The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 331 Ch.330 Goodwill Exposed
"Victor Sala! One of the most outstanding sculptors of this century!"

"He created a whole new genre—"

"I have to apologize to you all. I did something that was not right..."

Victor Sala held the chisel in one hand and a crumpled newspaper in the other, shaking it a few times in the dusty air.

Roland sat by the window, holding his chin, looking out at the cold and withered garden through the glass.

"It's a good paper, isn't it?"

Mr. Sculptor is not wrong to mock.

Since his conversation with Randolph that day, he no longer invited his friend to visit - for a paranoid person, madness is terrifying.

servant?

What right does a servant have to 'watch over' him?

The strange thing is that he didn't seem to be very disgusted with Roland.

"You know what? Randolph is a rude and vulture with a curved beak. He has no concept of beauty at all."

In the poor light, Victor tilted the newspaper: "If you want to forge a paragraph, this is already a success. But he obviously doesn't know those critics well enough - those who received money will not be like a woman who can count money by candlelight while holding her head up..."

"That's not how they talk."

The critics and artists in this newspaper praised Victor Sala as much as they could, praising his superb skills, achievements in the field of art, his understanding of beauty, and the new genre he created.

He will leave a mark in history.

of course.

This newspaper is fake.

It can completely fool a person who stays at home...

But it can't fool an ascetic who has been walking on the needle board of words for many years.

His feet were already covered with thick calluses.

"little tricks."

Victor did not think highly of this approach.

"Randolph loved to play these kinds of tricks when he was young, especially when he was with those girls."

"He thinks I care, but I don't."

A few crows landed on the abandoned ivory fountain sculpture and on the shoulder of the woman holding the pottery jar. They greeted each other with their beaks, nodded their heads from time to time, and looked at the golden-eyed young man behind the glass.

"He's at a loss now, Mr. Sara." Roland said without looking back: "He fell in love with a lady who truly loves art, so much so that he even bought books to learn how to praise a work of art. I don't know why he didn't learn anything useful from you over the years."

"Because I have nothing 'useful' about me." Sarah crumpled up the newspaper and stuffed it into the glass.

The red wine beads pounced on it like a wild beast that wanted to reproduce madly, dyeing the gray color of the lead type into dark brown.

"There is nothing in me except bigotry, meanness, debauchery, and effeminacy..." He stared at his work, changing the angle from time to time, and adjusting its details with the smallest and thinnest tool in his hand: "...Oh, is debauchery an advantage?"

"Well," Roland said, "It's not bad to be mean."

Victor's laughter was hoarse, like a handful of ashes stuck in his throat.

He nearly coughed his lungs out.

"I'm beginning to like you, Collins."

"It's a pity that you only have half a month to enjoy it." Roland said quietly.

Half a month is how long the doctors judged Victor Sala could survive.

——If this gentleman follows the doctor's advice and tries their new medicine, he might be able to live longer.

Years, even decades.

They came up with some new treatment and promised that it would work.

Everyone is different.

Variety.

"I'd rather trust a prostitute, Mr. Collins. Because if a prostitute tells me a trick, she must have tried it on someone else and it worked."

Victor said sarcastically.

Pour boiling water over your belly?
Puncture the sole of the foot to let blood?

Taking large doses of mercury mixed with leech powder?

"They say my blood is dirtier than the Thames. How is that possible? Didn't our Queen say that the mother river is so clean that you can just bend down and scoop it up to drink?" Obviously, Victor Sala was not completely ignorant of the outside world.

He was talking about a well-known 'joke' from earlier - after the Supreme One ascended the throne, he attended the construction of the clock tower.

At that time, she asked her companions in great confusion what the densely packed papers floating in the river were.

It's used toilet paper.

But the men only told her: 'It is our notice, Your Majesty.'

'Tell the citizens not to bathe in the river and to work together to protect our river.'

She was very happy and said that if time was not tight, she would definitely drink this clean river water, which symbolizes the country's endless vitality.

From then on, the image of the Supreme Being in the eyes of the citizens became very interesting.

This joke might be true or false, but Roland could conclude that the person who first spread it must have some unspeakable conspiracy.

“I didn’t want to lie on an operating table, twitching under the gaze of hundreds of eyes, with men in blood-stained aprons holding hacksaws or ebony-handled scalpels staring at me—and the sound of a pocket watch ticking in my ears.”

Victor Sala focused on adjusting the woman's cheeks, making them smoother and more delicate - like a real person.

"Please spare me. Those who haven't recovered from their job as barbers may not be as skillful as the butchers. If my arm is broken, how can I live?"

He relies on these two arms for "survival".

Now, the gray color has spread from the arms to the entire upper body.

Amputation is no longer useful.

"What does this mean to you?"

"Which?"

“You do now.”

Victor put his hands behind his back and took a few steps back, letting the light hit the sculpture.

"All."

He said.

He also looks like an exquisite sculpture in the sunlight.

The sculpture looks at its own sculpture.

"My mother did run away, she did not die of pulmonary edema."

Roland turned his head and said, "I didn't ask."

"I'm not talking to you either." Victor changed the direction of his toes, walked around the back of the sculpture, bent down, and began to adjust her waist: "Randolph, that sharp-beaked bird, has been carrying shame for more than ten years. He doesn't know how to face me, a former good friend, and now...a creditor."

"He uses money, and only money."

Victor raised the chisel, tilted it, and tapped it lightly with the hammer.

Then, he adjusted the angle and knocked it again.

"How can I let my friend carry pain for the rest of his life?"

Roland asked in return: "Isn't regret the best art?"

Victor suddenly turned his head and looked at Roland. "That's the person in the story, Mr. Collins. No one would express their true friends as works of art..."

"Oh, I'm so glad you realized that."

Victor snorted, but then grinned: "You are scolding me for him, I can hear it."

of course.

Roland didn't like Victor Sala.

Because he is willful.

For Roland, friends and family are extremely important in life.

Victor Sala's actions are clearly hurting the one person who truly cares about him, perhaps the only person in the world who cares about him - he seems to be doing this just for the so-called "art", to achieve a certain goal, making his friend sweat and scream like a clown walking on fire.

He just does his own thing.

Then, take a moment to appreciate the clown's scream.

This made Roland extremely disgusted.

(End of this chapter)