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

Jilei Mountain, Moyun Cave.

When the Bull Demon King received Princess Iron Fan's message, he was lounging on a tiger-skin couch, munching on a watermelon.

The melon was chilled by the Jade-Faced Fox himself, using the cold spring water from the back mountain of Moyun Cave to chill it for half a day. It was sandy and sweet to the touch.

The little demon, trembling with fear, handed over the jade slip. He held a watermelon in one hand and the jade slip in the other, glancing at it while munching on the watermelon flesh. He didn't even spit out the seeds before casually tossing the jade slip onto the couch.

"Dinner? She wants to have dinner with me?"

He wiped his mouth, looking completely unconcerned, but something flashed in his eyes.

He and Princess Iron Fan were husband and wife for hundreds of years, and then enemies for hundreds of years; he knew her too well.

That woman would never invite him to dinner; she would only try to kill him.

But this time there was no banana leaf fan, no cursing pointed at his nose, and no heat wave chasing after him from the Flaming Mountain.

It was just a matter of saying: Three days later, at the wild peach grove on the western slope of Mount Jilei, let's have a meal together, and then all grudges will be settled.

The Bull Demon King placed the watermelon rind on the edge of the jade plate and stared at the jade slip for a long time.

The jade-faced fox massaging his legs noticed something and asked in a sweet voice, "Who is it?" He gave a vague reply without mentioning Iron Fan's name.

On the first day, he ate and drank as usual, and gambled with the demon generals of Moyun Cave as if the message had never come.

But after the Jade-Faced Fox fell asleep that night, he walked out of his cave alone, stood on the edge of the cliff, and glanced in the direction of the Flaming Mountain.

You can't see anything over there, only a sea of ​​clouds and night fog.

The next day, he spent the entire afternoon polishing iron rods in the armory.

He had already polished the stick so much that you could see your reflection in it, but he kept polishing it again and again. He polished it until the little demon came to deliver dinner but didn't dare to come in. He left the food box at the door and ran away.

On the morning of the third day, he changed into clean clothes and, unusually, did not bring any weapons.

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He only brought a flask of wine.

The Jade-Faced Fox asked him where he was going, and he said he was going out to run some errands. His tone was casual, but his steps were heavier than usual.

There is a wild peach grove on the western slope of Jilei Mountain.

The rocks were jagged and neglected, and the peach trees grew haphazardly, unlike the neat and orderly peach grove in front of Moyun Cave, which was carefully tended by the Jade-Faced Fox.

But the peach trees here grow from the cracks in the rocks of Jilei Mountain. Their roots are deep, their flowers bloom wildly, and their fruits are crooked and twisted, so sour that they make your teeth ache when you bite into them.

In the early years after he and Tie Shan got married, before Moyun Cave was completed, the two lived in a temporary stone house built by this wild peach forest.

Iron Fan loved these wild peaches the most, saying they tasted even better than the immortal peaches from the Peach Garden.

The Bull Demon King always wanted to say that this stuff was so sour and delicious, but he always swallowed his words.

After the Moyun Cave was built, he never came here again.

The Bull Demon King walked through the crooked peach trees and saw a barbecue grill set up in a clearing in the forest.

A person was standing next to the grill.

It wasn't Iron Fan; it was a young man I didn't recognize.

Dressed in coarse cloth with a faded apron tied around his waist, he was squatting by the grill, trying to start a fire.

Princess Iron Fan sat on the largest rock at the edge of the open space, leaning against a crooked old peach tree, her eyes closed, whether resting or listening to the wind, it was unclear.

She changed her clothes today.

It wasn't that plain fairy dress stained with charcoal ash from the Flaming Mountains; it was an old, crimson long dress.

The cuffs were embroidered with crooked peach blossom patterns, the stitches were sparse, as if they were done by a beginner.

The color scheme is also tacky; red and pink would be a disaster on any fairy maiden in the Heavenly Street.

But when she wore it, it suppressed some of the lingering irritability in her eyes and brows, making her look somewhat like a young woman before she got married.

The Bull Demon King paused for a moment. He recognized the red dress.

That was their first year of marriage. He secretly went to the Heavenly Street to buy clothes from the mortal realm, wasting a lot of money, and was scolded by Iron Fan for three days when he returned.

She didn't throw it away after she finished cursing; it sat at the bottom of a trunk for hundreds of years. He never imagined she would still keep it. He certainly never imagined she would wear it.

Iron Fan opened her eyes, glanced at him, but didn't get up or pull out her fan.

"I'm here," she said. Her voice was still hoarse, but her tone lacked its usual tenseness.

"Hmm." The Bull Demon King placed the wine pot on the stone table, sat down opposite her, and stood three steps apart.

These three steps represent a safe distance, a distance that no one has dared to cross for centuries.

After he sat down, he glanced around—the grill, the charcoal fire, and several items on the cutting board next to him, all covered with white cloths, so he couldn't tell what they were.

The cook was fiddling with the charcoal on the grill, without even looking up.

The Bull Demon King frowned, but finally couldn't resist asking, "Really just for a meal?"

"Let's have a meal," Iron Fan replied.

"So, we'll settle our scores after this meal?"

"Even if we are evenly matched."

The Bull Demon King stared at her for two breaths.

He wanted to find something on her face—mockery, a sneer, or a hidden murderous intent.

But he found nothing.

She sat there, leaning against the crooked peach tree, wearing the old-fashioned red dress he had bought her, as quiet as a tree that had stopped swaying in the wind.

The Bull Demon King remained silent for a while, then opened the wine jug, poured himself a cup, and poured another cup for Iron Fan, pushing it towards her.

Iron Fan glanced at the wine glass, but neither took it nor pushed it back.

The wine swayed gently in the glass, reflecting the branches of the wild peach tree and the sparse blue sky.

At this moment, the person who had been squatting by the grill finally stood up.

Only then did the Bull Demon King get a clear look at his appearance—young, with a delicate face, he didn't look like someone who worked in the Heavenly Court, but rather like someone who sold snacks at a market in the mortal world.

But when he stood by the grill, his composure was more steady than that of most of the immortals on Heavenly Street.

"King of Beef." I nodded to him. "I am Chang Baiwei, a cook who runs a stall near Nantianmen. This dish is what I made today."

The Bull Demon King glanced at me twice, then glanced at Iron Fan.

Iron Fan didn't speak, nod, or shake her head. She simply shifted her gaze from the wine glass to the small patch of earth on the open ground, which was scorching hot from the charcoal fire.

"What dish?" the Bull Demon King asked.

"Steak." I lifted the white cloth from the cutting board, revealing the ingredients underneath: a steak cut to an even thickness, its flesh a vibrant red, brimming with vitality.

The Bull Demon King glanced at the piece of meat.

I glanced at the sauce bowl next to me. The dark red sauce was thick and shiny, and it had a strange aroma. It was not like an ordinary sauce, but rather like the smell of some kind of flower that had been burnt and then solidified.

The Bull Demon King twitched his nostrils, but couldn't smell what it was.

"What's so special about steak?" he scoffed.

"Meat is not rare."

I laid the steak flat on the grill. Under the charcoal fire, the meat sizzled, its fat dripping onto the embers and sending up a wisp of white smoke.

"This sauce is rare."

The Bull Demon King glanced at the bowl of sauce and didn't ask any more questions.

He picked up his wine glass, took a swig, and said to Princess Iron Fan across from him, "It's been so many years since I've been to this peach grove."

Iron Fan didn't reply. He then said, "That crooked tree is still alive." Iron Fan still didn't reply.

He stopped talking.

The air grew quiet.

Only the soft crackling of charcoal and the aroma of meat filled the peach grove.

The steak is grilled and served. A whole steak sits on a rough porcelain plate, its surface slightly charred, the juices locked inside the meat, and the dark red sauce glistening on the surface.

There were no side dishes, no carvings, it was just laid out naked.

The residual heat of the charcoal fire kept the sauce bubbling gently, and the unique aroma of caramelized flowers was so rich it wouldn't dissipate.

Princess Iron Fan looked at the plate of steak and finally spoke.

The voice was very soft, so soft it was as if speaking to oneself: "What's this sauce made of?"

"Tears." I stood beside the grill, wiping my hands, my tone as flat as reciting a menu. "Your tears."

The Bull Demon King's hand, holding the wine glass, froze in mid-air. His Adam's apple bobbed as if he wanted to say something, but he just stared at the plate of steak and said nothing.