To be honest, during her tenure as the Luofu Master Diviner, Fu Xuan hadn’t accomplished many feats that could truly sway the situation. Most of her responsibilities involved auxiliary duties. Even though Jing Yuan had promised to recommend her as the next General of the Luofu, she still needed some tangible achievements to gain widespread acceptance.
For many people, individual capability mattered less than appearances. The extent of one’s accomplishments often dictated whether others were willing to follow their lead.
The position of General was particularly significant. Jing Yuan had managed to secure his role not just because of his unique insight into interpersonal relationships but also due to his unparalleled achievements over the centuries. The name “Five Scions of Cloudtop” remained widely revered to this day.
Fu Xuan was well aware that the role of General was no easy seat. However, to mend the regret of her past helplessness and break free from the nightmare that had haunted her for centuries, she had no choice but to climb higher.
“I cannot leave—not now. Without me, the Luofu will face increasingly troublesome issues.”
After a few moments of contemplation, Fu Xuan shook her head. “While there are promising candidates within the Divination Commission, the one I’ve had my eye on squanders her talent daily. Though she possesses extraordinary aptitude and ability, she drifts through her days aimlessly. Transforming her mindset won’t be easy.”
Jing Yuan observed her frustrated expression for a moment, as if assessing something. Then, he smiled faintly.
“Qingque—is it this young woman?”
He remembered the name well, especially since his current visit was partly related to her.
Fu Xuan let out a sigh, her eyes filled with exasperation. “Yes, I’ve long wanted to promote her. Unfortunately, I can’t find a suitable justification. There’s even a faction within the Divination Commission known as the ‘Qingque Sect,’ whose members spend their workdays focused on when they can leave. Recently, I even heard rumors of this faction singing idle chants so often that even the diviners are on the verge of being influenced.”
Jing Yuan recalled that the young woman from the Divination Commission seemed to get along well with Chen Lin. Earlier today, he’d received a report from the Astral Express team stating that Qingque was unable to return home due to the blockade along the trade routes. With most inns fully booked, she had temporarily been taken in by Chen Lin and the train crew.
The report Fu Xuan had submitted earlier mentioned that she had assigned Qingque to welcome Chen Lin. If Chen Lin was now willing to let her stay at the inn, perhaps the two had become friends?
At this level, one’s words and actions seldom lacked purpose. Determining whether someone was considered a friend was usually quite evident.
Chen Lin wouldn’t randomly befriend someone. Even the difference between casual acquaintances and lending a helping hand carries distinct implications.
It seemed Chen Lin had discovered a unique quality in this young woman. Her character must have also been verified to some extent, which would explain his willingness to help her.
Jing Yuan had reviewed Qingque’s profile before. After all, Fu Xuan’s weekly and monthly reports almost always mentioned her name. Fu Xuan was often vexed by Qingque’s penchant for idling.
Why would a Master Diviner take such an unusual interest in a low-level diviner? To the extent of monitoring her actions through divination?
This was certainly out of the ordinary.
When Jing Yuan initially reviewed Qingque’s life records, he couldn’t help but find them amusing.
Over a century of academic study and practical training, Qingque consistently maintained her exam scores precisely at the passing threshold—never a point higher or lower, even under scrutiny.
Such precision demanded exceptional control over one’s scoring ability, requiring an understanding of exactly how to answer and act to stay within a narrow range.
And remarkably, Qingque didn’t have a range—she only had a singular score!
Her schoolteachers’ evaluations described her behavior as infuriating. By the time she graduated, no one could determine exactly what Qingque had learned—or failed to learn. It became one of the greatest regrets of their teaching careers.
That wasn’t to say Qingque couldn’t achieve anything beyond passing. When she applied to the Divination Commission, she ranked second, her combined theoretical and practical scores falling short of the top spot by just one point.
Jing Yuan, ever considerate of others’ emotions, gently suggested, “Perhaps the approach to guiding and mentoring her is the issue?”
Fu Xuan sounded confused. “What’s wrong with my approach? I supervise her whenever I can, trying every method to correct her unhealthy mindset…”
Under Jing Yuan’s amused gaze, the intelligent yet occasionally narrow-minded Master Diviner suddenly froze mid-sentence. Her expression stiffened.
Jing Yuan nodded knowingly. “Exactly. You need to give her more time to slack off. Once she suddenly finds her motivation, the problem will resolve itself.”
Fu Xuan’s face darkened.
“The Six Commissions have always enjoyed excellent benefits, especially the Divination Commission.”
“Indeed. But what if those benefits aren’t what she wants?”
Jing Yuan nodded slightly, a hint of regret in his tone. “The more you try to discipline her, the more she rebels. It might be better to let her have her way. Besides, how can you be certain she hasn’t been learning or improving her skills?”
“If napping at her desk and playing cards during work hours count as skill-building, I could easily find thousands of people who qualify.”
“Then by all means, continue. You’ll not only trouble yourself but also hinder the growth of the talent you’ve identified. Surely someone as astute as you has a solution, right?” Jing Yuan replied with a sly smile.
“?”
Fu Xuan shot him a peculiar look, folding her arms. “If you have a plan, just say it. How could I fault you for that? If it can awaken this potential or pave a path for her, I’m willing to act on it.”
Jing Yuan nodded in satisfaction, clasping his hands behind his back. “If she enjoys idleness, then a diplomatic role suits her temperament. The position alternates between extreme leisure and high-intensity work.”
Fu Xuan frowned slightly, then relaxed. “Periods of calm followed by bursts of chaos?”
“Precisely. Moreover, this young woman seems to have a good rapport with Chen Lin. If it’s for a friend, she’s unlikely to drag her feet. Assigning her to Belobog on Jarilo-VI, where divination techniques could be integrated, might just fulfill the training you have in mind. Diplomacy is critical work, and maintaining relations with the empire is an achievement in itself. Her resume would then be impeccable, giving you the justification for her promotion.”
Fu Xuan hesitated, her gaze turning contemplative. She stared at Jing Yuan for a long time, even longer than when he had initially contacted her. The atmosphere within the Star Skiff grew tense.
Seeing Fu Xuan remain silent, Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so reluctant to let go of this “seed,” suggesting she might be an extraordinary talent.
Succession planning was something Jing Yuan couldn’t interfere with too heavily. Still, to reach the rank of a Commission Leader, mediocrity wouldn’t suffice.
Fu Xuan took a long sip of her “Immortal Delight Tea,” exhaling its fragrant steam. “Fine. As you said, I divined the matter just now, and the prospects are promising.”
So, she had been performing divination during her pause.
“Very well. I’ll consult Chen Lin about this later. He shouldn’t have any objections.”
Jing Yuan’s hologram flickered a few times before disappearing.
Fu Xuan, now alone in the Star Skiff, continued sipping her sugary tea. The drink’s high sugar content helped quicken her thoughts and soothe her mood.
Her golden eyes turned to the bustling Star Skiffs outside her window. The scene was even busier than before the Stellarons appeared. Nearby, Cloud Knights’ escort vessels moved back and forth. These goods were stabilizing the Luofu’s internal affairs. Yet, Fu Xuan couldn’t help but wonder how the empire managed to transport such vast quantities of supplies—and just how advanced its agriculture must be…
—
Amidst the bone-chilling wind and snow, a sprawling, springlike farm thrived. Inside, countless machines worked tirelessly under the supervision of a few Silvermane Guards, their imposing presence ensuring that the operation ran with machine-like precision.
Anyone bold enough to slack off or mutter a complaint like, “It’s so cold,” would immediately pay the price—becoming nothing more than a lifeless corpse sprawled on the ground. This brutal method of “motivation” ensured the pirates’ work efficiency remained sky-high.
The pirates’ eyes were hollow, their spirits broken. Despite there being hundreds of them, no one dared to resist the mere handful of Silvermane Guards.
To these workers, the Silvermane Guards were monsters. A single glare from one could snap their limbs, and during even the briefest whispers of rebellion, slaves would suddenly turn on their comrades as if under a mysterious control.
Recently, the Silvermane Guards had introduced a device that emitted strange beams, said to read thoughts and reprogram minds. Those who once harbored defiance became docile as kittens within moments.
The remaining workers had become mindless machines of flesh, their only purpose to toil. Even in the freezing wilderness, with nothing but snow and ice around them, no one dared to revolt.
Countless slaves perished from hunger, exposure, or exhaustion.
These enslaved workers were primarily interstellar pirates captured by the fleet, now subjected to backbreaking labor with a mortality rate just shy of genocidal. Some labored endlessly in farms and mines, while others were forced to explore and develop the desolate wilderness.
Escape was futile. Anyone attempting it would be swiftly hunted down and executed. No one knew how the Silvermane Guards could track every individual’s movements or the full extent of their terrifying powers.
Out of the tens of thousands of pirates sent to Jarilo-VI for “reeducation” not long ago, fewer than seventy thousand remained.
The overseers of the camps claimed that freedom was possible. All it took was fifty years of hard work, and their status as slaves could be erased. Some could even become citizens of the Empire!
The Empire is so merciful!
Motivated by this faint glimmer of hope, the pirates pushed themselves harder—only to collapse for various reasons and be dragged away to power the generators…
This was the fate of anyone foolish enough to intercept cargo ships destined for Jarilo-VI. No exceptions.
—
Far from Jarilo-VI, in the emptiness of space, faint ripples broke the stillness. Within moments, a fleet of destroyers and frigates materialized near an L-gate, emerging from cloaked invisibility.
At the fleet’s center was a heavily armed research ship, its hull bristling with weaponry. The surrounding ships adopted a defensive formation, their vigilance palpable as they guarded the research vessel.
Inside, a young girl was busy tinkering with a massive, rectangular machine over ten meters long and wide. From time to time, she would climb into the machine’s interior, disappearing for a while before emerging again.
Her small, fair hands were stained with thick, black grease, but she paid it no mind as she meticulously inspected every component to ensure everything was in working order.
Whenever she encountered an issue, her delicate eyebrows would knit together before she tapped the communicator clipped to her ear.
“Sister Serval, I found some wear on the internal lenses of the scanner’s viewer. It might affect data collection. Could you send over some DK-45 sample materials?”
“Got it,” came the swift reply.
Not long after, robots from the engineering ship connected to the research vessel delivered crates of soil and rocks. Without much intervention, these materials began to desaturate and meld together, transforming into a transparent sheet of glass composed of various metallic elements.
This specialized glass, with unparalleled light transmission and color fidelity, was Clara and Serval’s latest invention, painstakingly developed through countless lab experiments. It was the ideal material for scanner production.
After replacing the worn lenses and conducting a thorough recheck of the enormous machine’s internal components, Clara climbed out, satisfied that no further issues remained.
Her soft, pale face was streaked with grease, but a radiant smile lit her features. Yet, as her gaze drifted to the enormous L-gate outside the window, her expression turned uneasy.
Even though the massive device she had painstakingly worked on for over a week was finally ready, Clara couldn’t shake the nagging doubt: Will this really help everyone? If it failed, they would have to rethink their approach, which would mean even more time spent researching the gate.
Ever since the fleet discovered the L-gate, Clara and Serval had spent endless hours here, refining their data and attempting to decipher its purpose.
When Chen Lin returned, he found the two of them still in the workshop, dark circles under their eyes, utterly consumed by their work.
After a quick shower to wash off the grime, Clara emerged from the bathroom, still deep in thought—only to bump headfirst into something soft and bouncy.
“Ah! Oh? Sister Serval, what are you doing here?” Clara asked, rubbing her reddened forehead in confusion.
Serval, now dressed in a more mature and sophisticated outfit—her signature rocker look and heavy makeup completely gone—smiled gently.
“The external framework is in place. It’s time for our chief engineer to oversee the final installation of the scanner,” Serval said.
—
This is a fan translation of 在星穹铁道点群星科技树真的没问题吗? by 杏雨诗韵 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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