Chapter 702 – Dreamweaver World 40

The shadow of the kettle acted like an attentive butler, nimbly cradling the kettle itself as it floated above the stew pot. The spout tilted elegantly, pouring clear spring water into the pot.

It paused after pouring for a moment, as if asking Mo Lan whether it was enough.

Only when Mo Lan said “that’s enough” did the kettle return to its original position.

In the corner, the shadow bugs that had been lounging lazily suddenly perked up with renewed vigor, forming neat lines as they wriggled their ashen bodies and charged toward the woodpile behind the door.

Working together, they rolled up the firewood and glided smoothly toward the hearth.

The slightly larger shadow bug at the front seemed to be the squad leader, issuing faint “zhizhi” sounds from time to time to direct its companions.

Mo Lan watched for a while, thanked them for their help, then rolled up her sleeves and drew a sharp dagger from her waist.

The blade flashed cold in the firelight as the salt-cured meat was sliced into even, thin pieces, each one gleaming with an amber luster.

The mountain spring water in the stew pot gradually came to a boil, its surface churning with fine bubbles. The moment the thin slices of salt-cured meat entered the pot, amber-colored fat began seeping out in delicate threads under the heat, spreading across the water’s surface like golden spiderwebs.

The savory aroma mingled with the sharp fragrance of rosemary, instantly filling the entire stone cavern.

Blue pine mushrooms twirled between her fingertips as stems and caps were perfectly separated, releasing waves of refreshing fragrance.

After the blue pine mushrooms were added to the stew pot, the flesh gradually shifted from pale blue to a translucent, glaze-like hue. The edges of the caps curled into elegant arcs, like countless tiny shells bobbing in the broth.

As they simmered, the mushrooms released juices carrying the crisp scent of pine wood, tinting the broth a faint blue-gray with a nacre-like sheen drifting across its surface.

The last addition was the honey crystal fruit, cut in half.

The jade-green skin softened in the high heat as the golden nectar within slowly flowed out, diffusing threads of sweet fragrance through the soup.

The nectar and the fat from the salt-cured meat melded together in a wondrous harmony, achieving just the right consistency — neither too thin and watery, nor overly thick and cloying.

Matina pretended to flip through an ancient tome with studied indifference, but the corner of her eye couldn’t help tracking Mo Lan’s every move.

Her shadow on the wall had completely betrayed her thoughts — the dark silhouette was craning its neck, staring unblinkingly at the stew pot, and sneaking the occasional wipe at the corner of its mouth.

When the stew was done, Mo Lan ladled out a bowl and handed it to her first.

Matina primly blew on it at first, but the instant the first spoonful of broth touched her lips, her gray-white eyebrows shot upward.

The savory richness of the meat claimed the palate first, followed by the distinctive pine-wood fragrance unique to blue pine mushrooms, and finally finished with the sweetness of honey crystal fruit. The three flavors built upon each other in layers, then merged perfectly at the back of the throat.

“…Not bad.”

Matina gave her stubborn verdict, but her hands never stopped moving — she had already scooped up a second spoonful.

Her shadow had completely abandoned all pretense of dignity, using exaggerated motions to pour soup into its own “mouth,” wriggling blissfully back and forth.

Mo Lan smiled and ladled a bowl for herself, then rested the ladle against the rim of the pot.

The shadows in the room immediately erupted into activity.

The teapot’s shadow was first to act — it flipped itself upside-down with a “snap,” its spout shooting out a wisp of steam as it charged toward the oak cabinet in the corner like a whistling locomotive. The stew pot’s shadow refused to be outdone, standing up directly on its trivet legs and trotting along at a rapid clip, its lid flapping open and shut as it went.

The shadow bugs linked themselves head-to-tail like a string of moving black buttons, forming a “bug ladder.” The one at the very top hooked the shadow of the cabinet handle with its forelegs and yanked downward —

The instant the cabinet door slowly swung open, an entire stack of bowls and plates cast a stretch of shadow.

But as the teapot’s shadow emerged balancing a stack of bowl-shadows on its head, the stew pot’s shadow followed with several plate-shadows clamped in its mouth, and the shadow bugs filed out together hauling spoon-shadows — that stretch of shadow receded like an ebbing tide until it vanished entirely.

The ladle’s shadow had somehow already drifted above the stew pot, stirring the thick broth like a seasoned chef.

It suddenly paused in midair, gave an elegant flick of its handle, and began presiding over the soup-serving ceremony.

The shadows waiting in line immediately behaved themselves, each stepping forward with bowl in arms, receiving one ladleful before moving along.

One small bowl-shadow greedily tried to get an extra serving, and was promptly rapped on the rim by the ladle with a “smack,” shrinking to the side in aggrieved dejection.

Matina’s chair-shadow had somehow sneaked its way to the very front of the line and quietly swapped its “bowl” for the largest one available.

Mo Lan couldn’t resist leaning in close to peer into the “bowls” held by these shadows.

But no matter how she adjusted her angle, all she could see was a mass of pitch-black phantoms — not a trace of any broth whatsoever.

Yet the shadows’ “soup-drinking” motions were remarkably vivid.

Some sipped daintily, some threw their heads back for heroic gulps, and one rotund clay jar shadow drank too hastily, got “scalded,” and hopped about in place, spinning in circles several times.

“Stop staring — they’re putting on a show!” Matina had somehow already started on her second bowl. A glint of craftiness flashed in her cloudy eyes. “These rascals have no sense of taste; they just love joining in on the fun. Last time a spice merchant came by, they even pretended to ‘sneeze.'”

As if to prove her point, the table’s shadow, which had been “drinking soup,” suddenly began trembling violently, pretending to be “choked” as it expelled a blur of shadow from its form.

The other shadows immediately played along, scattering in all directions to dodge, while the tablecloth’s shadow dramatically patted the table-shadow on its “back.”

Mo Lan couldn’t help laughing at the lively shadows bouncing around the room. She asked curiously, “Matina, how did you make these shadows ‘come alive’? I’ve read every Shadow Hunter skill book there is, and not a single one records this kind of ability.”

“Skill books?” Matina let out a light scoff. Her spoon paused in midair, and a sly smile suddenly crossed her face. She tapped her stone cane lightly, and every shadow in the room froze instantly, like a shadow puppet show with the pause button pressed.

“Little girl,” Matina’s voice carried a note of pride, “what do you think shadows are?”

Without waiting for Mo Lan to answer, the old woman suddenly tossed her spoon into her own shadow.

The silver spoon sank in as if falling into water, sending a ring of ripples across the surface of the dark shadow before vanishing from sight.

Mo Lan was astonished to see a small lump suddenly bulge at the throat of Matina’s shadow on the wall. The lump slowly traveled downward until it was “spat” out from the shadow’s hand with a soft “pop” — it was the very spoon that had just disappeared.

“Before you’ve mastered the power of shadow, a shadow is merely an incidental product of light and darkness intertwining…” As she spoke, her stone cane’s shadow suddenly shattered into countless tiny fragments that scattered across the wall like a flock of startled birds.

“But once you truly understand it… it becomes a part of you — more obedient than your own hands and feet, more agile than your own thoughts.”

Matina curled her finger slightly, and the scattered shadow fragments immediately converged like a hundred rivers flowing to the sea, reassembling into a sinuous black serpent that coiled affectionately around her arm.