The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1181 Ch.1180 The Gold Rush House
Ildossus.

Just like Dave Lawrence had seen—an ordinary, unremarkable town.

The gold diggers left behind no knowledge, no wealth, and not even anything more romantic (like children).

Maybe.

Or perhaps Ildor Sinther possesses an unseen dragon that, with a flick of its tail, wipes away all their footprints...

Crunch.

The train carriage was shaking more and more violently.

Rupert drew back the curtains and listened quietly to the sonatas coming from the lamplight: she couldn't find the standard names of these tunes in her memory, which she could have, could have named them after hearing just a measure or two, or even a few loud or low, distinctive undulations.

She can't right now.

Faced with the choice between questioning her own abilities and praising the other person, she could only choose the latter.

"You composed this music yourselves?"

"A tune you made up?" The coachman chuckled. "There's no tune here, miss. It's just something children and women made up randomly..."

Besides the flute, there were other 'instruments' involved—the reason they couldn't be called instruments was that Rupert could tell that some of the sounds were made by chair legs rubbing against the floor.

But guess what?

They appeared at just the right time, never jarring.

"How many people have praised your artistic talent? Is this also a gift from the 'dragon'?"

The driver said he had no talent for composing music, nor any artistic talent whatsoever—he just wanted to make a fuss, and he had some things on hand that could create a fuss.

It's that simple.

As for whether it's a blessing or not...

Does that matter?

Dave Lawrence was sweating even more.

He was angrier than almost anyone else on the train (mostly Theodore). In the fat businessman's eyes, these fools were undoubtedly wasting their artistic talents: all the town… no, only half the town, perhaps a few relatives and friends chipping in a little money, could send some talented children to London…

Wait three to five years.

Those who fail to truly demonstrate their talent, those who lack conscience, those who are weak and sickly—there will always be a few who can return to the town and bring a better life to the local residents…

What did they do?

Listen to the march while urinating.

Therefore, people who don't use their brains will be poor their whole lives.

If it were him…

If it were him... if it were...

Thinking about it, Dave Lawrence suddenly remembered that he still had two contracts to check.

"Oh my god! Stop shaking! I need to find a place with a light... How much longer until I can stand on a stable spot?"

He was busy with work, but the driver was in no hurry, and even hummed a song along with the tune of the escort.

"If you'd like, we can do it now. The car doors aren't locked."

Dave: ...

He should have been targeted by thieves too; he shouldn't have come to this place.

I've never seen anyone like this before!
"Excuse me, please make way."

The driver stepped past Harida, untied a bag from beside the wooden rafters, took out a wine jug and sipped from it, then pointed with his other hand to a house not far away emitting smoke: a two-story stone building complex with a sign hanging crookedly on its roof.

"The House of Gold Diggers".

"The inn where the gold diggers stayed?" Theodore also peeked out and touched ears with Rupert.

The two silently moved a few inches closer to their respective bike racks, neither of them saying a word.

“Good question, sir. Although it’s called ‘House of Gold Diggers,’ it’s actually a butcher shop—how ​​about that answer?” Roland should have stolen one less ticket in the first place.

He shouldn't have come to this place.

Now, there's one more person on the bus who shares this thought.

"The House of Gold Diggers".

It was an obvious inn, but after the gold rush, it was no longer as bustling as it used to be. The blackened wooden planks on the door were crooked and neglected, and patches of black coal ash were scattered in the courtyard, along with wine stains, fallen vegetable roots, and congealed mud.

There were no waiters to greet them, no kind words, no warm blankets to offer—nothing but that allowed them to enter.

The driver rubbed the soles of his shoes, sniffled, and jumped off the cart.

It refers to that tavern or inn.

“The only place in town that receives outsiders, good night.” He finished speaking and opened the door, about to 'shoo' them out of the car, but Dave Lawrence quickly interrupted him.

"Wait a moment, sir! I'll trouble you a little longer to go back and fetch my servants and guards..."

The driver looked up at the sky, then shook his head, his expression suddenly turning serious: "I have to go home, sir. Didn't you hear something?"

Listen, hear what?
The fat merchant was startled and quickly pricked up his ears: besides the sound of the wind, there were only faint noises from the tavern not far away—the clinking of glasses and indistinct conversations.

What else can you hear?
Dave Lawrence became alert, thinking this might be related to 'dragons'—could the town suddenly become exceptionally 'dangerous' at night?

So it seems the coachman is...

A kind person?
“I am but a mortal, sir. But I promise I will follow your instructions—would you tell me the answer…or rather, what should I hear?”

The driver gave him a strange look, then patted his stomach: "My tummy's rumbling, 'sir,' I need to go back for dinner—given your 'status,' you must know all too well how unpleasant it is to be hungry...right?"

Dave: ...

For the first time, he felt that some taxes on the poor were still too low. At least they had some saliva to waste on what they considered humorous conversations.

“This isn’t funny at all,” Dave said, his face darkening.

“Yes, you don’t have to laugh,” the coachman shrugged, and only after Harida jumped off the carriage did he reassure his brother, pulling some beans from his pocket for him to chew on, stroking him as he did so. “I don’t want to make another trip. Ladies and gentlemen, I have to get back…”

He dusted his hands off and was about to leave.

Dave Lawrence was the one who stopped him again.

How could this person be so lazy as to forget the fare?
London coachmen, on the other hand, are quite different—those furtive rats practically beg you to get on the coach to start grumbling, complaining about their hardships, how their wives lost fingers, how their daughters fell into oil tanks and went blind, and what trouble their sons have gotten into—

Just so that a silly, rarely-going young master or lady with an excess of sympathy would give away a few extra copper coins that didn't justify the cost.

Why doesn't this person even want the fare?

"fare?"

The driver was taken aback.

"Oh, I forgot... Well then, two or three pence."

Two or three pennies?
The ever-accurate, portly businessman shook his head: "Two, or three?"

The driver waved his hand haphazardly, telling him to hurry up and give him whatever he could, or he would starve to death—at this critical moment, he was still displaying a humor that was utterly unfunny.

Dave Lawrence glanced at the 'Golden Rose,' who was about to burst out laughing, and swallowed back the words that were about to slip out.

"...I think only three? Mr. Collins...Mr. Thackeray, what do you think?"

Mr. Collins was too busy laughing to pay him any attention.

Theodore nodded: "Obviously, it can't compare to London. Three, how about that?"

He turned to look at the driver, but the man was already seated and had already turned the reins.

"Hurry up! You big shots! Poor people need to eat and drink to survive!"

Without waiting for Theodore to flick the coin or considering whether to get change, he called out to his brother and, clattering and swaying, walked away from the inn towards a small hill that turned right.

(End of this chapter)