The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 322 Ch.321 Elite Art Exhibition
Victor Sala did not commit a serious crime, because he had not even touched or seen the real "Invisible Art" - a deceived person who got a fake thing would not be punished.

Then there was Randolph Taylor. Roland just told him about the fate of the real fools who bought or used the "Invisible Art".

That's scary enough.

Randolph hired four or five doctors (Roland thought the actual number was more than that) to diagnose Victor in batches.

The results were not very optimistic.

"They call that stuff 'white clay'."

In the carriage, Randolph told Roland that Victor's disease was not a rare one.

This is a newly emerged 'incurable disease'.

The patient will first feel that the skin becomes thicker and the pain sensation is greatly reduced.

Then, their spirits will become more active, and their vitality will seem to be so strong for the first time. Even significantly shortening their rest time will not affect their daily life.

then.

Such was the case with Victor Sala.

Physical petrification - this is just a representation, not really hardening like stone and losing consciousness.

And at this point, the real trouble is what's under the skin.

Offal.

"Those who are sick are like Victor. By the time they realize something is wrong, it's too late."

White clay.

This is a material named by doctors that is similar to soil but more plastic than soil and stronger after being shaped.

Anyone who suffers from "petrification disease" has been in contact with "white clay" for a long time.

"For Victor, white clay is an excellent sculptural material. Mixing this cheap mud with plaster makes it easier to shape smooth lines."

"For some people of 'low status', white clay is a very good building material. Houses made of white clay are much cheaper than ordinary houses - and so is the rent."

Randolph lowered his head and pressed his eyebrows again and again.

He has been running around for Victor these days.

Some truly famous scholars, researchers in schools, or doctors all needed him to visit them in person - and these people were obviously more interested in the 'white soil' than Victor.

“Cheap materials.”

Cheap is the key word.

"Don't let Mr. Sara touch that thing again."

"Yes, Roland, but it's like asking a gambler to stop playing cards." Randolph sighed: "This is too difficult for him... I really don't understand why he has to risk his life for that so-called 'pursuit'?"

Roland didn't understand either.

In a way, he was the same kind of person as Randolph - a completely different kind from Victor Sala.

He didn't understand what this strange man who lived in a cold and damp suburban villa all year round was pursuing - just like Randolph said, if all he wanted was praise, the compliments in the newspaper could be bought by the word or by the paragraph.

As long as there is money.

"He wants recognition, Roland... maybe? He's been like this since he was young."

Randolph said.

Indeed, the art exhibition of the Ilet Art Association is not something that can be selected by just spending a little money - not all participants are "poor people" like Victor Sala.

There are artists among the rich.

If money is used, it will not be Victor Sala's turn.

"In order to maintain the so-called purity and sanctity, those old guys will certainly not accept donations and sponsorships openly." Randolph took out a flat cowhide bag from the box, which contained a silver, peculiarly shaped cigar cutter.

"A new style of "Golden Smoke". "

He cut two sticks and lit one for himself and one for Roland.

The window was opened a crack.

The smokers began to puff away.

"I can't convince him, Roland. His father died in a shipwreck while trying to help my father. In fact, I couldn't answer his question that day."

For friendship? Or just... shame?
There was a hint of sadness in the blue-purple eyes.

"…But I never thought that he would be infected with an incurable disease at this age. He has no wife or children yet. He is the only one left in Sarah's family."

The carriage crossed the cross street and headed towards the Elite Art Exhibition.

As Victor Sala said, since his work was selected for the exhibition, it would definitely appear in the exhibition - Randolph wanted to go and see it, to see, or to be able to do something for his friend in the end.

If his father were alive, he would surely be a famous stonemason now, perhaps even better than him.

And Victor Sala is following in his father's footsteps...

Walking on a painful and difficult road.

"I have sent servants to guard his door and will never let him touch the 'white clay' again."

It's actually too late.

But that was all Randolph could do - he put down his work and ran around for his friends all day, which was the limit of what "Tyler" could do.

"I have reported 'White Earth' to the Inquisition."

Roland said.

But this thing...

Obviously not taken seriously.

Enid seemed to have known this for a long time, and many executives said that they had seen patients suffering from "petrification disease": if a house only costs five pounds a year (two shillings a week), who would care whether living there would cause... some kind of stone disease?

Death? That's for later.

As Shandel Kratov said, some of the trash who only grew to her ankles were born with physical defects:

Their eyes can see no further.

They are fearless and only care about the present. Even if they swallow a razor blade, as long as the factory is still bubbling with thick black smoke tomorrow, they can grin and bleed with joy.

'We have no choice, Shandel.'

But Miss Library disagrees.

'Who has, Roland?'

"Who has it?" the young man in the carriage muttered to himself.

"I guess it's useless, isn't it?" Randolph turned over and blew on the cigarette. The smoldering flame flickered with the airflow. "I asked about 'white clay', to be honest... it's really tempting."

Because the profits are too great.

——It's like selling mud as bread.

"…I also have friends in the mining industry. I heard that 'white clay' can not only be used as a building material, but its refined derivatives can also make bread whiter, allowing food to stay fresher for longer."

Randolph said.

"So, I don't dare to intervene."

There is no contradiction in this.

Randolph is a smart man. He knows that the higher the profit of an industry, the higher the entry threshold.

——But if an industry is so profitable that even the Father of All is greedy, and every coin earned is stained with blood...

Then, it is not suitable for the Taylor family.

The Taylor family does not do this kind of high-risk business that suddenly rises to the clouds and blinks into hell.

They are not "Chloe", not "Heffer" or "Benevento", not even "Hayman".

"Golden Smoke" does have Gray Party shareholders, and is indeed a member of the "Blue Blood Nobles". He made friends with a genius of the Inquisition, perhaps a future upstart. He joined the new king, became a royalist, and donated money to the Inquisition.

But the Taylors can't achieve 'big things'.

Because Bellows had only one son, Randolph Taylor.

And Randolph Taylor himself was not without worries.

His father and his sister were like the vibrant hearts in his body, protected only by their not-so-hard bones.

"I really hope Mr. Edward Snow can come back soon."

Randolph hoped that the doctor who 'cured' his sister could perform another miracle like the previous one.

Roland, however, believes that many things in this world often develop in the direction that people least want to see.

"Here we are."

(End of this chapter)