The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 337 Ch.336 Chat
If you ask a wealthy person what he hates most, Randolph Taylor has something to say.

"I hate being in a small space with my sister."

Because he couldn't do anything to her, while the latter had too many plans to 'use' on his brother - he couldn't avoid it.

If you were to ask a wealthy person, is there anything more annoying than this?
'I hate being in a cramped space with my sister... and Roland Collins was there too.'

That would be a disaster.

There was a hot palm stove burning in the specially designed shock-absorbing carriage.

The thickened box and the cleverly processed small parts between the shafts make it almost impossible for the person in the box to feel much vibration - plus there are soft fur blankets, heated palm stoves, fruit plates stacked into tall and short towers, and light incense.

Even someone riding in such a carriage for the first time should know that it is very different from those public vehicles that cost a few pennies per trip.

This is a "mobile palace" prepared for a small group of people who have special status, or think they have special status, and will never let their delicate soft boots, which cost a worker half a month's salary for a single button, step into the mud.

The Taylor family has the qualifications and ability to do so.

“What is the purpose of making money?”

A 'rough man' like Randolph would not raise the issue to a philosophical or moral level like those people in the newspapers.

"You make money to enjoy it, Roland."

If the roads allowed, Randolph could even build a house-sized carriage for his sister to ride.

"While I understand, Randolph, I think Betty would rather ride you."

The carriage is designed with two seats.

Randolph Taylor and Bronte sat on one side, Roland and Beatrice on the other.

"It's true that I haven't carried Betty on my back for a long time..." Randolph sipped the champagne in his hand with some nostalgia and tasted the past memories. He looked at the blonde girl who was fiddling with Roland's fingers with some anticipation in his eyes: "Betty, do you want your brother to carry you again? When we get home, it will be like when we were little -"

Beatrice didn't even raise her head: "No."

Randolph: ...

Bronte: Phew.

The complaining businessman with a pointed chin glared at the instigator of this topic, with 'she doesn't want me to carry her at all' written all over his forehead - the other party spread his hands innocently and wrote the answer on his forehead.

'Don't give up, Rich Man.'

Bronte found it very interesting to watch the two of them bickering over Beatrice.

Randolph Taylor rarely showed his "face" other than that of a "businessman" in front of outsiders - maybe to Theresa, but Bronte herself did not enjoy such treatment.

He is too busy, with too many things to deal with and too many social engagements to attend every day.

He was shrewd, excellent, greedy, and devoured what he deserved or didn't deserve like a beast - the Taylor family prospered under his leadership.

He was good in every way except that he couldn't get close to Bronte.

It wasn't until the incident with Victor Sala that she realized that this man also had a fragile... or 'human' side.

He might just slightly lift a corner of his face, and the temperature underneath would attract a certain Charlotte to excitedly flap her wings, ready to jump into the fire.

"I have sent people to investigate the matter of Bai Tu. Roland, what did the Inquisition say?"

Apparently, the 'adults' haven't noticed the harmful effects of this stuff: they don't live in houses mixed with white clay.

"Madam, you don't know. This thing probably hasn't been in London long. If you want to investigate, I suggest you start from the East and South Ends, from those who can't afford food or housing."

Randolph pressed his tense temple...or somewhere else.

He felt much more relaxed wherever he pressed.

He has been too tired recently.

"I'm curious about what you're going to do after you catch the culprit."

Roland noticed something strange in his legs.

The cunning girl raised her hand, and two fingers turned into human legs, jumping left and right on Roland's legs. Then, the "person" looked up and began to jump and climb the mountain.

Roland said nothing, and just tilted the 'little man' up the mountain with difficulty, over the hem and buttons, over the smooth vest, and when it was about to reach the top, he bent his five fingers and let the 'monster' swallow the climber in one gulp.

Beatrice screamed.

"There are monsters on the mountain, Betty, why don't you be more careful."

Randolph rolled his eyes and continued Roland's question.

"If I catch him, he'll never be able to do business in this country again - I'll make him keep all his life's money in London." "I thought you would..."

"What? Make him 'disappear'?" Randolph sneered: "Believe me, Roland. If a businessman loses his wealth, it will cause more pain than killing him."

Roland was noncommittal.

"But I think this matter is not too small, Randolph. Even I know how huge the profit of white earth is..."

Randolph nodded.

indeed.

If this thing spreads in London, and spreads without most people noticing, it will be an unimaginable disaster...

Endless hell.

Is the person selling it a fool?

How dare you spread this thing in London?
You know, once this matter attracts attention, it is not difficult to trace the starting point of everything.

"Randolph."

"Ok?"

"I'm sorry about Victor Sala."

Randolph was silent for a moment: "...I thought you would accuse me of being mercenary, disregarding friendship, and having no morals..."

"Randolph."

Roland interrupted him: "You are definitely not a person who is only interested in profit and disregards friendship."

Bronte: ...

Randolph: ...

So there is really no morality, right?

"I don't know who can make you really serious in front of it, Roland." Randolph could do nothing about his young friend.

"Why so serious, Randolph."

Roland shrugged.

He was talking to his friend, but there was always a continuous faint knocking sound in his ears.

Ding…ding…

Like the sound of a pointed hammer striking marble.

If he listened carefully, he could even hear the rubbing of the exploded stone powder against each other, vibrating in the air, being blown away by the wind, or falling heavily to the ground after a life of ups and downs.

After Victor Sala's death, he suddenly awakened this 'extraordinary ability'.

Another illusion.

Perhaps the knocking sound was a constant reminder to him of how absurd everything that happened in this serious, orderly world was.

"Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding..."

He leaned forward slightly so that Beatrice could pull the ends of his hair out from under the soft sofa and braid them in her hands.

She took off her jeweled hairpin and pinned it on the end of Roland's hair.

"Mr. Victor Sala is an artist through and through."

Randolph tilted his head and pushed aside the curtains: "He's a bastard, Roland."

"Let's not be assholes to each other."

These words covered up the knocks and stunned Bronte for a moment - she could hear the meaning.

Roland said nothing, transformed into a monster again, lowered his head and focused on dealing with the "mortal" who was trying to climb the mountain again.

"Foolish mortal! Raise your head! Face the Hand of Collins!"

"Hahaha, Roland, you are so stupid..."

Sometimes, it's a bit rude to think that Bronte really can't tell who is the stupid one between the two of them.

(End of this chapter)