Klein stretched, quickly dressed, and ended his morning catch-up sleep. Last night, guarding the Chanis Gate, a puppet clutching a sheet with strange symbols had spooked him thoroughly. As Klein fully woke, his five senses sharpened. His ears twitched, catching lively sounds outside—his brother Benson chatting with a somewhat familiar male voice.
A colleague of Benson's? A friend? Curious, Klein opened the door and saw Benson smiling across the living room at a man from the Abraham Family named Adrian, whom Klein had met on the street. Thinking of this man's wealth, Klein wondered why such a merchant was visiting their home.
Hearing the door, both men turned, spotting Klein frozen at the threshold.
"Hello, you must be Klein, Benson's brother. Benson mentioned you're a fine young man," Adrian said, eyes twinkling, before Klein could speak. Tapping his cane lightly on the floor, he continued, "I'm visiting somewhat abruptly today, as I had no pressing matters and just finalized a deal with Benson. I'd planned to celebrate with him over a meal, but I don't want to take up his rare day off. In my hometown, we celebrate good deeds with a feast."
This world has that custom too? It's a bit like the Great Foodie Empire's tradition of sealing deals over dinner… Wait, like Emperor Roselle, could the Abraham Family's ancestors include transmigrators? That surname sounds biblical—too coincidental. Could there really be a "transmigrator senior" in this family?
Klein's mind raced, oblivious to the peculiar glint in Adrian's expression.
"Adrian, you're too kind. We're friends, after all," Benson said, chuckling, fond of this generous, relatable gentleman. "By rights, I should join you for a meal, but my personal matters kept you waiting. Klein, tidy up. We'll eat when Melissa's back."
Klein nodded, heading to the washroom. Adrian flashed a kindly smile at Benson, saying, "No trouble. Idling's just idling, and chatting with a witty man like you passes the time nicely. I'm a painter; trade's just a side gig. Your words sparked some inspiration today, so this visit's well worth it."
With a playful tone, he added, "You know, Benson, Backlund's air stifles art. Those pompous officials wish every painter would just work. Even a curly-haired baboon knows to doodle when bored."
"Exactly. Those rule-makers are like machines, blindly following the king's old designs," Benson said, lips curling. "But rule-making's not for machines. It's illogical, and those officials often bungle things."
"Maybe the machines are shoddy," Adrian quipped, shrugging helplessly. They exchanged a glance, then laughed together.
The two chatted idly, waiting for Benson and Klein's sister. About half an hour later, a "tap-tap" came at the door. Benson opened it, finding a man in a coat holding two meal boxes, facing Melissa. Wary, Benson asked, "Who are you?"
"Food delivery," Mr. Z said flatly, suppressing his urge to preach, keeping his words brief. Benson glanced back at Adrian, who stood, nodded, and said, "Thanks for the trouble. Head back to Backlund after today. I'll return once my tasks here are done."
Mr. Z nodded, turning to leave without delay. Melissa, fresh from church prayers, stared at Benson and Adrian, puzzled.
"Benson, who's this?" Melissa asked. Benson smiled, "This is Mr. Adrian, our guest today. We finalized that deal this morning."
"Oh, I see. Congratulations, Benson," Melissa said, turning to Adrian sincerely, "And thank you, Mr. Adrian."
Adrian waved it off, picking up the meal boxes Mr. Z delivered. As he set them on the table, Klein emerged, freshened up from his "divine kingdom" (the washroom). Melissa set her things down, joining Benson at the table. Seeing Klein lingering, she prodded, "Hurry up, Klein, it's time to eat. We have a guest, and you slept so late!"
Sis, why do you act like Mom at this age? Klein grumbled inwardly. As he approached, his nose twitched, catching a faintly familiar scent from the meal boxes. Eager, he sat at the table.
What a wealthy, generous man, bringing takeout. Not like the nobles of this era… Klein silently thanked Adrian, sitting upright, awaiting the meal.
"Adrian, Intis cuisine is intriguing, especially since Emperor Roselle invented many dishes. Heh, not just machines—he revolutionized food too," Benson said jokingly. "Though some dishes… well, aren't exactly palatable."
"Yeah, some are outright bizarre," Klein nodded fervently. He'd been thrilled to learn of Roselle's handwritten recipes in Intis, only to be let down when they merely produced courtly desserts like "swan puff" or "bean cake." Roselle clearly wasn't a chef and failed to uphold the Great Foodie Empire's legacy! Some dishes echoed that empire's style in name, but their descriptions baffled Klein. Reading about them in books alone made his sanity wobble, and he swore off Intis's odder fare.
But seeing the meal box's contents, Klein froze.
He blurted out in perfect Mandarin, "Zongzi?"
"He's definitely the genuine Klein. Thankfully, my presence hasn't triggered the Law of Beyonder Characteristic Convergence to assimilate him into the Celestial Worthy early. If the Celestial Worthy stood here, he wouldn't act like this. The Celestial Worthy lacks humanity; even the truest deception can't mimic real emotion flawlessly," the High-Dimensional Overseer said to another self on a different timeline. A human-like Adrian, perched on his cosmic form, rubbed his chin.
"Need another test? If it's the Celestial Worthy, he could feign an unwary mortal," the other mused.
"I say we reveal a bit," the Adrian facing Klein interjected. "Just a sliver. Even if Klein's the Celestial Worthy, we can retreat safely. The risk is worth what we'll learn."
"Didn't we arrange for Audrey Hall to mention the white moon at the Tarot Club*? When that happens, if it's Klein, his spirituality will ripple, and he'll trust what we tell him now."
The High-Dimensional Overseer's cosmic self settled the matter.
Adrian's lips curved, and he said to Klein, "Correct, this dish is called 'zongzi.' Well, in my hometown, it's not a dish but a staple food. Few recognize it, and those who know it use clumsy Loen terms for it… Ah, Klein mentioned you studied history, right? No wonder you 'know' this language."
After the hearty meal, the Morettis saw Adrian off. Benson beamed, delighted by the food and Adrian's witty banter. Melissa, patting her full stomach, realized she'd overeaten zongzi. She burped softly, saying to her brother, "Such delicious food! Wrapping filling in rice, blending flavors so perfectly! Just boiled, no complex cooking like Desi pie, and using rice, which isn't cheap… Right, Klein?"
Melissa nudged the pensive Klein, startling him. He glanced at her, "Huh? Yeah…"
"Oh, Melissa, I just remembered—I've got something to handle at the company this afternoon. Gotta go!" Klein said, scrambling for an excuse, rushing out. He had to uncover the transmigrator truth and Adrian's identity!
"Okay…" Melissa muttered, watching Klein grab his hat and cane, dashing out. "Klein's always thinking about work, even on a rest day… Well, that's probably why he landed such a good job."
She changed into a new skirt, heading to a lecture with Selena and Elizabeth. Glancing at Benson, buried in a grammar book, she pouted.
Klein hurried down the street, his pace quickening to a jog. Following a hunch, he crossed two streets, spotting a familiar carriage by the roadside. Hesitating, he thought of Adrian as a possible fellow transmigrator. Unable to contain his excitement—and considering Adrian's status might unlock secrets of their bizarre crossing—he steeled himself and approached.
"Come in."
As Klein pondered how to start, Adrian lifted the carriage curtain, gesturing for him to sit beside him. Stunned, Klein shook off his thoughts, stepped onto the carriage, and climbed in.
"I've been waiting, Klein."
"Ah, sorry," Klein apologized reflexively, leaving Adrian momentarily at a loss. Silence hung briefly until Adrian said, chuckling, "No worries, don't be nervous. This isn't a safe place to talk. Mr. Z, head home. Let's reintroduce ourselves, Klein. You know why I waited."
The carriage horses trotted forward. The weight of Adrian's words overwhelmed Klein's mind. Forgetting his planned questions, he latched onto a key detail:
Mr. Z!
The driver was the Aurora Order's Mr. Z, mentioned in Siris*'s letter! Wait, if an Aurora Order divine envoy is driving, this 'hometown buddy' must be…
A terrifying thought formed. Klein's pupils shrank, instincts urging him to leap out of the carriage. But Adrian, as if anticipating, grabbed Klein's gun-holding right hand, yanking him back from the curtain. A spiritual wall snapped up inside the carriage, severing external connections and muffling sound from Mr. Z. Seeing Klein's wary stare, Adrian smiled, extending a hand:
"Let's start over. My surname's Gao, but call me Gao Wei. Klein, you're a transmigrator, right? What was your name before?"
(End of Chapter)