Several similar yet distinctly different voices emerged from the newly split mouths on the tentacle, echoing around the young wizards' ears at once, muddy and cacophonous. At the same time, the black eyeballs rolled about aimlessly, adding an eerie quality to the noise.
Zheng Qing did not believe a single word the tentacle said.
It was like the old-fashioned wizards often said: "If you cannot see where its brain is, never believe it can think, and never believe a word it says."
Zheng Qing did not think the tentacle had a brain growing on it.
And from beginning to end, he had never seen where the old house's master kept his brain behind that door.
"Patients usually think they are not ill, so the fact that you think you're stable proves nothing." The young publicly funded student tactfully but firmly rejected the tentacle's intention to continue listening in on the hunting team's meeting. Pointing his rune gun at it, he gestured for it to retreat behind the door. "Besides... if you do not mind, we would like some privacy."
"I merely came out to see whether the soup was ready." The tentacle politely withdrew the eyes and mouths that had just grown on it, then unhurriedly shrank back.
As it passed the cauldron, the tentacle dipped into the Mushroom Soup again and gave it a stir.
The bubbling soup fell silent for a moment, then resumed bubbling soundlessly. An enticing aroma filled the air, the fragrance of mushrooms mingled with meat.
Zheng Qing pulled a straight face and looked away, doing his utmost to shut out the rustling sounds that were about to rise behind the door. He was very curious why the old house's master had such a profound obsession with Mushroom Soup.
He was also very curious whether