Is Unlocking the Stellaris Tech Tree in Star Rail Really Okay? [133]

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“Old Chen, thirsty? Here, have some water.”

“I crunched the numbers—Old Chen, you were born to play Imperial Jade Tiles. Even as an early-access player, I have to admit defeat. How about I teach you some of my secret techniques?”

“Life is full of uncertainties. Just like how the Diviner confiscated the snacks hidden at my desk, but she didn’t know I had other goodies stashed elsewhere. Old Chen, later, let’s sneak over to my desk. I’ll treat you to something delicious.”

“By the way, who are you, Old Chen? Both the Diviner and the Chief of the Six Commissions are scrambling to meet you. You must be someone incredible, huh?”

As they walked toward the Divination Commission, Qingque chattered incessantly beside Chen Lin, while he remained silent, his gaze filled with intrigue as he observed the lively girl.

At first, Qingque had been a little flustered upon realizing that the guest she was supposed to receive was none other than the man she’d been playing cards with. But her natural boldness quickly took over. She brushed it off with remarks like “Life is short, so why have regrets?” and “How could I ignore a table in need of a fourth player?”

She was quite the character. Most people would be terrified if caught slacking off at work, but not Qingque. She called him “Old Chen” so cheerfully and familiarly, as if utterly unconcerned about him tattling to her superiors.

During the game, Chen Lin had already noticed something unusual about her. It seemed like she could tell what tiles were under each one without even flipping them over. Every time he used his psionics to cheat, he caught a fleeting look of confusion in her eyes, as if the tiles didn’t match what she had expected.

For most people, Imperial Jade Tiles was a casual game, but delve deeper, and it bordered on gambling. And where there’s gambling, there’s often cheating.

Back in Chen Lin’s pre-ascension days, he’d occasionally come across news articles like “Man Loses Millions in Underground Casino” or warnings from anti-gambling organizations showcasing master cheats who could rig games effortlessly. Despite these warnings, gambling continued to ruin families worldwide.

It was no surprise, then, that Qingque was suspicious of his seemingly endless streak of wins.

But Chen Lin also noticed something else: Qingque’s work attitude—or lack thereof. During their card game, she’d shared plenty of bold, defeatist philosophies like “The three golden rules of work: Don’t volunteer, don’t refuse, don’t take responsibility,” or “Why exhaust yourself? Whether you’re busy or idle, the paycheck’s the same.”

She even suspected her coworkers of ratting her out every time she got caught slacking off, claiming she was always nabbed when sneaking a break near her desk.

Hearing all this, Chen Lin couldn’t help but wonder what Qingque was trying to achieve. She’d somehow secured a public service position in the prestigious Divination Commission, yet she seemed more focused on avoiding work than excelling at it.

“Xianzhou values talent,” Chen Lin remarked slyly. “And as one of the Six Commissions, the Divination Commission must treasure its employees. Qingque, you don’t need to thank me. I’ve won plenty of snacks from you, so I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the Diviner. Who knows? With my recommendation, you might get promoted to an even better position!”

“Old Chen, stop ruining my life!!” Qingque’s face flushed, not with embarrassment but with frustration at his “kind” words.

She stomped her foot in protest, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “Please, for the sake of our camaraderie, I’m begging you—don’t say anything nice about me!”

“Everyone else dreams of promotions and pay raises. Why are you the opposite?” Chen Lin asked, raising an eyebrow.

The Divination Commission was one of the Six Commissions of the Xianzhou, and getting a job there wasn’t easy. Employees were expected to be talented and ambitious, with most dreaming of climbing the ranks.

While Chen Lin had encountered his share of slackers in the past, most of them either lacked connections, competence, or social skills and had given up out of necessity. But Qingque? Her emotional intelligence was clearly high. As they walked through the streets, plenty of people greeted her warmly, suggesting she had excellent interpersonal skills.

Even her card-playing prowess hinted at intelligence. If not for Chen Lin’s psionic cheating, she likely would’ve dominated the game.

Yet despite all this potential, she seemed content with coasting through life, seeking the easiest jobs she could find.

Qingque sighed dramatically and slumped her shoulders. “I never wanted this job in the first place. When I graduated, my family insisted I take the civil service exam. But once I got in, I realized that this so-called ‘iron rice bowl’ was as bland as plain porridge.”

“Go on.”

“The Divination Commission handles intelligence gathering, analysis, and data modeling. We process massive amounts of information, sort it into usable formats, and apply it to governance and strategy…” Qingque’s pupils seemed to quake as she clutched Chen Lin’s sleeve. “It’s a nightmare! A soul-crushing sea of monotony! It’s no place for people like me!”

She continued, “Back when I was still in school, my professor would always say, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ Now I get what he meant. He wasn’t encouraging us to grow—he was warning us that if we let ourselves be crushed by work, we’d become nothing but mindless tools!”

Chen Lin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what your professor meant…”

“It absolutely was!” Qingque insisted, her grip tightening. “The Divination Commission uses jade matrixes to calculate Xianzhou’s routes, manage diplomacy, and predict events. It’s all about processing and preserving information for future use.”

“That doesn’t sound too complicated,” Chen Lin mused. “What’s your current role?”

“I’m a Diviner,” Qingque said proudly. “It took a lot of effort, but I finally escaped the Analysis and Sorting Departments and got reassigned to the Archives. All I have to do now is manage books.”

Chen Lin, having worked in different sectors before, understood her reasoning. Within the same rank, some positions were mind-numbingly tedious while others were endlessly demanding. Managing books was definitely one of the former.

Qingque grinned smugly. “Let me tell you, Old Chen, this was a masterstroke. The Divination Commission has four main roles, but there are plenty of smaller ones too. The most exhausting is the Strategist, who handles military and political calculations. Then there’s the Scribe, who spends endless hours gathering and documenting information. Archivists like me have to sort and store records, which is also pretty bad. But Diviners? We just interpret the jade matrices and predict outcomes. It’s straightforward and low-pressure.”

Her pride was palpable. “Our department strictly adheres to a nine-to-five schedule. As long as I’m in the Diviner role, the moment the clock strikes five, everyone finishes simultaneously. No one can keep us late! Sure, I’ve bounced around a few roles, but I always stick with the easiest ones the longest. Even my coworkers are envious!”

Chen Lin thought back to his own early work experiences. If he’d tried Qingque’s tactics, he probably would’ve been stuck on the sidelines forever—or worse, fired.

Some departments, especially design teams, were so competitive it was suffocating. He’d once worked in one where employees would start before dawn and leave long after sunset, all for a slim chance of being reassigned somewhere less grueling.

Later, in research roles with ample funding and no rush for results, he’d enjoyed a more relaxed pace. Still, the moment their project made significant progress, the workload surged, and overtime became unavoidable.

Chen Lin had learned one universal truth about workplace dynamics: as long as no one started a “race to the bottom,” the atmosphere remained pleasant. But the moment a single overachiever emerged, the workplace turned into a pressure cooker.

Early in his career, Chen Lin had been overly enthusiastic, going above and beyond with every task. The result? An endless pile of work that left him gasping for air.
From that moment onward, Chen Lin began reflecting deeply on himself.

Life back on his home planet was quite unlike the Xianzhou. While higher positions in the Xianzhou often came with more responsibilities, on his home planet, the higher your position, the more leisurely your work tended to become. Naturally, Chen Lin had kept striving for promotions and pay raises, knowing he had to work his way up.

Perhaps it was his talent shining through, but with just three hours of overtime a day, his team completed a project initially scheduled for four months in under three. The remaining time was given to them as vacation, provided the deliverables were flawless.

Luck seemed to favor him too—his direct superior had noticed his capabilities and was grooming him to become a successor.

Just when his days of slacking off as a manager were within reach, though, he transmigrated.

“Would you turn the lazy Susan for your boss?” Chen Lin suddenly asked.

Qingque blinked and replied smoothly, “If the boss is ready to play, I’m going for the win myself!”

“What if the boss offers a toast and you refuse?”

“If the boss works overtime, I clock out!”

Could she actually be a genius? Chen Lin thought, glancing at Qingque, who was twirling an Imperial Jade Tiles piece absentmindedly in her fingers.

“You’re pretty sharp for a... fellow slacker,” Qingque remarked, smirking.

“I like to think I’m quite responsible,” Chen Lin replied, smiling faintly. “But back in the day, I always preferred sitting over standing, lying down over sitting, and living for the present without worrying about tomorrow. I get where you’re coming from.”

When he hadn’t yet secured his spot in graduate school, Chen Lin had worked harder than anyone. But once he was in, he slacked off just as diligently. Who wouldn’t, if the alternative meant breaking your back for a meager paycheck, doing the work of several people for barely enough to scrape by?

Especially when no matter how hard you worked, the pile of tasks never seemed to end.

“Say no more, I understand! Oh, do I understand!” Qingque stood on tiptoes to pat Chen Lin’s shoulder with some difficulty, her grin wide. “Why make things harder for each other, huh? If you promise not to put in a good word for me with the Diviner, I’ll take care of whatever you need in return.”

“I was just teasing you. Do you think an outsider like me could actually have the power to recommend you for a promotion?” Chen Lin chuckled.

“Hey! Don’t try to fool me.” Qingque pouted. “I’ve never heard of any outsider meeting with the General in the morning and receiving invitations from both the Diviner and the Chief of the Six Commissions to discuss important matters in the afternoon.”

Chen Lin raised an eyebrow. “We’ve played cards together—why would I lie to you?”

“Tch—” Qingque sneered. “If you weren’t someone important, my superiors wouldn’t be bending over backward to accommodate your schedule. They’re clearly afraid you’ll refuse them.”

There was no exaggerating it—Qingque might just be the youngest person Chen Lin had met who could see through people and situations so clearly.

The Xianzhou people, with their long lifespans, experienced life far differently than mortals could.

Chen Lin understood this well.

It was like the ancient sayings: The morning mushroom knows not of dusk, and the cicada knows not of spring and autumn. Lifespan shaped one’s perspective on the world.

Eighteen years was adulthood for humans, but could cats and dogs comprehend such a lengthy milestone? Of course not.

By comparison, the Xianzhou considered 200 years to be the start of adulthood, with most spending their formative years in school. Judging by Qingque’s remarks about her relatively recent graduation, she hadn’t been in the Divination Commission for long.

It stood to reason that in human terms, Qingque might actually be Chen Lin’s peer—or even younger.

No wonder she came across as such a prodigy.

“Fine, fine, I won’t throw you under the bus. Happy now?”

“I knew you weren’t the kind of person the Diviner would be!” Qingque laughed cheekily.

“By the way, is the Diviner very old?” Chen Lin asked, genuinely curious.

Qingque always referred to the Diviner as “the elder.” Could the Divination Commission’s head really be an elderly figure?

“Not really, hahaha…” Qingque scratched her head. “She’s only a little older than me, though her height is... less than ideal. But her skills? Absolutely top-notch! I just call her ‘elder’ as a sign of respect. That’s all, honest!”

Chen Lin: “...”

Respectfully calling her an elder? Bold move, Qingque.

“Anyway,” Qingque pressed, “what kind of work do you do, Old Chen? Can you talk about it? If not, that’s fine too.”

“It’s no big secret,” Chen Lin replied. “I’m in charge of managing human resources, adapting to military restructuring, tracking technological advancements, integrating tech for efficiency, and developing a system that unifies policy, data, and archives under one framework.”

“...Huh?”

Qingque’s brows furrowed, then relaxed as she summarized, “So... you’re management?”

“A small-time official. Nothing impressive,” Chen Lin said with a dismissive wave.

“What’s your position? Maybe we have something in common!” Qingque asked enthusiastically.

“Imperial Sector Governor. Or to put it simply, one of the leaders of my nation.”

Qingque: “?”

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T/N: they would make a cute couple

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!