The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 998 Ch.997 Mutual Hesitation

James Shelley was not interested in the mysteries of the gods.

When the anxious girl knocked on the door and saw that gentle face again, James did not make weird jokes on her as usual, using Roland or anything else - asking her what she had learned recently, what she had eaten, and who she had reported to.

He just held the pipe tightly, puffing smoke from his nostrils like a blind man, staring at the Book of Eden on the table, the unfolded manuscript, the ink-stained pen and a small handful of brown tobacco that had not been dusted off.

He rarely showed any 'indifference' towards Rose, which made the girl a little worried, wondering if he was really sick.

"…What? Sick? No, no no, of course not, Lillian…"

The old man who was awakened from his dream regained his vision and shook his head with a smile: "Why do you say that?"

"Then I was wrong."

Rose lowered her head and apologized quietly.

"I'm so sorry, James."

She knew she shouldn't have anything to do with the cultists - but that wasn't something she could decide. How could she know that a "poison arrow" would suddenly appear in London and attack her?

If she had known that little Roland would attract the attention of the Black Urn Cultists, she should have hidden it.

It's all his fault.

No wonder he has Roland's face.

"Why are you sorry, my dear?"

"I lied to you..."

she says.

James Shelley slowly raised his head and looked at the girl who had unknowingly become 'Shelley' during countless days and nights.

She has beautiful green eyes.

The black fluffy curls were a little longer but still looked short.

Slender neck.

Thin shoulders and chest.

The most iconic thin waist and the little temper that can make any man linger - especially when she blushed and pointed to the arithmetic problem of twenty-three times six and said the answer was one hundred and thirty-five, and emphasized that it was not her own calculation that was wrong, but the teacher's penmanship was too sloppy...

Old Shelley wanted to hold her face, kiss her forehead, and tell her: You should have a more refined, elegant, and fascinating surname.

For example, 'Shelley'.

Because she can make your life better, so that you don't have to suffer the choice between white bread and no savings, or black bread, saving for half a year to buy a loaf, making the neighbors jealous and spreading rumors that you are a "prostitute".

You can buy candles at three sovereigns a bundle, which are not worth the money at all, just to distinguish yourself from the lower class.

When in a bad mood, you can pour limited bottles of red wine onto the equally rare handmade blankets and drink them.

You deserve this.

if…

When James Shelley thought of that "if", he felt as if he had returned to his prime and wanted to clench his fists and punch them a few times.

——Because William brought 'that thing' back.

As long as he let Lillian pick it up and gently fired a shot, he could solve a long-standing question:
He questioned whether the answer given to him by "Saint Archimedes", who claimed to be a god, was correct.

He chose the bloodline that was lost outside and pushed his son into the abyss.

Is he right?

If Rose can't fire that gun...

What should he do? How should he face this girl?
Let her leave the Shelleys? Or...

Can he still pretend to be her 'father' and love her like a father?

James Shelley didn't know.

The former high-ring ritualist, the old man who considered himself "transcendent", still used his mortal brain to think and felt mortal emotions when faced with many questions that seemed "stupid" to others - how noble were these self-proclaimed pitiful creatures really compared to ordinary people?

James Shelley clenched his warm pipe. The word of the gods is truth.

Or is it as unreliable as a celebrity's epitaph?

"We all lie, Lillian. Just like me, I have lied countless times in my life..." Old Shelley sighed, but found that the girl who was sitting on the chair shyly just now was staring at him with a look that said 'something is wrong with you'.

The old man subconsciously touched the sagging skin on his face.

"…Lillian?"

"You would have been very stern and rude to me, saying something like 'Shelley's daughters don't do that', 'well-bred ladies don't do that' - you're not quite right to-day, James."

You can’t do this, you are not allowed to do that?
Old Shelley was stunned for a moment, then laughed and said, "Is this how I usually make you angry?"

"...Actually, I'm not really angry." Speaking of anger, the girl timidly lowered her voice: "...I know everything, James, I know everything. You and Tom, and...everyone else, all want me to be better...right?"

She fiddled with the matchbox on the low table beside her, turning it over and over so that the golden brand was facing up, and then showing the woman with a cigarette in her mouth from the back.

No matter which one of them belonged to Roland, or to Halida, or to Annie, or to old James, or to Tom...

These matches have already brightened up the dark places and made the chilly place warm and soft.

"I actually work very hard...James, but I'm afraid people will say I'm stupid and say bad things about me behind my back, so I always say 'I'm not serious' - this is better, right?"

The matchbox was turned right side up again.

The small words on the side corner of the sign are "Shelley".

James Shelley, like her, replied in a very light voice: "Whatever you think is 'right', Lillian."

He said.

Rose pursed her lips and turned the matchbox back to the woman's side.

Who can bear life without love?
If a man who has never had it suddenly enjoys it, he can never get rid of it unless he dies - this is much more terrible and harmful than any laudanum or ointment.

The thief who comes and goes like the wind is one, and so is the blind man who spent his childhood on the ice field.

"I'm very sorry."

Rose now understood why some children always cried their hearts out in front of their parents.

The emotions must be strong before we can discuss "moderation".

"I heard what Tom said, kid. Cultists, right? I don't want to delve into what happened between you and her - I think you should know how dangerous the cultists of the Black Urn and the ritualists of the "Plague" Road are... You don't need anyone to tell you that you shouldn't do this. You also have an executive friend..."

The old man's gentle voice made the girl lower her head even deeper.

But James wasn't there to blame her.

He just didn't have the heart to care about the cultists his silly girl met after having fun outside - William and Tom could protect Rose, and at least they would learn a lesson after this time.

James Shelley had no mind for this.

He was more troubled by the gun.

The rare item William brought back.

A weapon that can be shared through 'bloodline'...

The Busy Girl...

He is the great, silent God.

Should he do this?

Could he accept an unwanted answer?

"…There are some minor problems, let's leave it alone for a while. Lillian, business has been very busy recently…Give me some time to deal with it, and then we can discuss the cultists, how about it?"

James turned his pipe upside down, spilling a handful of white ash like fine sand.

Rose hesitated to speak.

(End of this chapter)