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

The cooking utensils haven't been arranged yet.

To make this dish, ordinary pots and pans won't be enough.

Those so-called gods packaged weight loss in all sorts of fantastical ways.

The Qiankun Ring is an innate spiritual treasure used in battle.

Lotus-themed light meals are mixed with addictive ingredients.

The elixir was made from evil medicinal materials.

These things have to be broken with the most unrefined methods.

Something popped into my head: Hunyuan Golden Bucket.

The original form of the innate spiritual treasure is a filthy object in the world, but it has the power of purification through reincarnation.

When you cook porridge with it, the rice is rice, the water is water, and the peach is a peach.

Be true to what you are, without adding or subtracting anything, and distinguish the genuine from the fake.

The Hunyuan Golden Bucket is the natal magic weapon of Zhao Gongming, the God of Wealth.

Borrowing it is harder than plucking feathers from a miser.

I went straight to Zhao Gongming's residence.

The moment he mentioned borrowing the gold bucket as a cooking utensil, his face fell longer than a donkey's.

He shook his head like a rattle.

"Chang Baiwei, are you out of your mind?"

"The Hunyuan Golden Cauldron is the most precious treasure of our town, and you actually want to use it as a cooking pot?"

"No, there's no room for negotiation."

He waved his hand and was about to close the door.

  

I clung to the door frame and wouldn't let go.

"God of Wealth, please calm your anger."

"I heard that Venus is raising a group of spirit ducks that grew up eating elixirs."

"I'll use that spirit duck to make you a special camphor tea duck."

"Use high-quality camphor wood for fumigation, and Tieguanyin tea leaves for simmering."

"When it comes out of the pot, the duck skin is amber in color, and it makes a crackling sound when you poke it with chopsticks."

"After you finish cooking, return the magical artifact intact."

Zhao Gongming paused in his action of closing the door.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing.

He tapped his fingers three times on the door frame.

Those three taps had nothing to do with hesitation; they were about settling accounts.

Let's calculate whether this deal is worthwhile.

Let's see if the chef has the ability to make what he wants.

Is it worth it if Jin Dou accidentally bumps into or damages his stall?

"You have to save me two duck legs."

"I'll give you all four."

He turned and went into the house, then came out carrying the Hunyuan Golden Bucket.

He shoved it into my arms with such force that it felt like he was going to smash my chest through.

After stuffing it in, he didn't let go; his fingers clenched the edge of the gold container.

I looked up at him, and he still had that pained expression on his face.

But the way he gripped the gold cup didn't seem like he was reluctant to part with it.

He loosened his grip and added a vicious remark.

"If you knock off a single grain of gold dust, your stall will be mine."

After saying that, he turned and went inside, but the door wasn't closed properly.

I carried the golden bucket back, and after a few steps I turned back.

A sliver of light was still shining through the crack in the door; he hadn't left.

With the cooking utensils in hand, the next step is the ingredients.

I didn't go to the Peach Garden or the Herb Garden.

They ran through Huaguo Mountain, Guanghan Palace, and the backyard of Han Xiangzi's side hall.

The peaches from Huaguo Mountain are so ripe that their skin breaks at the slightest touch.

Honey dripped down between his fingers.

While I was picking peaches, a little monkey squatted on a tree branch and tilted its head to look at me.

I tossed it the last peanut candy in my pocket, and it caught it, baring its teeth at me.

The carrots in the Moon Palace were planted by the Jade Rabbit himself.

Carrying the fresh scent of the moon soil, the roots were still covered with dew when they were pulled out.

The jade rabbit squatted beside me watching me pull it, its two long ears standing straight up.

With a carrot top dangling from his mouth, he mumbled something I couldn't hear.

I borrowed a few plump kumquats from Han Xiangzi.

Orange peels are dried in the sun, turning into aged tangerine peels that are good for regulating qi and relieving greasiness.

Han Xiangzi leaned against a pillar in the side hall, playing the flute.

Watch as I stuff kumquats into my sleeve, the flute music continues.

They just raised the pitch a little.

It's as if asking: Is that enough? If not, there's more.

The three ingredients were gathered together and placed on the cutting board, neat and tidy.

None of them had anything to do with the elixir of immortality.

Back at the food stall, Yang Yuhuan was still sitting there.

Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying.

She stared at the things on my cutting board, then paused for a moment.

"That's all?"

That's all.

I poured the rice, peach chunks, carrot pieces, and dried tangerine peel into the Hunyuan Golden Pot.

They drew water from the Milky Way, lit a fire, and began to boil.

The flames licked the bottom of the golden bucket.

The soup inside the pot was bubbling and boiling, and the gurgling sound was particularly clear under the silent South Heavenly Gate.

Yang Yuhuan leaned closer, her nose twitching slightly.

That was the first time in months that she had taken the initiative to smell the food.

I didn't hide, I didn't endure, I just smelled it.

As she inhaled the aroma, her Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

She immediately turned her head away, as if she had done something she shouldn't have.

I stirred the rice grains churning in the pot.

The peach flesh gradually melts in the boiling water, and a sweet aroma wafts out from the mouth of the golden pot.

Once the aroma had fully permeated every grain of rice, I picked up a spoon, scooped out a bowl, and placed it in front of her.

The bottom of the bowl tapped softly on the cutting board.

The porridge was a pale golden color, and the peach flesh had been cooked until it dissolved.

The rice grains are glistening and plump, and the delicate fragrance of dried tangerine peel wafts upwards with the rising steam.

Yang Yuhuan stared at the bowl of porridge, but didn't touch it.

Her hands were on her knees, her fingers curled up, her nails digging into her palms.

I stared at the porridge for a long time.

She suddenly reached out and pushed the bowl half an inch away.

After pushing, he pulled his hand back and placed it on his knee, continuing to curl up.

Then he reached out and pulled the bowl back.

"What if I gain weight again?"

She didn't look at me, and her voice was very soft, as if she were asking about the bowl of porridge.

I didn't answer.

The porridge was steaming in the bowl, and the steam hit her face, so she closed her eyes for a moment.

Then she picked up the bowl.

I took a small sip first, very slowly.

My lips trembled slightly when they touched the rim of the bowl.

She held that mouthful in her mouth without chewing, just holding it there.

A small bulge appeared in his cheek.

Then she tilted her head back and poured the water down her throat, her Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Tears streamed down my cheeks; I couldn't tell if they were from the heat or from the hurt I felt.

She put down the empty bowl and burped.

She reached up and touched her face.

The fingertips no longer touched the sunken cheekbones.

It is a full, warm, and rounded shape, like a full moon.

She touched it once, and then touched it again.

On the third try, my hands started to shake.

As he continued to tremble, he squatted down.

He buried his face in his knees, his shoulders trembling violently.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

She looked up, her face covered in tears, yet she was smiling.

"This porridge didn't make me lose weight."

She touched her face, laughing and crying at the same time.

"It made me feel like myself again."

She stood up and walked to the water tank.

Her face was reflected in the water.

Her face was like a full moon, her skin like solidified cream, and her figure was plump.

It's not the withered thing under Nezha's Universe Circle.

It wasn't He Xiangu's haggard appearance after a light meal.

It is not a withered plant burned by the elixir of Venus.

This is her true form, the imperial concubine Yang Yuhuan of the Tang Dynasty.

She stared at her reflection in the water for a long time.

She smiled first, but as she smiled, her eyes welled up with tears.

She took a deep breath and turned around.

I asked him cautiously.

Her voice carried a plea she herself might not have been aware of.

"Will I lose weight again tomorrow?"

I put the spoon into the pot and stirred it.

"There's still some porridge left."

She paused for a moment, then she understood.

The porridge is still there, and the stove fire is still burning.

This bowl of porridge allows her to make her own porridge so she can have another bowl anytime.

It has nothing to do with one-time charity.

The stall will be there whenever she needs it.

She didn't say thank you.

He simply picked up the bowl, looked at it, and then put it down again.

The movement of putting it down was very gentle.

"Street vendor," she called to me.

"Um?"

"I want to wear that pomegranate-red dress again."

What happened next was told to me by Han Xiangzi later.

When Yang Yuhuan entered the Peach Banquet wearing that pomegranate-red dress that had been stored away in her trunk, the entire room fell silent for a long while.

She had a full, round face and a plump figure.

His overall presence was like a full moon fallen into a pile of stars.

Unlike the last Peach Banquet, where she stood among a group of bamboo-skin-like fairies, hunching her shoulders, afraid of being seen.

This time she didn't shrink back; she stood there firmly.

Like a peony blooming in a bamboo forest.

That afternoon I was squatting in front of the stall frying stinky tofu.

Yang Yuhuan came down from the Jade Terrace, still wearing that pomegranate-colored skirt.

The hem of her skirt was covered with the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms from the journey.

She stood in front of the stall, said nothing, and just smiled.

I glanced up at her, my hand still holding the strainer.

Have you eaten?

"I ate it. The peaches."

"How does it taste?"

"Not as good as your porridge."

I chuckled and pushed the freshly cooked stinky tofu in front of her.

"Then what are you waiting for? Sit down, while it's hot."

She sat down, took a bite, and gasped because it was so hot.

Oil spilled from the corner of her mouth, and a drop splashed onto her pomegranate skirt.

She glanced down at it, neither wiping nor getting angry.

She simply said, "This dress looks good even with oil splattered on it."

I think she's right.

Some beauty is inherently unafraid of being touched by the world.

That evening, after closing up shop, I squatted behind the stall as usual, counting the coins.

No matter how many times you count them, you still can't use them all in one hand.

The Hunyuan Golden Bucket has been returned to Zhao Gongming.

He was very satisfied with the camphor tea duck, and surprisingly, he didn't cause me any trouble.

When he returned the gold cup, he checked it over and over three times.

Only after making sure not a single grain of gold dust had been knocked off did he snort through his nose.

I turned to leave, and he suddenly spoke from behind me.

"Next time, you can make the duck a little saltier."

I didn't turn around, I just waved my hand.

I looked up at the moon over Nantianmen.

The moon is exceptionally round and bright tonight.

Like someone's face that has become plump again.

Pack up the stall and turn the stove to its lowest setting.

I sat on the crooked stool and took off my apron and folded it neatly.

There was a peach that I hadn't finished using today sitting in the corner of the cutting board.

It was fully cooked, with fine water droplets clinging to its skin.

The moon shone on it, casting a round shadow, like a small full moon.

I didn't touch it.

He reached out and turned the peach so that the moonlight shone on its roundest side.

Keep it; someone might need it tomorrow.