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

When the school enrollment season arrives in Heaven, the South Heavenly Gate becomes three times more congested than usual.

After the court session, the various celestial officials did not go home, but instead hurried in twos and threes towards the Wenchang Pavilion.

Clutching my own child's apprenticeship certificate, the gold lettering on the certificate reflected the light under the clouds, making the banner of "Ancient and Extraordinary Cuisine" in front of my stall appear somewhat dim.

Wenchang Pavilion is the best private school in Heaven.

The Taoist classes taught by Laozi, the Buddhist scriptures lectures by Wenchang Xingjun, and the Buddhist teachings lectures by Guanyin Bodhisattva were all held there. The faculty was even more impressive than the imperial court assemblies in the Lingxiao Palace.

Whoever's celestial child can enter will be able to walk with an even greater swagger than others in the Heavenly Court.

However, Wenchang Pavilion only accepts a limited number of students each year, and places are strictly limited.

To secure this spot, the celestial officials racked their brains. They used every trick in the book: gifts, connections, and favors.

Every year at this time, the cranes at the entrance of the Wenchang Star Lord's Mansion are so heavy with gift boxes that they can't fly.

However, on the surface, everyone is following the rules.

The cultivation assessment results, celestial registration, and basic Taoist skills of the celestial children were all examined, one by one, in a fair and impartial manner. At least, that's how it appeared.

That day, I had just set up my stall, and the water on the stove hadn't boiled yet.

Then I saw a figure wearing an old fairy robe wandering around the stall.

This person looked unfamiliar and didn't seem like a regular customer—regular customers would just sit down on the stone bench and start ordering without even looking at the menu.

He paced back and forth outside the stall several times.

He took two steps closer, then three steps back. He rubbed his hands inside his sleeves until the cuffs were white.

I recognize this route.

It's because there's something weighing on my mind, I want to ask someone for help, but I'm not sure if I should ask.

I see this kind of customer quite often at my stall, but most of them are free spirits who are here for the first time and don't know the rules of my stall.

I didn't say anything and continued wiping my cutting board.

Half an incense stick later, he was still pacing around there. The water on the stove was boiling, bubbling away, but he still didn't come in.

I finally put down the rag and waved to him.

"My fellow immortal, you've been wandering around for quite a while. Sit down, have a bowl of soup, and tell me slowly."

He paused for a moment, his steps halting outside the invisible threshold in front of the stall.

I ladled a bowl of clear soup and placed it on the stone table. Two tender leaves, not yet fully unfurled, floated on the soup. I picked them up from the Tianjie market this morning; they were cheap, but warming.

The heat rose slowly, trapped by the tarpaulin, forming a small cloud of white mist under the stall.

He smelled that scent and finally overcame the hurdle.

He sat down on the stone bench in front of my stall, only half of his buttocks touching the ground.

He said his surname was Shui (水), and his given name was Yuan (源). He was a minor official in charge of the sluice gates on the banks of the Milky Way. He was not of high rank and usually only had a few minor officials in charge of opening the sluice gates to release water.

  

The water in the Milky Way has remained unchanged for thousands of years, and his path to immortality has remained unchanged for thousands of years.

But his son, Shui Qingze, is his greatest pride in this life.

The young man practiced diligently and had a solid foundation in Taoist arts. His test scores were just enough to qualify him for admission to the Wenchang Pavilion.

When talking about her son, Shuiyuan straightened her back a bit, and her voice stopped trembling, as if she had used all the confidence she had accumulated over thousands of years in this one sentence.

"That's enough for the Wenchang Pavilion line, so it's all settled." I pushed the bowl of soup half an inch towards him. "Congratulations."

He looked down at the soup in the bowl but didn't drink it.

There was a long silence. The steam from the soup noodles gradually thinned, swirling and dissipating between the two tender leaves.

Then he took a roll of paper out of his sleeve and handed it to me.

The paper roll was crumpled, soaked in sweat and then dried, with frayed edges, clearly indicating that it had been repeatedly opened and folded countless times.

I took it and unfolded it.

This is the list of students admitted to the Wenchang Pavilion. The ink is neat, the seals are complete, and the vermilion seal of the Wenchang Star Lord is stamped at the end of the signature, strikingly red.

I read down line by line until I reached the end, but I didn't see Shui Qingze's name.

"He's not on the list." I handed the roll of paper back.

"Yes." Shuiyuan's voice was as low as bubbles rising from the bottom of the Milky Way.

"I went to the Wenchang Pavilion to ask, and they said there was no problem with the file. I went to the Household Registration Office to check, and they said the registration of immortals was handled according to regulations. I asked them where my son's spot went—they said there was a note in my son's file that said 'his foundation in Taoist practices did not meet the standards,' so he was not admitted."

"Didn't you see his foundation in Taoist practices with your own eyes? Wasn't his test score sufficient?"

Shuiyuan's fist was clenched tightly around his sleeve, his knuckles turning white.

He said his son's file had been tampered with.

The day before the admission list was announced, someone added a "deviation in basic Taoist principles" to Shui Qingze's file, changing his assessment score from "meets the standard" to "fails the standard".

He had no idea who made the change, when it was made, or why no one notified him.

But he knew one thing. The spot that his son had taken had fallen to a celestial child whose foundation in Taoist magic was far inferior to his son's.

"Who is that fairy child?"

Shuiyuan raised his head, his lips moving several times. The firelight flickered in his pupils, as if burning away the last bit of hesitation in his throat.

"The family of Venus."

After he said that name, the soup went completely cold.

He remained silent for a long time.

It's not that I don't want to talk about it, it's that I don't know where to begin.

He went to see Venus, not to confront him, but simply to find out what had happened.

Venus greeted him with a smile.

He served tea, inquired about the recent situation of Tianhe Water Conservancy, and asked whether the recent work schedules of his subordinates were reasonable, and whether there were any difficulties in the flood season gate scheduling.

Then he personally escorted him to the gate of the mansion.

"I cannot interfere in matters of the academy. Wenchang Pavilion has its own rules, and everything should be done according to those rules."

When he said this, his eyes were full of kindness and his tone was full of fairness.

Shuiyuan stood at the entrance of Venus's residence and suddenly felt that asking another question would be unreasonable.

It wasn't until he had walked quite a distance and a cool breeze blew that he realized—from beginning to end, Venus hadn't answered any of his questions.

After listening, I draped the rag over the stove and didn't say anything immediately.

The firelight licked around the bottom of the pot, and the water in the iron pot boiled again. Shuiyuan lowered his head, his hands clasped together on his knees, his knuckles white from clenching them.

His cuffs were worn and frayed, and his clothes were faded from washing; he looked like an honest, hardworking man who never used connections.

Even when he came to my stall for help, he would wander around outside for a long time before daring to step in.

Now, sitting on the stone bench, with half of his buttocks touching the edge, he looks as if he's ready to stand up and offer his seat to someone at any moment.

"Narcissus friend." I picked up the spatula and stirred the almost burnt garlic in the pan a couple of times.

"You came to me wanting me to help you find out the truth?"

Shuiyuan looked up. His eyes were slightly red, but no tears fell.

An honest man who had guarded the sluice gate by the Milky Way for thousands of years held back his tears when he asked for help for the first time.

"Boss Chang, I know this isn't your responsibility."

He stood up and bowed deeply to me. His waist was bent even lower than those celestial officials who came to my stall asking for favors back then, and his forehead almost touched the table.

"But I really have nowhere else to go. The Household Registration Office told me to go to the Wenchang Pavilion, the Wenchang Pavilion told me to go to the Household Registration Office, and Venus said he 'could not interfere'... I'm just a lowly sluice gate official, who else can I turn to besides you?"

I helped him up and patted him on the shoulder twice.

His shoulders were very strong, the kind of strength that comes from carrying water gates for many years, not the kind of strength that comes from being pampered.

The honest people of thousands of years are not without temper, but they have worn it all down into their shoulders and backs. They are so used to carrying heavy loads that they can easily give up if they forget.

"My friend, Narcissus." I took the bowl of soup back, which had gone cold, and ladled out a hot one, placing it in front of him.

Two tender leaves floated on the soup. This time I added an extra one. "You drink first. I'll figure something out."

Shuiyuan looked down at the bowl of soup.

The heat rose again, enveloping his face.

He still didn't drink, but he stretched out his hands and held the bowl with both hands, just like that.

It felt like carrying something fragile and fragile, or like holding something warm that hadn't been held in a long time.