Celestial Food Stall: I Set Up a Food Stall in Heaven

At 4:30 a.m., my phone vibrated on the bedside table.

The rented room smelled musty mixed with the fumes of cooking oil left overnight. I turned over, and three words appeared on the screen: Head Chef.

"Chang Baiwei, if you can't get to the store before 8 o'clock today, you don't need to come."

The tone was flat. A threat at least indicates that you still have value to be threatened. This tone is informing you that the decision has been made, and you only need to execute it.

When a task requires someone to take charge, the most suitable candidate is usually someone who hasn't passed their probationary period, doesn't have much of a background, and isn't usually very talkative. I fit all three criteria.

The phone hangs up.

I didn't make that dish yesterday. The head chef cooked it himself, and he put too much salt in it. The customer complained, and he pushed the order onto me in front of the boss.

"I wasn't paying attention to the ingredients Chang Baiwei prepared for me."

The boss left before I finished listening and deducted half a month's salary from my paycheck.

I closed my eyes. The moment the back of my head touched the pillow, a burst of blue light exploded.

A semi-transparent panel floated in the darkness, displaying six words: Up, Down, Front, Back, Left, Right.

Above, it was grayish-white, like smoldering charcoal ash from a stove. The other five directions were pitch black and blood red; nothing could be seen clearly. There was no explanation or description.

This kind of selection isn't really a selection; it's a process of elimination. Eliminate the five that are unclear, and you're left with one that's just dull and lifeless.

I stared at it for five seconds. I remembered the head chef's phone call, and that dish with too much salt.

Down? Where else could I go, to the sewers? I clicked "Up." I didn't think anything when I clicked it; later I realized that this was the beginning of trouble for Heaven.

When I opened my eyes again, I was by the water.

I squatted by a pond, holding an old fishing rod in my hand.

The fishing rod was blackened by cooking fumes, and a thin crack appeared at the tip, which was wrapped twice with a strip of cloth. A straight iron hook, barbless and without bait, hung on the fishing line.

A few koi fish swam slowly under the hook, flicking their tails, too lazy to even look at me.

A flood of memories that don't belong to me rushed into my mind.

Heavenly Court, Yi Yamen, head chef in the kitchen, spirit stone debt, old knee injury.

I went through these memories. The Yi Ya Sect exploited its disciples, its stewards lent money and forced repayment, and the sect leader turned a blind eye.

This place is no different from a kitchen in the mortal world, except that in the mortal world, wages are deducted, while in the heavenly court, lives are taken.

I looked down at my hands. There was a callus on the web between my thumb and forefinger, so thick that I couldn't feel it when I pinched it. It was from years of holding a wok, just like my own hands.

The difference is in my knees. It feels like there's a needle twisting in the crevice of my left kneecap, and when I squat down, my right knee hits the ground first, and my left leg can't support me.

"It's been three days," someone nearby said.

An old woman sat in the only chair behind me that wasn't crippled, holding half a cold steamed bun in her hand.

"More than three hundred steamed buns," she said again, her eyes not on me, but on the fish in the pond.

  

As I recall, I squatted there for three days, and she sat behind me for three days straight. After we finished eating, she commented, "The dough was over-fermented," and then she just stayed there.

I looked down at the straight hook in my hand.

"What is this thing?"

The old lady's lips twitched slightly.

I think I understand now. This straight hook represents a qualification; if no one bites, the business isn't yours.

I don't know who I'm waiting for, but I know I can't go anywhere until I see them.

The logic behind this set of rules is as follows: you squat down first, and only when a certain signal appears can you move.

On the fourth day, the deacon arrived with his men.

A cloud of dust rolled in from the direction of the Heavenly Street, and the sound of boots stepping on the bluestone slabs was dull and rhythmic, like a row of wooden mallets striking a broken drum.

I know those footsteps all too well; they always come to collect spirit stones at the end of each month, it's the same rhythm. Not fast, not slow, they pause for three breaths at the door, letting you open it yourself.

The three-breath design is deliberate: the first breath makes you react, the second breath makes you tense, and the third breath makes you submit.

I didn't wait those three breaths. I put the fishing rod down beside my feet, stood up, and pushed off with my right knee first, followed by my left leg.

My knees are injured, but after standing in the kitchen of the mortal realm for so many years, they haven't gotten much better.

How to stand up by supporting yourself with one good leg and using the other leg – I've practiced this move countless times.

The deacon's hand emerged from the smoke and dust, his fingers poking my nose, his fingernails still embedded with the red ink from the morning's accounting.

"Chang Baiwei, in two days, the sect membership fee, master's security fee, spirit stone interest, and all other expenses, including food and lodging, will be settled. Your monthly salary is simply not enough." He smirked, "How about borrowing some more from the sect?"

I didn't say anything. Last time I borrowed fifty spirit stones to pay interest, which ballooned to eighty. The time before that, I borrowed thirty to pay "Master's protection fee," and I still don't know what I've protected.

I mentally reviewed these accounts without saying a word. The essence of a lending relationship is that one party creates dependence, while the other party loses bargaining power.

The Heavenly Court goes even further in this regard. Their interest is compounded, and the collateral is your life.

The deacon sneered and pointed to the base of the courtyard wall.

A long-bearded disciple stood there, his white robe bearing the words "Despicable and shameless, refusing to repay debts" written in large, crimson characters.

The words were written with cinnabar mixed with a magical incantation; they seeped into the fabric fibers, impossible to wash off or cover up. He kept his head down, his eyes devoid of any light.

The steward said to a masked man standing beside him, "For ten spirit stones, this man's debt of five thousand spirit stones is yours. From this day forward, he is expelled from the sect, and whatever amount he owes is yours."

The masked man threw out ten spirit stones, which landed on the bluestone slab with a crisp sound.

He grabbed the book of immortal scriptures and slapped it onto the indebted disciple. The man trembled, his bones cracking beneath his flesh like snapping dry firewood.

In less than three breaths, a living person was transformed into an old ox.

Ghost Face flipped over, mounted the ox's back, grabbed its horns, twisted them, and drove it toward the courtyard gate.

"Those who owe debts and do not repay them will be tormented like cattle and horses for the rest of their lives."

The old ox's four hooves trod on the bluestone slabs, each step unsteady. It wasn't used to walking on four legs yet, and its eyes held nothing.

I recognize those eyes. That day at the entrance of the kitchen in the mortal realm, I had half a month's wages docked, watching the head chef turn and walk away. At that moment, I probably had the same expression in my own eyes.

The butler turned around, his smile still lingering. "Did you see clearly? You're next."

I didn't reply. I made a mental note of it.

The fishing rod in my hand jolted violently.

The pond burst open, and a giant tuna with a dragon's head, a fish's body, and a golden back shimmered fiercely, biting the straight iron hook in one bite.

The hook point bends sharply at the moment of engagement, locking itself firmly into the fish's mouth.

Before I could even think, I had already lifted the rod, and the more than ten-foot-long golden-backed mandarin fish was pulled out of the water and slammed heavily onto the bluestone slab, splashing water all over me.

The deacon's face instantly drained of color. He scrambled towards the main hall, his voice hoarse: "The Divine Fish! Sect Leader! He harmed the sect's guardian divine fish!"

I squatted beside the fish, soaking wet. The moment my hand touched its body, a wisp of grayish-white with black undertones suddenly enveloped it. The over ten-foot-long divine fish rapidly shrank within the aura, its dragon head deforming and shrinking, instantly transforming into a cunning rat's head, its black bean-like eyes darting around.

I paused for a moment, then turned to look at the overturned chair.

The old lady stood behind me, her posture casual, her aura completely different from before.

Those eyes were no longer cloudy; they were like charcoal that had been burning all night in a stove, gray on the surface but with smoldering embers underneath.

"Young man, after observing your character for three days, I find you to have the spirit of Jiang Ziya fishing with a straight hook." She glanced down at the strange rat-headed fish on the ground.

"How can a sect that exploits its disciples and greedily amasses wealth like this deserve to have a guardian fish? They raised it for three years and offered it sacrifices for three years, only to end up with a rat."

She turned to look at me, "I'm giving you a chance."

As soon as I finished speaking, a wisp of gray-white and black energy surged into my meridians.

The sensation was somewhat astringent, like the first wisp of smoke rising from a wood-fired stove, or the indelible scorch mark on the bottom of an iron pot.

But the moment it rushed in, my knees, which had been aching for three days, stopped hurting.

"I am the Broom Star Lord, surnamed Ma. This ominous aura, though unlikely to harm even a Great Immortal, is sufficient to protect a mortal body. From this day forward, you are my godson. Throughout the Three Realms," she paused, "I will protect you."

The footsteps were thunderous.

Yi Ya stood with his hands behind his back in front of the stall, wearing a long black robe with gold-threaded Taotie patterns embroidered on the cuffs. His gaze was like a blade, sweeping across the stall and over the rat-headed monster fish on the ground.

Behind him stood a dozen or so disciples in white robes, wielding kitchen knives, rolling pins, and iron pots. The steward shrank behind him, his finger trembling as he pointed to the ground. "Sect Leader, he touched the sect's guardian fish."

"Shut up." Yi Ya raised his hand, and the steward immediately fell silent.

Yi Ya stared at me, then glanced at the rat-headed monster fish, and finally fixed his gaze on the Broom Star Lord.

He did not bow.

"The Star Lord has arrived; I have failed to greet you properly."

His tone was neither warm nor cold, "This boy owes the sect several thousand spirit stones. How do you intend to settle this debt?"

The Broom Star Lord sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and looked at me instead of Yi Ya.

"Send someone from your sect to have a match with him. If he wins, his immortal status will be returned, and all old grudges will be wiped clean. If he loses, you can do whatever you want with him; I will not interfere."

She paused, then said, "I can protect you for a while, but not forever. This is the most I can do for you. Do you dare accept?"

The rat-headed monster fish flicked its tail on the bluestone slab, its black bean-like eyes darting around as if waiting for an answer.

I put the fishing rod down beside my feet and straightened up.

It doesn't hurt anymore. When I stand up straight, my left knee can bear weight again. The needle in the bone is still there, but it's enveloped by that wisp of energy, like a piece of red-hot iron being quenched in cold water. The surface hardens, but the core is still burning hot.

I glanced down at the rat-headed monster fish on the ground, then at the half-eaten cold bun in the Broom Star Lord's hand.

"I'll take it."