Chapter 9: Tomato Scrambled Eggs

 "Hey sis, you're back. Everything okay?" Upon seeing Shanshan return, Wenwen hurriedly went up and asked.


Shanshan shook her head and replied, "Everything's fine. Actually, I don't think this Mr. Monet is a bad person."


"Oh? Then what does he do?" Wenwen asked curiously.


"He's a writer, always busy with writing novels, so he doesn't have time to cook. That's why he hired a chef. By the way, you can see his serialized novel in the New York Post. Here, it's this piece!" Shanshan took out a copy of the New York Post and pointed to the serialized story titled 'Titanic' as she told Wenwen.


Although Wenwen couldn't read, she still exclaimed, "Oh, so Mr. Monet is quite impressive. No wonder he's so kind."


Shanshan nodded in agreement, "Yes, Mr. Monet is indeed a good person. He not only lets me take leftovers, but he also taught me a delicious dish. Try it, it's this Tomato Scrambled Eggs." Saying this, Shanshan opened the lunchbox that had been placed on the table.


Wenwen sized it up and commented, "Hmm, it does look delicious, all red and yellow. And it's only tomatoes and eggs, truly a proper Tomato Scrambled Eggs!"


"It tastes even better than it looks!" Shanshan encouraged from the side.


Wenwen took a bite and praised, "It's really tasty, sweet and sour, but it's a pity it's a bit cold."


"Right, it's even better when it's just off the stove!" Shanshan added.


"I never thought that tomatoes and eggs cooked together could be this delicious. Why didn't anyone think of it before?" Wenwen mused while eating.


"Because Mr. Monet is smart, of course. Otherwise, how could his stories make it to the newspaper? But unfortunately, Mr. Monet also mentioned that this dish is too simple. Anyone who knows a bit about cooking could learn to make it after trying it once. With just this dish, one could even open a restaurant. So Mr. Monet wants us to share the recipe with Uncle Feng. He says it'll help us get more help from him in the future."


"Mr. Monet is really kind! If I had known, I would have become a chef with you, sis. We could've earned fifteen dollars a month together!" Wenwen regretfully remarked.


Surprisingly, Shanshan shook her head and said, "He does seem like a good person at the moment, but it's better to be cautious. Let's observe him for a while longer. After all, you're the only family I have left, and I can't bear to see you take unnecessary risks."


"Alright, let's not talk about this anymore. Do you want me to reheat your food?"


"No need, the food is already warm. I'll just mix these dishes in."


A few days later, Monet finally finished the opening of "Treasure in the Declaration of Independence." He found Editor Russell once again. But before Russell had a chance to read, he said to Monet, "Tony, even if you hadn't come to see me today, I was planning to find you!"


"Oh? Do you have something to talk to me about?" Monet asked curiously.


"Um, I have some good news and some bad news. Which one would you like to hear first?" Russell replied with a question.


"Then let's start with the good news!" Monet responded casually.


"The good news is that the book you mentioned, 'Futile Efforts,' has sold like crazy. Do you know how many copies were sold? A whopping three thousand, and there are many more orders. The printing press is swamped!" Russell said excitedly.


Monet was somewhat prepared for this news, as if he didn't know about this book and the timing being just after the Titanic disaster, he might have been curious enough to buy a copy himself. So he inquired, "Congratulations on making a lot of money. By the way, what's the bad news? Has someone started counterfeiting?"


Russell waved his hand and said, "Counterfeiting is common. In fact, even I'm essentially counterfeiting. The bad news I'm talking about is that the author of this book, Morgan Robinson, has committed suicide. I was planning to have my friend in London interview him, but I received this dreadful news instead."


Although Monet already knew about this matter, he couldn't show that he already knew. So, he feigned a look of "shock" and asked slowly, "What?! Mr. Robinson committed suicide? Wh-why did he do that?"


"No one knows. But coincidentally, it seems he took his own life after learning about the sinking of the Titanic. Isn't that strange?" Russell replied with a frown.


Monet pretended to "ponder" for a moment and then spoke slowly, "I have a daring speculation."


"What speculation?" Russell asked curiously.


Monet said in a serious tone, "What if Mr. Robinson knew in advance that the Titanic would sink? So, he intentionally wrote this book with the goal of preventing the tragedy. But in the end, his efforts still couldn't stop it. The Titanic still sank, and many people still perished."


"Mr. Robinson knew in advance that the Titanic would sink? How's that possible? This book, 'Futile Efforts,' was written in 1895!" Russell countered.


"But what if he had traveled back from the present or even the future to 1895? That could explain why he was able to describe the sinking of the Titanic in such detail and accuracy!" Monet guided.


Russell took a few seconds to digest this, then couldn't help but let out a sharp exhale, "Your speculation is too audacious, Tony. I feel like you could write science fiction like Jules Verne!"


"My speculations have always been audacious. If you don't believe me, just take a look at the story I brought with me this time!" Monet directed the conversation back to his submission.


Russell finally remembered that Monet was here to submit something today. He lowered his head and started reading the manuscript. However, just as he saw the title, he couldn't help but exclaim, "Treasure in the Declaration of Independence? Tony, your speculation is indeed audacious, but the problem is, how could there be hidden treasure in the Declaration of Independence?"


Monet shrugged and answered, "Of course, there's no treasure in the 'Declaration of Independence.' Otherwise, why would I write about it and share it with the public? I would've gone to find the treasure myself!"


Russell found himself unable to refute Monet's explanation, as it did make sense.


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