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

Upon hearing this, Ao Guang looked up at me.

A hint of impatience flickered between his brows, yet he still spoke calmly, "Speak plainly."

I slowly walked to the side of the Turtle Prime Minister, who was kneeling and weeping. The old turtle looked up at me, his face streaked with tears, his cloudy old eyes filled with pleading, yet he dared not utter a sound—afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would ruin this last straw.

I glanced down at him.

The "big black pot" was still on his back, trembling like a pot lid on a stove where water was boiling but no one was lifting it.

Then I looked back at Ao Guang, my tone calm and unhurried.

"Dragon King, tomorrow there will be a public trial across the four seas. As the person involved, Prime Minister Turtle must naturally be present to confront the accused. However—"

I paused, my gaze sweeping over the old, trembling bones of the Turtle Prime Minister.

"The old prime minister is advanced in years and has suffered such a shock. If he is questioned in court tomorrow and becomes incoherent, it will only make Donghai appear to be in the wrong."

Ao Guang frowned and narrowed his dragon eyes.

He didn't reply, but he didn't interrupt me either.

"I have a way to preserve the dignity of tomorrow's public trial while also showing the Dragon Kings from all the seas that the East Sea is sincere in settling its grievances."

I bent down and gently pointed to the thick, mottled shell on the old tortoise's back. Even with my fingertip half an inch away from the shell, I could feel a warm, spiritual energy seeping out from the patterns.

"The turtle clan sheds its old shell after a thousand years of cultivation. These shells absorb the spiritual energy of the East Sea and also carry the cultivation aura of the Turtle Prime Minister, sharing the same origin as his original body. I will take the old shell shed by the Prime Minister during his cultivation and make a turtle jelly, which will be placed on the table during tomorrow's public trial."

"Firstly, this is a local product of the East China Sea. It is proper etiquette to treat guests from all over the world with products from the East China Sea."

"Secondly, the paste has a slightly bitter taste followed by a sweet aftertaste, and it can calm the mind and reduce internal heat when it is consumed. The Third Prince's violent temper was extinguished after eating it, and the Old Dragon King's mind was calmed after tasting it."

"Everyone in the world has seen this and knows that the East Sea is sincere in resolving old grievances, rather than shirking its responsibilities."

That sounds so nice.

They described "silencing Ao Guang's attempt to shift blame" as "using the products of the East China Sea to entertain guests from all over the world." They described "using the magic of turtle jelly to calm the situation" as "sincerely resolving old grudges."

I didn't mention a word about Ao Guang trying to shift the blame to Prime Minister Gui, but I subtly hinted at that in every word.

I emphasized the words "shirking responsibility" the least. Ao Guang's eyelids twitched the most noticeably.

The tortoise prime minister, lying on the ground, was first stunned. His cloudy old eyes darted back and forth between me and Ao Guang, then he suddenly realized—this immortal was not here to hasten the Dragon King's death, but to find a way to survive.

  

His eyes reddened, and he kowtowed repeatedly. His voice was choked with sobs, and he could barely speak.

"All the old shells I've shed over the years are treasured in my residence! I give them all to you, Immortal Master! I give them all!"

I watched him kowtow. The tortoise shell was stuck to his back, and every time he bent over, it looked like the pot was about to tip him over.

But this time he did it willingly. The shell slammed against the ground with a series of crisp sounds.

Ao Guang pondered for a moment, his gaze shifting back and forth between me and the Turtle Prime Minister.

His fingers stopped on the armrest of the dragon throne.

No knocking.

I can roughly guess what he's planning—this old turtle can't escape his public trial tomorrow; Nezha has already made his word, and the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas will definitely come. But if, in addition to the public trial, there's a dish from the East Sea itself on the table, the atmosphere will be different.

A public trial is about accountability. Serving dishes is about posture.

The accountability is directed at the East China Sea. The East China Sea itself adopted this stance.

One is being attacked. The other is standing up for oneself.

After a moment's thought, he immediately relented, looked at Prime Minister Turtle, and his tone became somewhat somber.

"Since that's the case, hurry back and retrieve all the old tortoise shells you've shed. Tomorrow's public trial—if this tortoise jelly satisfies everyone, it will be considered that you've made amends."

"Your humble servant obeys! You obey!"

The Turtle Prime Minister was overjoyed and wept, repeatedly kowtowing in gratitude, and then bowing deeply to me. As he rose, his turtle shell nearly knocked over a coral lamp beside him, but he didn't bother to catch it and practically tumbled and crawled out of the hall.

I watched his hunched back disappear at the end of the corridor. The "pot" bobbed back and forth, and for the first time, it didn't seem like a burden weighing him down, but rather like a shield that saved his life.

Before half an incense stick had burned, Prime Minister Turtle returned carrying a heavy wooden box.

He was panting heavily from running, seawater still dripping from the edge of his tortoise shell—whether it was sweat or water from the Dragon Palace waterways that he hadn't had time to shake off, he couldn't tell.

The lid was lifted, revealing five or six thick tortoise shells neatly stacked inside. Each shell had clear patterns, exuded a faint spiritual energy, and bore scorch marks from being struck by heavenly lightning during its tribulations. These were all his natal shells, shed time and again over tens of thousands of years of cultivation.

I took the wooden box and lightly touched the surface with my fingertips. I could clearly feel the warm, gentle spiritual energy of the East China Sea within—subtle, understated, yet steadfast.

Just like this old tortoise's temperament.

I nodded: "This is enough."

Seeing this, Ao Guang's expression softened considerably. He looked at me and said, "I'll leave this matter to you. Tomorrow, during the public trial, this turtle jelly must satisfy everyone. After it's done, I will reward you handsomely."

I nodded slightly and said nothing more.

What I'm thinking is, your dragon scale communication talisman is still tucked away in my arms. Whether or not I reward you, we'll talk about it after the trial tomorrow.

Holding the wooden box, he bid farewell to Ao Guang.

The Turtle Prime Minister escorted me all the way to the entrance of the Dragon Palace.

The night sea was deep, and the shimmering light of the Dragon Palace cast a blurry halo behind him. He stood in the light and bowed to me again, tears streaming down his face.

"I will never forget your life-saving grace, Immortal Master. In the future, I will do my utmost to serve you, Immortal Master, even at the cost of my life."

I waved my hand, looked at the old tortoise that had survived the ordeal and was still trembling slightly, and chuckled softly.

After laughing, I felt that my laughter was a little bitter.

He thanked me for saving his life. But whether he can escape unscathed from tomorrow's public trial is not up to me. The scheme Ao Guang devised on the dragon throne today is nothing more than a different posture compared to the "Quickly Clear the Old Tortoise Image File" on the dragon scale in my arms.

The Turtle Prime Minister wasn't an ingredient, but he was still a discarded pawn.

All I can do is give him some breathing room before he's abandoned.

"No need for formalities." I pulled the wooden box closer to my chest. "Tomorrow is the public trial. Just tell the truth. You'll take the blame—"

I pointed to his thick, mottled tortoise shell.

"After carrying this burden for seven thousand years, it's time to let others see what the bottom of the pot looks like."

"And also," I paused, "the Dragon King and his entourage ate at my place without paying, you see...?"

Prime Minister Turtle was taken aback.

Then he started taking out his sleeves.

The movements were slow. Because the turtles' arms were short and their sleeves were swollen from being soaked in seawater, it took them a while to pull out a heavy bag of spirit stones, which they then handed over with both hands.

He didn't say anything, but just shoved the bag into my hand and patted the back of my hand. His palm was as rough as a rock, and there were grains of sea salt embedded between his fingers that had been there for who knows how many years.

I turned and rode away on a cloud. When I looked back from a great distance, he was still standing on the reef at the entrance of the Dragon Palace, carrying that big black pot on his back, shrinking into a tiny black dot under the moonlight.

Back at the stall, night had fallen, and the heavens gradually quieted down.

The guards at the South Heavenly Gate had changed shifts, and one of the lights in the duty room went out. The crack in the tarpaulin, which Ao Guanglong's tail had swept out, was still there, and moonlight leaked through the crack, shining directly onto the stove, like a thin layer of salt.

I placed the wooden box on the table, opened it, and took out a tortoise shell.

The shell gleamed with a faint, dark light under the moonlight, and a few grains of fine sand from the East China Sea, which had been picked up during its molting many years ago, were still embedded in its patterns.

I washed it with well water and put it into the black iron pot. I added dry firewood and started a fire to boil it.

Flames licked the bottom of the pot. The turtle shell, heated, slowly exuded a warm, gelatinous substance.

The spiritual energy of the East China Sea and a faint aroma of herbs wafted from the edge of the pot, mingling with the salty, fishy smell carried by the sea breeze from outside, creating an indescribable harmony. It was as if this pot was born to simmer this broth.

I added a few bitter herbs I had gathered from the mortal realm, watching them tumble and unfurl in the gelatinous liquid. The bitterness was washed away by the spiritual energy, becoming clear and refreshing, without any astringency.

Finally, I gently infused a trace of power into the ominous energy that my godmother, Madam Ma, had bestowed upon me.

This force of fate, though harmless, strikes directly at the most hidden shirking of responsibility and hypocrisy in people's hearts. It can penetrate every fiber of the ointment, making those who sit on the public trial tomorrow—whether sitting upright to interrogate or kneeling to be interrogated—unable to hide their desire to shirk responsibility.

The gentle warmth of the East Sea's spiritual energy is the surface. The penetrating clarity of the inauspicious energy is the substance.

When you put the two together to cook, what you get isn't a dish, but a mirror that reveals your true nature.

The fire flickered, and the gelatinous substance in the pot gradually thickened.

I stirred it with a long spoon, and when I lifted the spoon, the paste clung to it without dripping down; it was just the right consistency.

A special kind of "Dragon Palace Blame-Shifting Turtle Jelly," designed to counteract shirking responsibility, is slowly taking shape in this cracked black iron pot.

I watched the paste bubbling in the pot, a faint smile playing on my lips.

The dragon scale communication talisman in his arms was slightly warm from the stove fire, while the jade slip on the other side remained icy cold. One hot, one cold, separated by clothing, like two voices in tomorrow's play.

On stage, Ao Guang sang "Abandon the Tortoise to Protect the Dragon." Nezha waited backstage to expose Baxia's true nature.

The only dish on this stone table will speak for the old tortoise who has been kneeling for seven thousand years, saying something he has never dared to say.

Tomorrow, the four Dragon Kings will gather, the Third Prince will sit high, the Turtle Prime Minister will kneel in the middle, and Baxia will stand beside him.

And watch as they scoop a spoonful of the paste into their mouths.

Can you taste that hint of bitterness?

Whether or not one can swallow that clarity.