The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 757 Ch.756 Future Workshop (Additional)

There was a paper tape filled with numbers and symbols stuck to the bolts next to the calibrator.

If Babbage hadn't said it, Deloz would have even thought that this was a 'gear hell' -

"If there is a hell, it probably can't be worse than this."

The girl, who is always bold, will not hide anything.

Even as a teacher.

“I have to reiterate this again. This is the umpteenth time I have to reiterate this – I am not your teacher, Ms. Fonseca.”

"It just means you have a bad memory."

The blonde girl had a cunning look in her eyes, with her hands behind her back, looking around in this long and narrow corridor filled with gears.

The bitter smell of medicine mixed with copper powder, rust and grease to form a strange and indescribable smell. It stuck to her nose and the tip of her tongue, and vowed that once it stuck, it would never leave.

Droz Fonseca grunted a few times.

She wants to drink water.

“It’s hard to imagine.”

Babbage sighed as he walked.

The copper pipes hanging or climbing around seem to be climbing freely like metal vines. Some are embedded in the walls, drilling in like snakes in the desert, and then showing their heads in places where no one would guess.

A few lifelike sparrows flapped their wings or combed their feathers in a fixed trajectory. When you get closer, you can see the gears and levers turning under their fur and inside their abdomens.

There was an easel on the long table, but the painter was an arm wrapped in copper.

The iron stove was making asthmatic noises and spewing out white steam. At the same time, the eight metal spider legs responsible for movement knocked on the stone slab, bypassed the paint bucket, and came to the long easel table. Then, the most magical scene happened:

The metal arm put down the paintbrush, raised his orchid finger like a gentleman who had been acquainted with the tea ceremony for a long time, picked up the iron kettle, and poured the right amount of tea into the porcelain cup.

Then.

Everything returns to normal.

Spider Legs led the teapot back to its original position.

The copper arm continued to paint its picture.

Babbage wished he could turn himself into a gear, a permanent resident of pipes, steam and meshing: "That's why we are here, Miss Fonseca."

He couldn't wait, and his clumsy legs seemed to be stepping on the wind.

Droz also lifted her skirt.

Behind the door at the end of the corridor is a room - no, it should be said that it is a huge workshop.

Everything around me was made of metal gears and pipes. There were animated puppets, thick pointers that could turn pages automatically when told to do so, spider-legged kettles that could serve tea, and circular meters of varying sizes and unknown uses nailed to the wall.

At a huge, half-man-high "iron kettle" with a centipede-like hideous shape at the street corner, Droz finally saw a real living person.

A rather large man.

Babbage knew him well, but was somewhat overwhelmed by his enthusiasm—handshakes, hugs, pats on the back.

"If I were made of copper pipes and iron sheets, I would let you shoot for an entire afternoon."

Babbage complained that he had greased his clothes.

"William King, or William--Miss Fonseca, now, do you know who he is?"

Droz Fonseca's eyes widened.

"Mr. Jin...?!"

She screamed, then immediately covered her mouth and looked around several times.

The roar was swallowed up by it long ago.

"It seems that you just pecked?"

The burly man showed his unusual but charming white teeth and laughed out loud at the girl's embarrassment.

"She often told me about you, her little bird-pecking at the glass, the outstanding student, the girl with a bright future - I've seen your homework, Miss Fonseca. I think she was too conservative in her assessment of you."

Deloz stroked her hair. Such direct praise gave her a familiar feeling of trance - her mentor also spoke in this way.

No wonder her husband...

"Where is the instructor?"

"In the place of women's unwillingness and pursuit of wisdom," William King shook his head helplessly, pointed to a small compartment inside the workshop, and said to Babbage: "Mr. Heffer is not here, I will take you around today. I hope it is good news, I look forward to working with you..."

Babbage frowned, looked at the strange machines he had never seen before, and nodded slightly.

"I hope so."

He said.

"Before that, please take me to say hello to the ladies... for the sake of so-called... courtesy."

He fully demonstrated his character with just one sentence, but William didn't care - in the dark night of pursuing truth and lighting the fire of the times, character is not the most important thing.

The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!

Wisdom is.

"Come on, come on. Come on, kid, come on too, and let the ladies see you—she's said a lot of good things about you," William said playfully, treating Deloz as a child just like his wife did. "If you can still maintain this wisdom and determination to pursue knowledge, you'll have to buy a pair of blue stockings soon."

"Blue socks?"

William miraculously raised only one eyebrow, and said mysteriously:

"…a salon for ladies, a small group that only welcomes women."

Droz was uninterested: "I'll never learn twenty steps."

She meant brewing tea.

And the increasingly prosperous "morning tea", "eleven o'clock tea", "afternoon tea", "high tea", "bedtime tea", "tea banquet", "garden tea party", "picnic tea party" behind the word - making leisure time-consuming and laborious, from the tea itself to identity, brewing, environment, clothing (tea robe), etiquette, utensils...

Rules big and small, open and secret struggles big and small.

She could tell that the comments were in fact praises but in fact criticisms, but she really hated these meaningless little gatherings that embodied the elegance and upbringing that were indispensable to a civilized person.

"You guessed wrong."

William didn't explain much, just said "Your tutor is among them", and led her and Babbage to the small compartment.

The soft-furnished room is thicker and thicker, and when you open the door, it is almost like a completely different world from the workshop.

It's very quiet inside.

Three ladies in casual dresses (still expensive, apparently) were arranged in a two-to-one pattern, with their center of gravity leaning to the left, surrounding a walnut-colored round table.

There are many books on the table.

Droz took a cursory glance.

About mathematics.

Several poetry collections.

A thin picture album.

There are three novels, which are being discussed by three ladies.

"Lion Bronte, sounds like a gentleman's name," said one of the ladies.

"Then you lose," another person tapped a few words on a page with his fingernails, his eyes flashing with mischief: "I can guarantee that this was definitely written by a girl - only women can observe and describe men in this way."

The third woman thought it was a man.

Two to one.

The conversation was actually very short. They put down their books at the same time and stood up, holding their skirts.

"Hey, little peck."

The one who thought the author 'Lan Bronte' was a woman smiled and shook his hand at Deloz.

Droz lowered his head subconsciously and placed his fingertips against his abdomen.

"…Mrs. Lovelace."