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

The three-day period arrived in the blink of an eye. At the Jade Pool Immortal Terrace, all the gods gathered.

The Queen Mother sat regally on a high platform, with celestial officials lined up on either side. Fairy maidens carried exquisite wines and delicacies as they moved among the guests, auspicious clouds flowing gently beneath their feet, and celestial music playing melodiously.

Everything was just like the standard setup for a Yaochi banquet—luxurious, dignified, and spotless.

I stood on the left side of the arena, with a black iron pot I brought from Nantianmen in front of me.

The pot was chipped at one corner, the cutting board was crooked, and there were broken tiles under the stove legs.

They didn't bring the tarpaulin, but the pot they placed on the table already looked out of place enough.

The immortals below the stage looked at my pile of broken copper and scrap metal, whispering among themselves. Some covered their mouths and chuckled, while others frowned and shook their heads.

On the right side of the arena, Yi Ya was dressed in a gilded chef's robe.

The stove is carved from a single piece of Kunlun jade, the pot is cast from coral iron from the East China Sea, and even the cutting board for chopping vegetables is made of thousand-year-old agarwood.

He stood there, his eyebrows and eyes haughty, his gaze filled with an unwavering certainty that seemed to crush everything.

That's a kind of confidence that needs no proof.

He is an ancient culinary god, he has won countless times, and he will win today as well.

"Chang Baiwei, things have come to this point. If you take the initiative to admit defeat, I might spare you some face."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was delivered steadily to the ears of every immortal present.

I placed the three main ingredients on the table one by one.

Su Hu's heart's blood, the color of the blood in the porcelain bottle was as somber as an unyielding night.

The shimmering silk threads at the tip of the nine-tailed fox's tail trembled slightly within the brocade box, having been sealed away for a thousand years, and were now being displayed before so many people for the first time.

The original source of King Zhou's Deer Terrace Soup: There was a fire mark on the wooden box, and even before the lid was opened, it already emitted a very faint burnt and bitter smell.

"No need for further nonsense." I rolled up my sleeves, revealing an old scar on my arm—a burn from the stove fire when I left the imperial kitchen years ago.

"Today, let's use culinary skills to distinguish between the righteous and the wicked in the art of cooking."

The Queen Mother raised her hand in greeting. The celestial official proclaimed loudly, "The culinary duel begins!"

Yi Ya has moved.

  

With a wisp of magical energy flowing from his fingertips, he retrieved a lamb that was still in the womb and had not yet been born.

The technique was so skillful, it was as if it had been repeated ten thousand times.

The lamb is removed by cesarean section and placed in a pot. It is then steamed over low heat with the ewe's fresh milk as the broth.

The entire set of movements was fluid and graceful, without a single superfluous element. The ethereal aura, carrying the sweetness of goat's milk and the tenderness of lamb, slowly spread out, like a gentle veil, enveloping the entire Jade Pool Terrace.

The celestial beings below nodded in approval. Some took a deep breath of the aroma, their faces showing delight. The dish was exquisitely presented and irresistibly fragrant; anyone who saw it would praise the celestial beings' masterful skill.

But only I know what sins lie hidden beneath this warm and fragrant exterior.

Just like back then, he cooked his own son to curry favor with Duke Huan of Qi.

They use the most comforting ingredients as a facade to conceal their despicable nature of sacrificing their loved ones.

He later taught me that dish in the imperial kitchen. His tone was as calm as if he were teaching me how to make a simple steamed yolk jelly.

He said that nothing is more important to a monarch than loyalty.

I asked, "And what about your son?" He didn't answer.

The next day, I was expelled from the sect.

I lit the stove fire.

First, pour Su Hu's heart's blood into the pot. Three drops of blood, put in the first drop.

The crimson hue seeps into the broth, transforming into an endless, somber atmosphere.

A scene flashed before my eyes: three hundred years ago, Yi Ya stood in the imperial kitchen, speaking to me as I knelt on the ground.

"Get out of here. Your hands are not fit to touch my stove."

Then add the Nine-Tailed Fox Tail Tip Silk.

The moment the powdery strand hit the pot, it struggled briefly on the surface of the soup, as if trying to escape, before being swept away by misfortune and sinking to the bottom of the broth.

As the second ingredient went into the pot, my mind flashed back to the apprentices whom Yi Ya had used as tools all those years ago.

They were squeezed dry until only the last bone remained, then thrown away like trash. I was one of them.

Then, the original ingredients of King Zhou's Deer Terrace Soup were added.

The moment the wooden box was opened, a golden-red mist rose up, and the extravagance and karma of the thousand-year-old Deer Terrace were all incorporated into the soup.

Finally, I channeled the innate misfortune within my body, transforming it into a faint dark halo, which then merged entirely into the soup in the pot.

The soup in the pot was dark and murky in color, with no aroma whatsoever.

Compared to Yi Ya's fragrant steamed lamb with sheep's milk, this soup was as dull as a bowl of dishwater that had been left out of salt.

The immortals below the stage were murmuring amongst themselves; some shook their heads, while others covered their noses.

Yi Ya glanced at my pot and sneered, "Chang Baiwei, you dare to challenge me with this filthy dregs? You're simply defiling the art of cooking!"

"Yi Ya".

I looked up and stared into his eyes. The fire crackled between us.

"Has that lamb in your pot been born yet?"

The entire room fell silent abruptly. It wasn't the kind of quiet that gradually fades away from the noise; it was as if someone had suddenly covered everyone's mouths.

Yi Ya frowned slightly.

"You didn't wait for it to be born. You cut it open while it was still in its mother's womb. Because it had never eaten a single blade of grass or tasted a drop of dew, its flesh was the most tender and had the least gamey smell."

I looked into his eyes and said it word by word.

"These are your exact words. That's what you said when you were teaching me in the imperial kitchen. That year, I stood next to you, watching you put that lamb, whose eyes hadn't even opened yet, into the steamer. You told me, 'This is what you call top-quality ingredients.'"

I added a piece of firewood to the stove, and flames leaped out from the cracks in the pot, illuminating my face.

"That was the first time I felt that your cooking style was wrong. But I didn't dare to say it then. Because you are my master. You are an ancient culinary god."

Below the stage, some celestial officials began to stir restlessly, the sound of their clothes rubbing together particularly jarring in the silence.

Yi Ya's expression changed.

It wasn't anger. It was something more subtle.

It was like someone had pulled out a neatly folded old garment from the bottom of a box, and when you shook it open, you found it covered in indelible bloodstains.

"Is your steamed lamb with goat's milk fresh? Yes. Is it tender? Yes. But it's missing one thing."

"What's missing?" one of the celestial officials below the stage couldn't help but ask.

"Missing bone".

I poured the second drop of my heart's blood into the pot.

The soup grew darker and darker, but a very faint bitter aroma began to waft out.

It's not strong, but it's like a hand, firmly pressing into everyone's nasal cavity.

"The lamb is not yet born, its bones are not yet hardened. All its tenderness comes from the same place—fear."

I looked at Yi Ya; his hand, which was stirring the soup, was frozen in mid-air.

"When the ewe is held down to milk, the lamb is still moving inside her. When you cut open the womb to take the lamb, the ewe is bleating. Have you ever heard that sound?"

"I've heard of it."

Yi Ya's hand finally stopped moving.

For the first time, the hand that had been stirring soup for over a thousand years stopped completely in front of the stove.

It's not about putting it down, nor taking it back; it's about being frozen in place, like a piece of frozen stone.

"This dish is not a delicacy from the gods."

I poured the third drop of my heart's blood into the pot, put the lid on, and flames leaped out from the gaps in the pot's edge, illuminating Yi Ya's pale face.

"It's a karmic debt. Every bite of tenderness is the result of the fear swallowed by an unborn lamb."

The moment the lid was put on, the long-suppressed bitter aroma burst forth.

Su Hu's helplessness, the Nine-Tailed Fox's sorrow, and the Deer Terrace's extravagance—these three main elements, catalyzed by misfortune, coalesce into a single force.

It pressed heavily into the nasal cavity of all the immortals.

Yi Ya looked down at his hand.

That hand had once dissected a lamb's fetus, cooked the flesh of its own child, and chopped up the dignity of countless disciples, throwing them into the swill bucket.

This hand has been stirring soup for thousands of years and has never shaken.

It's shaking now.

"It's not just sheep that's missing bones." I looked at his hand, my voice soft but every word clear: "It's you."

Yi Ya suddenly looked up at me. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

The audience was silent.

After a moment of contemplation, the Queen Mother gestured for the celestial official beside her to come forward and taste the dishes.

The celestial official first tasted Yi Ya's steamed lamb with sheep's milk. It was incredibly tender and delicious, but his expression changed drastically in no time.

His immortal energy was in disarray. He clutched his chest and staggered backward, almost falling to the ground.

The other celestial official only took a small sip before spitting it out immediately, his face turning deathly pale, and he staggered back several steps.

Immediately afterwards, a celestial official stepped forward and scooped up a spoonful of the "Honor and Disgrace Offering Soup".

The soup was dark in color and lacked any surprising freshness or aroma.

But after swallowing it, a deep, melancholy feeling rushed straight to his brow.

First, there was Su Hu's helplessness, the loyalty and resentment hidden in those three drops of heart's blood; then came the sorrow of the nine-tailed fox, the resentment of the chess piece sealed in that wisp of enchanting silk; finally, there was the extravagance of the Deer Terrace, the burnt smell carrying the karma of a thousand years.

The three flavors converge, transforming into an indescribable and inexplicable "awakening".

It felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head, yet I was completely sober and clear-headed.

The celestial official was taken aback at first, then his eyes lit up, and he turned around and bowed to the Queen Mother.

More and more immortals stepped forward to try the food.

Without exception, all the immortals who had tasted the soup of honor and disgrace shed their restlessness and greed, their faces becoming clear and their minds serene.

An old immortal official with white hair and beard put down his spoon and let out a long sigh, as if exhaling something that had been accumulating for hundreds of years.

The Queen Mother stood up. Her voice, authoritative and resounding throughout the hall:

"Yi Ya uses allure in his cooking, yet his dishes conceal resentment; Chang Baiwei uses bitterness to awaken the world, yet his soup soothes the soul. In this battle—Chang Baiwei wins."

Yi Ya's face turned ashen, and he collapsed to the ground.

He didn't beg for mercy, he didn't curse, he just sat there, looking down at his still trembling hand.

The expression on his face was not fear, nor anger, but emptiness.

It's the kind of emptiness that comes from discovering that the culinary skills you're so proud of are actually a sin from beginning to end.

The celestial official, holding the appointment document for the head chef of Yaochi, stepped forward and handed it to me.

A gilded scroll, the Queen Mother's imperial seal, the highest position in the culinary arts of the Three Realms. All the celestial officials below the stage had their eyes on me.

I glanced down at the name on the letter of appointment.

Then close it and put it back on the tray.

A low gasp of surprise rose from the audience.

The Queen Mother didn't speak, she just looked at me.

"Thank you for your kindness, Queen Mother. However, I cannot accept the position of head chef of the Jade Pool."

I wiped the oil off my hands and then rubbed them on the apron. The apron had several holes, but it was very clean.

"I am just a small, unconventional food stall owner at the South Heavenly Gate. My culinary path is not in the imperial cuisine of the Jade Pool, nor in the banquets of the powerful and wealthy. It is in the everyday life of ordinary people, in awakening the world and guiding hearts."

I bowed to bid farewell to the Queen Mother and the gods, then turned and walked down from the Jade Pool arena.

I walked to the edge of the ring, bent down and picked up my black iron pot.

The pot is still the same pot, but it's chipped and blackened as if it's been smoked for three hundred years. But today, the bottom of the pot reflects a faint light.

"A Hundred Flavors"

A voice came from behind me.

Yi Ya's voice.

It wasn't begging for mercy, it wasn't cursing.

He slumped to the ground, his voice hoarse as if scraped from his throat, as if he had used up the last bit of strength he had left in this life.

I stopped at the edge of the ring without looking back.

"When you left the Imperial Kitchen...did you already know this day would come?"

The wind in Yaochi suddenly stopped.

All the celestial officials were watching us.

No one spoke, no one moved.

The only sounds in the entire Jade Pool were the crackling of the stove fire and the shadow of the black iron pot in my hand, swaying slightly in the wind.

I stood there for a long time. Long enough that the fire in the stove gradually died down, long enough that Yi Ya's hand finally stopped trembling.

"I never imagined things would turn out this way."

My voice was very soft, so soft that only a few people at the edge of the arena could hear it. But in this deathly silent Jade Pool, every word was crystal clear.

"But I know that one day you will lose to yourself."

I paused. The black iron pot in my hand was heavy, but it couldn't weigh as much as the name I never uttered three hundred years ago.

"You've forgotten how to cook."

A pause. Two words, yet they carry the weight of three hundred years.

"Master."

This is the first and last time in three hundred years that these two words have been used.

It's not reconciliation. It's not forgiveness. It's returning to you the respect we had back then, along with the shame we felt.

From now on, we are even.

I didn't look back. Carrying the black iron pot, I walked down the stone steps of Yaochi, one step at a time.

The cloud path unfolds beneath my feet, and sunlight streams down from the heavens, stretching my shadow long.

The wind at Nantianmen was still as unruly as ever, whipping and tucking my tent cloth around.

The crack in the tarpaulin, created by Ao Runlong's tail, was still there, letting in light.

The cutting board was still crooked, and the broken tiles under the stove legs hadn't been replaced.

I bent down and relit the stove fire, the flames licking the bottom of the pot, crackling and popping. The water in the black iron pot gradually heated up, and steam rose, blurring the old plaque of the South Heavenly Gate.

Several little fairy children peeked out from afar, pushing and shoving each other, afraid to come closer, yet reluctant to leave.

The one leading the group was a little girl with a pigtail. She was pushed by the fairy boy behind her, stumbled forward, and looked up at me.

"Master Chang, what are you making today?"

I wiped the pot, and the firelight reflected on my face, making me feel warm and cozy.

"Make me a dish you've never had before."

The wind blew from the South Heavenly Gate, and the canopy rattled overhead.

I took a closer sniff—the air smelled of smoke, chili peppers, and the metallic tang of a heated iron pot.

But there was no musty smell.

In the distance, a spirit deer glanced at the clouds, twitched its ears, and then turned and disappeared into the misty sea of ​​clouds.

Inside the Nuwa Palace, on that lotus platform that has remained silent for a thousand years, perhaps someone is waiting for news of a soup.

I tied my apron and picked up the three-hundred-year-old iron spoon. The handle was polished to a shine and felt warm in my hand.

The fire in the stove was burning brightly.

Time to prepare the next dish.