"Where the hell did that bastard Rag run off to slack off?!"
Lena cursed as she left.
She told Zhou Yun to tally up the losses himself; all compensation would be deducted from that bastard Rag's wages.
If there was not enough money, even if she had to take a loss, she would send Rag to the Upper Hive and have him radically modified into a servitor to repay Zhou Yun.
Zhou Yun said he definitely wanted the money, but the servitor could forget it.
Rag was too ugly. Zhou Yun was afraid he would not be able to sleep at night after seeing him.
Zhou Yun pushed open the iron door riddled with a vicious hole and entered his home.
Then he froze slightly.
Everything in the house was as neat as before. The bed showed no signs of being searched, and the items on the small table remained exactly as Zhou Yun had left them.
Zhou Yun opened the cabinet. The clothes inside had been touched, and one close-fitting undershirt was missing, but nothing else had been lost.
What struck Zhou Yun as strangest was the letter sitting beside his bed.
Strange. Too strange.
Zhou Yun's brow immediately furrowed.
He reached out, picked up the letter, and opened it, only to discover—
He could not understand a damn thing.
The letter had been written in remarkably elegant cursive, intricate and refined.
Every letter was neatly arranged across the yellowed paper. If he could not see the traces of ink, Zhou Yun would have suspected the letter had been printed.
Squinting, Zhou Yun barely made out a few words that resembled the Low Gothic used locally on planet Asphodel.
But he could not understand any of the other words at all. He could only sense the language's complexity and refinement.
Compared to it, Asphodel's Low Gothic looked like some barbaric hybrid tongue.
Yet strangely, Zhou Yun found the language somewhat familiar.
Some of its words and letters resembled English from the 3K era, only far more elaborate and complicated.
Unfortunately, Zhou Yun had never been very good at English in school.
After all these years, he was only capable of nodding yes and shaking his head no.
"This is High Gothic," the winged figure in the white light said softly.
". . . Huh?"
Zhou Yun wore an odd expression.
High Gothic was one of the Imperium's official languages, originating in the Terra-America and Pan-Pacific regions during the Dark Age of Technology.
In other words, it was a more convoluted and refined version of English from before Zhou Yun's transmigration.
During Old Night, North America had become a federation of hive cities. Its nobles favored elaborate and useless etiquette, and High Gothic had likely been born that way.
For that very reason, the language was exceedingly obscure and difficult for the vast majority of Imperial citizens.
Only members of the Ecclesiarchy, high-ranking Imperial officials, and certain nobles with too much time on their hands used it.
Most people spoke Low Gothic, which had undergone hybridization on different planets.
However.
"You mean a bottom-hive thief left me a letter written in High Gothic?"
"How did he think I would understand it? He thinks way too highly of me."
Zhou Yun could not help shaking his head.
Forget High Gothic after all that complication—even if it had been written in English, Zhou Yun would not have understood it.
Lena seemed to know some.
Her family had once been devout Ecclesiarchy believers, and many original Ecclesiarchy texts had been written in High Gothic.
"Would you like me to read it to you?"
The winged figure in the white light said with a light laugh:
"Though I was born on Baal, as a primarch, I was also educated in High Gothic."
"I'm curious—does Angron know it?" Zhou Yun could not help asking.
"Well..." The winged figure in the white light was briefly speechless. "Your standards for him are too harsh."
"In terms of his brain, that brother of mine is biologically disabled."
"Didn't Karn ever try teaching his father a little? His father had to attend military councils during the Great Crusade too."
"Your standards for Karn are also far too harsh. If you want him dead, just say so." The winged figure in the white light shook his head.
As he spoke, the winged figure in the white light looked toward the letter in Zhou Yun's hand.
"I apologize for visiting your residence through violent means. I believe your income is commensurate with your contribution; thus, I did not visit your residence for theft."
The winged figure in the white light softly read the High Gothic letter:
"Enclosed are Blood Coins to compensate for your door."
"I have a well-paid job that can contribute to the Imperium and The Emperor, and I hope to offer it to you."
"If you wish to discuss it in detail, I will wait for you tomorrow night at the eastern garbage dump of the Thirteenth District in the lower hive."
"For safety, I wrote this letter in High Gothic, trusting that you can read this ancient language."
"Likewise, for safety, please do not reveal the contents of this letter to anyone."
"Signed: Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings."
". . . Huh?" Zhou Yun tilted his head blankly. "Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings?"
Only after a moment did he realize it.
Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings was the Eager Thief's self-styled name.
What the hell kind of name was that?
Terra's chickens had gone extinct, so why was someone still calling himself Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings?
And if it was not for theft, why did you eagerly break into my house?
Zhou Yun stared oddly at the several Blood Coins peeking out from the envelope.
He had even thoughtfully included the cost of repairing the door.
There were simply too many things to mock in this letter. The longer Zhou Yun looked, the stranger his expression became.
What Zhou Yun found strangest of all was this:
Why did this Eager Thief think he could read High Gothic?
"He seems to possess some form of precognition. Like me, he may have discovered your uniqueness through it."
The winged figure in the white light said:
"But as I said before, your fate is intertwined threefold and unclear. He may not be able to see it clearly either."
"You know, High Gothic is basically an elaborate version of ancient Terran English. Logically speaking, you should at least be able to read it roughly."
"How many years has it been since I graduated?" Zhou Yun complained with a frown.
Zhou Yun was becoming increasingly suspicious of the Eager Thief's identity.
Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings did not sound like something a bottom-hive thief in 40K would know.
There was no Crazy Thursday in the lower hive.
Oh damn, could Tzeentch be here to take revenge on me? That quickly?
Zhou Yun looked at the letter in his hand and could not help shaking his head.
Whether or not it was Tzeentch's corruption,
he would not meet the Eager Thief calling himself "Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings" alone.
At the very least, he had to bring two or three hundred people with him.
After thinking for a moment, Zhou Yun stuffed the letter into the Fourth-Dimensional Pocket.
[Item: High Gothic Letter] [Origin: Shield of Hades System—planet Asphodel—Fortia City Lower Hive] [Evaluation: A letter written in High Gothic. Orleans Roasted Chicken Wings's signature brings delicious Crazy Thursday to mind.] [Production Time: 998.M41] [Status: Opened Only] [Value: 0.001 yuan]
No corruption.
Zhou Yun had gained an idea from the previous incident.
Whenever any item entered the Fourth-Dimensional Pocket, it displayed relevant information.
If an item was corrupted, Zhou Yun would be able to discover it this way.
Still uneasy, Zhou Yun inspected every item in his little room before feeling slightly relieved.
He found a piece of synthetic wood board, covered the hole in the iron door, and lay down on the bed.
0.3 seconds later, Zhou Yun was asleep.
In Warhammer, Americans—though not necessarily the original version, yet Horus still called them Americans in the novel—survived all the way to the Unification Wars of Terra and became a federation of hive cities ruled by nobles. Truly the legendary kings of staying alive.
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