The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 399 Randolph's Discovery
Regarding the "puzzle" in the puzzle box, Roland just maintained a "continuous attention" mentality - he imprinted the words "the world will change" and "invention" and "discovery" into his "cat ear mode".

That is: once a sound occurs, he will turn quickly towards the direction of the sound like a cat's ears.

As for the puzzle box...

He will pay attention.

——Delis must be aware of what position a human being should occupy in the world after being "transformed" into an alien species.

This approach made it difficult for Roland to believe that he was really shouldering a "great mission".

He thought the greatest thing he had ever done in his life, besides killing Miguel, was skinning Chloe and Wilson.

Oh.

And hanging Chloe from a street lamp.

This is probably close to what Mr. Sarah calls art.

"Roland!"

The childish voice brought someone back to his senses.

In the painting room.

The trembling ones were shaking in front of Roland's eyes.

Someone bent over and rubbed some wet liquid on his face with his fingers.

Two golden whiskers.

"Cat Roland!"

"Let's talk about it separately, Betty." Roland narrowed his eyes and smiled, handing her the other side intact: "What about this side?"

"gold?"

"Any color you like."

Bronte stood obediently in the corner, watching the two "madmen", one big and one small, drawing on their faces with watercolors - she was basically used to it now, and was not very "afraid" of Roland: this young and handsome gentleman was just like a child in private.

Or just a child.

He is different from Randolph.

The heir of the Taylor family is gentle in private, but he always shows a bit of maturity and stability, which makes women feel at ease...that kind of male-specific, macho style.

And this Collins...

Ugh.

It was just like a rag in a gale (Brontte didn't dare to describe it to her face, but she did think so) - a rag in a gale, it makes people sigh just thinking about it.

"How am I?" Roland put his hands on his hips, looking proud.

The girl raised her hands, threw the paint everywhere, and shouted, "Beautiful!"

"What do you want to say?" Roland asked.

“Thank…thank you?”

"It's 'Thank you, you're beautiful.'"

Beatrice puffed out her chest, her face full of pride: "Yes!"

Bronte slowly raised her hand and silently smoothed the red color on her face.

"Miss Bronte, I heard that you have been conceiving a novel recently...?"

Roland turned his back to her and dotted the sea-blue paint on his fingers under Beatrice's eyes. A few small dots looked like condensed clear water droplets, like rain falling from those blue-purple eyes.

“… just an idea.”

Bronte lowered her head slightly, a little shy: "Please don't laugh at me."

"How could I laugh at a writer who is about to become famous?" Roland sat on the stool without looking back. "Randolph and I don't have such great talent. To be honest, you should let Randolph buy a newspaper to avoid trouble from annoying people in the future."

Bronte was speechless.

Because Randolph Taylor was already thinking about it.

But she didn't want to.

Can you really become a writer by just writing a few lines?
And because she bought a newspaper, if she publishes it and nothing happens...

She really didn't have the face to be little Betty's teacher and stay in Taylor's house anymore.

That's really embarrassing.

"…I, I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?"

Bronte would not tell Taylor about this.

She didn't want some feelings to cause her to always get the answer: Great.

Roland Collins was different.

He is sincere in his words (without sparing words).

"Sure, do you want me to turn around?"

"No! I...I mean, you just leave it like this, okay? Let me think about it..."

She told Roland a story that was not very concise. Perhaps such a story did not need to be too concise. No one dared to make a conclusion:
It will never appear.

Who knows?

"Isn't it a bit...about losing both parents..." Roland heard her pause and asked, "Are you trying to create a girl with a tragic life?"

"Yeah, isn't that great?"

Bronte seemed in high spirits. Tragic life story…

Roland didn't know where the stick was, but he didn't ask any further.

Now, the story gets interesting:

The heroine's experience is very similar to that of Miss Bronte - she also went to school and was hired by a family as a teacher.

At the same time, they developed feelings for their owners.

"Tsk."
-
Tsk.

"How, how is it, sir? Are you feeling alright?"

It's not a question of good or bad.

Miss Bronte.

Is this a diary?

The crazy woman in the story...

Could it be Beatrice?
Roland looked at the silly girl holding the paintbrush in front of him and wondered if her ending was a bit...

"You're burned, Betty."

"Ah." The girl who hated cleanliness tilted her head, her blonde hair combed to one side curled and fell like a waterfall, her big eyes full of questions: "I won't die."

"You were burned to death. You reaped the consequences."

Bronte rolled his eyes secretly: "Sir, that's just fiction, fiction! I changed it into the plot of the story, so..."

"Miss Bronte."

"gentlemen?"

"Anyway, I don't see how Randolph is upright and tough. What's the name of the hero in your novel?"

"Edward."

"Edward Teller?"

Bronte: ...

She actually wrote it based on Randolph Taylor's, well, with a few minor changes.

"It's a good story, Miss Brontë. But it will take you a long time—it's not easy to write a novel nowadays. I hear a lot of people are scolding you in the newspapers."

Bronte nodded.

Theresa came in.

"Colin...Oh, sir, you are like a rainbow." The old maid said, and then she saw Beatrice sticking her head out from behind Roland. She couldn't help but smile: "It seems that I spoke too early, miss."

She is used to it now.

The Rainbow siblings were helped to wash and dress by the maids, especially Roland, who doted on Beatrice and even let her braid those lady-like gauze and small gem hairpins into her hair.

The result was that the three maids worked around him for a full forty minutes before removing those things that shouldn't have appeared on a man's head.

Randolph almost died of laughter.

"How can you be more like her brother than I am."

"I don't know, Randolph, but your sister said she was going to buy me a dragon."

"Don't mention dragons to me again."

Randolph glared at his sister who had just finished washing up. She was wearing a headscarf and looked like an Arab.

"Go to your room, Betty. If you get sick, you won't see Roland for two years."

The Arab took off running, with Bronte chasing him.

“…She never ran away like this when she saw me.” The sharp-faced businessman was unhappy and said sarcastically, “I heard that you recently promised to play the piano for her?”

Roland wiped his cheek with the cloth handed to him by the maid, thanked her softly, and folded it a few times: "A friend taught me, but I still need to practice it for a while."

"Just let her live in your pharmacy."

Roland frowned: "...Are you reluctant to spend the money to buy the dragon?"

Randolph hit him with his cigar.

It was hard to tell the difference between the two of them now—especially when they were together with Roland. Now, Theresa probably understood why her young master could become friends with him.

Because even she fell in love with this young man...

Ok…

Except when he and the young lady were causing trouble at the Taylors'.

"What do you want to talk to me about today?"

After wiping the water off his face, Roland took another cut cigar and lit it.

Randolph also stopped smiling.

"I see you don't have to hesitate, my brother. Your sister has already promised to buy me a dragon, so what can I not do to help?"

"Fuck you, Roland," Randolph pinched his cigar and rubbed his face, "...Well, I have something to ask you...maybe just asking."

His face slowly darkened.

"I found out the origin of the 'white soil'."

(End of this chapter)