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

The moment the bet was placed, the air around the food stall seemed to be completely sucked out.

The stove fire was still crackling, its orange flames dancing on the bluestone slabs. The aroma of the steak grew stronger and stronger, the rich, earthy scent of home cooking wafting into one's nostrils, yet it couldn't mask the deadly silence at the table.

The Old Man of the Moon took a deep breath, his chest heaving violently. He suddenly stood up, the hem of his red robe catching a gust of wind, as if trying to use this sudden movement to cover up the panic in his heart.

With trembling hands, he carefully pulled the long-broken red thread from his pocket.

The red thread, which should have been radiant, was now dull and lifeless, its edges marked with the scorch marks of time. He gripped the end of the thread, his voice strained, even the last syllable trembling: "Miss Meng, since it's a bet, I will now reconnect you and Wan Xiliang with the red thread! Once the red thread is reconnected, this round is mine!"

Having said that, he suddenly made a hand seal with his fingertips. A wisp of immortal power was forced out from his fingertips, attempting to forcibly reconnect the cause and effect that belonged to Meng Jiangnu and Wan Xiliang.

As soon as the two red threads approached within half an inch, his fingertips trembled violently, as if he had been scalded by something invisible.

He gritted his teeth, a fine layer of cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead, pushing his immortal power to its limit. The red thread trembled violently, emitting a teeth-grinding buzzing sound, yet it couldn't get any closer to that final bit of distance.

"collapse!"

A sharp cracking sound rang out in front of the silent stall. The red thread snapped inch by inch, turning into countless red specks of light, like a torrential rain of blood, before finally dissipating in the night wind.

The Old Man of the Moon froze on the spot, his face turning deathly pale. He stared blankly at his empty hands, his pupils contracting violently.

The hatred belonging to Meng Jiangnu flowed from her fingertips straight to her soul, burning any red thread that tried to bind her with old rules to ashes.

He finally understood that the reason he had been unable to reunite Meng Jiangnu with her after all these millennia was not because Heaven forbade it.

Meng Po's deep-seated hatred had long since transformed into an invisible barrier.

I leaned against the stove and gave him a cold look.

The Old Man of the Moon seemed to have all his strength drained away, collapsing back onto the wooden stool, his back completely hunched, his white beard disheveled and scattered across his chest. His hands, which were used to guiding marriages, now trembled like leaves as he gripped the red thread.

  

I didn't even need to look closely to know what he was afraid of.

Even immortals would turn into blank sheets of paper after drinking Meng Po's soup.

His mind was filled with all the rules of marriage in the three realms—what he feared was not death, but becoming a useless person who couldn't remember anything.

When the red thread of fate gets tangled up, lovers become estranged, and good partners turn into enemies, who will clean up this mess?

Meng Po clearly saw through his tricks.

She sat there quietly, watching the cold sweat beading on the Old Man of the Moon's forehead, a faint, cold smile playing on her lips.

She raised her hand, her slender fingers gently tapping on the greasy tabletop, "tap, tap, tap," each tap seeming to strike the heart of the God of Love.

"Old Man of the Moon, it's not too late to back down now." Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling coldness. "If you don't honor this bet, I, Meng Po, won't force you."

These words are more painful than a knife.

The Old Man of the Moon suddenly raised his head, his eyes red-rimmed, his voice hoarse as if he had swallowed a handful of sand: "I don't regret it! I acknowledge the debt I owe you! It's just—"

He abruptly stopped speaking. Like a drowning man grasping at a last straw, he slowly turned his head and stared intently at me as I wiped the dishes by the stove.

In those eyes, there was not a trace of the air of a celestial being. Only humility, only desperate pleading.

I put down the porcelain plate in my hand, didn't say anything, and just quietly watched him. The rag in my hand was still slowly wiping the oil droplets off the edge of the plate.

The Old Man of the Moon stood up. He did not kneel immediately.

He stood there, glancing at Meng Po—not out of fear, but because he knew the weight of this kneeling. He had held his head high before her for a thousand years, and today he would bow before a cook.

Then he bent his knees and knelt down directly in front of me.

With a muffled thud, the mighty God of Marriage in the Three Realms, a revered deity worshipped by all immortals, trampled his dignity underfoot and performed this grand gesture before me, a mere street vendor in the Heavenly Street.

"Shopkeeper! Please save me!" His voice was choked with sobs, his forehead almost hitting the greasy floor, oblivious to the dust stains on his red robe. "I know you have unparalleled culinary skills! I absolutely cannot drink that Meng Po soup, for it would plunge the Three Realms into chaos! But I made a bet with Heaven, and I must accept defeat—I truly have no other choice!"

I stopped what I was doing and raised my hand to help him up. An invisible force emanated from my palm, firmly supporting his shoulders and lifting him up slightly: "Old Man of the Moon, you are a celestial being, this kneeling is too much for me. Please speak plainly."

With the help I gave him, the Old Man of the Moon struggled to straighten his upper body. Tears mixed with cold sweat streamed down his face, splashing onto the oil-splattered table.

His voice was urgent, as if he were begging for help, and he stared intently at me: "I beg you, please brew me another bowl of Meng Po soup! A bowl that will allow me to fulfill my bet without erasing my soul and memories!"

"presumptuous!"

Meng Po abruptly stood up, her wide, plain white skirt sweeping across the wooden bench. The chilling aura of the spider lilies surrounding her exploded instantly, and her sharp gaze shot straight at me.

"Chang Baiwei, how dare you! The Meng Po Soup is a priceless treasure of the Netherworld, its recipe a closely guarded secret. How dare you, an outsider, alter it so casually? He brought this bet upon himself; he must bear the consequences himself, it has nothing to do with anyone else!"

The Old Man of the Moon paid no heed to Meng Po's fury. He gripped my sleeve tightly, his knuckles white, his fingernails digging into the fabric: "Shopkeeper, I know this request is excessive! But I cannot let all living beings in the Three Realms perish because of my own personal grudge! I beg you, grant my request!"

I looked down at the hand of the Old Man of the Moon, which was gripping my sleeve. Those hands, which had been tied together by countless red threads, were now trembling so much that they couldn't even hold onto a piece of cloth.

I looked up at Meng Po again. There was more than just anger in her eyes; beneath that anger lay something else.

Regardless of who she's waiting for, I'll take this order.

It's not about helping the matchmaker, but about letting her see with her own eyes that the soup contains not only her bitterness, but also something she has never dared to fish out.

The fire in the stove flickered, casting the shadows of the three people on the wall, sometimes bright and sometimes dim, which also pulled me out of my silence.

I slowly broke the silence: "Re-brewing the Meng Po soup isn't impossible. But the 'eight tears as a guide' in the original soup is a rule set by Heaven. If I change the recipe, can you bear the karmic consequences?"

Upon hearing this, the Old Man of the Moon nodded emphatically without any hesitation.

His eyes were bloodshot, but his voice was surprisingly steady: "As long as you don't dissipate my soul, I'll accept it even if you have to cut off my immortal bones to use as a medicinal ingredient."

Meng Po stood to the side, her fingernails digging deep into her palms, watching this scene, but ultimately uttered not a single word.