Chapter 45: To Build Wealth, Build Roads First
After wrapping up her discussion with the fawn and the deer mother, Su Wudeng escorted them out. Before they left, she handed them a generous portion of roasted pine nuts as a reward for their hard work. Of course, it also doubled as a sampler for the rest of their herd.
Nana was the most excited of the two. She looked up at Su Wudeng and gave her absolute word. “Don’t worry, Sister! Doudou is going to love these. Once she tries them, she’ll definitely come back with me tomorrow!”
“Alright, then I wish our little deer a safe journey home~”
Su Wudeng watched the two deer bound back into the treeline. She couldn’t help but realize that if the rest of the herd actually showed up, her current stock of pine nuts wouldn’t last a day. She would have to talk to Bengbeng about securing a much larger supply, but the sheer volume a whole herd would consume was no joke.
She wasn’t entirely optimistic about the squirrel’s cooperation. After all, Bengbeng seemed fiercely protective of his territory and his personal stores.
“Oh well. I’ll iron out the details with him next time. If he doesn’t want to part with his own stash, maybe he can introduce me to some other squirrel colonies for trade.”
With that thought in mind, she turned and headed back to the pet center.
Coincidentally, Professor Yang had just walked through the front doors, returning from the research branch. Today was the day the advanced equipment and laboratory instruments from headquarters were scheduled to arrive, and he had been tasked with inspecting and signing off on the shipment. Fortunately, everything had gone off without a hitch.
He hadn’t expected to run into the planetary governor the second he stepped inside. His eyes lit up, and he quickly walked over, peering over her shoulder. “Ah, Governor Su, you’re back!”
When he didn’t see the specific companion he was looking for, his expression fell into an embarrassed pout. “Wait… Governor, you didn’t bring the little fawn, Nana, back with you?”
God knew how ecstatic he had been when he saw the Lingnai Deer appear on the live broadcast. They were one of the most vital keystone species capable of completely revitalizing a dead planet’s biosphere.
The Lingnai Deer.
They could transform a barren wasteland into a lush grassland almost overnight. And once a stable grassland was established, the ecosystem could naturally evolve into forests and support diverse biomes. In terms of raw combat power or rarity tiers, the Lingnai Deer might not rank among the galactic elite, but their environmental utility was absolutely unmatched by any other pet in existence.
“Oh, Professor Yang, you just missed them,” Su Wudeng replied. “Nana and her mother just left.”
“By just a few minutes, actually.”
“But they’ll be back tomorrow. They’ve agreed to help us restore the wasteland. Right now, they’re heading back to their valley to see if any other members of their herd want to join the workforce.”
Su Wudeng felt a slight pang of regret. The Lingnai Deer clan was incredibly reclusive and suspicious by nature. If they weren’t so easily startled, she would have loved to accompany them back to their valley to pitch the job offer herself. For now, she could only cross her fingers and hope Nana and Nuannuan were persuasive enough.
“What?!” Professor Yang choked, entirely derailed.
Did his ears deceive him?
The Lingnai Deer were willing to perform ecological restoration for their barren rock of a planet? He understood every single word she had just spoken, but putting them together in that sentence sounded completely absurd. He was still processing the fact that the species even existed on this world, and the governor had already skipped straight ahead to signing them to a labor contract!
How on earth had she pulled it off? How do you convince a wild Lingnai Deer to work a shift? They were notoriously skittish, and spotting one in the wild was hard enough, let alone negotiating a corporate partnership with them.
“Gov—Governor Su, are you pulling my leg?” Professor Yang asked, his voice laced with profound skepticism. He genuinely wondered if he had fallen asleep at his desk.
Recognizing his disbelief, Su Wudeng tapped her smart glasses and pulled up the real-time telemetry data from the experimental plot they had visited.
“See for yourself, Professor Yang. I wouldn’t joke about this. This is the terrain profile after Nana and her mother finished their trial run today.”
A holographic projection bloomed between them, rendering a vivid, emerald-green meadow with thick blades of Greenwind Grass swaying elegantly in a simulated breeze. The rendering was crisp, hyper-realistic, and utterly undeniable.
Professor Yang rubbed his eyes vigorously, staring at the green oasis. The sheer vitality of the display brought a sudden prickle of tears to his eyes.
“Incredible… it really is the magic of the Lingnai Deer!”
The species possessed the rare dual affinities for accelerated growth and cellular restoration. Prior to this afternoon, that particular testing sector hadn’t hosted a single cell of plant life. Now, it was a thriving meadow braving the elements.
“Governor, how did you manage this?” Professor Yang asked, his voice trembling with excitement. “What kind of exorbitant premium did you have to pay to secure a contract with them?”
He was dying to know. What asset could a human possibly offer that would move a wild Lingnai Deer?
Su Wudeng tilted her head, thinking it over. “Three square meals a day? They seemed really big on my dry-roasted chestnuts and pine nuts. I just told them that if they were willing to channel their magic into the soil once a day, I’d fully cater their meals. They signed on immediately.”
Professor Yang: “???”
Did I hear that right?
Don’t Lingnai Deer strictly subsist on raw forest vegetation? Since when did they have a refined palate for roasted concession food?
Wait…
Was this the massive disconnect between theoretical textbook entries and practical fieldwork? Professor Yang began to reevaluate his entire education. So the secret to taming a legendary keystone species isn’t complex pheromones or specialized habitats… it’s snack food?
No, that couldn’t be right. He looked up at Su Wudeng, his expression an intricate knot of awe and bewilderment.
The roasted chestnuts weren’t the deciding factor here. The x-factor was the governor herself. The only reason the deer had accepted the terms was because they trusted her inherently.
It was a shame he hadn’t been there to witness the phenomenon firsthand. But he quickly bounced back—Nana was returning tomorrow, and she might be bringing a whole crew with her!
The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. “Governor Su, that means I’ll get to see the herd with my own eyes tomorrow, correct?”
Su Wudeng blinked, amused by his sudden burst of energy. “Yes… that’s the plan.” It was a massive wasteland, after all; they weren’t going to finish it in an afternoon.
“In that case… Governor, would it be alright if I invited an old colleague of mine to the property?” Professor Yang asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone. “He’s a senior researcher at the Interstellar Forestry Institute. He’s dedicated his entire life to planetary reforestation.”
If that stubborn old man found out a breeding population of Lingnai Deer was actively terraforming a sector on this coordinate, he would probably pass out from pure joy.
Su Wudeng searched her memory. “Oh! Are you talking about the professor who was shouting at you through the comms when we were setting up the livestream for the Flower-Loving Cat?”
“Yes, exactly, that’s old Chen!” Professor Yang quickly defended his friend. “Old Chen wasn’t trying to insult you or question your work back then, Governor. He’s just spent decades dealing with bureaucratic disappointment, so his default setting is cynical disbelief. Don’t let his gruff voice fool you; his actions speak louder than anyone’s.”
“He spends every waking hour flying from one desolate sector to another, personally testing soil samples. He’s the most stubborn, dedicated old fool out of our entire generation. He’s truly given his life to saving ecosystems.”
He leaned in closer. “Besides, aren’t you expanding your terraforming operations? Old Chen is second to none when it comes to forest ecology. If you hit any structural bottlenecks or soil chemistry anomalies, he can solve them in his sleep.”
Su Wudeng’s eyes ignited. Professor Yang had hit the nail on the head. She was entirely self-taught, relying mostly on baseline intuition and automated systems to cultivate hardy grass variants. But scaling a small plot into a fully self-sustaining planetary ecosystem required serious, academic expertise.
Professor Yang’s professional network was proving to be an absolute goldmine. If Professor Chen joined their operation, the dream of converting this barren rock into a lush paradise would actually have structural backing.
“Absolutely, Professor Yang,” Su Wudeng said, her smile genuine. “Experts of his caliber are exactly what our Pet Home—and this entire planet—desperately need. Please, invite him immediately.”
“In fact, if you have any other colleagues looking for real, unrestricted field work, bring them along too. I promise they will be well taken care of.”
Su Wudeng realized that as the planet’s development accelerated, building a robust intellectual infrastructure was paramount. In addition to the double salary and strict adherence to standard labor protections she had already instituted, she needed to design a specialized premium benefit package tailored specifically for these elite researchers. At the very least, she wanted to ensure their living conditions were comfortable and stress-free.
In her past life, she had seen countless news reports about dedicated ecological scientists who sacrificed everything for their research—braving extreme terrains, scaling mountains, and enduring abyssal marine depths under the most grueling conditions imaginable. Their entire careers were fueled purely by raw passion and a profound sense of duty, often working in total obscurity without any desire for fame.
Yet, despite their monumental contributions to humanity, they were frequently compensated with a pittance—barely enough to cover baseline living expenses. Meanwhile, influencers with zero moral boundaries made millions overnight just by chasing algorithms.
She refused to let history repeat itself on her world. She would design an exceptional talent-retention ecosystem and leverage their expertise to its absolute potential. Those who truly labored for the betterment of the species would never suffer under her watch.
Hearing her words, Professor Yang was visibly moved. “Wonderful… truly wonderful. With a guarantee like that from you, Governor, I can rest easy. I’ll dial his terminal right now.”
He turned away, discreetly dabbing at the corner of his eye with his sleeve. In this corporate-driven era, the galaxy had largely discarded old ecology scholars who didn’t generate immediate quarterly profits. But Governor Su was different; she genuinely respected their craft and recognized their worth.
He initiated the comms link and dialed Chen’s private frequency. Old Chen was likely still sitting in the dirt of some forgotten, radioactive wasteland. If he found out a live Lingnai Deer was currently cultivating soil, he’d probably lose his mind. The old man didn’t give a damn about corporate benefits or salaries anyway. To be frank, who still stayed in the ecology sector for the money nowadays? They were all just clinging to a fragile thread of hope, refusing to let the natural world die. If they gave up, the future of the galaxy would be entirely dark.
Watching Professor Yang’s retreating back, Su Wudeng felt a slight ache in her chest. The old researchers might not care about material wealth, but she absolutely did. She would ensure they received the premium treatment they deserved.
She immediately offloaded the administrative logistics to Chu Feng and Lin Yue, instructing them to draft a comprehensive executive benefits package for incoming research personnel as soon as possible. She felt zero guilt about her laziness—as the planet’s designated executive officers, managing structural infrastructure was exactly what they were getting paid for.
However, her mind quickly drifted to a far more looming crisis. She rubbed her temples. High-tier corporate benefits meant a massive surge in operational expenditure. Given their planet’s current liquid cash reserves, it wouldn’t be long before they hit rock bottom.
“I need capital,” she groaned to herself. This world needed to generate its own economy, and fast.
But for the immediate future, she had a prior engagement to honor: packing snack boxes for her livestream winners. Huihui was currently up to her neck managing the nurseries, which left the manual labor entirely to the governor. Su Wudeng realized with a grim sigh that she was severely understaffed and underfunded. Recruitment had to become a priority.
Still, a promise was a promise. She carefully boxed up the roasted treats and logged the delivery requests through the automated courier service based on the addresses provided. She prepared two extra premium packages as well—one for her friend Aihua, and one addressed to the logistics terminal of the Ether Front.
“I miss my girl,” she murmured, pulling up the recent video clips Aihua had sent to alleviate her loneliness.
Ever since enlistment, Aihua’s schedule had become incredibly grueling, leaving very little time for casual communication. Su Wudeng didn’t dare blast her with messages out of the blue, terrified she might accidentally disrupt a critical military operation or training exercise.
With that in mind, she accessed the secure channel connected to the Ether Front Logistics Department and typed out a brief inquiry:
“Do you guys have any immediate requirements for spiritual flora?”
She felt a bit self-conscious using precious military supply lines just to ship a box of roasted snacks to her friends. If they actually needed a fresh shipment of raw spiritual plants, she could easily smuggle her care packages into the cargo hold without disrupting protocol.
Ether Front Logistics Terminal.
The logistics officer on duty noticed the ping from the specially flagged account and immediately routed the text stream directly to General Chu’s private terminal. This was a high-priority connection explicitly marked by the general himself; the lieutenant didn’t have the clearance to handle it on his own.
General Chu Tianhe had just stepped out of a grueling tactical debrief, his uniform still dust-caked from the frontline. As he was changing into clean fatigues, the notification flared across his terminal. He instantly accepted the connection and typed back a response:
“Absolutely.”
“Governor Su, you have no idea how perfect your timing is!”
“We just burned through our entire reserve of medical flora in the last engagement. I was actually just about to reach out to you.”
He quickly uploaded a detailed procurement manifest.
“This is our immediate demand profile for the upcoming deployment cycle. We need a massive surge in high-tier healing and tissue-regeneration flora this time around.”
It was the grim reality of the front lines. Once the scale of engagements escalated, casualties were an absolute certainty. During active campaigns, the market demand for healing spiritual plants always skyrocketed to astronomical heights.
Su Wudeng accepted the incoming file transmission. “Healing flora…”
She scanned the list, noting that the immediate vicinity of her cabin didn’t host many of the advanced varieties listed. However, Nana and Nuannuan had explicitly mentioned that Luming Valley was practically overflowing with therapeutic vegetation. While the mythic-grade roots were exceptionally rare, low-to-mid-tier healing plants grew like weeds in their territory. To the Lingnai Deer, minor lacerations and illnesses could be cured instantly with their own innate magic, rendering the native herbs completely useless to them. They didn’t even like the taste of them.
She could easily enlist the herd’s help to harvest the surplus.
She messaged back: “I can source these for you. Please stay safe out there. If your supply lines take a hit, let me know immediately. I’ll do whatever it takes to fulfill your manifests.”
Chu Tianhe hadn’t expected her to accept the entire order without a single adjustment. He had severely underestimated the governor’s logistical reach. He typed back, filled with genuine gratitude: “You are keeping my men alive, Governor. I cannot thank you enough.”
To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t held out much hope when the manifest came across his desk. The galactic demand for high-tier medical flora was entirely monopolized; the moment a crop matured, it was immediately bought out by elite inner-core syndicates and high-ranking military dynasties long before a frontline sector could even place a bid. It was a literal life-saving commodity. He hadn’t anticipated that Su Wudeng would have immediate access to such a vast reserve.
“Hold on a second!”
A sudden memory flashed through Chu Tianhe’s mind. He quickly brought up a secured thread within the private communication channel of the Ether Command Staff, downloaded an encrypted image file, and forwarded it to Su Wudeng.
He typed tentatively: “Governor Su, have you ever cross-referenced a specimen that matches this profile in your sector?”
The image displayed an exceptionally rare, ethereal medical plant known as the Ghostmoon Blossom. Its primary therapeutic utility was the total restoration of neurological and spiritual trauma in high-tier combat pets—an invaluable asset with a near-flawless success rate.
But its primary drawback was its near-extinction status across known space. Finding a wild specimen was statistically impossible. While standard physical trauma herbs were rare, plants capable of mending a pet’s fractured consciousness were entirely mythical.
The people who frequented this specific command thread were the elite brass of the Ether Front. The Ghostmoon Blossom in the image was the exact item attached to a massive, galaxy-wide bounty issued by General Shen of the Northern District Command.
The Northern District was the playground for the core worlds’ ultra-wealthy dynasties; capital was an absolute non-issue for them. For General Shen to authorize an open-ended military bounty, the intrinsic value of the specimen had to be astronomical.
Chu Tianhe recalled a piece of high-society gossip that had circulated through the command staff last week. The second heir of the prestigious Mo family from the core worlds had arrogantly led a private excursion into an unmapped anomalous zone, resulting in the total catastrophic collapse of his primary pet’s neural pathways. The Mo family had immediately issued a staggering reward: one billion corporate credits to anyone who could deliver a cure, alongside an open negotiation for assets of equal value.
If his deduction was correct, that was the exact reason General Shen had posted the bounty for the Ghostmoon Blossom. The Mo heir was technically registered under the Northern District’s auxiliary command.
The only reason Chu Tianhe remembered the details so vividly was because the figure of “one billion credits” had left a profound impression on his underfunded division. But in his expert opinion, the second half of the Mo family’s offer—assets of equal value—was where the real power lay. Corporate credits were just numbers on a screen; they couldn’t buy tightly controlled infrastructure. If that one billion could be leveraged to secure ownership of an entire mineral-rich mining asteroid, the long-term economic yield would be mind-blowing.
However, the moment the message transmitted, a wave of self-doubt hit him.
Am I losing my mind? Why am I asking her for a mythic-grade plant?
Though Su Wudeng had consistently achieved the impossible, she wasn’t a magical wishing well. Wait… a horrifying thought struck him. What if she thinks I’m trying to demand this from her for free? He quickly began typing a frantic explanation of the background context.
Meanwhile, Su Wudeng stared at the image on her interface. She paused, squinting at the glowing, crescent-shaped petals. Why does this look so familiar?
She reached over and pulled the leaf satchel Nuannuan had given her onto the table, sifting through the pristine herbs inside. Sure enough, sitting right at the top of the pile was an identical, softly glowing blossom.
General Chu needs an elite neural herb… Is he in danger?
She frantically typed back: “I have one right here! General Chu, did you sustain a spiritual injury? Do you need me to dispatch an emergency courier ship to your coordinates right now?”
Chu Tianhe was right in the middle of drafting his explanation when her text flashed across his screen. He froze, his jaw dropping. He rubbed his eyes, convinced the frontline fatigue was causing hallucinations, but the text remained unchanged.
“Are you kidding me?! Governor Su, you actually have a Ghostmoon Blossom in your possession?!”
“You are truly… ahem.”
“You are absolutely terrifying!”
A deep wave of guilt washed over him. He felt like an absolute heel. Governor Su was so profoundly pure-hearted that the second she saw the image, her immediate, instinctual reaction was to offer up a priceless galactic treasure for free because she thought he was hurt.
He scrambled to send his explanation: “No, no, no! I’m completely healthy! I am perfectly fine, I swear! It’s just that the Northern District Command issued a high-profile corporate bounty for it, and I wanted to see if we could cash in on it.”
He laid out the entire situation with the Mo family heir, concluding with: “Governor, you are sitting on an absolute goldmine! would you be open to liquidating it?”
“If you want to sell, I will personally handle the negotiations and act as your broker.”
“The one billion credits is a baseline trap, but if we squeeze them for infrastructure assets…”
“Hehe, those core-world oligarchs are going to give you a massive corporate surprise!”
“I guarantee I will strip them clean for you!”
After all, that specific demographic possessed more generational wealth than they could realistically spend in ten lifetimes. If they wanted to save their heir’s military career, their assets should reflect that value.
Su Wudeng nearly leaped out of her chair, her eyes sparkling with cold, hard ambition.
Was there even a choice to be made here? Of course she was liquidating it! She had an entire bag of top-tier spiritual materials sitting in her kitchen!
She fired back a reply: “We are absolutely selling! General Chu, if you can pull off this transaction, I’ll happily allocate a one percent brokerage fee directly to your division’s account!”
Although General Chu had offered his services voluntarily, she refused to let her partners perform high-stakes corporate espionage for free.
Chu Tianhe let out a booming laugh at his terminal, typing back: “Hehe, leave it to me. Rest assured, Governor!”
One percent of a billion-credit baseline transaction was an astronomical sum for his underfunded Eastern Division. But more than the capital, this was his golden ticket to finally stand tall against the high command.
In the past, for the sake of securing medical rations and basic equipment for his frontline soldiers, he had been forced to repeatedly beg those snobbish core-world nobles for scrap resources. He had been left standing outside their secure corporate compounds for days on end, enduring humiliating delays just to secure a few thousand credits worth of basic herbs. All because those syndicates held a absolute monopoly over galactic agriculture.
For the survival of his men, he had swallowed his pride every single time.
Now, the tables had completely turned. The mythic Ghostmoon Blossom was under his exclusive brokerage. He was dying to see what kind of posture those arrogant bastards who used to call him a dirt-scraping peasant would adopt when their precious heir’s life was riding on his signature.
Ether Front, Northern District Command Headquarters.
General Chu sat in the rear of a armored transport, looking out the reinforced viewport at the sprawling metropolis below. The scenery was nothing short of magnificent.
The Northern District held a premium geographical position, flanked by impassable mountain ranges on three sides—an absolute fortress that was easy to defend and impossible to siege. This was the luxurious sanctuary the cowardly aristocracy had constructed for themselves far away from the brutal front lines.
Soon, the vehicle pulled up to the security gates of the Northern Command Citadel. Every time Chu Tianhe visited this facility, the sheer display of wealth annoyed him.
The latest model of a localized planetary defense forcefield encased the entire sector, capable of deflecting high-yield orbital bombardments. Thousands of micro-reconnaissance drones swarmed the airspace like a metallic cloud, weaving an airtight surveillance web. The automated automated weapon batteries lining the parapets were all top-of-the-line custom fabrications, designed exclusively for the district by the Interstellar Peace Corporation.
Tsk, these bastards really know how to burn capital, he thought.
He sailed through the security clearance. As an official regional general of the Ether Front, his clearance level was technically absolute; no automated gate could bar his entry.
However, the moment his transport crossed into the inner perimeter, the telemetry data landed squarely on General Shen’s desk.
“Chu Tianhe? What is that Eastern peasant doing in my sector?”
General Shen’s brow furrowed in immediate irritation. He had always held a deep, aristocratic contempt for Chu Tianhe’s working-class background. High society despised reckless frontline commanders who only knew how to wage war; they had zero appreciation for political nuance or corporate etiquette.
But given his rank, a formal refusal of audience was impossible.
General Shen rubbed his temples, turning to his executive secretary. “Any movement on the open bounty for the Ghostmoon Blossom?”
The secretary lowered his head nervously. “Nothing stable, General. We’ve broadcasted the manifest across all civilian and mercenary networks, but no verified specimens have been logged.”
General Shen’s heart sank. If the second heir of the Mo family expired under his administrative watch, the political fallout from the core worlds would permanently derail his career.
And right at this critical bottleneck, Chu Tianhe was pounding on his door.
“What a massive headache.”
In the grand reception salon, Chu Tianhe was staring at the complimentary refreshments with undisguised amusement.
Resting on a crystal tray was a selection of legendary “Nebula Pastries,” each delicate confection swirling with a shifting, translucent cosmic pattern. They were synthesized from exceptionally rare botanical extracts harvested from a distant, restricted galaxy, retailing for a small fortune per plate.
“These wealthy syndicates certainly understand luxury,” Chu Tianhe muttered, though his hands didn’t hesitate for a second as he grabbed a pastry and shoved it into his mouth.
It melted instantly across his tongue, releasing a strange, complex floral aroma that was honestly difficult to describe. To be completely objective, the flavor profile was entirely average.
They charge one hundred thousand credits a pop for this? What a scam, he thought, reaching for a second one.
Just then, the heavy double doors swung open, and General Shen stepped into the salon.
“General Chu, to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure? What urgent business brings you all the way from the trenches?”
Shen wore a perfectly tailored, diplomatic smile, but the thinly veiled impatience in his eyes was impossible to hide.
Chu Tianhe swallowed the remaining half of his Nebula Pastry, leaning back into the impossibly soft leather of the designer sofa. He flashed a slow, deliberate grin. “I happened to notice your division broadcasted an open manifest for a Ghostmoon Blossom. I was curious about the structural parameters of your collateral.”
“Name your absolute ceiling. I have the asset.”
General Shen froze, his pupils constricting into tight pinpricks.
Did I hear that correctly?
What kind of absolute nonsense was trickling out of Chu Tianhe’s mouth? It was common knowledge across the Front that the Eastern Division was perpetually bankrupt. How could a general raised in a rural farming colony lay hands on a mythic-grade neurological restorative?
To put it bluntly, even if Chu Tianhe liquidated his entire military asset portfolio, he couldn’t afford a single leaf of a Ghostmoon Blossom!
Though his mind was racing with contempt, Shen maintained his rigid composure. “General Chu, please refrain from dark humor. If your division requires an emergency budgetary allocation, state your case plainly. If it is within my administrative authority, I will see what can be done.”
He was entirely convinced Chu Tianhe was playing a crude frontline prank to hustle him for operational funds. He didn’t have time to waste on a peasant. He’d just sign a minor grant voucher to get the man out of his office.
Chu Tianhe raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Are you certain about that, General?”
Rather than engaging in a verbal debate, he tapped his wrist terminal and projected a high-resolution holographic schematic into the center of the room.
The projection rendered a botanical specimen radiating a distinct, faint luminescence. Its leaves curled into intricate, lace-like arrays, framing a central blossom shaped like a perfect crescent moon. It was an uncompressed, raw file format of a living Ghostmoon Blossom.
General Shen’s professional mask shattered. He frantically pulled up his personal terminal, running the visual signature through the Front’s centralized cryptographic database. The system returned a zero-match result for existing archival imagery.
In other words, Chu Tianhe hadn’t simply downloaded a stock file from a public network to run a scam; this metadata was completely unique, freshly captured, and originated directly from his personal storage.
He truly held a live Ghostmoon Blossom in his supply chain!
General Shen’s mind flashed back to a bizarre tactical rumor that had trickled out of the Southern Sector a few days ago. Word was that a terrifying, commander-tier Iron Beast pet with apocalyptic combat metrics had emerged from the Eastern territories.
Was that this guy’s doing too?
He stared at Chu Tianhe in absolute horror. What kind of reality-warping luck had this peasant stumbled into? First a legendary combat pet, and now a mythic-grade medical miracle?
He brutally suppressed the panic tearing through his composure. The only variable that mattered right now was securing that plant.
General Shen forced his voice into a steady, collaborative tone, testing the waters. “I see… Well, Brother Chu, what is your division’s target valuation for the asset?”
Chu Tianhe found the shift in tone hysterical. Oh, so now we’re “Brother Chu,” are we?
But he didn’t care about their hollow etiquette; his sole focus was extracting maximum capital for the governor. He had learned a long time ago that pride didn’t pay for starship fuel.
Chu Tianhe assumed a relaxed posture, steepling his fingers as if locked in deep, calculated thought. He spoke slowly, every word dripping with deliberate weight. “I’ve always admired the infrastructural logistics of your Northern District’s transportation grid.”
“The atmospheric mag-lev transit lines, the supersonic hydrofoil fleets commanding the sea lanes, the exorbitant instantaneous wormhole projection hubs, and the restricted-tier starships reserved exclusively for your personal transit convenience.”
“Across the entire Ether Front, the Northern District is the only sector capable of establishing immediate, lag-free commercial routing to the core worlds.”
He was genuinely fond of their transportation infrastructure.
General Shen’s face paled, his voice dropping an octave. “Brother Chu… your terms are bordering on extortion, don’t you think?”
“You want to replicate the entire Northern logistical grid in the East? That is not a one-billion-credit operation; you are talking about tens of billions in raw infrastructure capital!”
Chu Tianhe shook his head, a smooth chuckle escaping his lips. “No, my division doesn’t need that hardware. But I happen to represent a certain Tier 4 colony world that requires some structural development.”
He paused, locking eyes with the commander. “I require the immediate authorization to establish direct, permanent interstellar trade routes between that world and the nearest core hubs.”
This was his ultimate objective.
To build wealth, build roads first. The geographical coordinates of Governor Su’s Tier 4 planet were exceptionally remote, completely bypassed by major commercial flight paths. If he could legally force the establishment of dedicated interstellar corridors connecting her straight to the core economies, her world’s development curve would break records.
But the primary bottleneck wasn’t the cost of the hardware—it was the legal authorization. Interstellar trade routes required strict bureaucratic permits that were impossible to secure through standard channels.
And those exact regulatory approvals were entirely controlled by the core-world dynasties.
He stared intently at General Shen, pressing his advantage. “I want the construction authorization for a Class-AAA Interstellar Terminal on that planet, converting it into a primary transit hub with long-term, unrestricted routing privileges to the major core sectors.”
This was an objective that no amount of raw liquid credits could ever purchase. But now, the perfect leverage had dropped into his lap.
General Shen narrowed his eyes, realizing he had drastically miscalculated the man sitting across from him. This wasn’t the simple-minded negotiation of a trench peasant.
Chu Tianhe tilted his chin up slightly, a calm, victorious light dancing in his eyes. “What is your executive decision, General Shen?”
XJ-738 Planet, Inbound Transport.
Xia Xiyao sat pressed against the viewport of the passenger shuttle, staring out at the infinite blanket of stars. This was her very first time realizing that a location this unimaginably remote could even exist within the Scott Galaxy.
She had been raised from infancy in Athens, the crown jewel and most technologically advanced core world of the system. It was the absolute center of galactic society, where planetary travel was as casual as a subway ride; a luxury starship could cross between core worlds in a matter of hours.
But to reach this Tier 4 coordinate where the shop owner lived, she had been forced to endure days of grueling, multi-hop interstellar travel. Her joints felt bruised and stiff from the relentless deceleration cycles.
What had shocked her the most during booking was that this planet didn’t even possess a formal name—it was designated solely by a cold string of alphanumeric code.
Just then, the shuttle’s automated overhead chime rang out:
“Dear passengers, we are commencing our final approach vector for our destination, Planet XJ-738. Please secure your luggage and prepare for disembarkation.”
Xia Xiyao’s heart rate instantly spiked. We’re here!
She was finally going to reunite with her little husky pup!
But a sudden wave of anxiety hit her. Would it be difficult to locate the pet home on an unmapped world? This was her first time traveling outside the core worlds completely solo. Her sister’s constant warnings about the lawless, terrifying nature of the outer rim echoed in her mind, causing her to clutch her designer backpack tightly against her chest.
However, the moment Xia Xiyao stepped off the gangway into the arrival terminal, a polished staff member dressed in a crisp, professional uniform stepped directly into her path.
“Apologies for the intrusion, are you Miss Xia Xiyao?” the gentleman inquired with a polite, deferential bow. “Our planetary governor has dispatched me personally to escort you directly to the Pet Home facility.”
Xia Xiyao blinked in total confusion. “Planetary governor? Shop owner Su?”
Suddenly, her brain made the connection, and her jaw dropped.
“Wait… you’re telling me this entire planet belongs to her?!”
The escort smiled warmly, nodding in absolute confirmation.
Xia Xiyao let out a breathless laugh. No wonder the shop owner had been so casual about offering double salaries during the livestream! The woman didn’t just own a shop—she owned the entire world!
