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

My little stall is tucked away in the most remote, secluded corner of the cloud steps next to the South Gate of Heaven.

It's a street food stall serving unusual and unconventional dishes that even gods wouldn't bother to look at.

The Heavenly Court of the Nine Heavens has always been built with gold and jade.

The Lingxiao Palace is covered with golden tiles, surrounded by a misty, celestial aura, and the celestial officials who come and go are all dressed in brocade robes and magnificent crowns.

He stood on auspicious clouds, speaking in official jargon.

Even the clouds floating in mid-air exude an air of condescending arrogance.

It's as if inhaling it into your lungs can give you a sense of superiority.

The celestial chefs prepare delicacies made from fine wines, celestial fruits, and rare foods.

It is a top-quality dish that can be served in a prestigious manner and is worthy of the attention of all kinds of gods and immortals, exuding elegance and nobility in every aspect.

But in this vast Heavenly Court, the more radiant the place, the heavier the shadows.

My food stall is tucked away in this corner, like an old grease stain that can't be wiped away no matter how hard I try.

It was so shabby that it didn't fit in with all the gods and Buddhas in the sky.

There was no gilded plaque, nor that damned aura shield.

A few pieces of driftwood, discarded at some unknown time, were used to build a frame and support a blue cloth banner that had been washed until it was white and had oil stains on the edges.

The words "Ancient and Extraordinary Cuisine" were written on it in a flamboyant style.

A large black pottery cauldron was bubbling away, emitting eerie purple smoke.

Next to it were several cutting boards, polished and shiny by the passage of time.

Add to that a few wooden basins filled with scraps of various rare and exotic animals, and that's all my possessions.

I do not belong to any immortal sect now.

Other celestial chefs were vying to prepare exquisite nectars at the Jade Pool Banquet, eager to embellish the ingredients to please their masters.

I alone specialize in making those ancient and exotic dishes that are rejected by the mainstream immortal realm.

  

They don't care about the appearance of the ingredients; they even specifically choose those that are misshapen or rejected by the powerful and wealthy.

Their methods are completely unconventional, following all rules and regulations, doing whatever is strange and unusual.

Most of the immortals who passed by covered their noses and hurried past, their eyes full of disdain.

They think I'm wallowing in self-pity, abandoning the right path and choosing to wallow in this quagmire instead.

I never take it to heart.

This seemingly carefree Heavenly Court has rules longer than the bound feet of the mortal world.

Whether they are gods or spirits, they are all tightly bound by identity, duty, and layers upon layers of hypocrisy and formality.

They may seem to live long and prosper, but in reality, each has their own set of frustrations.

I run this run-down stall, without having to worry about anyone's opinion or follow any complicated rules. I can just make the food I want, and I'm quite at ease.

Business is slow on weekdays, so I don't bother to attract customers.

Most of the time, I just quietly wipe the cutting board.

The chilly winds blew by, shutting out the bustling and prosperous heavenly realm in the distance, leaving it in another world.

I had long been accustomed to this tranquility and never imagined that any obsequious customers would come knocking on my door.

That day, I was carefully wiping the cutting board with my head down, my fingertips tracing the wood grain.

Suddenly I noticed the clouds in front of me slowly shifting, and a leisurely figure was swaying towards my food stall.

I looked up and saw the person riding backwards on a dusty gray donkey.

The donkey's hooves trod across the clouds, each step making a dull thud.

The newcomer was dressed in a plain-colored Taoist robe, with a white beard.

It was none other than Zhang Guolao, the most shrewd and calculating of the Eight Immortals.

I was slightly surprised.

Given Zhang Guolao's status, he would never come to my remote and deserted stall without a reason.

They must not visit the temple without a reason.

Before long, Zhang Guolao arrived at the stall on his donkey.

He slowly dismounted from the donkey and skillfully tied it to a wooden post beside the stall.

The donkey was very docile, but its eyes revealed a weariness that was beyond its years.

After being tied up, it lowered its head and stood quietly to the side, occasionally wagging its tail.

She looked exceptionally well-behaved, yet there was an indescribable sense of repression about her.

Zhang Guolao straightened his clothes, turned to look at me, and instantly put on a deliberately friendly smile.

His gaze first swept carefully over my stall.

The ingredients that fell from the black ceramic stove emitting purple smoke onto the cutting board were the last to land on me.

He initiated the conversation, speaking in a familiar tone as if we had known each other for a long time.

"Young shopkeeper, busy?"

He spoke with a smile, his voice slow and deliberately friendly.

"I was passing by today and spotted your stall from afar, so I came to check it out. Your place is a bit out of the way, but it's quiet enough. I imagine your business is doing alright on weekdays?"

I stopped what I was doing, straightened up and looked at him.

His expression was calm, without much enthusiasm or deliberate neglect; he simply responded indifferently.

"It's just a small business, barely enough to make a living. It's neither good nor bad, just getting by."

I know perfectly well that Zhang Guolao is a man who will not act without self-interest.

His initiative to strike up a conversation, going around in circles, must be hiding something else.

Zhang Guolao also noticed my coldness, but didn't care at all.

He continued laughing and joking, talking to himself.

"Young shopkeeper, you're being modest. I've heard a lot about your food stall's unconventional dishes. Although they may not be considered high-class cuisine, they have a unique flavor and are quite famous even in the remote corners of Heaven. I imagine your cooking skills must be excellent."

After offering a few polite compliments, he rambled on for a few more unimportant remarks.

They never got straight to the point, but instead kept making small talk, trying to get closer to each other.

I remained calm and didn't say much, just listened quietly, waiting for him to reveal his true intentions.

Seeing that I remained indifferent but did not send him away, Zhang Guolao had finished his pleasantries and stopped trying to beat around the bush.

He turned to look at the docile donkey standing beside him and gently patted its back.

The look in his eyes wasn't like that of looking at livestock, but rather like that of stroking a walking silver ingot.

He sighed, "This donkey has been with me for thousands of years, it's a pity that its spirit is being wasted."

He then turned to look at me, his smile fading slightly, and his eyes becoming serious.

It's finally time to reveal the true purpose of his visit today.

"To be honest, young shopkeeper, I'm not here today just for casual conversation. I actually want to discuss a sure-fire, profitable partnership with you."

Zhang Guolao spoke, his tone resolute, his gaze fixed on me, and he said each word carefully.

"I want to be the exclusive ingredient supplier for your anti-Gucci food stall. From now on, I'll provide all the main ingredients you need for your cooking, all in one go! These ingredients are imbued with spiritual energy; using them will instantly elevate the level of your stall."

After hearing his words, I looked up and gave Zhang Guolao a deep look.

He glanced discreetly at the donkey beside him, which remained obedient with its head down and looked tired.

He already knew the truth. This so-called cooperation was definitely not as simple as he made it sound.

I neither immediately agreed nor directly refused.

She simply stood there calmly, watching him and waiting for him to continue.

I want to see what exactly these ingredients he's talking about are, and what kind of scheme is hidden behind this collaboration.

Seeing that I didn't respond, Zhang Guolao wasn't in a hurry; instead, his smile deepened.

He reached out and patted the donkey's back twice more, the gesture looking affectionate, but when the slaps landed, the donkey didn't even flinch.

The reason they don't dodge isn't because they don't want to dodge, but because they know it's pointless to dodge.

"The young manager is a smart man, so I won't beat around the bush."

He took a half step forward, lowered his voice, as if he were talking about some huge secret.

"This donkey of mine has been with me for thousands of years. It has no other skills, but it has one special ability—its flesh can regenerate after being cut off."

He said it so lightly and quickly, as if he were reciting a price he had used countless times.

The donkey stood behind him, motionless.

It didn't raise its head, didn't shake, and didn't even stop tailing.

It simply shifted its weight slowly from one front leg to the other, its hoof gently tapping the cloud bricks with a muffled thud.

The sound wasn't loud, but it seemed to come from a very, very deep place.

It knew those words would come.

"Think about it," Zhang Guolao said, oblivious to everything, counting on his fingers as he explained, getting more and more excited. "Ordinary donkey meat is a finite resource; if you use a little, it's gone, and if it's not good quality, you have to throw it away. But my donkey is different. If you cut it today, it grows back tomorrow. The meat is tender and has its own unique charm. When you make ancient and unusual dishes, isn't the key to that 'unusual' thing? You won't find another ingredient like this anywhere else in the world."

When he said this, his eyes shone brightly, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, as if he were showing off a rare treasure.

He didn't look at the donkey once from beginning to end.

It wasn't that he forgot to look—every time his gaze was about to sweep over where the donkey was standing, it was as if he had been burned by something, his pupils contracted slightly, and then he stared at me even more intently.

It was as if by simply keeping a close eye on me, I could stop thinking about those dull, knowing eyes.

"As for the profit sharing," he licked his lips, as if gritting his teeth before speaking, "you get 60%, I get 40%. Little shopkeeper, you have good skills, so you take the lion's share, and I'll just get a cut."

I sneered inwardly.

Who is Zhang Guolao? He is the most cunning of the Eight Immortals. He holds a unique ingredient in his hand, but he willingly gives up the lion's share.

This is abnormally good.

There was a hint of guilt in his voice.

So guilty that they'd rather suffer a loss on paper than not finalize the deal.

I felt so guilty that I was afraid that if I hesitated for even a second longer, I wouldn't dare to continue the conversation.

I still didn't say anything, I just put the rag on the cutting board.

The movement was very light, almost silent.

But it was this action that made me shift my gaze from Zhang Guolao's face to the lighter-colored patch of fur on the donkey's back.

Upon closer inspection, several faint white lines could be discerned on that patch of skin.

Those are the marks left by repeated healing.

Over thousands of years, such marks would probably have covered the entire body.

My fingers stopped at the edge of the cutting board and didn't move.