Chapter 3 Language Module
1939 Words
Through a timely and insightful Weibo post, the Weibo account 'Zhang Yang' attracted over three hundred followers.
"These are the 300 warriors of StarCraft!"
"This is just the beginning; there will definitely be more and more in the future!"
A thought welled up in Zhang Yang's mind.
He then pressed on, providing four more timely updates in the remaining time: "Chelsea launched a fierce attack on Tottenham's goal, earning three consecutive corner kicks. Unfortunately, the players taking the corners seemed to be out of form;
two of their shots were subpar, and the other failed to create any opportunities for their teammates."
"Chelsea took a dangerous shot from outside the attacking zone, but the Tottenham goalkeeper made a crucial save."
"It's time for Tottenham to launch a counter-attack!
They surrounded Chelsea's half for three minutes, but against the Blues' solid defense, they only managed one goal-scoring opportunity."
"Tottenham launched their final counter-attack!
They searched for opportunities in dire straits, but faced with an impenetrable defense, they could only accept defeat… Chelsea ultimately defeated Tottenham 2-1!"
The Weibo post immediately attracted a large audience.
These "Star Warriors" weren't entirely innocent; some were just curious onlookers, their aim not to follow the predictions. Some wanted an opportunity to make sarcastic remarks to vent their anger over Chelsea's goal, while others wanted to see the next prediction,
to see if it would be accurate.
Initially, some people didn't refute the posts.
But as time went on, the rebuttals stopped.
The predictions made in the Weibo posts had all come true in the match.
So, all that remained were expressions of admiration.
Somewhat regrettably, due to the lack of news related to the goal, the number of new followers attracted by the following four Weibo posts decreased, but the initial post still attracted attention, and some people didn't follow back.
By the time the Chelsea vs. Tottenham Hotspur match ended, the "Extravagant" Weibo account had over a thousand followers.
Newcomers not only followed the Weibo posts but also commented on the earlier ones. The first post had the most comments, nearly four hundred: "The blogger is a genius!"
"Is the blogger God?
Or... a relative of the referee!"
"He can even predict this in advance?
Did he know the score before the match even started?!"
"He even knew about the penalty?
Is this guy part of the refereeing team, deliberately giving Chelsea a penalty?"
"Just who is this blogger?!"
"..." The next four Weibo posts also had hundreds of comments, but since there weren't any particularly interesting ones, fans simply commented: "Looks like the blogger's analysis of the match is spot-on!"
"Absolutely right!
100 points!"
"The blogger must be a super fan!
With such accurate analysis, I feel like I don't even need to watch the match after reading the blogger's Weibo."
"Now that's what football is all about!"
"Was it a fluke?
That's too fake!
Is it a publicity stunt?"
"..." The comments were dazzling, but Zhang Yang read them with great interest. He had achieved some success in his previous life, but the busy lifestyle and the online world had created some barriers; this was the first time he had attracted so much attention.
This was a different kind of success.
After dinner that day, Zhang Yang slept soundly, his first long sleep since his transmigration, and had a seemingly wonderful dream.
In his dream, he was standing at the highest point of a luxurious football stadium.
A thousand eyes were on him!
Below him, a football match was underway. Countless fans were present, but few were actually watching the game.
They were all looking upwards.
At a certain moment, he grinned and suddenly raised his arm powerfully, making a victory 'V' sign.
That meant a goal!
All the fans chanted in unison, the scoreboard changed prematurely, and in the sea of noise, after some time, a goal was finally scored.
In this match, he alone was the true protagonist.
—The November weather in London was a bit chilly.
Early morning.
Zhang Yang, dressed in a suit and tie, low-cut leather shoes, and carrying a briefcase, boarded the 714 bus.
London mornings are notoriously congested; every street was incredibly busy. The three-kilometer journey, with four stops in between, took over twenty minutes.
Through the crowds, Zhang Yang didn't seem uncomfortable.
He'd experienced similar situations countless times in his previous life; he'd been through the motions of lying flat on train seats before, so getting off a bus was nothing unusual.
After getting off the bus, he walked briskly for a short while until he arrived at a thirty-story building.
Zhang Yang went to the thirteenth floor, found the receptionist, explained that it was his first day at work, and was led to a small office.
That was Brand's office.
Brand was the editor-in-chief of the BBC's sports division, in charge of the written sports news section, and one of the most powerful people in the division.
After yesterday's interview, Zhang Yang was now working under Brand. Brand was a middle-aged man around fifty, slightly overweight, with a receding hairline resembling a painted Mediterranean, and thinning hair on the sides.
Brad was reading a newspaper, a sash casually draped over the corner of the table.
“Why are you so late?”
Brad frowned slightly when he saw Zhang Yang. “It’s your first day at work. Remember, this is London, not lazy China. Don’t bring your bad habits from home!”
Zhang Yang glanced down at the time. “Isn’t work at 8:30?
I arrived twenty minutes early.”
“Then why am I here?”
Brand retorted sharply, setting down the sash, his eyes turning serious. “We’re different from other jobs. Some people even work 24/7.
You’re just starting out. I don’t expect you to do that, but at least arrive an hour early every day, understand?”
Zhang Yang nodded, his lips pursed.
If one didn't understand, they might think Brand was just being strict. But stepping out of the office and seeing the empty seats, he knew Brand was targeting him specifically.
Zhang Yang walked to his desk, only to find nothing amiss.
There wasn't even a computer on the desk.
His memories told him that when he came to report for duty after his interview yesterday, there was a computer here. Even a print editor couldn't work without a computer; it would be impossible.
"Are you new here?"
A pleasant voice came from behind. Zhang Yang turned around and saw a long-haired woman smiling at him. She extended her hand, "My last name is Evans, you can call me Frida."
"Zhang Yang."
The two touched hands.
“Zhang?
That’s a strange pronunciation.”
Frida chuckled. “You’re new here, aren’t you?
I heard a new person joined yesterday, but my colleagues all say…” She glanced at Brand’s office before whispering, “Brand doesn’t like you. You’d better be careful, don’t give him any leverage. But it’s normal, he doesn’t like Asians,
he doesn’t like Southerners, and even Eastern Europeans.”
“Why?”
Frida glanced around the office, leaned closer, and said, “He’s a leftist. He thinks people from other regions are taking jobs from Englishmen and disrupting the normal order of Britain.
I heard he supports Britain’s EU membership? Unbelievable!
He works in the US, how could he support the EU? Besides, Britain has been in the EU for so many years, it’s impossible for him to leave again. He’s dreaming!”
Zhang Yang shook his head.
Frida probably never imagined that Britain would actually become part of the EU in the future.
That had nothing to do with him.
Brand wasn't trying to find fault with him; the other party had already started targeting him, setting a goal of gaining 30,000 followers on Weibo yesterday.
Zhang Yang asked, "Is this the first day of work, and I don't even have a computer?
Is this the treatment for interns?"
"Really?"
Frida asked curiously, "I don't know, but there are definitely office computers. You should probably ask Brand."
"Frida, you're here so early!"
A voice called from the doorway, and a man in his early thirties with a mustache walked in. He looked at Zhang Yang and said, "You're the new guy?"
Before Zhang Yang could speak, Frida asked, "Gavin, where are the computers?"
“Brand took it.”
“Why?”
“He said he wouldn’t need it for a while, so he packed it up and put it in storage.”
Gail laughed, “I suspect he’s targeting you on purpose, Asian kid.”
“He won’t give me a computer?”
Zhang Yang was a little confused. “Then I can’t work? Does that mean I don’t have to work?”
Gavin said, “I don’t know.”
Gavin then tugged at Frida and whispered, “Don’t talk to him too much. You don’t want Brand targeting you, do you?”
Frida was a little indignant, but still sat back down.
Zhang Yang heard Gavin’s words and could only shrug helplessly. He simply went back to the office and found Brand.
Brand didn’t even look up. “You’re asking about the computer?
You don’t have a computer.
You’re not sure you’re my employee yet.
Unless you can complete the target I gave you and prove your ability.”
“So I don’t have to work this week until I complete the target?”
Zhang Yang retorted.
Brand finally looked up. "Work doesn't necessarily require a computer. I'll give you tasks."
The conversation with Brand ended unpleasantly.
Zhang Yang simply returned to his desk and sat down. He didn't have to do anything, and being a newcomer, he could gossip around him—some just gossiping, some maliciously mocking—but no one paid him any attention.
Not long after, Zhang Yang almost fell asleep when a harsh reprimand rang out.
"You should be more serious. This isn't sleep time!"
Brand stood to the side, slamming a document down heavily. "This is your work for today. Translate it, and you can leave early; otherwise, you'll have to work overtime."
Brand left after saying that.
If you didn't know better, you'd think it was special treatment—finishing the work and leaving work, how great!
Zhang Yang knew with his eyes closed that it was being deliberately difficult.
It was two reports from Italy, mostly in Italian. His job was to translate them into English.
But he wasn't an Italian translator!
If he had a computer, he could use the translated documents to search and look up information. But without a computer, facing a pile of unfamiliar characters, how could he possibly translate everything into English?
Even if he worked overtime until the next day, he wouldn't finish a single task.
He didn't know how he was going to get through the day.
"Damn it!"
Just as Zhang Yang was cursing inwardly, a strange voice suddenly sounded in his ear, "System detection requires auxiliary modules."
"Language module."
"System analysis in progress..." "Request: Language module, Italian module.
Loading... Please wait..." Zhang Yang was stunned for a moment. In what seemed like an instant, he heard "Language module, Italian module loaded," and then his head felt like it was going to explode.
He almost fainted for a moment.
He didn't know how much time had passed—it seemed like only a moment, yet it also seemed like a long time—before his mind finally cleared.
Zhang Yang looked at the documents on the table again and found that every word and every sentence was easy to understand.
He immediately smiled.
- Writer
