The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 492: Gift
"Honestly, young lady. I have thought about suicide."

Quiet afternoon.

The two of them leaned back on the lounge chairs like gingerbread being baked, letting the sunlight penetrate the dust and make their skin hot.

The incense the girl brought filled the room with a rose scent that wasn't too strong.

Old Wells's skin was all over his body, and he spread out like the wrinkled old dog whose owner had died at the corner of the alley, comfortably enjoying a weekday afternoon without any children to bother him.

His emotions, which had been fluctuating for half a day, finally relaxed, and he couldn't help but express his true feelings.

To this lady who came to repay her gratitude, she was an upright, kind and childish girl.

He was willing to talk to her and pour out all his grievances to her.

“I thought about committing suicide.”

In response to the girl's incredulous look, the old man leaned against the pillow and nodded slightly.

"Yes, Miss, I really thought about it. As a devout believer, I shouldn't have such blasphemous thoughts: the Father of All Things taught us not to kill ourselves, otherwise we will suffer in the black hell of endless flames..."

"But the human world is hard enough for me."

Old Wells smiled bitterly: "Look."

He rolled up his sleeves and showed Shandel his forearm, which was almost thinner than a clothesline. "I don't have enough to eat and I don't have warm clothes. My wife abandoned me, and my friends only like to hear about my miserable past and use me as a joke at the party - I don't have any children, and no one can help me in times of crisis..."

The sunlight that gives life to all things cannot kindle a dying soul.

In the end, the only thing that stays with you is your shadow.

"I was ill. Every bone moved like an unlubricated gear. My head was dizzy and even my walking became less and less flexible. I thought about hanging myself or dying under the horse's hoof..."

He confessed his 'secret'.

"But I am a coward and cannot endure the long agony before death..."

Old Wells let out a long sigh and looked at the lively girl, a blue-gray rose that was just about to bloom:

"You have held me back, indeed; but how long? Miss Collins, I have led a hard and mean life, and will you continue to waste your time and fortune on me?"

Old Wells thought that a house might still fall within the realm of "repaying a favor."

But repaying a favor is easy, but living a life is too difficult.

What should he do next?
Continue to trouble this obviously unmarried girl, make her dishonorable, and worry about the life of an old man all day long - and then, use the remaining time to ruin the rest of a lady's life?

He suddenly started coughing, almost coughing his lungs out of his throat. His bones creaked, and those sharp wails passed through the thinnest wires in his flesh and blood, sending the pain to his brain.

He curled up in pain, his chest pumping like a bellows, squeezing out hoarse phlegm again and again.

He felt that his end was near.

'That's all right, Wells.'

he thinks.

At least die in a warm, familiar place on a sunny afternoon...

He shivered, but his wrist was held by a cold hand.

Gently.

A warm current passed through his skin and flesh, heating his fragile blood vessels.

soon.

He no longer coughed, nor did he feel any pain--as if it were the wonderful medicine the doctor had prescribed him, in tablets or in bottles, some liquid medicine that made him feel high. Old Wells could swear that this made him feel better than those medicines.

He seemed to have returned to his mother's amniotic fluid, repairing the wounds in his flesh and soul, waiting to be gently pushed into the world by love again.

He couldn't help but let out an embarrassing sound, and the scene in front of him gradually became clear. The gray-haired girl was half-kneeling in front of him, holding his wrist.

Old Wells' eyes widened.

"You, you, you are——"

"Yes, I am a shepherd blessed by God, Mr. Wells." The girl, bathed in glow, had a distant, godlike smile on her face. The life force that could revive people passed through her fingertips, poured into old Wells' wrist like a funnel, and spread throughout his body.

"You...you are those...people..."

It’s not that old Wells had never seen ritualists, nor had he never been served by ritualists - but when his wealth left him, the ritualists he hired also left him along with his wealth, wife, friends, respectability and dignity.

Especially the ceremonials of the Holy Cross, priests who can make people feel comfortable for a long time, mean people with high eyes. They not only have to serve the gold pound, but also examine the power behind the gold pound. Old Wells couldn't believe that he could enjoy such treatment again one day.

He stammered, looking at the girl again and again.

"Don't thank me, Mr. Wells. Thank the benefactor, our father." After she gently removed her hand, the disconnected heat made the old man feel lost. "Just as the benefactor taught you to save me, sir. I will also repay your kindness according to the benefactor's eyes."

The look in Shandel's eyes could not be described as 'sincere' - old Wells thought.

Sincerity is even a kind of blasphemy.

During his illness, he had hired several powerful people to provide him with 'temporary comfort' - but none of them was like the girl in front of him, none of them was as selfless and kind as her, as if they did not shine with the glow that passed through the glass.

should say.

Glow surrenders.

Surrender to her high morals.

Shandel Collins.

Such people can be called "merciful" and "compassionate" - if she preached, old Wells would be willing to donate all his wealth.

"I have never met a kinder person than you...child." Unconsciously, the old man changed his address. "I can't persuade you by saying 'you will suffer a great loss'. This is an insult to you. Miss Cinderella Collins, I admire your piety to the light and your loyalty to the feelings between people."

Old Wells shed tears.

“It also makes me feel ashamed.”

He said.

"'Those who don't drink will never understand the romance of being drunk', Mr. Wells. What you consider piety is only the minimum requirement I have for myself - please rest assured that I will accompany you and help you dispel the pain in your flesh and blood and cleanse the darkness in your soul every day."

"If you are willing to repent, I am willing to be the wind and the grass, listen to your words of awakening, and witness you turn away from evil and do good, embarking on the true path of recovery."

She spoke some obscure things like most pastors in the church, but suddenly changed the subject and turned it over again, showing the liveliness of a young girl.

"But now, you have to try to stand up."

she says.

"My legs are so sore."

Old Wells was stunned for a few seconds before he realized that all the pain that had tormented him all day long had disappeared.

"I…"

He returned to the battlefield like a fierce veteran, sat up straight, his eyes gleaming with a light that was the opposite of defeat.

then…

My stomach made an unseemly noise.

Shandel laughed, "It just so happens that I'm hungry too, sir."

(End of this chapter)