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

Seven days passed in the blink of an eye.

These past few days I've locked myself in the kitchen, trying out that soup recipe more than a dozen times.

Old inksticks from the God of Literature are hard to find.

That stuff is leftover ink from when the God of Literature was reviewing official documents. The older the better, ideally it should be an ink stick that has been used to write harsh phrases like "no regrets after a move" so that its medicinal properties are strong enough.

I asked Old Zhang to go through three or four intermediaries before I finally found a tiny, old inkstick the size of a fingernail in the abandoned old library of Wenchang Pavilion. It was shiny black and smelled of cold, bookish air.

When ground into powder and added to soup, it can make the person who drinks it write down their true experience when they entered school.

It's not written by hand, but by the soul; the characters appear out of thin air and cannot be hidden.

The auxiliary material is the ashes from old lecture notes by ordinary teachers.

This thing is even more difficult to deal with.

I must descend to the mortal realm to find those old scholars who have taught their entire lives and whose students are all over the world, rummage through the piles of waste paper in their former residences to find their handwritten lecture notes, and then bring them back to Heaven to be burned to ashes with real fire.

The handwriting on the handouts must be clear and strong to show that the teacher taught diligently; only after the ashes of the paper have been dissolved in hot water can they bear the weight of the words "educational equity".

I made three trips to the mortal realm and searched through five old academies before I finally managed to gather a small group.

The last ingredient is turtle jelly, which acts as a medicinal guide to combine the effects of the first two ingredients.

If you're going to make this soup, you have to be precise.

Those who entered the university through genuine ability will remain calm and composed after drinking the drink; those who entered the university through fraud will stand up uncontrollably after drinking the drink and recite their fraudulent process from beginning to end in front of everyone, only able to sit down after they have finished reciting it.

On the morning of the seventh day, I packed the cooked soup into a food box and took it to Wenchang Pavilion. The food box was new, made of bamboo, and the lid was tightly closed, so there was no smell from the outside.

Wenchang Pavilion was as lively as a peach banquet today.

Two rows of cranes spread their wings to welcome guests at the entrance, and a red carpet stretched from the pavilion gate all the way to the end of the cloud path. Celestial officials from all walks of life brought their families, dressed in splendid robes, and their celestial children followed obediently behind their adults, their little faces clearly showing that they had been repeatedly told by their parents not to embarrass themselves.

I saw a water source in the crowd.

He stood in the far corner, wearing an old, faded robe with frayed cuffs, holding Shui Qingze's hand.

Shui Qingze was not tall, and he looked particularly small among the group of celestial children in brocade robes. However, he stood very straight, his eyes fixed on the gate of Wenchang Pavilion. There was no jealousy in his eyes, only a quiet longing.

The child has no idea why his father brought him here today.

They probably just thought they were there to broaden their horizons and see what other people's teacher appreciation banquets were like.

Shuiyuan saw me and nodded slightly.

His lips were tightly pressed together, his jawline was taut, and his hand holding his son's trembled slightly.

I didn't go over and talk to him; it wasn't the right time.

I handed the food box to Lao Xu in the kitchen.

When Lao Xu took it, he used his apron to cushion his hands, as if he were receiving a bomb.

He lifted the lid of the food box and peeked inside. The soup was clear and bright, with no abnormalities. It also had a faint scent of ink, like a refined offering on the desk of a scholar.

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He put the lid on, lowered his voice, and said to me, "You owe me a drink."

I said, "Okay, I'll treat you to the most expensive offal soup at my stall later." He rolled his eyes at me and took the food box into the kitchen.

The banquet to thank the teachers was held in the main hall of Wenchang Pavilion.

Inside the hall, there were more than a dozen tables. At the main table sat Wenchang Xingjun, Taibai Jinxing, and several highly respected old scholars, while the other new students and their parents lined up on both sides.

I found a corner to stand in, still wearing my apron, pretending to be there to help in the kitchen.

Venus, the planet of Venus, sat on the right side of the main table, wearing a brand-new brocade robe. With white hair and a youthful face, he was pouring wine for Wenchang Xingjun (the God of Literature).

Beside him sat a fairy boy of about ten years old, whose eyebrows and eyes bore a resemblance to his own. He was dressed in a moon-white robe and sat there upright, obedient beyond belief.

That was the immortal boy from the Taibai family who took Shui Qingze's place.

Wenchang Xingjun raised his wine cup and gave his routine speech: "Today's banquet to thank our teachers is to commend the diligent study of this year's freshmen. May all students make progress in their studies at the academy and live up to the expectations of the Heavenly Court." The immortals raised their cups, and the atmosphere was peaceful and harmonious.

After several rounds of drinks and five courses of food, the dragon liver and phoenix marrow were removed, and it was time for the soup.

Old Xu carried the soup pot out of the kitchen himself. He paused as he passed me and said in a voice only I could hear, "Are you sure this stuff won't kill someone?"

I said, "Don't worry, it won't kill you. Some people might just feel a little pain in their face."

Old Xu took a deep breath, placed the soup pot on the long table in the center of the hall, and then retreated to a corner as quickly as possible, even faster than when he hid in Yi Yacha's kitchen back then.

The soup was served in white porcelain bowls, one bowl at a time, and then served to each guest by the serving children.

The moment the lid was lifted, a cool, refreshing scent of ink wafted out.

It wasn't the smell of ink, but the scent of newly ground pine soot ink mixed with old book pages in a winter study—cold, refreshing, and making you unconsciously straighten your back after smelling it.

Venus picked up the white porcelain bowl and examined the soup for a moment, probably trying to determine what ingredients were used in the soup.

But his kind-hearted face showed no sign of anything amiss.

Wenchang Xingjun had already taken the lead in raising his spoon; he couldn't possibly refuse his host's request in this situation. He elegantly scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and put it in his mouth.

The sound of people slurping soup filled the hall, interspersed with exclamations of "This soup is sweet and refreshing" and "It has a hint of ink fragrance, which is quite fitting for the occasion."

Then, change began.

First, a newborn fairy child sitting at the very end of the table suddenly put down his spoon, his eyes slightly glazed over.

A line of faint ink characters floated above his head, the characters neat and elegant, each stroke depicting his true experience when he entered school.

"My father was a boatman at the Tianhe Ferry, and my mother was a wandering cultivator. They had no connections and were admitted through examinations."

All the guests at the table turned to look; the words hovered in the air for a moment before slowly dissipating. The God of Literature nodded slightly; this was true ability to gain admission.

Immediately afterwards, words appeared above the head of another celestial child: "Mother is a fairy maiden from the Peach Garden, father is a heavenly general, cultivation foundation was personally taught by father from the age of five, and the test has been passed."

Another line of text appeared: "I am a poor, unaffiliated scholar with no one to rely on. Fortunately, the Wenchang Pavilion is not bound by convention and has admitted me based on my academic performance."

More and more characters appeared in the hall, line after line, some neat, some messy, and some even with a touch of childishness.

But every line clearly states the same conclusion: admission is based on merit.

Wenchang Xingjun put down his wine glass, looked around the room, and his eyes showed a hint of satisfaction.

The immortals began to whisper among themselves, thinking that this was probably a special entertainment program arranged by the Wenchang Pavilion, which was quite unique.

Venus put down his spoon, his expression unchanged.

He even turned to the side and whispered a few words to Wenchang Xingjun next to him, then picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and his movements were calm and composed, without the slightest sign of panic.

Then the fairy boy next to him put down his spoon.

The fragrance of ink in the hall seemed to freeze for a moment.

The fairy boy's eyes changed.

He seemed lost in thought, yet filled with terror. His lips began to tremble, his hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white, as if something inside him was gushing out, and he tried to hold it down, but couldn't.

The next second, a line of ink characters uncontrollably rose from above his head, the characters crooked and twisted, as if he were being forced to confess.

"I did not earn the spot through my own merit. My father, Venus, abused his power and altered the file of Shui Qingze, the son of a minor official in the Milky Way, changing his basic Taoist skills from 'meeting the standard' to 'not meeting the standard,' thus transferring the spot to me. I was unaware of this until after I enrolled."

The hall was deathly silent.

The crooked characters hung in mid-air, each one emitting a dim, dark light.

The light made Venus's eternally kind smile freeze for the first time.

The wine glass in Wenchang Xingjun's hand stopped in mid-air, and he forgot to put it down. The wine overflowed along the rim of the glass and dripped onto the tablecloth, leaving several dark dots.

Shuiyuan stood in the corner, holding her son's hand, her whole body trembling.

I leaned against a pillar in the palace, without laughing. Taibai Jin's face froze for only a moment before returning to calm.

He slowly put down his wine glass, stood up, straightened his clothes, and bowed deeply to Wenchang Xingjun.

Throughout the entire process, he neither offered any explanation, nor begged for mercy, nor even looked at anyone.

But when he bowed, his back bent into an arc that had never appeared on him before.