To say he wasn’t shocked would be a lie.
Chen Lin sat there, stunned, speechless for a long time as he processed the findings of the Interstellar Peace Corporation’s authoritative investigative report.
Another anomaly…
Another event that had no place in the expected course of the game!
Ever since the L-Gate was discovered in the Jarilo star system, Chen Lin had formulated his own plans. He had never attempted to conceal its existence—there was no point. The L-Gate was larger than most asteroids, making it virtually impossible to keep hidden. In any case, it was within his nation’s borders. Any foreign power trying to approach it without informing Jarilo would have to be either reckless or brainless.
He had already issued orders: the L-Gate was of paramount importance to Jarilo. A formidable defensive perimeter had been established around it, with most of the fleet stationed nearby. If any unauthorized vessel breached the perimeter, patrol ships were authorized to issue a warning. Should the trespassers persist despite the warning, Jarilo would have full justification to engage and destroy them in self-defense.
This was the fundamental principle of interstellar sovereignty: anything within a nation’s borders—regardless of what it was—belonged to that nation. Other factions were required to follow local policies when operating within another nation’s territory. Failure to comply could lead to expulsion at best or armed retaliation at worst.
Time had passed, and by now, the Peace Corporation had likely observed the existence of the mysterious gateway in Jarilo’s star system. They probably didn’t know what it was, but since it hadn’t affected their business, they had left it alone. Besides, the sheer magnitude of the planetary-scale environmental transformation he had orchestrated had been enough to intimidate any opportunistic interlopers. As a result, no faction had yet attempted to contact the Belobog government about it.
Everyone was watching, waiting.
Except for Luofu—the first to take the plunge.
Chen Lin’s plan had been straightforward: develop the necessary weapons and equipment, stockpile essential resources, and ensure a balance between supply and demand. Then, once everything was in place, he would open the L-Gate and seize ownership before anyone else could react.
It didn’t matter if what lay beyond the gate was friend or foe—this legendary “ocean view” that players revered had to be secured at the fastest possible speed.
If the situation was favorable, he could use it as a launching point for conquest. If it was hostile, he could fortify his position and bide his time.
The L-Gate was one of the rarest and most defensible locations in the galaxy. Based on his experience, whatever lay inside would be immensely valuable. If he could claim it, it would be an undeniable victory.
But he had made a grave miscalculation.
He had forgotten that there wasn’t just one L-Gate in the game!
—
Chen Lin exhaled deeply after reading the full report, his expression grave as he turned to Himeko.
“Himeko, I think I know what this is… According to what I remember, the Imperial Archives contain records from tens of millions of years ago—records that document a catastrophe just like this one.”
“Seriously?!”
“Nanorobots.”
Resting his chin on his hand, Chen Lin’s gaze seemed to drift into ancient recollections. “The Empire’s records describe them as nanomachines developed by a highly advanced civilization. But one day, these nanomachines went rogue, turning against their creators and wiping them out. To prevent the disaster from spreading to other planets, the civilization used their unique technology to create a sealed space, permanently maintaining its energy loop to keep the gateway shut. The report mentioned that the observed nanounits aren’t purely mechanical—they have biological and mechanical components, meaning they’re nano-lifeforms. Structurally, they may differ from the ones in the records, but at their core, they might not be all that different.”
Himeko was taken aback.
She had always known that Chen Lin carried an exceptionally heavy past. His people had ventured into the stars to establish colonies and search for their lost homeland. But his memory was erratic—sometimes, he possessed knowledge far beyond this era; other times, he lacked even the most basic common sense.
Since boarding the Express, he had gradually recalled his mission. That had led to the formation of the Belobog government under the banner of the enigmatic Empire he now served. Their planet-altering technology was so advanced that no one could deny their power. It was clear that the Empire had existed far longer than any known civilization.
And if their history was ancient enough, then their knowledge, technology, culture, and even their understanding of the universe would be unmatched.
So if Chen Lin said this was an ancient catastrophe recorded in Imperial history, Himeko had no reason to doubt him.
“Since the disaster was recorded, do you remember how it ended?”
“Back then, the Empire was still in its developmental stage—far more advanced than present-day Jarilo, but not yet at its peak. There were 45 major civilizations in its sphere of influence, along with numerous vassal states. The technological disparity among them was immense.
By the end of the catastrophe, only seven of those civilizations remained.”
—
In the game, opening an L-Gate could lead to four possible outcomes.
The most common was a mid-game crisis known as the Gray Tempest.
Another possibility was an L-Drake, a creature that could be tamed as a pet or slain for rare technology.
A third scenario involved an AI civilization of nanomachines. They would remain dormant unless provoked, at which point they would retaliate with terrifying force.
And the fourth…
The Gray Goo.
—
Chen Lin recalled a past game session where a foolish AI-controlled faction had rushed to open an L-Gate early on, only to unleash a Gray Tempest that nearly wiped the entire galaxy.
To put it bluntly, the Gray Tempest was a newbie-killer.
Its spawn rate was insanely high, and it always seemed to appear when players were still learning the ropes—still busy forming alliances, waging small-scale wars, or struggling with economic deficits. Then, out of nowhere, an armada of nanite warships would descend upon the galaxy, obliterating everything in its path. Most new players wouldn’t last long before they were completely annihilated.
Sometimes, even Chen Lin found it hard to believe in his own experience.
After all, encountering something from a game in real life was an entirely different matter.
Especially since the L-Gate hadn’t even been opened yet—so why was it already unstable? And why were nanomachines leaking out?!
Seriously, could someone tell him what the hell was going on?!
He had the sudden urge to open a forum post—
“Hey guys, does a thousand hours of playtime make me a noob? Because I swear I’ve never seen an event like this before…”
Welt was momentarily stunned.
He had just put down his newspaper and was quietly enjoying his tea, not paying much attention to the reports about disrupted interstellar navigation. Having traveled the cosmos for so long, he had encountered similar issues multiple times before. He had assumed this would be no different—just another temporary crisis that would be resolved before long, allowing the Express to resume its planned course.
But when he heard that dozens of civilizations had been wiped out, leaving only seven survivors, a deep sense of unease settled over him.
“If this really is a catastrophe of that magnitude, we need to alert everyone and start making preparations immediately! In a crisis like this, someone might even attempt to call upon a Emanator for aid. That might be the only way to stop this disaster—”
“Emanators…”
Chen Lin’s eyes widened in realization.
Of course! This universe had literal gods walking among the stars!
It was just like those mods in certain strategy games where players could request divine intervention through special events or policies. These interventions could drastically accelerate a nation’s development, providing an abundance of resources.
But the cost?
The cost was disasters ramping up to nightmarish levels.
Whether it was a Great Khan awakening and rampaging across the galaxy like some art school graduate reclaiming his masterpiece, or a doomsday crisis obliterating fleets that weren’t armed with high-end tech—if the player wasn’t prepared, their main battle fleet would shatter on first contact.
Damn it, no wonder this universe’s major historical events always started off with such apocalyptic intensity.
Not only do the Emanators refuse to help me, but they’re actively making things harder!
—
By the time Chen Lin snapped back to reality, Welt and Himeko were already discussing whether they should inform the Peace Corporation.
He waited for them to finish talking before finally speaking.
“That’s why I’m requesting leave from the Express. There’s an urgent matter I need to handle in Jarilo. I might be gone for quite a while.”
Originally, he had felt a bit of pressure—if he opened the L-Gate and ended up unleashing some kind of horrific enemy, he would be the one responsible for turning Jarilo into a galactic pariah.
But now?
With these nanomachines—no, nano-lifeforms—already leaking out, whether or not he opened the gate made little difference. The crisis was unfolding regardless.
“Permission granted, Pom approves Pom!”
At some point, Pom-Pom had appeared behind him, the little conductor cheerfully granting his request without hesitation.
“We won’t object either,” Himeko added with a smile. “Little Lin, what exactly are you going back to Jarilo for? If it’s confidential, you don’t have to tell us.”
Chen Lin’s gaze was resolute. He didn’t hesitate.
“Preparation for war.”
—
Outside the Port, Near the Railings
Fu Xuan stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the railing. Her expression was neutral, but her mind was elsewhere.
Now that she had been temporarily entrusted with the role of acting General, a tremendous weight rested on her shoulders. Saying it wasn’t exhausting would be a lie.
Over time, she had grown more adept at handling the various responsibilities of Luofu. Even those officials who had once doubted her were now forced to acknowledge her competence.
Military, economics, politics—she had grown immensely in all these fields. The shallow ambitions she once entertained now seemed laughable in retrospect.
Otherwise, what had she been doing all this time as acting General?
And as for the real General…
Fu Xuan shot a glance at Jing Yuan, who was casually teasing a skill bird nearby.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead.
He seems happier than I am…
It wasn’t until they heard approaching footsteps behind them that both turned to look.
“Ah, little brother, you’re here. How did it go?”
“The conductor approved it. I need to return to Jarilo to oversee military preparations and other logistical matters.”
Chen Lin wasted no time in relaying the critical information he had uncovered.
This was no trivial matter—if things spiraled out of control, this could turn into a galaxy-wide war. And Luofu, as an ally and a civilization that reminded him of his homeland, deserved to be warned.
Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan had clearly already heard something about this issue, but without conducting their own investigations, they lacked the level of detail the Peace Corporation had uncovered.
Up until now, they had dismissed it as a mere natural phenomenon.
But as Chen Lin explained, their expressions darkened.
“One crisis after another… these disasters never stop coming,” Jing Yuan muttered before taking a step forward. “The Alliance will formally request intelligence-sharing with the Peace Corporation. If the Express’s report is accurate, then this is far worse than the Jianmu-Stellaron crisis!”
“Better to be safe than sorry,” Fu Xuan added. “The report claims it doesn’t affect organic life, but I highly doubt it’s that simple. We should be cautious with any direct contact.”
Jing Yuan turned to her.
“In that case, Fu Xuan, you’ll have to put in some extra hours. Before this disaster escalates, we need to ensure that diplomatic channels between our nations remain open, despite the disruptions in interstellar routes. The embassy must be established without delay.”
“As if I ever have a day off…” Fu Xuan grumbled, then nodded. “I’ve already selected the personnel. We’re just waiting for final approval from the Marshal and the Ten Lords. Representatives from all six Commissions have been chosen. Using jade talisman technology as a foundation, we’ve set up secure communication channels—it should be reliable.”
The personnel list had been decided by all three of them. The embassy staff were all top talents from various Commissions, well-versed in diplomacy. Since no immigration policies had been formalized yet, a single embassy in the capital would be enough for now. Expansion could be discussed later—it wasn’t an urgent matter.
“I’ll make sure our people are dispatched as soon as possible,” Chen Lin assured them. “We’ll stay in touch.”
Fu Xuan immediately picked up on the implication.
“Wait—you’re leaving now?”
Chen Lin nodded.
“Jarilo’s military forces are still too weak. I need to oversee their preparations personally. Also, the investigation into these nano-lifeforms needs to begin immediately. If I’m there, I can make sure things get handled properly.”
Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan exchanged glances before Fu Xuan spoke up.
“Then I’ll arrange an escort fleet for you. The Sky-Faring Division just finished refitting several armed starships—they can provide long-range protec—”
“Uh, that won’t be necessary. My brother knows why.”
Seriously, what kind of governor still uses a transport fleet to return home?
Jing Yuan chuckled.
“That’s true. Your Empire’s technology is beyond anything the Xianzhou Alliance could even dream of.”
Fu Xuan frowned in confusion.
“Wait—what are you two talking about?”
Chen Lin simply pointed toward the anchor point that the Express crew had set up nearby.
“As long as I’m still a passenger on the Express, I can travel between Xianzhou and Jarilo through this.”
Fu Xuan opened her mouth to say something, but before she could speak—
With a flash, Chen Lin vanished on the spot.
She stared at the empty space where he had stood just a second ago, utterly dumbfounded.
“…Huh?”
Jing Yuan, meanwhile, glanced at the object Fu Xuan had been hiding behind her back.
Then, unable to hold it in any longer, he burst into laughter.
“Jing Yuan!! You knew and didn’t tell me, didn’t you?!”
—
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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