The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 334 That's right
It was only after Randolph counted how many works Victor Sala had donated during his lifetime that he found out.

Quite a lot indeed.

——It’s no wonder that many people ridiculed him in the newspapers.

You know, a true "artist" (as they think of it) must at least have his own persistence, style, morals, the spark of inspiration and the rational use of this spark - otherwise he would never "produce" so many works in a short period of time like Victor Sala.

He didn't sell a penny, but gave it away everywhere.

This can only prove one thing: he wants to use his worthless works to impress a certain group of people and let them speak for him.

He wants to praise, to glorify, to receive the mouth and throat of the sculptured man.

He wants fame.

This is simply what those low-moral, philistine businessmen do.

Note: This happened within the past six months.

To be more specific: within three months.

But what effect can these 'inferior' works have?
Only met with ridicule and contempt.

This is true whether they have received it or not - the good news is that Randolph acted quickly and soon wrote to the gentlemen and ladies who owned Victor's works through various channels, and the reply also stated:
All works are in good condition.

Not lost or destroyed.

The bad news is: most of the replies spent a lot of time questioning Victor Sara's behavior before his death (because you can't say anything bad to the dead, the words used are very euphemistic, but they are definitely not so euphemistic that Randolph can't see it.)
He gave away a large number of his works, but took them all back after his death.

This is not a very decent thing to do.

but…

There were still many people coming to the salon.

Because of the last name Taylor, and also because of "Golden Smoke".

"If the extraordinary Mr. Victor Sara knew that so many gentlemen and ladies would gather together because of him after his death, he would surely drink a lot of rum in hell again."

The sound is like the dancing of musical notes.

Roland took a sip of champagne and stood in a corner where he could overlook the entire garden.

Louis Heimann attended the salon as the Heimanns—and also as the owner of one of the sculptures.

Victor gave one of them to Heyman before he died.

The evening grew darker.

As the guests arrived one after another, the servants wiped their sweat and filled the large lawn with statues of various postures.

—The gentlemen and ladies to whom the gift was given expressed a willingness to return it, and they did so.

For Taylor's sake.

"I found it in the storeroom."

Louis Heyman held the thin, orange, clear rose in his hand and shook it from time to time: "It was almost smashed and swept away by the servants..."

He said.

Randolph Taylor first thanked all the guests present, then asked the band to play music and the servants to serve.

The statues stood on the lawn, around each guest—Roland could see the disgust on their faces.

For a dishonorable, shoddy stonemason who thought he was an artist, a man who was 'cursed' or had an 'unknown infectious disease' who perhaps died not so honorably...

Although he didn't say it, it showed clearly on his face.

What a bore, Victor Sala.

They walked around the stone sculpture, refusing to get closer, and from time to time they took out their pocket watches to calculate the time to leave.

"The heir of the Taylor family shouldn't be so willful." Louis was not optimistic about Randolph's approach - this would undoubtedly make Taylor offend many people.

They were there because of this surname, but this was the only time.

The gentleman wearing musical note earrings chattered on and on, expressing his opinions in a low voice.

"The Taylor family's connections don't all come from little Taylor. If your friend insists on doing this—"

Until Roland spoke hesitantly.

"…gentlemen."

"what?"

"Bring me a beef pie."

Louis Hyman: …

For the first time, Louis felt a little angry during the conversation - but the flame was fleeting, and it died out with a frustrating smoke.

Roland Collins.

"Sorry, I'm hungry."

Louis trembled the corners of his mouth slightly, glancing at the maids passing by and the tables filled with food and wine.

He actually brought Roland a stack of triangular pies.

This time, he didn't talk so much.

"Roland Roland!"

A girl called him from the side.

"See you later, Roland." Louis sucked the juice from the rose, glanced at the long field at dusk where light and shadow intertwined, said goodbye, walked into the crowd, and joined the lively social event.

The ones who came were Beatrice in a blue long dress and Miss Bronte in a light gray dress.

The blonde girl was laughing and waving at him, like a jewelry stand hung with gems and gold.

"Trembling."

There is a big arrow after this word.

"If you could get her to jump a few times..."
-
If you could just shut up.

"Honestly, you can have a competition with her: for example, put the gold pound somewhere, and whoever flips it out first wins..."
-
If you could just shut up.

"Your big bat can't participate in such a game."
-
She can. "How do you know?"

The soul asks back.

Roland pursed his lips, put down his plate, and smiled again: "Hey, Betty."

"Roland, Roland, Roland, I miss you!"

"How long has it been since we last met?"

"For a long time!"

"is it?"

"Yes! That's it!"

"You want to guess, do I miss you?"

"You...didn't?"

"Think about it."

"It's so kind of you!"

Bronte, who was following behind, saw her young lady and the handsome gentleman fighting like children. This was originally a very unseemly behavior, but with the blessing of "face", it became pleasing to the eye - many people noticed this scene and laughed in a similar wonderful arc.

Although some glances were still filled with disgust.

"I have always been this good, and I will always be this good."

"really?"

Roland nodded: "Really."

Beatrice couldn't stop laughing.

"I really don't understand how she can be so happy all day." Bronte came over quickly, knelt politely, greeted Roland, and deliberately adjusted the angle to face the man with "eye problems": "Are you feeling well?"

"Of course. But Randolph hasn't been well lately."

When talking about Randolph Taylor, a look of worry flashed across Bronte's face.

She glanced at the lawn for a moment, and said in a nasal voice: "My friend left, I know. He locked himself in the study all night..."

Roland: “But I don’t read.”

Beatrice clapped her hands and laughed.

Bronte gave Roland a reproachful look: "You are also his friend, you should..."

"I have done what a friend should do, Miss Bronte. It is time for others to provide comfort and companionship."

Bronte smoothed her hair and turned her head slightly to avoid him.

"…Teresa comforted him."

"Yes." Roland sighed softly: "He needs comfort and company. Betty, spend more time with your brother recently, okay?"

"Brother..." Beatrice tilted her head: "But I still want to paint."

"What should we do then?" Roland lowered his mouth: "He is so lonely."

Beatrice followed suit and made a sad face like Roland.

Thinking and thinking...

Suddenly I remembered that there was someone beside me.

"Little Bear!" She tugged at Bronte's sleeve. "Stay with my brother."

Bronte: ...

"Miss, I'm afraid I'll have to accompany you."

"Accompany my brother."

"I can't leave your side."

"Accompany my brother!"

Bronte: ...

He glared at Roland who was trying to hold back his laughter.

"...Tomorrow, okay?" He started to discuss with Beatrice.

However, the most important person in the Taylor family never consults with anyone.

"Now!"

"Miss…"

"Now go keep my brother company! Little Bear, Little Bear, Little Bear—"

She started to quarrel.

The sound is getting louder and louder.

Bronte certainly noticed the vague gazes around her, and as her voice became louder, they gradually focused on her and Beatrice...

“…Okay, now, I’ll go now.” She sighed and tried to switch Theresa to Randolph’s side: “Please help me take care of Miss Taylor, Mr. Collins.”

"of course."

Bronte left slowly, leaving Beatrice and Roland behind.

"Will she take good care of my brother?"

"Will do."

"Just like I took good care of you, take good care of my brother?" His big blue-purple eyes were full of pride: "Really?"

Roland smacked his lips and shook his head: "No, it's still a little short." He leaned over and whispered: "...You also bought me a dragon."

Beatrice hummed and nodded seriously: "That's right."

(End of this chapter)