The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 363: Magical Power

Do you want to have divine power like us?
After this sentence, the atmosphere inevitably slipped from ambiguity to a dangerous abyss.

Madeleine's pointed face became strange under the flame of the silver tin candlestick, as if the best painter of the time had left an unpredictable and swaying shadow on the other side of her face with a sketch.

She stared at the man with dry lips and teeth quietly. His head seemed to be on the neck of a snake, stretching longer and longer in John Shelley's sight...

Until he reaches his desert.

Leaving the sweet rain in the form of the birth of the Messiah.

She kissed him, and in the blink of an eye she was there, her soft skirt and her dignity kneeling beside John Shelley's straight, spotless trouser legs, her head raised.

It makes a hissing sound like a snake, which makes people's hair stand on end.

She was hinting at him.

"You want to be like me, don't you? My man."

she says.

Hold his hand.

The cold hand, like a ball of solidified milk, melted in the man's hot palm. Something flowed through the palm into his palm, through the sweat and skin, and cheered like a whore waiting for pirates, lifting her long skirt and dancing barefoot in the harbor.

He seemed different from the last second.

"Watch it, my man."

The kneeling man guided him to look at the soft wax pierced by silver tin spikes, let him look at the soft bones of the white wax, and stare closely at the flames burning on the soft bones like a human soul.

"The candle flame is flesh and blood, the candle wick is bones. Our souls are burning..."

She spoke softly, squeezing his hand with a little force.

"I will lead you through the darkness when you are dizzy."

"When you take a leap, I will give birth to your wings."

"I will watch you die one by one, and then wait for you to be born one by one."

An uncanny feeling lingered.

John Shelley found that his senses had become extraordinarily acute:

He could smell the fragrance of the food on the table, as if a baby had just given birth to a nose; he could see the stubble of the candle wick and distinguish the number of strands entangled in each; he could hear the crackling of the flames biting the dry wood in the fireplace, and hear the murmur of the fingernails of the pianist playing the piano outside the door, across the corridor, in another hall.

even.

He could hear his own heart thundering.

He smelled Madeleine's perfume, the sweat from her armpits, the pungent smell of her laundry, even the strange, strong, sour smell under her cotton socks that had been worn for too long and made the spearmen tighten their ranks.

There is also a hint of blood.

He never opened the door.

Just like a blind person who has never opened his eyes and doesn't know that there are so many colors in the world - the painter's misfortune is that he sees the colors, but has to return to darkness in the next second.

"Light your lamp, John Shelley."

she says.

"Blow it out."

With her invisible hand she grasped Shelley's gaze and directed it toward the candle in the candlestick.

Aim at the burning bean.

"Blow it out."

She urged gently, but before Shelley could move his lips, she used her free hand to hold them down.

"Don't use your lips and throat. Don't use your lungs and cheeks."

"Think of it, my man, my dear John..."

She was the best teacher, and was no less good than the governess who had taught him manners:
He taught him to be kind, to be calm in danger, to always maintain the calmness of a man, the pride of a noble man, and the inalienable dignity of a gentleman.

And she taught him only one thing:

Open your eyes.

"Think about it, John. When you were a baby, how would you blow out a candle that was out of reach..."

A magical substance, or an invisible thought - that's what John Shelley thought it was: something was flowing out of his body, or, more horribly, his brain.

But he would be a fool if his brain could allow him to retain this magical feeling forever.

'Blow it out.'

He said to himself. The bean sprout jumped a few times, as if it really felt the brain, or the invisible wind.

It was squeezed into a wisp of gray-white smoke, which seemed to make a "hissing" sound, and the next second, it was blown blind.

"very good."

John Shelley heard her speak—words that had opened the door before, and this time they closed it.

The cold feeling covered the holes in his body that had not yet fully opened like a sticky tide: they blocked the ventilated, clear recorder-like sound holes tightly, covering them layer by layer, and after drying, they turned into ugly scabs.

He fell from the sky back to the earth, the divine power before his eyes, turning into gray-white smoke on the neck blinded by the candlelight.

He watched it go away.

"Do not…"

He shouted and sat up suddenly, leaving a long mark on the carpet with the chair legs.

Everything came to an abrupt end.

It's like an illusion, or a dream.

Madeline Terry stood up early, holding up her skirt, and sat back opposite the man.

Pick up the wine glass.

Take a sip.

She said nothing, but slowly opened the matchbox, picked up a match that was destined to die, lit it, and protected it, trying to light up the blown-out candle again.

Then shook it off.

Put the used ones into the fish soup on the table and insert them into the fish's eyeballs.

John Shelley swallowed, his throat gurgling.

"…Miss Madeline."

Madeline curled her lips slightly, "Now, you won't call me 'Miss Terri' anymore, right?"

Little Shelley looked down at her shaking hands, her back was sticky and her nose was sweating. "I, I just..."

"It's just what you think, John. If this is an illusion, you should pray for it to happen more often."

incredible.

Shelley thought and said so. When his body cooled down and his mind returned, he became even more enthusiastic: "How did you do that?"

"Not very legal, sir."

"Be damned of the law! Tell me, Miss Madeline, how did you do it?!"

It should be said: How did you enable me to master the divine power?

Madeline understood what he meant.

"Just a little trick, John. If you have performed the ritual like I have, you should be able to master the power that should belong to you..." Madeline rested her chin on the base of her palm, raised her clean and slender fingers upwards, and entangled her loose hair with her nails.

She was a little distracted.

“But it’s not legal.”

Little Shelley didn't care about legality.

It is not legal for poor people to live, yet aren’t they everywhere?

"I can pay."

He paused and added:
“A lot of money.”

Madeline smiled.

"You know how much hope this ritual brings to unqualified people. You are a businessman, Mr. John Shelley. How much do you think it is worth?"

钱…

Shelley was silent.

This is no longer about money.

"I hope to gain the friendship of the Shelley family and take our relationship to the next level - but before that, my man, you have to try to see if you can complete this ritual..."

Madeline licked her lips.

"There's no turning back. Have you thought about it?"

(End of this chapter)