The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 351 Ch.350 Don't be like this

The gold pounds in the cash box obviously far exceeded what they wanted.

They don't take much.

The not greedy ghosts only take what they deserve, women or laborers, carrying children or holding swaddling clothes, they quietly watch him who is quietly watching them, and then, before disappearing, leave behind a touch of complex melancholy.

The tide rushed into an insatiable sponge: either the throat of a businessman or the ass of a politician - the former wants to swallow more, the latter wants to sit better.

They picked up the small, badly worn pieces of metal and disappeared in chunks.

It's like being hit by deadly shells, dying over and over again.

Did it take half an hour, or an hour, to gather this tide?
Roland couldn't remember the time here.

But they disappeared in just a few minutes.

The gold pounds in the box had not been used up even half, but there were only a few spirits left on the riverside square.

They stopped crowding and became polite. They lined up, came to the box one by one, bent down to pick up one, and then turned around to count the number of people.

This gave Randolph and his friends an incredible sense of absurdity.

A few minutes ago, these ghosts tore apart more than twenty living people.

Right in front of them, in front of their eyes.

The pieces of sleeves, leather shoes and gloves were still soaked in fresh blood, flesh, bones and unnamed liquids - but now, they lined up as if nothing had happened, one by one to receive the money and leave.

There were also people who weighed the coins in their hands and smiled flatteringly at Roland.

'Either the world is fucking crazy, or I'm fucking crazy.'

Bohan, Cork, Hughes.

Three of Randolph's friends and families.

It was Hughes who spoke, the man with the squarest face and the most masculine and exquisite beard: "Either the fucking world is crazy, or I am fucking crazy."

No one else could give him an answer.

They thought he just wanted to say 'fuck it' -

Who wouldn't?
Maybe the world and they are crazy.

"so."

Randolph opened his mouth: "...They killed so many people just for..."

The businessman's keen eye for numbers allowed him to calculate long ago how much each person took.

"Only for sevenpence...is that so?"

This is the most absurd part of the question.

Seven pence.

It's like: lying on the bed, taking a cigar out of the box, cutting it open, lighting it, and taking a puff.

At this moment, the eight-year-old girl in my arms with the smell of cigarettes is probably about this price, one time - of course, if you insist on eating new, good and clean food, it can also cost a few pounds, dozens of pounds, or even several hundred pounds.

The new era Great Britain and diversified golden London must keep pace with the world.

"Sevenpence for damn..."

Hughes spat.

"There's really no need to amend the Bill for these low-lifes! Sevenpence is all they want!" he raged, but his voice did not match his anger.

What are the obsessions of these spirits?
Roland gently stroked the white snake on his wrist.

They may not even be able to read, and they don't understand what laws and regulations are. Compared with the holidays mentioned by the masters, the most practical benefit that this grand parade can bring to them is only the seven pence.

For seven pennies, twenty men were killed, women who might be pregnant or babies who were still in their cradles were killed...

does it worth?
worth it.

Roland flicked the brim of his hat.

Seven pence.

It was worth killing half of London.

That's a lot of money, gentlemen.

Roland turned on his toes and bowed slightly towards the woman in the swaying long skirt who passed through the spirit.

She was very tall, and her stern face gave people a more murderous feeling than those ghosts who were staring at her fiercely before.

She seemed to be unaccustomed to the clothes, and walked slowly and carefully, but she was respected by the ghosts, who dispersed like soldiers, leaving a clear and empty path for her.

Under the gaze of these few remaining living people, she walked step by step to Roland.

But don't bend over.

"Long time no see." Roland smiled and greeted her. She seemed different from other ghosts, no more decayed, but one of her eyes was missing.

She had no purpose, just staring at the familiar golden eyes and black hair.

Anne Vansittart.

have not seen you for a long time…

Mr. Diamond.

Roland tapped the tip of his staff.

The blurry and illusory hem of the skirt moved in the wind just like his black hair, as if the only difference between him and her was their color, like two ships sailing in different directions that passed each other by chance.

"Would a long journey be interesting? I suppose you would enjoy this adventure."

Anne's frozen face moved, revealing a cold smile...if that could be called a 'smile'.

“…you…you are…”

Annie said.

Roland was not too surprised that he was forgotten: "The world of the dead is also full of despair?" Then, as if asking himself, he answered: "The weak are always in despair."

Anne suddenly took a step forward.

Click.

Several guns were raised instantly, with the muzzles pointed at her chest.

The connection between her neck and head seemed to be made of inferior metal with holes drilled in them. The friction from the lack of oil made the "turning head" movement look stiff and inhuman, like a puppet that hadn't used its neck and head for a long time, or a machine that had never had a neck and head at all.

She glanced blankly at the guns, the trembling hands holding the guns, and the faces pretending to be tough - she seemed to be born with the power to see through the fragility behind the masks, whether in life or in death.

"I want…"

The parts connecting her throat, jaw and tongue were also rusted, and she spoke but didn't know what she was going to say.

"I want..." She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again: "...what?"

She forgot.

"You want a story."

Amid the screams of the woman behind him, Roland leaned forward without hesitation and put his head close to her ear - Randolph's friends had no doubt that the next moment he would have his head ripped off and his chest torn open by the tall and strong female monster.

What they feared did not happen.

"You want a story."

Roland put down his heels, then raised his feet again, repeating this process back and forth, playing a few notes in a non-tune manner in the same place: "A story about a princess, right?"

He blew lightly again, moving the intricate lace and tassels on her chest to the other side.

"The princess has found her own way. She is much more powerful than the giant..."

The cold eyeballs finally seemed to focus.

I saw clearly the man with golden eyes jumping back and forth in front of me.

"…She…succeeded?"

"Who is she?" Roland blinked and raised his arms, as if to embrace this dangerous and unconscious spirit. "She is your choice, and mine. She is the best hand, the most wonderful greedy ghost, the smartest night cat, the emerald who can use a blade the best..."

"Who is she? The spirit lady?"

she…

who is it?

Anne Vansittart had long forgotten who she was.

But, it seems that there is such a person who is much more important than seven pence...

Much more important than many things.

she…

Who is coming?

The name that kept tearing her heart apart and making her wander in the waking world...

"You should remember it, remember it in my expectant eyes, and then reconcile with this world that destroyed you and the people who destroyed you. You should forgive all the injustice and pain, show a relieved smile, and melt in the sunshine -"

The sound stopped suddenly.

The ghost seemed to be able to smell the venom beneath the black-haired young man's skin, and the slowly flowing amber eyes quietly solidified:

"just kidding."

"Come on, Annie."

(End of this chapter)