boyutpedia Chapter 1 The Dead in the Accounts
Chapter 1 The Dead in the Accounts
Lowe looked down at the parchment in front of him.
The automatic quill pen scratches across the paper, producing a dull rustling sound.
The sound filled the entire hall.
Hundreds of low-ranking clerks like him were hunched over their desks.
No one spoke; the only sound was the rustling of papers.
The muffled roar of an air filter could be heard in the distance.
Luo Wei put down his pen and rubbed his sore wrist.
He glanced at the hourglass beside him.
The sand is almost all gone.
This means that the time for "morning prayer" is approaching, and it also means that he has been working continuously for fourteen hours.
He picked up a grayish-brown square from the corner of the table and put it in his mouth.
This is corpse starch.
It has no taste and tastes like damp chalk.
Lo Wei chewed hard, forcing his throat to swallow.
My stomach clenched for a moment, then I accepted this undignified meal.
On this agricultural planet called "Fertile 2," this is the only thing that can satisfy your hunger.
He has to eat.
I'll die if I don't eat.
Luo Wei has been in this body for three days.
Three days ago, this fourth-level clerk named "Luo Wei" died suddenly at his desk due to working overtime continuously.
No one noticed.
Until the soul of the earth took over the body and picked up the pen again.
In this damn universe, even death is no rest.
Luo Wei swallowed the last mouthful of starch, his gaze once again fixed on the ledger in front of him.
This is a book titled "Quarterly Output Details of the Eastern Grain Depot of the Seventh Agricultural Region".
There is a problem with the data.
Lowell turned the pages of the ledger.
"Warehouse received: 3 million tons of standard wheat."
Loss: 12 percent.
"Tithing tax paid: 2.6 million tons."
"Surplus: 40,000 tons."
Luo Wei stopped pointing.
He majored in auditing in college.
In his eyes, these accounts were like a sieve, full of holes.
A 12% loss?
Unless there's a swarm of Tyranids in the granary, it's impossible for the loss rate to be so high.
The normal loss rate should be controlled within three percent.
Where did the extra 9% go?
This is 270,000 tons of grain.
Lo Wei kept quiet.
He controlled his facial muscles, showing no sign of surprise.
In the chaotic world of Warhammer 40, knowing too much usually means becoming a servant:
A living tool with its frontal lobe removed and fitted with a mechanical prosthesis.
He picked up his pen, dipped it in cheap ink, and wrote down an equation on the draft paper.
Two hundred and seventy thousand tons of grain, at black market prices, would be enough to buy a small shuttle.
They could also hire a gang from the Nest City and slaughter the entire Seventh District.
This money did not go into the national treasury or the governor's office.
Someone is stealing the empire's taxes.
Luo Wei felt a chill run down his back.
The former Lo Wei did not die from overwork.
The previous Lo Wei was poisoned and killed because he discovered this loophole.
Now he's taken over this mess.
If he signs tomorrow's accounting report, he will be held primarily responsible and burned at the stake should the imperial tax officials investigate.
If he doesn't sign, the people who stole the grain will make him "die suddenly" again.
This is a dead end.
"Love".
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Luo Wei immediately closed the ledger and crumpled the draft paper into a ball in his hand.
He stood up, bowed his head, and moved with the precision of a trained sergeant.
"Manager Case."
Standing before him was a mountain of flesh.
Supervisor Case wore a tightly stretched silk robe, the belt cinching into his flesh.
He held an electric whip in his hand, the tip of which flashed a faint blue light.
His face resembled fermented dough, with small eyes squeezed into the mound of flesh, gleaming with a murky light.
"Are you done calculating?" Case asked.
His voice was very nasal.
"We're still checking the final data, sir," Rowe replied.
His voice was steady, without any inflection.
Case took a step closer.
"Check?"
Case laughed, his fat cheeks bunching up.
"This is just a routine matter, Rowe."
"Just fill in the numbers and stamp it, following last year's template. It's that simple. You've already been dragging this out for two hours."
Case's gaze fell on Rowe's tightly clenched right hand.
What are you holding in your hand?
Luo Wei's heart skipped a beat.
He released his grip, revealing the crumpled draft paper.
"Waste paper, sir. There was an error in the calculation; I'm recalculating."
Case glared at Rowe.
Luo Wei did not evade the question; his eyes were empty and numb, like those of every low-level clerk who had been squeezed dry.
A few seconds later, Case lost interest.
He tapped the table with the electric whip.
"Listen, kid. The tax collector's shuttle will land tomorrow morning."
"The governor, that newly appointed young girl, is impatient."
Case pressed the switch on the electric whip.
sizzle.
The blue arc of electricity flickered.
"She needs this report. I need it too. If you don't have it by dawn, I'll send you to the fertilizer plant."
"I heard that the shredder there is running out of lubricating oil recently."
After saying that, Case turned and left.
His boots thumped heavily on the metal floor.
Lowe sat back down in his chair.
Cold sweat soaked through the linen shirt on my back.
Case was either the one who stole the grain, or at least an accomplice.
What you just said sounded like an urging, but it was actually a warning.
Case was telling him: Just copy the fake accounts and don't cause any trouble.
Luo Wei's gaze gradually turned cold.
Do as instructed?
No.
Doing it that way is suicide.
The tax inspectors in the Imperial Tax Department are not fools.
This kind of shoddy accounting trick might fool the newly appointed young female governor.
However, in front of professional tax officials, it's as ridiculous as being naked.
Once a problem is discovered, Case will immediately push Lowe out to take the blame.
"I'm the supervisor. I'm only responsible for signing off. The actual accounting is done by this document."
Lowe could almost hear Case saying that in court.
You must save yourself.
Lowell reopened the ledger.
He needs a way out.
A way to balance the books, avoid taking the blame, and shut up Case.
He has no system, no psionic power, and no explosive gun.
He only has brains.
And this pile of messy accounts.
Luo Wei picked up a pen and began drawing a flowchart on another clean sheet of paper.
Grain is harvested from the fields, enters primary processing plants, is hulled, dried, packed, transported, and stored.
There are losses at every stage.
Luo Wei closed his eyes and recalled the supply chain management books he had read in his previous life.
If food is truly scarce, it must find a place to go.
If it's not in this ledger, it's in another ledger.
He stood up and picked up a stack of files that was half his height.
These are the "Waste Disposal Record" and the "Maintenance Log".
The clerks around him glanced at him blankly, then lowered their heads and continued working.
In this hall, meddlesome people don't live long.
Luo Wei spread out the case file.
He began to look up the "biomass fuel" section.
The mechanical operation of Planet Plenty II requires energy.
Besides geothermal and nuclear energy, biomass fuels are used extensively here.
That is, throwing straw, rotten leaves, and even corpses into the furnace to burn.