The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 618: New Adventure
Perhaps this unsealed secret organ has completed its historical mission, perhaps it is a coincidence, or perhaps it is some other reason.

A few days after the crystal test tube was separated from the cane, old Bellows's health took a turn for the worse.

The extra blood tumor in his stomach made him wail all night long. Only two-tenths of the feces in the bucket were feces, and the rest was a lumpy, thin liquid that looked like incompletely melted cocoa powder.

Later, Theresa also found dark brown blood in the toilet bowl.

Randolph urgently hired several of Brighton's best doctors to treat his father.

But the results were mostly the same: there was no way to delay the worsening of the disease without risking an abdominal rupture - and the older doctor's son had told Randolph privately.

Tell him to do what a son should do and not let his obsession cause him more pain.

Although the medical community is now able to produce a high-concentration anesthetic drink that can make a person feel like they have 'slept' and lost an arm or toe - the difficulty of opening the abdomen is far different from cutting a finger.

The young doctor said that the difficulty lies not in breaking the wound open, but in the half month after suturing it.

"Your father will have a high fever, will rot, and his wounds will smell worse than the abalone that has been stored for years. He will be in more pain than he is now, rolling and struggling on the bed, and you will almost have to tie up his hands, feet and neck before he can take a nap..."

He was more outspoken than his father and was not afraid of taking responsibility or suffering Taylor's anger.

As a new-age doctor, he believed it was necessary to explain things clearly to Taylor and his equally distressed son.

'Mr. Snow told me that the difference between doctors and angels is that we are not omnipotent and we should never hide the real disaster.'

Randolph was surprised that he studied under Edward Snow, the 'Ice Doctor'.

"I see, your sister has also been treated by the tutor. Mr. Taylor, if you listen to my advice... please don't expect a miracle."

The young doctor came in a hurry but left later than the other doctors.

He even took a portion of old Belos's feces without being disgusted by the dirt, and seriously warned the servants, led by Theresa, to dispose of the excrement properly and keep the room clean.

'I am just one of the many young doctors who have been taught by Mr. Snow, Mr. Taylor Jr. I call him my mentor out of respect for Mr. Snow... I'm afraid he doesn't remember that there was a student like me who was not outstanding or talented enough.'

It's not a question of being outstanding or not.

Edward Snow and his students' attitude towards patients surpassed most doctors - or executioners - Randolph had ever seen.

Butchers who are only interested in 'cutting', 'saws' and 'anesthesia'.

The young doctor stayed in the old house. His father seemed a little unhappy, but he didn't dare to show it. Even though Taylor was generous, the old doctor observed him for two whole days. After finding that Taylor had no intention of taking his anger out on him and his son, he slowly said goodbye to his son, picked up the medicine box, and rushed to the next patient's address.

Roland and Beatrice would go to Bellos's bedroom every day to chat with him when he was feeling better.

To be exact, impersonating his colleague.

Sometimes, when Bellos was absent-minded, he would call Beatrice "Betty" - although when he asked again the next second, he could not remember who Betty was. He could only squeeze his stiff and pale face and helplessly seek answers from the man beside the bed...

Later, Roland tried to mention Randolph and Beatrice and Jocelyn Taylor repeatedly in his conversation.

His memory, just like the sickly, decadent look on his body, could never go back to the past.

'But why are you in Porto Porto?'

Roland asked this once.

The old man on the hospital bed seemed to want to say something but stopped himself.

He almost wanted to remember, almost wanted to tell the reason, why he often greeted the tide at night, waiting for a shadow that was more vague than his memory...

But he still failed.

He was like a child abandoned by his parents and wandering around a fish stall, his whole face filled with confusion and fear of the unknown.

When he asked, "Who am I?" and Roland answered, "Bellos Taylor, a good husband and a good businessman," he could see a hint of doubt in his eyes. He didn't believe Roland's words, but he didn't dare to refute him openly. He just rolled his eyes, trying to find traces of his identity in the room...

Tereza cried for several days and her eyes were swollen like old peach pits.

Whenever Bellows wailed in his hospital bed, calling for Jocelyn or Theresa, she would turn around silently and sob softly against the wall.

But soon, Bellos stopped calling them.

His wandering soul whispered only an extremely popular and extremely heavy name through his flesh.

'Mother…'

Roland gently stroked the silver hair that fell to his ears, and seemed to see Daniel in his childhood, those dead children, and himself in countless rainy nights.

Everyone screams this when they are in extreme pain, although their names are different.

'Mom…' Randolph lowered his eyes and tried to hold him in his arms.

This man, who was once strong enough to lift Teresa with one hand and walk briskly despite her screams and curses, is now as skinny as a hundred-year-old baby.

He curled up in his son's arms, pulling his collar tightly, and mucus dripped from the corners of his mouth, wetting his front.

'Mother…'

Death might not be so scary.

But disease and aging do.

After struggling in pain for half a week, a miracle happened.

Bellows Taylor was more certain than anyone.

It was his own body, his own.

He felt the cutting pain in his abdomen miraculously disappear, his flesh and blood became firm again, and the crackling sound in his bones was gone.

He could feel the lazy warmth of the afternoon light and his strong heartbeat pumping warm blood throughout his body.

The silver hair that symbolized old age faded and faded, and the roots of his hair grew a dazzling golden color like the sun. His wrinkles melted in the baking, and the skin on his face became smooth, but was pulled randomly at the back of his head by an invisible hand, and then stretched tight on his face.

New teeth began to grow in his gums, and his muscles swelled once again, pushing open his empty sleeves.

His knees and lumbar spine, which had troubled him for years and ached with every rain and snow, regressed to the time decades ago when he could only use his thighs and waist to control the wild horse.

Bellows Taylor laughed, as excited as a boy who had got a new sword. He shielded the blazing light in front of his eyes with one hand and hammered back and forth with the other.

The servants beside him seemed to have been prepared. When their master finished his afternoon nap, they quickly served him tea and a towel for rinsing his mouth, a sour plum-scented cigar, and an exquisitely carved silver tin lighter.

The sea breeze blows straight towards me.

Bellows Taylor roughly pushed the servant away, excitedly rolled off the couch and landed on the ground, enjoying his rejuvenated body.

He jumped twice and pushed his messy blond hair back.

A song coming with the sea breeze, swaying like waves.

'The waves of longing send us on a long journey...'

That is the sailors' song.

Bellos turned around, took the cigar, lit it, put his hands on his hips, and looked at the salty dogs in front of him who were arm in arm with each other, flirting with the prostitutes, talking dirty, spitting everywhere, cursing someone, and boarding the boat one by one.

He took a deep breath.

In the crowd that separated, the woman who would smile at you no matter you scolded her or kissed her was quietly looking at the man bathed in golden light.

She was still wearing the fashionable long skirt, and her appearance was the most pleasing to the eye.

Bellos was stunned.

He could hardly believe who he was seeing, and even pushed aside those who were blocking his way, rushing across the narrow, sparkling road like a boy pursuing a sword.

She is still so young.

So did Bellows himself.

The two young men looked at each other like lighthouses from two different worlds, and soon lost their reservedness.

There is no need for reserve in Porto.

'Who are you waiting for, sir? ' asked the girl, with red cheeks.

"Waiting for a woman who is always late." Bellos hugged her and smiled brightly.

A quiet afternoon in Porto.

Deck chairs in the garden.

To the long hum of Roland Collins, old Bellows embarked on a new adventure.

He never had to wake up.

(End of this chapter)