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

Beyond the nine heavens, a sea of ​​clouds drifts by.

Nuwa Palace is not marked on any of the celestial maps.

Those who can find it are either allowed to find it, or they are so lost that even the Heavenly Dao can no longer bear to spare them.

I belong to the third type.

When misfortune reaches a certain point, the path will inevitably veer off course.

After traveling swiftly through the clouds for half a day, the clouds and mist suddenly dispersed, revealing a palace standing prominently in the void.

Contrary to expectations, the Nuwa Palace was not as magnificent as one might imagine, nor did it exude any auspicious aura. It simply floated there quietly, radiating a serene and ethereal atmosphere, yet so solemn that one dared not breathe too loudly.

The guardian deer saw me from afar, its ears twitched, and it turned to lead me into the main hall. The deer's hooves made no sound on the jade floor, and the entire palace was as quiet as an ancient ancestral hall.

As soon as you step into the palace, an invisible yet immense pressure comes rushing towards you.

It wasn't the murderous aura of Yi Ya that could freeze a person's bones, nor the somber atmosphere of Su Hu that stemmed from accumulated resentment.

It's an older, deeper sense of oppression, like standing on the edge of an abyss and looking down.

It's not that I'm afraid of falling, it's that I'm afraid of seeing what's at the bottom of the abyss.

Incense smoke filled the hall. Nuwa sat serenely on a lotus throne, her gaze calm as still water, yet unfathomable.

"A Hundred Flavors"

Before I could even speak, the Empress's voice echoed throughout the hall. Her voice was neither cold nor warm, yet each word was like a nail, pinning the air to the spot.

"You wish to borrow the enchanting silk from the tip of the nine-tailed fox's tail to cook a soup and confront Yi Ya."

She was using a declarative sentence, not a question.

"That alluring silk conceals the bewitching nature of a fox spirit, as well as the tragic fate of a thousand-year-old pawn, powerless to control her own destiny. What makes you so confident that you dare to wield this allure?"

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I bowed deeply. Before Nuwa, any unnecessary formalities are disrespectful; speaking the truth is the only way to survive.

"Your Majesty has discerning eyes. I am the godson of the jinx Ma family, born with an innate aura of misfortune. Anyone in this world who gains wealth and status through seduction, flattery, and scheming will inevitably be entangled in misfortune and lose all their good fortune, ultimately ending up with nothing."

Nuwa listened quietly, her face revealing neither joy nor anger.

She flicked her fingertips. A wisp of white silk, tinged with a faint pink hue, appeared out of thin air, shimmering with light, as soft as flowing clouds.

It fluttered gently at her fingertips, as if asleep, or as if waiting.

"Words are no proof." Nuwa's voice was flat. "If you can truly suppress it, this item will be yours."

Before the words were even finished, the wisp of silk suddenly came to life.

It transformed into a streak of light, heading straight for my brow, as fast as a needle shot out.

I stood still.

It's not that I don't want to hide, but the experience I've gained from being plagued by misfortune for three hundred years tells me: some things, the more you try to avoid them, the more they thrive.

Then, just as it was about to touch the tip of my nose—"thud."

The streak of light tied itself in a knot in mid-air.

I saw it with my own eyes, and I'm not exaggerating.

The once smooth and flowing silk seemed to have suddenly stepped on a banana peel; its light dimmed instantly, and its entire body twisted into a crooked, lifeless knot before falling with a "plop" onto the floor tiles at my feet.

The originally noble pink color was instantly stained with a layer of grayish gloom, like a piece of silk that had fallen to the ground and was covered in dust.

The hall fell into a deathly silence.

Even the guardian deer's breathing became slightly disordered, and its hooves involuntarily took a half step back.

The tuft of silk twitched slightly on the ground, as if it were struggling.

But what happened next stunned both Linglu and me.

It didn't escape, nor did it float back into Nuwa's hand. Instead, it quietly, little by little, moved closer to my feet.

It's not admitting defeat. It's the feeling of finally finding a strange sense of security after being repeatedly battered and bruised by fate.

Nuwa looked at the disheveled strand of silk, and the corners of her mouth curved slightly.

That was so fast it felt like an illusion.

She quickly regained her composure, raised her hand to retrieve the knotted silk thread, and twirled it between her fingertips.

The hall was very quiet, so quiet that you could hear the faint sound of the silk threads slowly loosening from her fingertips.

"No one is ever allowed to mention her in my palace."

Nuwa's voice suddenly became very soft, no longer the majestic one that seemed to hold the air in place, but the tone one would use when talking to oneself in the dead of night.

"It's not because I hate her, it's because I don't know how to face her."

She paused for a moment. The deer lowered its head.

"I was the one who sent her back then."

I stood there, motionless.

I suddenly realized something.

Nuwa sealed this wisp of enchanting silk for a thousand years, not to punish the nine-tailed fox.

It's punishing yourself.

In the Investiture of the Gods, Su Daji's fate was to become a wicked concubine who brought ruin to the country, while the nine-tailed fox's fate was to die and disappear.

None of them received an apology from Nuwa.

This regret remained in Nuwa's heart for a thousand years, and it turned into a rule in this palace that no one was allowed to mention her.

"This silk is for you." Nuwa regained her composure and gently sent the enchanting silk into the brocade box in my hand. "To fuse misfortune with enchantment and restore the true way of cooking is a meritorious deed."

I stepped forward, carefully put away the silk, and bowed, saying, "Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty."

As I turned and stepped out of the palace gate, a soft call came from behind me.

"A Hundred Flavors"

I stopped and turned around. Nuwa sat on the lotus platform, silent for a moment. The silence was short, but in this palace that had been quiet for a thousand years, any silence seemed exceptionally long.

"After that soup was made,"

There was no pressure or command in her voice, only an inexplicable concern.

Tell me, what does it taste like?

I nodded, turned around, and stepped out of Nuwa Palace.

The cloud chariot rises again, and the enchanting silk trembles gently within the brocade box. This wisp of sorrow, sealed for a thousand years, is finally about to be brought out of this palace that has been silent for millennia.

Only one ingredient remains.

The origin of the leftover soup from the Deer Terrace in King Zhou's possession.

The Tianxi Star Palace is not particularly grand.

Compared to the solemn and serene Dongdou Star Palace, and the naturally formed Nuwa Palace, this place feels more like a forgotten corner.

Unidentified vines climbed the palace walls, a thin layer of dust settled on the cloud steps, and even the celestial children guarding the gate were dozing off, drool hanging from the corners of their mouths.

It's not laziness. It's a kind of listless and decadent state that comes after experiencing the vicissitudes of life.

After all, the master of this place was King Zhou of the Shang Dynasty.

After being deified, he was given the title of Heavenly Joy Star, in charge of human weddings and celebrations.

The arrangement of having a deposed monarch manage other people's happy occasions carries a certain inexplicable dark humor.

As I pushed open the door, a strong smell of alcohol mixed with sandalwood wafted towards me.

King Zhou leaned back on the soft couch, with a wine pot and cups beside him. His red and gold official robes were wrinkled, as if he had been sleeping in them for several days without changing them.

A trace of imperial majesty still lingers in his eyes and brows, but it's more like a blade dulled by time—it still has the shape of a blade, but the edge is gone.

He glanced at me, his tone as casual as if he were dismissing a wine deliveryman: "So you're the cook at Nantianmen who makes strange foods? Yi Ya's traitorous disciple?"

"I am Chang Baiwei, and I have come here today to ask the Heavenly Joy Star to bestow upon me something." I paused for a moment, looked into his eyes, and said, "The original ingredients of the soup that have survived from the grand banquet at Lutai back then."

"Shikadai?"

King Zhou's fingers tightened suddenly as he gripped the wine cup.

The wine in the glass swayed slightly, a ripple spreading out from the center. A complex emotion flickered in his eyes.

It wasn't anger, nor sadness; it was something deeper, like someone suddenly lifting a stone slab that had been pressed down for thousands of years, and what was underneath was still moving.

"I believe that no one in the Three Realms dares to utter these two words in front of me anymore."

His voice was flat, but the knuckles of the hand holding the wine glass had turned white.

Lutai.

That high platform, built with the full resources of the Shang Dynasty and piled high with rare treasures, was a testament to his extravagant lifestyle and also his final resting place after the fall of his kingdom and his self-immolation.

This person once sat in the highest place in the Shang Dynasty, and then burned himself while standing in the highest place in the Shang Dynasty.

"The soup of honor and disgrace that the juniors must make must be made with the old materials of Lutai to bear the cause and effect of the extravagance, pleasure and greed of those in power, and to expose the false glory and wealth that are obtained by flattery and scheming in this world."

Upon hearing this, King Zhou suddenly chuckled.

There was no joy in that laughter, only a deep self-mockery.

He slowly raised his hand, and a cloud of golden-red mist appeared in his palm.

It exudes an intoxicating fragrance, carrying the ultimate extravagance and lust for power, as if the entire Deer Terrace has been compressed into a single mass of air.

"Words are meaningless. If you can't even hold your breath, how can you talk about cooking soup?"

The golden-red mist lunged at me like a serpent.

An atmosphere of extravagance is palpable.

It's not a fragrance, but a feeling: the touch of power at your fingertips, the taste of all things bowing down, the dizzying pleasure of looking down from the highest point.

However, just as the mist was about to touch me—it didn't tangle itself awkwardly like silk. It simply fell silent.

The golden-red mist lingered around my fingertips for a moment before gently bursting like bubbles.

There was no struggle, no resistance; it just shattered, leaving behind a very faint burnt smell.

The playful expression on King Zhou's face froze.

He stared blankly in the direction from which the burning smell was spreading, his wine glass resting on his lap, forgetting to drink.

The burnt smell was very faint, almost imperceptible, but it just lingered there, impossible to dissipate or escape.

The wind carried this smell on the day Lutai was burned down.

He himself had almost forgotten.

He burned not only the Deer Terrace, but also the only place in his life where he could still feel like an emperor.

The Star-Picking Tower is too cold, the Nine-Room Hall is too empty, only the Deer Terrace was built by his own hands.

He picked out every stone, he chose every jewel.

He thought that was the pinnacle of his power, only to later realize that it was the beginning of his downfall.

"I've burned countless things in my life."

King Zhou suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, as if he were talking to himself.

He lowered his eyes, looking at the wine in his glass, the surface of which reflected a plump, no longer young face.

"The country was burned down, and so was I, but this box of food survived. Perhaps God felt that I didn't deserve to be full."

He looked up at me.

That one glance made my heart skip a beat.

The playfulness and probing in his eyes were gone, leaving only an indescribable emptiness.

It's not the emptiness of despair, but the emptiness after despair where even despair is too much to bear.

Then he burst into laughter.

Tears welled up in her eyes from laughing, and the whole palace seemed to buzz with laughter.

The laughter contained self-deprecation, absurdity, and a sense of melancholy, as if to say, "So all I'm worth in this life is a bowl of mutton soup."

He raised his hand and pushed an old but well-preserved wooden box in front of me.

"This ingredient is the only thing I survived when I immolated myself on the Deer Terrace. I hope you can use this soup to show all the gods of the Three Realms the consequences of greed for power, lust, and extravagance."

I took the wooden box. There was a burn mark on the box, but it hadn't burned through.

King Zhou leaned back on the soft couch, using a wine cup to conceal his expression.

The wine glass obscured half his face, revealing only his slightly reddened eyes. He said something, his voice muffled from behind the glass:

"When the Deer Terrace collapsed, I stood atop it, watching the city engulfed in flames. I thought I would think of Daji, the court officials, and the fate of the nation. Do you know what I finally thought of?"

I stood at the door without moving.

He took a sip of his drink. When he put the glass down, his hand was steady, and his face returned to its usual nonchalant expression, as if nothing had happened.

"I remember the first time I ate mutton soup when I was a child, the smell was too strong and I threw up. My mother said, 'I'll make you a non-muttony one from now on.'"

His mother later died in his father's cold palace. She died before she could make him a bowl of mutton soup that wasn't gamey.

He later became king, and all the chefs in the land made him mutton soup, each one less gamey than the last, but he never tasted the same flavor as when he was a child.

I carefully put the wooden box away, then turned and stepped out of the Tianxi Star Palace.

A very faint sound came from the palace behind them—it might have been the sound of a wine glass being placed on the table, or it might not have been.

All three main ingredients are gathered.

Su Hu's heart's blood, the enchanting silk of the nine-tailed fox, and the embers of King Zhou's Deer Terrace.

The three main ingredients, three people crushed by fate, and three paths of cause and effect.

The three-day deadline is approaching. At the Yaochi Arena, it's time to settle things with Yi Ya in a culinary contest.