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

The Bull Demon King stood in front of the stone table for a long time.

Princess Iron Fan has already gone far away.

The crimson skirt disappeared at the end of the rocky path in the wild peach grove.

She didn't turn around.

I squatted by the grill, tending to the embers, using tongs to carefully place the thoroughly burned charcoal pieces into the bucket of water, as hissing white smoke rose and dissipated.

The peach grove returned to silence, except for a small gray bird that had somehow flown to the crooked old peach tree and tilted its head to examine the motionless bull demon beneath it.

The Bull Demon King finally moved.

He walked to the stone table, picked up the unfinished wine jug, tilted his head back, and took a swig.

Even after swallowing the liquor, the feeling of something stuck in my throat remained.

The steak was finished, the sauce was swallowed, but the bone hadn't dissolved.

He thought he had eaten too much and was having indigestion, so he took another swig of alcohol to try and wash it down.

Useless.

The thorn didn't hurt, it was just stuck there. Like a peach pit that I couldn't chew, swallow, or spit out, it was firmly lodged in my throat.

He stood by the table with a wine jug in his hand, his gaze sweeping over the empty coarse porcelain plate, over the slowly cooling ashes in the charcoal fire, and over the grill that I had wiped clean.

Then he noticed something: the grill was made of black iron, small and lightweight, clearly something that could be carried around, not something from Moyun Cave.

The cook is from out of town!

I brought all my gear to the wild peach grove and cooked a meal!

When did Iron Fan meet a cook?

She never goes into the kitchen, and there is no kitchen in the Flaming Mountains.

When did she become willing to talk to people?

For the past few centuries, she has refused to even see him.

"Feed".

He spoke. His voice was rough and hoarse, still carrying the force of what he had just swallowed, "That guy, Chang something again."

Without looking up, I squatted by the charcoal fire, picked up the last piece of charcoal that wasn't fully burned with the tongs, and threw it into the bucket of water. With a hiss, white smoke rose up and covered half of my face.

"Chang Baiwei." The voice came from behind the white smoke.

"What kind of sauce is this?" The Bull Demon King paused for a moment.

He seemed to be carefully choosing his words, which wasn't easy for someone used to letting his fists do the talking. "Besides Iron Fan's tears, is there anything else in the sauce?"

I stood up, placed the fire tongs on the side of the grill, and wiped my hands with my apron.

  

I wiped my hands slowly, one finger at a time, like waiting for the oil on the stove to reach the perfect temperature and start to smoke. No rush, because the time is right.

"have."

"What?"

"beef."

The Bull Demon King frowned: "Nonsense, I meant sauce! Wait a minute."

He placed the wine jug on the stone table, his voice suddenly changing, becoming alert, "What kind of meat is that?"

"King of Cows, what do you think of that piece of meat?"

The Bull Demon King opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He was reminiscing about the taste of that steak.

I was so busy struggling with the thorn in my throat that I didn't savor the taste.

The meat was so tender it was unlike any other beef; the texture was fine and it melted in your mouth. When you bit into it, the juices were sweet and had a refreshing, invigorating quality.

The bull demon is a member of the bull race and is extremely sensitive to the aura of its own kind.

That's not ordinary...

The white smoke dissipated. I stood by the grill, my apron still stained with charcoal ash and sauce, my face expressionless, showing neither fear nor defiance.

"My darling."

Four words, light and airy, as if saying that the charcoal fire was a bit damp today.

But to the Bull Demon King, it was even more devastating than when Nezha hit him on the head with the Universe Ring.

He stood frozen in place, like a rock struck by lightning, its exterior intact but its interior completely shattered.

He lowered his head, slowly raised his hands, and opened his palms.

Those hands were just forking pieces of steak and stuffing them into their mouths, chewing until their mouths were full of meat juice.

Not satisfied, they ate the last piece on the plate.

He ate his own heart and liver.

The image of the white calf lying in the spirit wood pen chewing spirit herbs suddenly came to mind.

She was as white as a snowflake, with dark and bright eyes. When she saw him coming, she would stand up and gently nudge his palm with her still-unhardened horns.

He placed his hand on the white calf's forehead, stroking its soft fur, and told the little demon beside him that it was comforting to keep this thing.

Then today, he ate that ball of snow. He chewed it up and swallowed it.

He turned around abruptly and kicked over the stone bench. The bench flew out and hit a crooked peach tree, causing the tree to shake violently and startling the small gray bird, which then flew away in a flutter.

He clenched his fists, and his demonic aura surged, causing the entire wild peach forest to tremble under his demonic pressure.

"Iron Fan!!!" But there was no iron fan in front of him anymore. Only me, standing by the grill, motionless, like a stone that had been repeatedly washed away by a flash flood but could not be washed away.

"That's my bull!" The Bull Demon King's voice boomed, not out of anger, but out of something more primal than anger.

When a man's heart and soul are turned into a dish and served to him, he doesn't even have enough anger left.

"That's something I got from the Western Sea! I raised it for three years! I'm telling you, that's my cow! My cow!"

He had considered many possible outcomes before attending the banquet.

He imagined her hitting him with the banana leaf fan again, imagined her pointing her finger at his nose and cursing him for being heartless, imagined her slamming a letter of divorce on the stone table, imagined her bringing some powerful helpers to beat him up and vent her anger.

He had prepared all of this; he was thick-skinned and had seen it all.

But this was what he hadn't prepared for. She didn't hit him, didn't scold him, didn't burn down his cave, and didn't tear apart his fox spirit.

She simply turned what she had swallowed for three hundred years into a dish, served it to him, and made him swallow it too.

Then he said: "We're done eating, let's clear the table."

Princess Iron Fan, you're ruthless. She has truly settled all grudges.

It's not about forgiving, it's about wanting nothing more.

I don't want hatred anymore either.

Having harbored hatred for so many years, the hatred itself has become a shackle, evidence of an unwillingness to let go.

She cooked her hatred into the dish today, making him swallow it. Then she left. She didn't even leave him with hatred.

The Bull Demon King picked up the remaining wine jug, didn't pour it into a cup, but took a big gulp straight from the spout. The wine dripped down his chin and into his collar, but he didn't wipe it away. He placed the empty jug on the stone table and stood up.

"Chang Baiwei," he called my name.

"exist."

I owe you a beating.

I removed the last grill rod, wrapped it in parchment paper, and put it in my cloth bag. My tone remained calm: "Then keep it. There are plenty of customers in the Three Realms who owe me a beating, so you can get in line."

The Bull Demon King paused for a moment, then he laughed.

It wasn't a loud, hearty laugh; it was the kind of laugh that comes from being choked by something, forcing you to laugh out loud, and then feeling that the laugh was worse than crying.

"Iron Fan has never made many friends in her life."

He looked in the direction where the iron fan had disappeared outside the wild peach grove, his voice lowered, devoid of the domineering aura of a demon king, and the anger from before; it was only the belated, clumsy earnestness of a man finally facing his own shortcomings.

"She trusts you to cook this meal. And I trust the people she trusts too."

After saying that, he turned and left.

They didn't return to the direction of Moyun Cave, nor did they chase after Princess Iron Fan.

He headed west, towards the Flaming Mountains.

He walked a few steps and then stopped, bent down and righted the stone bench he had kicked over, placing it back next to the stone table.

He kicked one of the stone bench legs out of place. He tried to straighten the leg with his palm, but couldn't, so he left it crooked.

Then he straightened up, strode into the rocky path of the wild peach grove, and never looked back.

I placed the last ember into the bucket to make sure the fire was completely extinguished.

I hoisted the cloth bag onto my shoulder and headed towards Tianjie Street.

As I walked out of the wild peach grove, I looked back.

On the stone table, only an empty wine pot, two empty wine cups, and a cold, rough porcelain plate remained, standing quietly under the daylight.

The old, crooked peach tree was still there, while the stone bench that the Bull Demon King had kicked away lay crookedly to one side.

I remember the wisp of steam rising when Princess Iron Fan's tears fell on the rocks of Flaming Mountain, the sudden surge of flames when the broken hairpin was pushed into the charcoal fire, and the curve of the Adam's apple bobbing as the Bull Demon King swallowed the last bite of beef.

The jade slip trembled slightly in my arms. I looked down and took it out—the jade surface glowed faintly, and a new line of text was emerging.

I glanced down and the clouds beneath my feet sped up.

The stall on Tianjie Street must be returned tonight; the two people who came are even more famous than the Bull Demon King!