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

The night after the Bull Demon King received the message from Iron Fan, I had been squatting in a mountain hollow two miles outside the Cloud Cave for a day and a night.

The intelligence was obtained by exchanging a box of pastries with a greedy little demon on patrol.

Although it is called a mountain valley, it is actually a natural stone shelter made up of two huge rocks that have collapsed halfway.

There was a musty, ancient demonic aura inside, probably an old lair left by some ignorant mountain spirit. I used Flame Heart Grass to fumigate it for half an incense stick before it was barely habitable.

Looking out from the crack in the rock, you can see the side entrance of Moyun Cave and the enclosed area outside the cave that is fenced off with spirit wood.

The white calf in the pen was lying in the moonlight, ruminating. Its fur was so white it looked bluish, like a small patch of snow on the mountainside.

I call it "Little White".

I hesitated for almost an hour before deciding on this name.

Once you've named the ingredients, it's not so easy to wield the knife.

But now is not the time to think about that.

The Moyun Cave was brightly lit, and little demons were going in and out carrying wine jars.

The Bull Demon King is going to a banquet tomorrow, so he's throwing a big feast in his cave today to send himself off.

I reckon he'll drink quite a bit tonight.

When people are drunk and fast asleep, it's a good time to take action.

But I wasn't waiting for him to get drunk; I was waiting for the moon to disappear behind those cumulus clouds.

The night patrolling demons outside Moyun Cave change shifts every half hour, with a gap of about several dozen breaths between shifts.

At that time, the spirit wood fence was out of sight of any of the patrolling demons.

I need those few dozen breaths, and I also need a thick enough cloud.

The moment the moon sank into the cumulus clouds, I moved.

It's about a hundred steps from the stone shed to the spirit wood fence.

The night patrolling demon had just turned the corner of Moyun Cave when the lantern's glow flickered on the rock wall for a moment before disappearing.

I couldn't ride the wind. Demonic energy is too sensitive to immortal power. The Bull Demon King's cave was surrounded by three layers of sensing barriers, which would ring if touched.

I was only wearing a pair of soft-soled cloth shoes, and I felt my way in from the shadow of the stone wall. My feet made a soft crunching sound on the gravel, and each step felt like stepping on my own heartbeat.

Halfway there, the side door suddenly creaked open a crack wider, and a little demon swayed out, put down an empty wine jar, and then swayed back inside.

I pressed myself against the rock face, my fingers digging into the cracks, and I even stopped breathing.

Only when the door narrowed back to a crack did he loosen his grip and continue walking.

The crack at the side entrance of Moyun Cave was about a hand's width. I glanced inside as I passed by.

The corridor was empty.

The shouts of the demon generals playing drinking games came from the direction of the main cave, shaking the torches on the stone walls.

The Bull Demon King's spoils of war from over the years are hanging on the stone walls on both sides:

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A broken halberd, half a glazed tile from the South Heavenly Gate, and a suit of golden armor that no one knows which unlucky heavenly general had ripped off.

Everything was arranged neatly, and no one wiped away the dust—the Bull Demon King forbade it, saying that the more dust there was, the more prestigious it was.

I thought to myself, this is the Bull Demon King: he hangs all his pride on the wall and throws all his debts outside the wall.

We've arrived at the Spirit Wood Barrier.

Little White was sleeping in the corner of the fence, its head resting on its front hooves, its ears twitching occasionally, probably dreaming.

The enclosure was lined with clean medicinal herbs, and next to it was a half-eaten basin of tender leaves and water—the water was drawn from a cold spring in the back mountain, so clear that the moon could be seen reflected in it.

This cow is living a better life than I did when I was in Yi Yamen.

At least it never slept in a shabby shed.

As soon as this thought popped into my head, I realized something was off. Comparing myself to a cow in terms of treatment—all these years of spiritual practice have been for nothing.

I crouched down, took out a small piece of Flameheart Grass from my sleeve, and crushed it between my fingertips.

When the grass shreds meet the heat, a wisp of very faint red smoke is released, carrying the unique fiery aura of the Flaming Mountain, which stimulates the restlessness in the bloodline of the spirit ox.

Little White snorted and groggily opened its eyes.

I took out a pinch of calming herb powder, mixed it with the spiritual dew in my palm, and brought it to its nose.

It stuck out its tongue and licked it again, its warm tongue rolling across my palm, the rough coating of its tongue scraping away a little bit of itchiness.

Then his eyelids drooped heavily.

This isn't some magical skill; it's a chef's basic technique.

Before cooking, let the ingredients rest in peace.

After Xiaobai fell into a deep sleep, I slid a narrow-bladed kitchen knife out of my sleeve.

This knife has always been with me; it's one of the few things I brought out from Yi Ya Men.

It has chopped up mortal pork in the Heavenly Street Market, sliced ​​turtle jelly that was publicly tried in the Dragon Palace, and sliced ​​grilled mandarin fish that Nezha took away.

Tonight, there's one more thing: a slice of the Bull Demon King's heart and liver.

I made a mental note of it, and I'll sharpen it a few more times when I sharpen the knife later.

Before I took action, I gently stroked Xiaobai's forehead and whispered:

"I'm sorry. It's not your fault."

Then the knife fell. Moonlight peeked through the clouds, falling on the edge of the spirit wood fence, turning the calf's eyelashes silvery-white.

Without struggling or making a sound, it left completely unprepared, never waking up from beginning to end.

The blade made a slight rustling sound when it cut into the fur, like cutting a piece of silk.

After choosing the part of the body to take the meat, a thought suddenly popped into my head: how wonderful it would be if all the innocent people caught up in grudges could leave this peacefully.

Turtle Prime Minister was almost made a scapegoat and put on trial. Nezha and Ao Guang fought for three thousand years, affecting countless aquatic creatures.

They weren't as lucky as Xiaobai.

At least Xiaobai received an apology, while those others did not.

I wrapped the spirit beef in an oilcloth, put it into my personal cloth bag, and then wrapped the bag with a layer of ice silk to keep it cold, fresh, and without damaging its spiritual energy.

I stood up and took one last look at the empty spirit wood railing.

There were still dents in the corner where Little White had lain, and a round indentation was pressed into the spirit herb. The basin of cold spring water next to it was still swaying slightly.

I squatted down and spread the medicinal herbs out again.

It's not that I'm afraid of being discovered.

The Bull Demon King will find out his bull is missing when it gets light.

I just didn't want Xiao Yao to have too much trouble cleaning up the enclosure.

He retraced his steps back to the stone shed, placed the cloth bag at his feet, sat down, and took a breath.

I leaned against the stone wall and glanced again through the cracks in the stone towards the direction of the spirit wood railing.

The empty railing stood quietly under the moonlight.

By this time tomorrow, the Bull Demon King will know what he ate.

In the world of chefs, "knowing" is the most important ingredient.

You can eat a lot of things without knowing it—swallow them, digest them, excrete them, and nothing happens.

But if you knew that piece of meat was cut from a white cow in your pen, you would know that the thorn in your heart is called "the price".

I took out the dragon scale sound transmission talisman from my pocket.

The dragon scale was still slightly warm; it was the one that hadn't been returned to Ao Guang during the last public trial.

I held it in my hand, my lips moved, but in the end I didn't activate the magic.

I don't know what to say. Should I tell my godmother that my godson stole a cow tonight?

Not suitable.

I took the dragon scales back. I'll settle the score with her after this matter is settled.

Dawn was approaching. I took the piece of spirit beef out of my bag and examined it one last time in the light of the passing day and the waning moon.

With its bright red flesh, fine texture, and abundant vitality, it is a top-quality ingredient.

Tears of resentment as sauce, cold jade as a base, spirit ox as meat, roasted over wild peach charcoal. The recipe for this dish is etched in my mind.

There's one last step—roast it until it's cooked and then serve it to the Bull Demon King.

Then tell him that what he just swallowed was not steak.

She is his heart and soul.