The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 323 Ch.322 Works Exhibition Area
'The artist is silent, his work speaks for him.'

There are posters on the gray and white walls.

On it is an oil painting of a landscape with weeping willows and a lake.

Looking around, posters of all sizes covered the solemn and silent corridors. Gentlemen wearing top hats and ladies carrying shoulder bags and holding folding fans walked slowly through the dewy branches of art, discussing as they went into the venue.

When Randolph and Roland left the carriage, everything was different.

This place was different from the 'real West End' where people reveled every night - Roland guessed that perhaps some unknown ritual was maintained here, so that not only humans, but even horses snorted much more quietly.

Men and women tried their best not to make inappropriate or disturbing noises, but they smiled and nodded when they met acquaintances.

They were polite, using multiple knives and forks like poor people turning over a cheap fish worth a few pennies - they could also greet each other without mentioning the weather, the country, or their expensive pocket watches, but just said concisely:
'Have a nice day.'

It really opened Roland's eyes.

If Roland wanted to twist the heads off of the people in the salon where Cherry had been, then Roland wanted to twist the heads of these people now and put them back together.

"This is not a superfluous move."

Randolph seemed to see something from Roland's face.

This reminded him of his past self.

He just doesn't like these things very much.

'Ah, look at how soft the oil paint is after being cut by the knife! The willow branches are soft, the water waves are soft, the sunset is soft! The whole picture is soft...'

'Yes, sir, but not as soft as a woman's breast.'

That was the first time in his life that he was beaten by his father.

After the salon.

"This is the most elegant place in London, I would say, Roland."

Sometimes the amount of money does not determine a person's character and morality, but if someone is impolite in this regard, then he must be of low morals, poor character, no upbringing and will be rejected by all circles.

"Let me teach you a few words, Roland."

Randolph took the opportunity to adjust his collar and whispered:
"Unbelievable! You are definitely favored by the Benefactor!"

“Its lines are beautiful!”

"All colors become more vivid in it!"

Roland admired Randolph's ability to say these words in a calm tone.

"To praise a work of art, or the artist who created it, or...a woman, use these. Universal, Roland, universal phrase."

Randolph patted him on the shoulder and stepped into the cold and silent corridor.

Elite Art Exhibition.

Several emblems hanging on the stone wall at the entrance show that this exhibition is protected and sponsored by multiple religious sects.

Holy Cross, Maelstrom, Private Alliance, Church of Justice.

Some of the male and female puppets who passed by nodded to Randolph, while others looked at Roland curiously, either with their peripheral vision or when they turned their heads inadvertently.

People didn't walk in the corridor for too long. When the gas lamps became brighter and brighter, they officially entered the exhibition hall.

"To some ladies, you're a work of art."

Randolph quipped.

There are more than just sculptures in the exhibition hall.

Paintings, pianos, or even iron crafts that Roland couldn't understand. Some handwritten music books stored in glass cabinets, novelists' manuscripts, old-fashioned dinner plates, and some art from other countries.
-
What do you know about art, wrenches?

"…explode?"

Roland: ...

"Unfortunately, my knowledge of humans is limited to your and Su Yue's memories."
-
Miss Nina’s memory…I guess she was an artist?
"If you mean when her mother found out that her phone was vibrating, she still had to say it was her phone vibrating... then she can barely be considered an 'artist'."

"Behavioral."

Roland:? -
What do you mean?
"What I mean is, instead of deifying her, why don't you deify me?"

Roland pushed up the brim of his hat, took off his soft lambskin gloves, folded them slowly, and put them in his pocket. "..."

"Pretending to be dead, huh?"

It's not that the art is bad, but that Randolph and Roland didn't appreciate their knowledge enough - if a person can't even distinguish the types of fragrances, how can you discuss with him the lightness, heaviness, top and bottom notes, how can you talk in detail about the craftsmanship behind the brand, its areas of expertise and the target audience.

A wealthy businessman who knows everything about tobacco, and an executive who raises exotic species.

They came here to find the reason for their unhappiness, just to collect some comments about Victor Sala, commissioned the cameraman to take pictures, took them back, and told him:

You are now famous.

Stay away from that damn white dirt!
"If it weren't for that rare item, I would never have come with you, Randolph."

"you will."

"I will not."

Randolph put one hand behind his back and leaned forward to study the painting on the wall. In this silent venue, he couldn't raise his voice too loudly: "... sometimes what you say is completely different from what you do, Roland. It's not popular to do that."

"I'm already likable enough, I need to restrain myself a little... What do you think, Beatrice's brother?"

Randolph: ...

Rolled his eyes.

"If you were dumb, I'd have more friends."

They turned around a few times, but Sarah's work was nowhere to be seen.

So, I found the person in charge of the venue and asked him in a nice voice about Victor Sala's name and why his sculpture was not in the sculpture museum. Was it missed or placed in some other more important place?

The person in charge's expression became strange when he heard the name 'Victor Sala'.

——It’s like a person who lets his child, who is less than ten years old, participate in an adult boxing competition and then asks the child whether he won a prize or beat anyone.

"That gentleman's 'masterpiece' is not here."

The person in charge wanted to say something sarcastic, but when he saw the colorful gems on Randolph's fingers, he thought about it and decided to save his "humor" for his wife - at least his wife would not complain to his boss or hire a few young people who had nothing to do all day to break his legs.

She would just meet her lover secretly and lie that the pregnancy was his when she got pregnant.

Life is unpredictable, Sendes.

impermanence of life.

The person in charge of the unsuccessful shooter suppressed his desire to be sarcastic today, bowed slightly, and led Roland and Randolph to another hall.

one…

The hall was not so quiet, with laughter coming from all over.

There, Randolph saw the work of Victor Sala at first sight.

A woman weeps with her face covered, her robe slipping off her shoulders.

Beside her legs, a confused boy was pulling her and looking up at her in confusion.

The sign reads:

「Created by: Victor Sala」

"childhood"

Many people lingered around and talked in low voices.

"I'm sorry, I want to know why Mr. Sarah's work is... like this..." Randolph looked around the narrow, dark and poorly lit exhibition hall - there was hardly even a waiter here, and the works did not need to be hung on fences.

Obviously, it is different from the previous exhibition hall.

"Ah, yes, he can only be here."

The person in charge smiled and said, "This place is exactly for these people, sir."

He said.

“If there is no real bad, how can we tell what is really good?”

(End of this chapter)