The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 830 Ch.829 Old Friend
Red Iris, or rather Christine, does not have the 'mysterious and powerful' background as imagined.

This woman whose husband had died was not considered valuable even in London, but she had a more extraordinary mind than others. When she learned about "navigation" and "commerce" from the wife of the younger brother of a friend's husband, an idea flourished under the blood pumping in her heart.

She doesn't do anything she doesn't understand.

But in London, my family and even my husband did run several hotels.

Ocean trade...

After landing, you need a place to live, right?
If she didn't tell him what happened during this period, Roland wouldn't ask.

In short.

It took Christine several years to gain a foothold here, and as you can imagine, it came at an absolutely high price.

As for 'Red Iris'——

"That's just a code name, sir."

In response, the woman said that this was not the first question Roland asked.

Too many people are curious about the metaphor behind this code name, especially those who are well versed in heraldry.

And actually.

Christine just smiled and told Roland: It means nothing.

It was just her random thought to fool these gentlemen with twisted minds. If she hadn't been worried about being punished, she would have even thought of making a badge that looked like it was real, and then hiring someone to embroider a lion on it in a covert way...

"I believe that our Majesty is not a petty person, but let's not talk about matters concerning blood and honor."

No matter how bold she was, she would never dare to joke with the royal family.

After a conversation, both sides had a general understanding of each other's attitudes - the executives would not make trouble in their own territory, and these rather young men and women were not like most of the young people she had met in London in her early years.

Arrogant, arrogant, and keen on making trouble.

To people like Roland, Red Iris or Christine was nothing more than an opportunistic businessman who at best had a bigger business.

She had no opinion of the executive officer (or did not show it), nor did she care about these unruly girls who took the risk of crossing the sea with men before getting married - she even felt that this behavior was more courageous than reckless.

In short, both parties are very satisfied with each other.

Of course, Christine did not mention how much trouble the sailors had caused the manor, probably because of Roland's uniform.

"Where are we going to play next?"

Arriving at Yolanda's hometown, they naturally followed the guide's instructions. However, the guide obviously didn't like Roland using the word "play" to treat a fragmented piece of land. But she knew in her heart that she couldn't impose some blood hatred on the man who saved her from danger.

"…accompany me to meet someone and do me a favor, Roland."

Not only Roland, she said the same thing to his lovers (she thought).

then.

The next morning.

The group walked out of the manor on foot, rejected the obviously brighter and more genuine smile and invitation from the person in charge, and merged into the "market" with the crowd.

This is a colorful dividing line.

And Yolanda just told them with her actions: what you see is not all.

The bustling market with lanterns and decorations is full of people with lanterns and decorations: crescent eyes, faces that are split in half at the center of the buttocks, clever tongues and words of reverence purified by the lungs -

They say 'Come on, sir!'

Say 'Sir, look at me!'

They swallowed the sword down their throats or hit their sons with hammers on the stone slabs. The women who dressed their daughters in fancy clothes stood shyly in the corner, winking at the red curly-haired man who wandered alone from time to time.

The old man who tied the monkey was shouting and doing the same funny movements as his monkey, making people around him laugh.

The copper plate in front of him jingled. This was a kindness that had traveled across the ocean.

In the curious eyes of the ladies, in the long trains of their skirts.

The gentlemen who accompanied them, with rosy faces and dusty consciences, could not help spending a little money in the market to benefit the monkeys and the monkeys who led monkeys, as well as the monkeys who performed sword swallowing or magic tricks, and sold female or male monkeys.

'This is the wind of imperial freedom.'

They visited these strange monkeys that were not imprisoned and had no hair, just like visiting a famous insane asylum in London. They listened to their chattering in the language of animals, threw a few small copper coins from time to time, and then curled their lips at these people harmlessly.

They celebrated it all over the world, almost thinking it was the festival of the resurrection of their divine master.

Rose noticed everything today that she hadn't noticed in a quick glance.

Her expression became increasingly grim, and she grabbed Roland's sleeve tightly, almost tearing it open.

"Those are the cufflinks I bought him, Vansittart."

Shandel reminded quietly.

Rose didn't know what was wrong with her.

She had nothing to do with these people, but she felt cold in the bright sunshine, and her soul seemed to fall into an ice cellar. She seemed not to be standing on the bright, human land, but in the coldest and dampest corner of hell, a place where people had to laugh and suffer forever.

Yolanda looked calm as she led the group of 'unsophisticated' foreigners behind her through the handlebars and stalls, kicking away the girls who tried to reach over the blanket to grab her or Roland's ankles.

"roll."

That's what she said.

then.

Get a lot of flattering smiles.

The market is not very long.

Only after walking along this colorfully lit hemp rope did Roland see another world.

Visible fog-gray dust spread rapidly from the fading laughter, and the lead-like dark clouds pressed down on the charcoal-like moss-covered walls of the old houses. Rats were rampant, and the girl sucking on a long iron nail stood timidly at the entrance of the village, looking at them.

From time to time, she would take out a piece of candy wrapper from her pocket, pinch it with her wrinkled fingers, smooth the iron nails, and put it back into her mouth.

When he saw Yolanda, he just shrank back behind a tree, looked at her for a few seconds, and ran towards the village without looking back.

She was not wearing shoes.

The soles of my feet feel like old tree bark that should have died long ago.

Yolanda kept silent and kept on walking, ignoring the eyes peeping from the windows or cracks in the wall, or the direct gazes of those daring boys with slender limbs and bulging bellies, and turned several corners left and right until she came to a larger adobe house.

The door was slanted, leaving a fist-sized gap.

The people in the house seemed to have heard the footsteps a long time ago, and before she could go forward and knock, the door was opened from the inside.

It was an old woman whose face was beyond recognition, as distorted as a piece of paper that had been crumpled with bread by a mad oil painter - her face, neck and exposed skin were all burned, with scars of varying depths and like fresh flesh everywhere.

"Mother-in-law."

Yolanda called her softly, fearing that if she called her too hard she would hurt the scar on her body that had already healed.

The old woman's eyesight was not very sharp. She squinted and used the shadow to stare at her for a while before she spoke tremblingly:
“…I’m back.”

she says.

Then he followed Roland, who was standing beside Yolanda, and looked back.

Unfortunately, she couldn't find another familiar girl.

(End of this chapter)