk, the soft rhythm of his fingers on the wood gradually calming him down.
After a while, he rubbed his head and sighed again.
It was hard. Doing business was really hard—especially when he refused to make shady money.
At the end of the day, he was just a merchant, so why was he even worrying about other people’s parenting?
Sigh…!
It was all because parents these days were unreliable.
Growing up in modern times, Xie Xingchen had certain deeply ingrained ideas—for example…
Milk tea is junk food. Kids shouldn’t drink too much of it.
The belief was irrational, yet stubbornly rooted.
So even though he knew the System’s milk tea was genuinely “healthy food,” seeing parents treat milk tea like a miraculous parenting tool still made him anxious.
Honestly, the only reason he could still sit here calmly was that he trusted the System and the department’s test reports. Otherwise, he would’ve already posted a Starblog warning parents not to give their kids milk tea.
Xie Xingchen sighed and changed the subject:
“System, when is Feifei coming back?”
He decided to stop thinking about milk tea. Out of sight, out of mind—he forcefully redirected his attention.
[System: Please explore on your own.]
Xie Xingchen blinked. “We’re already so familiar, and I still have to explore on my own?”
No little backdoor at all?
[System: The System is fair and impartial. It never opens backdoors.]
Xie Xingchen gave in. “Fine… forget it.”
With a melancholy rise, he left the office.
He couldn’t stay here anymore—he decided to go work in the flower fields.
He opened the gate of the grand residence, and golden leaves filled his vision.
The towering ginkgo shed leaves in the wind. The leaves swirled up and down, then drifted lightly to the ground, laying a golden cloak over the ancient bluestone street.
Standing at the doorway, he looked up. That huge ginkgo in the distance seemed even taller and straighter than yesterday.
Watching this massive tree that looked like it could grow just by drinking dew, Xie Xingchen couldn’t help marveling at the System’s magic again.
He reached out as if to touch the ginkgo from afar. After a moment, he lowered his hand and started to leave.
And at that exact moment—
A fat rabbit dropped straight down from the sky.
[Ding-dong, your bunny has returned from traveling! The travel-loving bunny seems to have gone very, very far this time~]
[Ding-dong, congratulations, player! Your beloved companion missed you and brought back lots of souvenirs along the way!]
[Ding-dong, congratulations! You received Bunny’s travel souvenirs—Rare Four-Leaf Clover ×1, Damascus Rose Seeds ×1 bag, Mysterious Planting Potion ×1]
[Rare Four-Leaf Clover: The rarest four-leaf clover of legend. Wear it and your travel luck will increase!]
[Damascus Rose Seeds: Seeds of a fragrant rose that Bunny really likes. It looks ordinary, but it’s actually vigorous and seems like it can survive as soon as it’s planted. Trust Bunny—plant this seed and you’ll harvest a fragrant, multi-purpose Damascus rose!]
[Mysterious Planting Potion: A magical planting potion. As long as a seed hasn’t completely died, it can revive it. If you use a single drop while planting, the seed can sprout and grow quickly!]
Holding the rabbit in one arm and clutching his pounding heart with the other, Xie Xingchen reflexively asked:
“Xiao Mo, when does the planting potion expire?”
System: ?
[System: If stored in the system space, it has no expiration date.]
Xie Xingchen: “And if I don’t store it in system space?”
[System: If not stored in system space, the potion’s shelf life is three years. After three years, its effectiveness halves; after another three years, it halves again… until it becomes completely ineffective.]
Xie Xingchen smiled.
[System: Would the player like to take out the Mysterious Planting Potion?]
Xie Xingchen shook his head repeatedly. “No. I’m keeping it in system space.”
This Mysterious Planting Potion was seriously a divine tool.
He’d already decided to use it only when it mattered most.
As for the Damascus rose seeds Bunny brought back this time…
Xie Xingchen stroked his chin, eyes fixed on the words “multi-purpose” in the system description, looking thoughtful.
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