Please don't question multi-week players

Chapter 432. The Third Cycle Story [2 Reincarnations] (Two-in-One) (9)

After that day, Andorra and she made an agreement that he would provide funds to support her medical activities.

Andor's family, the Owen family, is a famous gambling family. They own countless casinos all over the continent, the largest of which, the Light Casino, is located in the domain of the God of Light.

Andor is the youngest son of the gambling king's family, and he has an older sister.

According to the family tradition of passing the business down to the eldest son, his older sister is currently managing the family business and will inherit the position of family head in the future.

As the youngest son of the gambling king's family, although he did not have any family power, he was never short of food and drink.

Occasionally, when he needs a large sum of money, Andor doesn't bother asking his sister for it; he'll simply go to the casino and gamble a few rounds.

As a con artist, it's hard to say whether his gambling skills are good or not, but his cheating techniques are truly profound.

Andorra is a famous gambling god in casinos. He has never lost since he entered the business, winning many gamblers out of their fortunes and contributing a lot to his sister's business.

His sister is also very happy to have such a thoughtful younger brother.

Vera was quite shocked when he first heard that the Andor family had made their fortune through gambling and that he frequented casinos.

She knew the power of the Owen family; they were the second wealthiest family after the Rose Group, with endless wealth. Their gold bars alone could fill several castles, not to mention the considerable sums they had accumulated in the bank.

It can be said that, apart from the god of wealth who is in charge of accumulating riches, it is the oldest and largest family.

What Vera didn't expect was that the seemingly innocent and pure young man Andorra was actually the young master of a gambling tycoon's family, who was involved in the black and gray industries.

However, she quickly realized that perhaps that was precisely why he was so naive.

The closer a nobleman is to the common people, the more afraid he is of being lumped together with the lowly lower classes. He will desperately emphasize his noble status, fearing that others will confuse him.

For behemoths like the Irving family, which have transcended the traditional definition of the wealthy, they are less concerned with emphasizing their wealth.

For them, money is probably just an empty number; there are countless things in the world more precious than money.

Andorra's actions certainly reflected this. When Vera was at an inn with him, she discovered that the boy was exceptionally kind. He would secretly give meat pies to disabled beggars and buy candied hawthorns for poor children who were looking on longingly.

The most ridiculous thing is that he actually believed the story of a child burying his father for a fee on the street.

As Vera dragged this rich but foolish young master away, he was still wailing about how pitiful the child was and that he wanted to give him money.

Just as Vera was pulling him away, Andor was shocked to see that the "father" who had been lying on a plank in front of the child, ready to be buried, suddenly sat up with a thud and ran towards them, cursing as he ran:

"You wild girl! Put that young master down! He's offering to help my child, didn't you hear me!"

Andor was stunned and speechless. Vera, holding up her skirt with one hand and dragging him back to the inn with the other, saw the boy's still shocked expression and reminded him unhappily:
"The body was a natural bluish-white, and his father's face was powdered to appear pale—can't you see that?"

Andorra had never seen anything like it before. Most of the scams he had encountered were extremely sophisticated, so he found this one, with its clumsy methods, to be quite convincing.

The boy stroked his chin and said:

"So, the most ingenious deception is actually returning to simplicity?"

The little girl rolled her eyes at him and said:

"This shouldn't be hard to identify, right?"

Aside from their chaotic life, Andor did spend money to buy her a lot of medicinal herbs for research purposes.

The little prophet's room was filled with piles of medicinal herbs, and Andorr could occasionally see her sitting in a chair, engrossed in studying books.

"Do prophets also need to read and study?"

One day, the boy in the floral hat asked a question out of curiosity.

Unsurprisingly, he received another eye roll from the little girl.

"Every profession, every person, and every identity requires learning."

Vera said this.

"You're a con artist, but you weren't born a con artist, were you?"

"If you want to become a world-class con artist, you need to remain humble and learn from others' more sophisticated and refined scams. Only then can you reach the top one day."

Looking into the little girl's determined eyes, Andor suddenly sensed a peculiar power within her.

It was a sense of security and wisdom.

She was neither arrogant nor humble, and seemed to always maintain a calm and composed demeanor.

"Okay, you're right."

The boy put on his hat, smiled, and said:

"Looks like I need to go to the newspaper office and find some books written by fellow con artists, so we can study together every day."

After that day, life seemed to return to normal.

Until the boy's manuscript was finally printed, its ink scent lingering in the morning paper. And on that very day, a wave of epidemic swept through the entire street without warning.

Early in the morning, Andor, clutching the still-warm newspaper, hurried back to the inn and lightly knocked on her door with his knuckles.

"Vera? Vera, my sister—"

Silence reigned inside the door.

A sense of doubt arose in his mind, and he turned and walked into the street to look for it.

The alley has changed beyond recognition—patients covered in rashes huddle in corners groaning, the air thick with the stench of decay and despair.

Andorra covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and searched from one end of the street to the other, finally catching a glimpse of the familiar figure in a low shack at noon.

Vera was leaning over a little girl, a ball of soft, emerald light suspended in her palm, like the first ripples of a newly thawed lake, or the first glimmer of life quietly blooming in early spring.

Standing next to her was a woman with dry, yellow hair, wearing an apron covered in flour, her hands clenched tightly in front of her chest, her eyes filled with anxiety.

In a basket covered by a white cloth by the window, steaming hot buns were emitting a simple aroma, which mingled with the foul smell of the room, creating a jarring and poignant atmosphere.

“Good day, madam. I am Vera’s brother, here to take her home.” Andor, employing the professional ethics of a con artist, fabricated an identity on the spot, then removed his hat and bowed to the woman.

"Hello... Your sister is here. She is treating my daughter."

The woman with the dry, yellow hair wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes and said:

"Thanks to Vera, if it weren't for her, I might have lost my daughter."

Andor followed her gaze into the room, but his breath hitched slightly.

Inside the room, a little girl in a green tutu held a ball of soft, emerald-green light, as clear as lake water, suspended in her hand.

The green light was warm and vibrant; even standing at the door, he could feel its power, almost like springtime.

His extensive intelligence network within the gambling tycoon's family allowed him to quickly understand what that green light was.

He took a deep breath and looked at the focused profile.

This little prophet... is actually a rare healer?
Moreover, judging from this energy fluctuation, it possesses an extremely powerful healing force, and its exceptional affinity is almost palpable even through light.

"Om..."

As the light gradually dimmed, Vera stood up from the bedside.

The girl on the bed slowly opened her eyes, looked blankly at the woman with withered yellow hair, and softly called out:

"Mother……"

“Delilah…my Delilah…”

The woman rushed over and hugged her daughter tightly, tears streaming down her face and falling onto the girl's disheveled hair.

Upon hearing that name, Andorra instinctively turned to Vera.

But she didn't look at him.

Her gaze lingered on the mother and daughter embracing, her expression a complex and heartbreaking one.

There is longing, nostalgia, intimacy, and a deep-seated, animalistic pain.

"Hey!"

Andor walked over and gently ruffled her hair:

"It's time to go back, little sister."

He unfolded the newspaper in front of her, his tone light and sharing:
"Look, your prediction has come true, my article has been published."

"Great."

She didn't look away, only murmured a reply, still gazing at the two people huddled together under the dim yellow oil lamp.

After a while, the woman finally calmed down and stuffed a whole basket of steamed buns into Vera's arms.

“Miss Vera, I really…I really don’t know how to thank you…”

The woman didn't know Vera's identity, but seeing her brother's elegant clothes and refined manners, she assumed that Vera was also a young lady from a wealthy family.

The steam from the steamed buns wafted through the basket. Vera pushed the basket back and whispered:

"No need. I hope Delilah grows up well, and I hope you and your daughter are safe and sound."

After saying that, she grabbed Andorr's sleeve, turned around, and jogged away from the shack.

As I ran to the bend in the alley, my pace gradually slowed down.

Then, she suddenly squatted down, buried her face in her arms, and her shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

Andorra, who had been filled with questions, was caught off guard by the sudden burst of tears.

He hurriedly pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her, watching her sob as she wiped her face, and couldn't help but ask curiously:

"You can cry too... By the way, what's with that little girl? Why does she have the same name as you? If I remember correctly, your name is Delilah Vera, right?"

Vera sniffed and said haltingly:

“I don’t have a mother, but her mother used to be my mother.”

"But now I don't have a mother anymore."

Andor didn't understand what she was saying, which was all jumbled up incoherently, and he didn't understand the difference between having a mother and not having one.

The Owen family had weak family ties; his mother's eyes showed absolutely no emotion when she looked at him.

Seeing how seriously Vera took this matter, I couldn't help but ask curiously:

What's it like to have a mother?

"She would cook hot porridge for me, sew clothes for me, and stand at the door calling me home for dinner. No matter how late it was, there was always a light on in the house..."

Vera's voice grew softer and softer:
"That's what home feels like."

"I had it twice. But in the end... I lost it both times."

The boy in the floral hat fell silent.

His mother never cooked porridge for him, nor did she ever leave a light on at night. The luxurious mansion was always empty and quiet, so quiet that even the sound of footsteps echoed.

He stood there quietly, watching the little girl curled up in front of him, sobbing softly. The two of them cast long, lonely shadows in the wind at the alley entrance.

After a long while, Vera finally stopped crying.

She raised her slightly reddened eyes and gazed at the dimly lit little house in the distance. She looked for a long, long time before speaking in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible:

"Mom... I hope that you and your daughter can be happy in this life."