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

The vast East China Sea stretches out with boundless blue waves.

The sea surface is shrouded in mist, while underwater currents surge.

From afar, one can see the barrier that envelops the Dragon Palace, shimmering with a faint, ethereal blue light.

Behind layers of water curtains, shrimp soldiers and crab generals, holding steel forks, stood guard on both sides, keeping a tight watch.

I landed on the reef in front of the Dragon Palace, just getting close.

Two patrolling sea yaksha immediately blocked the way, their eyes wary.

"Halt! This is the forbidden area of ​​the East Sea Dragon Palace; no unauthorized immortals or deities are permitted to approach!"

My expression was calm, and my tone was neither humble nor arrogant:

"Please inform the Dragon King of the East Sea that Chang Baiwei, the cook who runs a stall near the South Gate of Heaven, has come to visit you at your request for tomorrow, as he has important matters to discuss."

The sea patrol yaksha looked me up and down.

I know my outfit isn't very convincing.

The apron still bore the marks of ice crystals left by Ao Guang that afternoon, the cuffs were stained with charcoal ash, and half a string of dried chili peppers that had been snatched was tucked into his waistband.

He hesitated for a moment, but upon hearing the words "a promise to the Dragon King," he dared not be negligent.

One person stayed behind and kept an eye on me, while the other turned around, plunged into the water, and hurriedly went inside to report.

Before long, the water parted, and the sea patrol yaksha quickly turned back.

He raised his hand in a gesture of invitation: "The Dragon King invites you to come with me."

Passing through layers of water curtain barriers, we stepped into the interior of the Dragon Palace.

The pavilions and towers are all made of crystal coral, sparkling with jewels. The waterways are crisscrossed, and strange fish and shrimp can be seen swimming everywhere. The fairy atmosphere and water vapor blend together, creating an extraordinary atmosphere.

I kept a straight face, but in my mind I couldn't help comparing this place to my dilapidated shack.

Just those two rows of luminous pearls at the entrance of the main hall—if I could just take any one of them, it would be enough for me to buy a decent set of tables and chairs, and I wouldn't have to use broken tiles to prop up the table legs anymore.

We walked through the long corridor and arrived at the Dragon King's Palace.

Ao Guang sat upright on the dragon throne, clad in a dragon robe, exuding an awe-inspiring presence.

  

If I hadn't witnessed him being pinned to a stone bench by Nezha and covered in soot from the Samadhi Fire that afternoon, I would have almost believed that this Dragon King always had this haughty demeanor.

He raised his eyelids slightly, his tone carrying a hint of condescending indifference:

"You arrived quite quickly. What is it? Just say it."

I bowed slightly, neither humble nor arrogant.

The whole story he had prepared in his head was already on the cloud, and now that he was saying it, even he himself thought it made perfect sense:

"Tomorrow, the Dragon King will take the Turtle Prime Minister to the stall to confront and publicly try Nezha."

I have come here today to first meet with Prime Minister Turtle.

After all, he's a key figure in tomorrow's public trial, and there are some things I want to ask him beforehand.

To avoid any shortcomings in hospitality tomorrow.

That sounds so nice.

To describe "getting a preliminary assessment" as "so as not to be poorly received" sounds like he's doing the Dragon King a favor.

In reality, every word he uttered was aimed at the very account in his own mind.

Ao Guang wants to abandon the tortoise to save the dragon, and Nezha wants to drag Baxia into the game. Tomorrow, all the main characters of this play will be present.

Only Prime Minister Turtle himself remained completely unaware.

I need to take a look at him first, to see what kind of person he is.

Ao Guang, as expected, had no suspicion whatsoever, and assumed that I was just making preparations for tomorrow's public trial.

He casually instructed a servant beside him, "Go and bring Prime Minister Gui to the palace."

The attendant accepted the order and hurriedly withdrew.

A moment later, a slow, dragging sound of footsteps came from outside the hall.

The footsteps were extremely heavy, each step sounding as if they were dragging something along.

It's not that my legs are bad, it's just that the shell on my back is too heavy.

An old tortoise, its back heavy with a thick shell and its whiskers and hair white, hunched over and slowly made its way into the main hall.

It was none other than the Turtle Prime Minister of the East Sea.

My first glance fell on the tortoise shell on his back.

The shell was as thick as a city gate, its color so dark it was almost black, and its patterns were inlaid with sea mud and salt stains from countless years ago. It bulged slightly along the spine, becoming wider and heavier as it went down, pressing down on the hunched body like an upside-down, black iron pot.

With each step the old tortoise took, the "pot" wobbled, making his spine seem to shrink downwards.

My heart skipped a beat—this wasn't a shell, it was clearly a pot that had been sitting on the ground for seven thousand years.

Those whom Ao Guang wants to get rid of tomorrow, those who were deputy signatories in Baxia back then, and those who ranked at the bottom in the two rounds of evaluations in Donghai, will probably all have to be put into this pot.

He stepped forward and bowed respectfully, the tortoise shell striking the crystal floor with a dull thud. His voice was aged yet reverent: "This old minister pays respects to the Dragon King."

Ao Guang spoke casually, his tone as nonchalant as if he were instructing what to eat that night.

"Tomorrow morning, come with me to that little stall at the foot of the South Heavenly Gate in Heaven, where we will confront Nezha face to face and settle our thousand-year-old feud."

A simple sentence, falling lightly.

But to Prime Minister Turtle, it was like a thunderclap.

His whole body stiffened abruptly, his aged frame trembled slightly, and his cloudy old eyes widened in disbelief. Then, his face turned deathly pale, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees with a thud.

The "big black pot" slammed onto the crystal floor, producing a dull thud that echoed throughout the entire hall.

"Dragon King! You mustn't!" The Turtle Prime Minister's voice trembled, filled with fear and pleading, his forehead pressed tightly against the cold crystal floor.

"This old minister has served you, the Dragon King, for generations, with utmost diligence and has never been disloyal!"

"Regarding what happened back then, this old minister would not dare to sow discord in the slightest! Why, why must this old minister be brought before me for a face-to-face confrontation?"

He has lived for tens of thousands of years, seen through the changes in the three realms, and has never been afraid of anything.

Hearing that he would be pushed before the Four Dragon Kings for a public confrontation, he was still terrified.

This isn't a confrontation; it's making him a scapegoat, pinning the blame on him in front of everyone.

Even the heavy tortoise shell was trembling slightly, its edges tapping against the crystal floor with a soft, shaky sound, like a pot that hadn't been placed properly and was bobbing back and forth on the edge of a stove.

"This old minister is old and frail, clumsy with words, and inept at speech. I beg the Dragon King to have mercy and spare my life! This old minister is willing to guard the East Sea for the rest of my life, serving as an ox or a horse to repay the Dragon King's grace!"

His pleading voice, each word filled with sorrow, echoed throughout the main hall.

The aquatic servants standing on both sides either lowered their heads or quietly looked away—but none of them dared to utter a sound.

Ao Guang frowned slightly, clearly getting impatient with Ao Guang's pleading.

He tapped his fingers twice on the armrest of the dragon throne.

It was exactly the same as when I was rubbing the gap on the stone table that afternoon.

Then he waved his hand and said, "The matter is settled, there's no need to say more."

It's just a face-to-face confrontation; once things are cleared up, that's your good fortune.

Completely disregarding the years of relationship between ruler and subject, showing not a shred of pity.

It seemed as if the one kneeling on the ground, trembling, was not an old minister who had endured seven thousand years of hardship for him in the East Sea, but rather an answer sheet to be submitted tomorrow.

If he writes well, it's an achievement for him; if he writes poorly, he's a scapegoat.

The Turtle Prime Minister lay on the ground, tears streaming down his face, trembling all over, in utter despair.

I stood aside and watched coldly, but I already knew everything.

From beginning to end, this old turtle was an innocent scapegoat.

Ao Guang's performance at the stall that afternoon, with accusations of "the Turtle Prime Minister sowing discord among his brothers" and "suppressing the virtuous and capable by clinging to the position of Prime Minister," was nothing more than an attempt to absolve himself of his guilt and use the life of an old minister to settle his grudge against Nezha.

A single, casual remark from someone in a superior position can cost a loyal subordinate their life.

The "big black pot" kneeling on the ground was the Prime Minister of the East Sea seven thousand years ago, and it is still the same pot seven thousand years later.

I looked down at my chest; on the left was a dragon scale, and on the right was a jade slip.

The dragon scales were Ao Guang's death warrant, while the jade slip was his trump card for survival.

The two things together are enough to completely dismantle the stage that this father and son will put on tomorrow.

The Turtle Prime Minister cried so hard that his whole body trembled, and the "pot" on his back shook. The sound bounced back against the Crystal Palace wall, and the whole hall was filled with buzzing echoes.

Looking at him like this, I suddenly remembered the day I was forced to pay back debts by Yi Ya. I was kneeling like this, trembling all over.

At that time, not a single person stood up to say a word for me.

The thought crossed my mind, and through my clothes, I gently pressed my fingertips against the hot jade slip, and then my foot moved.

I stepped forward slowly, breaking the deathly silence in the hall, and spoke softly to Ao Guang, my tone calm yet resolute:

"Dragon King, I have something to say, but I don't know if I should say it."