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

Nezha looked up. His eyes, which always burned with fire, were now as still as a deep pool, reflecting Ao Guang's deliberately somber face.

"Since the old Dragon King mentioned 'evaluation'," he said calmly, yet each word was sharp as a needle.

"Then I'd like to ask, three hundred years ago, the East Sea suffered a three-year drought, leaving the land barren and the people resorting to cannibalism. The Thousand-Mile Eye recorded this event in the 'Records of Strange Phenomena in the Three Realms,' noting that 'the clouds and rain in the East Sea were out of order, and the Dragon King's management was flawed.' Would this be considered in the evaluation?"

Ao Guang's face stiffened.

"Two hundred and eighty years ago, the spiritual veins of the East Sea inexplicably dried up by thirty percent, causing the cultivation of aquatic creatures to stagnate. The West Sea took the opportunity to widely recruit rogue cultivators. You reported back then that it was due to the 'natural circulation of earth energy',"

Nezha paused, then gently draped the end of his Hun Tian Ling (a magical ribbon) over the edge of the stone table, as if to make his remaining words clear for him.

"But who in the world doesn't know that you 'offered' the spiritual vein to the Purple Palace in order to seek its protection? What's that called in the mortal world? It's called asset transfer."

Ao Guang gripped the jade chopsticks tightly with his fingers.

"As for two hundred years ago," Nezha's tone turned cold, and something was surging up beneath the deep pool-like stillness in his eyes.

"Within your Dragon Palace, the Third Prince and the Fifth Prince are vying for power, even mobilizing the navy to confront each other, nearly triggering a tsunami that will flood Chen Tang Pass. If this succeeds, let alone being at the bottom of the performance evaluation—will you still be able to hold onto your position as Dragon King?"

He paused for a moment, letting that pause finish his sentence: This is a major workplace safety accident.

He stared at Ao Guang, his eyes devoid of hatred, only displaying a cold, penetrating insight:

"Old Dragon King, is the state of the East Sea today truly the result of my efforts alone? Or is it the result of your incompetence in governing the sea, your indulgence of your son's violent acts, your flattery of superiors and your corruption of subordinates—one thing after another, you have built up yourself?"

Every word was scathing. Ao Guang sat there, as if his scales had been peeled off.

  

After a long pause, his shoulders slumped. He raised his hand to cover his face, his voice trembling as it escaped through his fingers: "The Third Prince's words... are thunderous. I have failed the Eastern Sea."

That was such a convincing performance. I added a piece of charcoal, and sparks crackled and popped. My hand remained on the fire tongs, unmoved.

I'm waiting.

A dragon king who has lived for tens of thousands of years, after being scolded a few times, slumped his shoulders and covered his face in public. This was such a dramatic performance that it was hard to believe.

really.

He lowered his hand, his fingertips quickly scraping across the rough stone tabletop, as if trying to erase the weakness he had just shown.

When he looked up again, his eyes had changed to a resolute expression of "painful reflection": "But I too was deceived!"

Here it comes. I gripped the fire tongs tightly.

"Back then, when the rains were out of balance, it was Prime Minister Turtle who offered the 'Cloud Register Alteration Strategy,' claiming it would increase rainfall and enhance his political achievements. In my haste for quick results, I actually believed him. When the spiritual veins dried up, it was also he who brokered the deal, saying it was 'exchanging resources for protection.' I was foolish to entrust the lifeline of the East Sea to this fiend, only to find him lining his own pockets and deceiving his superiors. As for the internal strife among the dragon princes..."

He sighed deeply, heartbroken.

"Furthermore, it was he who secretly passed on messages and sowed discord among the brothers. My impetuous son, young and hot-blooded, was easily provoked and fell into his trap, which led to the situation spiraling out of control!"

He spoke more and more fluently, and by the end, his voice even trembled with emotion.

He felt as if he were truly a wise ruler whose country had been misled by treacherous officials.

Seven thousand years of mistakes are all weighed on one name, making that name smaller and smaller, while making oneself cry bigger and bigger.

"This fiend has served me for seven thousand years, seven thousand years! Yet he has used the East Sea as a place for him to seize power and pursue his own selfish interests! I have been lenient with him out of consideration for the past. Now, thinking back, the East Sea has fallen into such a state of decline, and he cannot escape blame!"

I sneered inwardly.

What a clever move to sacrifice the tortoise to save the dragon! Seven thousand years of old affection couldn't withstand the accountability for a bottom-ranking performance review.

Shifting blame to this extent is no longer a skill, it's instinct.

But that wasn't all. Ao Guang suddenly looked up, a deeper calculation flashing in his eyes, as swift as a dragon's scales turning over beneath the water's surface:

"Moreover, this scoundrel has held the position of prime minister for many years, suppressing the virtuous and capable. My son Baxia originally had the talent to govern the sea, but because of his constant obstruction, he can only do some menial tasks such as carrying steles, wasting a thousand years."

If the East Sea is to regroup, the old officials should be removed and new ones should be appointed.

Finally, the true intentions were revealed.

Shifting blame is real, but making room for others is even more so.

The Turtle Prime Minister served as prime minister in the East Sea for seven thousand years, enduring countless tests by celestial officials, but in the end, he was nothing more than a piece on the Dragon King's chessboard that could be removed at any time.

I added another piece of charcoal to the stove, and the firelight flickered, casting Ao Guang's shadow onto the tarpaulin.

The shadow was much larger and more ethereal than he was.

Nezha listened quietly, and only chuckled very softly after he finished speaking.

There was no sarcasm in that laughter, only a weariness that came from seeing through the game.

The Hun Tian Ling loosened around his wrist and hung down, like a flag without any writing on it.

"In that case," he stood up, "let's invite Prime Minister Turtle here for a face-to-face confrontation."

Ao Guang's eyes lit up, as if he had grasped a lifeline:

"Third Prince, you are reasonable! I will bring him here at this time tomorrow for you to deal with!"

"No," Nezha shook his head, his tone as calm as if he were discussing what to have for dinner, "it is a matter for the world to decide."

Ao Guang was stunned.

"This matter concerns both the order and stability of the East China Sea and the evaluation of the entire world."

Nezha looked at the distant sea. Moonlight shone through the crack in the roof and fell on his shoulder, making the Hun Tian Ling (a magical ribbon) look like a flowing flame.

"Then we should invite the Dragon Kings of the West, South, and North Seas to come together to jointly judge this case."

After all, if Prime Minister Turtle is truly guilty, it should be made known throughout the land as a warning to others.

He paused, then turned around. The sliver of moonlight slid from his shoulder to his back, and his face disappeared back into the shadows under the awning.

"Your son Baxia is naturally talented and should be present."

There always needs to be a witness to the transition between the old and the new.

Ao Guang's face turned pale.

That's not the kind of whiteness that comes from being humiliated; it's the kind of whiteness that comes from having your account book turned to the wrong page.

He suddenly realized that Nezha had not accepted his scapegoat plan, but had turned this internal purge into a play, a play that was attended by people from all over the world and watched by everyone.

If Baxia were to "ascend to power" at this time, he would be stepping onto the stage on the blood of his old ministers, under the watchful eyes of the world.

Is this position still secure?

When Xihai Ao Run reports on his duties in the future, all he needs to do is include today's events in his memorial, and that will be a ready-made topic of conversation.

Nezha transformed into light and departed.

When he left, the Hun Tian Ling hung down in a straight line behind him, without any extra movements, not even lifting the canopy.

Ao Guang sat alone for a long time.

The charcoal fire in the stove had burned through a round of flames and was beginning to turn a dark red.

The wind outside the shed had stopped sometime ago, and even the sound of the tide in Nanhai Lake seemed as distant as if it were from another world.

He finally staggered to his feet, something falling from his sleeve and rolling to the stove.

I picked it up. It was a dragon scale communication talisman, with small characters engraved on its surface: "Quickly clear the old tortoise image file, prepare for Baxia to receive the seal."

really.

I turned the scale over, and on the back there was a row of even smaller words, as if they had been hastily carved and would be destroyed after reading.

This old Dragon King even has a backup plan when shifting blame; he even puts double insurance on his own son.

I clenched the scales, my palms burning. Whether it was Ao Guang's unintentional mistake or Nezha's doing, I didn't know, but the item was now with me.

But as I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of the other side of the stone table—the spot where Nezha had sat—where half a piece of red silk lay on the stone, wrapped around a jade slip.

I unfolded the jade slip, scanned it with my divine sense, and felt a jolt throughout my body.

Above is the original approval document for the alteration of the Yunlu (a type of divination system) three hundred years ago.

Besides the signature of the Turtle Prime Minister, there was an even smaller vermilion annotation at the bottom, so small that it seemed the writer had deliberately shrunk the characters into a corner to avoid being seen: "Approved by Ao Guang. Countersigned by Baxia."

Baxia was the deputy signatory.

That matter back then, from the approval to the execution, from the father to the son, was never handled by Prime Minister Gui alone.

So you two are birds of a feather, father and son. The Prime Minister of 7,000 years ago was nothing more than a signatory.

There is another line of text on the inside of the red silk, which Nezha branded onto it with his magic.

The strokes are very light, as if written casually, but each character is written with great stability:

I'm giving you this copy; keep it safe to save your life and prevent others from killing you.

I held the scorching dragon scales in one hand and the heavy jade slip in the other.

Suddenly, the flames in the stove licked the iron tongs, emitting a pungent, burnt smell. I looked down and saw that the handles of the tongs were already faintly red from the heat.

Tomorrow, this stage across the four seas will probably be set ablaze.

Ao Guang wanted to abandon the tortoise to save the dragon, but Nezha dragged Baxia into the situation as well.

They're not dragging us in as witnesses, they're dragging us in as accomplices.

Tomorrow, the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas will gather, but they will not be judging the Turtle Prime Minister.

It is about how this father and son, in front of everyone, peeled away each other's masks layer by layer.

This melon is guaranteed to be ripe.

I extinguished the fire in the stove and tucked the dragon scales and jade slip into my bosom, one on each side.

The two things are separated by clothing; one is hot, the other is cold.

Then clouds rose from beneath my feet, and I headed towards the East China Sea.

I can't stand by and watch the Turtle Prime Minister lose his life as a scapegoat.

The crucial point is that those two damned immortals haven't paid for their meal yet.