The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 768: Storm and the Winner

The Empire is a sickly waste. Even a very low dose of the child can make it wheeze and sneeze continuously.

The owners of this house are also trash.

Even a very low dose of "rumors" is enough to make them unable to control the contraction of their muscles and shed tears of hatred.

Snowflakes of newspapers dyed the city of London red.

They spread rapidly, causing red eyes to appear on the eyes of everyone who could read, and pus-filled scabies to form on the inside of their eyelids.

Some newspapers dared not report the truth.

Some eyewitnesses did not dare to answer truthfully.

But there are always people who dare.

In order to make a big news, for justice, for money, for fame, for children or for the good or evil thoughts in one's heart that want to shake something up - all kinds of reasons make the mesh bigger and looser...

then.

The newspapers were folded into paper airplanes by the deft hands of newsboys that flew into people's hearts, starting a bloody air battle that was no longer under control between East and West London.

People in different positions have different views on these huge, sarcastic titles, texts and pictures.

The workers in the East District used the foulest and most direct language.

'I knew the richer the crazier. Look, I'll show you... Oh, I forgot you can't read, no, I didn't mean to be sarcastic - listen, listen! Listen... Don't let me slap you! Listen! '

'Let me read it to you...'

'The Little Hobbies of Big People' - These people who fiddle with knowledge do something serious for the first time... Listen, stop rubbing your pants... Just listen to me read first...'

The wife, squatting beside the wooden barrel, curled her lips secretly.

'You can only show off in front of me.'

Husbands read to their wives, and wives read to their husbands or children.

soon.

The wife was about to go out and discuss this "dirty, eye-catching incident" with the wives of other households.

The children can't sit still either.

Walking through the streets, talking with friends, or in the shoe factory or woodworking workshop, I would learn from my father to cough a few times before speaking like a politician and make a good comment on the meaningless words.

at the same time.

The West Side is even angrier than the East Side.

'Who let them out?! Bastards! The Maelstrom! The Inquisition! Idiots, Idiots, Idiots! !'

'Now is not the time to lose temper. We can't send soldiers to the streets to collect newspapers from house to house - it's too late now. Unless we confiscate the eyes and brains of those who read the newspapers.'

'Oh, really? You're good at talking, so you can do something? Or just shut up?'

'This was Maelstrom's own idea, no one else was involved.'

'Nonsense.'

"Put it in the newspaper, let our newspaper take the lead. Aren't there many people with overflowing love who want to adopt them? Praise them publicly, lead the topic to adoption and chaos in other countries, and find women and soldiers to speak."

'…Then.'

'Rebuke the ship owners and merchants who ignore the law, and let the people of the Maelstrom clean up their own messes. I remember there was a small businessman among the investors?'

'Yes, his mother and daughter are wonderful.'

'Catch him. He's the one who colluded, sold, and persecuted those poor kids for money - businessmen will do anything for money, right? We have the Inquisition to thank. If it weren't for them, we wouldn't have discovered this dirty, bloody mess... Thank them.'

'continue.'

"To appease those who are trembling, you send people in person. Let them stand up and condemn, and promise them that the Inquisition will not trouble them."

"…This is really troublesome."

'Idiot! Those are the most important people! Go there yourself!'

'…knew.'

'I'll take care of everything - provided you don't get into any more trouble. I told you not to get involved with the Noti Golden Lamp business, didn't I?'

'You have no idea how much I make.'

"That's the money bag of the Maelstrom! Why don't you go into the cemetery business? Why don't you build a church and hire a few grouchy thugs to collect money every weekend?"

"I know...I know! If you give me more business, I won't get into this trouble! The Inquisition...damn it...I'm going to send someone to find out who it is--"

'You'd better shut up and stay home and play with your slaves. I don't want to mess with that crazy woman.'

'How dare she disrespect me?'

'She dared me to rip your head off and shove it in my ass, so shut up!'

…………

The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!

…

Newspapers flew across East and West London in a storm of condemnation.

Every man or woman of status wrote or hired someone to write a long article in the newspaper to denounce those shameless businessmen who exploited and abused children to make money.

These people have no conscience, no morals, and no compassion.

They are educated, but the ink of culture is completely swallowed up by shameless greed after they make their first deal.

The men gnashed their teeth and talked about these shameless and ignorant things, which not only harmed the future of the empire, but also began to interfere in the future of other countries - this was undoubtedly an inhumane practice. Even if you just listened to these bloody deeds, you would have to wash your ears for an afternoon.

The ladies were heartbroken, and their words were filled with love and worry. They were worried about the past, present and future of these children, wondering whose daughters and whose sons they were, which parents had cried themselves blind, and which brothers had fallen into long-lasting pain and longing.

People of insight began to call for donations, and the more respectable ones publicly stated that he happened to be on an appointment that day and met a few boys who grabbed his trouser legs and refused to let go - he planned to adopt them and teach these ignorant, suffering little bastards to become gentlemen.

'That's a good example!'

soon.

More and more people are adopting.

Regardless of whether they are dark-skinned or light-skinned, people in the upper class - or those who think they are in this circle - responded one after another.

For a time, there was a wave of "adoption" in West London.

'Oh, you adopted a black one? Mine is light brown... I named him Laurian.'

'Yes, look at his curly hair, isn't it interesting? My husband and I are going to hire a teacher for him - you don't know, I spent half an hour yesterday teaching him how to drink tea and enjoy steak and foie gras with different utensils... It's so tiring.'

"You need to find a teacher."

'I'm planning to raise another one that's a bit darker. I heard they're very strong... My husband insists on hiring an extra wrestling and boxing teacher for Laurian - I'm planning to postpone this plan until my little black gentleman arrives.'

These young gentlemen and young ladies were served by servants and dressed in suits and dresses that were more expensive than they could imagine. They tied cute ribbons and had afternoon tea with the women who adopted them and their pet dogs.

They became the subject of conversation, a group similar to pets, but more so than pets, receiving a certain kind of special look.

They don't care.

They enjoyed it.

Because of the steak, because of the foie gras, because of the hot appetizer soup and the servants who smiled at them.

'The Golden Eyed God is correct.'

The children thought.

Sacrifice some people.

Only the brave can avoid being sent to a hell called the workhouse and receive the ultimate reward from heaven:

Living hope.