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

As soon as the sky began to lighten, I was already standing guard in front of the stall.

The fire in the stove was lukewarm. The turtle jelly, which had been simmering in the pot all night, had finally taken shape. It was dark and smooth, with a faint fragrance of grass jelly and a very subtle, uniquely sweet and slightly fishy taste from the shell of a sea turtle. The first taste was likely to be slightly bitter with a sweet aftertaste, and subtly potent.

I carefully poured the cooked turtle jelly into coarse porcelain bowls and arranged them one by one on the stall.

The bowls were still the same few chipped, rough porcelain bowls, but once the ointment was poured into them, their black sheen reflected the stove fire, giving them a formidable aura.

Not long after, a sound came from the cloud.

The first to arrive was Ao Run, the Dragon King of the West Sea.

His landing posture was extremely elegant, with the clouds hanging low and his steps steady. His silver-white dragon robe was not stained with a speck of morning dew, and he was followed by only two officials carrying scrolls.

He glanced at my drafty awning and the broken tiles used to prop up the table legs, his lips twitched, but he didn't say anything. He chose to sit on the stone bench at the very edge.

Immediately afterward, Ao Qin, the Dragon King of the South Sea, and Ao Shun, the Dragon King of the North Sea, also arrived. One wore a coral crown, and the other had ice crystals clinging to his cuffs, clearly indicating that he had rushed over overnight.

The two exchanged a glance, then looked at where Xihai Ao Run was sitting, and each took their seat, tacitly leaving an empty seat in the middle.

Nezha was the last to arrive.

He didn't bring his fire-tipped spear today; his sash was loosely draped over his shoulder, like a red snake that had just woken up.

Without even greeting anyone after landing, he went straight to the stone bench in the middle, raised his chin, and said, "Everyone's here? Let's begin."

As soon as he finished speaking, Ao Guang descended from the clouds with the Turtle Prime Minister.

Ao Guang changed into a new dragon robe, the wave patterns on the cuffs of which were embroidered even more densely than yesterday, and his expression was more composed than the dragon throne in the Dragon Palace.

The Turtle Prime Minister followed behind him, his steps trembling. With each step he took, the "big black pot" swayed. He didn't dare to lift his head, only glancing out of the corner of his eye at the row of dark turtle jelly on my stall.

The onlookers, including wandering immortals and celestial children, gradually gathered around. Several gatekeepers who had watched Nezha and Ao Guang eat fish yesterday also arrived, standing behind the crowd and tiptoeing to peek inside.

Everyone wanted to see what kind of culinary tricks this strange cook, who set up a stall at the foot of Nantianmen, would pull off today.

Nezha didn't look at the turtle jelly first, he looked at Ao Guang first.

"Old Dragon King, as we agreed yesterday—a public trial for the Turtle Prime Minister, with the entire world in attendance. Shall you speak first, or shall I ask first?"

Ao Guang cleared his throat, as an old clerk would do before reading an official document. He stepped forward, bowed slightly to the Three Dragon Kings of the Seas, and spoke with a heavy heart.

"Dragon Kings, Third Prince, the East Sea ranked last in both rounds of assessments, and there are issues with the balance of clouds and rain, the depletion of spiritual veins, and infighting among the dragon princes. Today, I will make these matters clear in front of the entire world."

He paused, then turned to look at the Turtle Prime Minister, his eyes filled with a pre-rehearsed heartache.

  

"This fiend has served me for seven thousand years, yet he has secretly sown discord among the dragon princes and offered slanderous words that have distorted my decisions. The decline of the Eastern Sea to this point is entirely his fault!"

The Turtle Prime Minister shuddered. The "pot" hit the ground with a dull thud. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ao Guang didn't give him a chance, his tone shifting from sorrow to official business.

"Therefore, I propose that the position of Prime Minister Turtle be removed and handed over to—"

"Wait a minute."

Nezha raised his hand. The Hun Tian Ling (a magical ribbon) slid off his shoulder and spread out in a straight line on the stone table. He took out a jade slip from his sleeve and placed it on the Hun Tian Ling. The jade slip reflected the red ribbon, and the writing on it was clearly legible.

"The original approval document for the alteration of the Yunlu 300 years ago."

Nezha spoke in a flat tone.

"Besides Prime Minister Gui, there are two lines of text at the end: 'Approved by Ao Guang, countersigned by Baxia.'"

The three Dragon Kings simultaneously peered out. Ao Run was the fastest; he glanced at the words on the jade slip, a faint smile appearing on his lips before quickly suppressing it.

Nezha ignored Ao Guang's expression and continued, "The Dragon King just said that the Turtle Prime Minister's slander misled your decision. But the four words 'Ao Guang personally approved' were written by you. The alteration of the Cloud Register and the transfer of the spiritual veins were not because you were deceived by him. You approved them yourself."

"As for Baxia—"

He paused, then looked at the empty seat behind Ao Guang.

"Why is your son, Baxia, absent from today's public trial?"

Ao Guang's face went from composed to deathly pale. That paleness wasn't from being humiliated, but from turning to the wrong page in the ledger.

Just then, I brought out the first bowl of herbal jelly. The bottom of the rough porcelain bowl hit the stone table with a crisp sound.

Nezha picked up the wooden spoon, scooped up a spoonful, and put it in his mouth.

The slightly bitter taste spreads on the tip of the tongue, followed by a faint sweet aftertaste, and a warm, moist sensation slides down the throat.

The cold, penetrating sharpness in his eyes softened by this gentle stream. It wasn't that his edge had disappeared, but rather that his sharpness had gained a touch more patience.

"Ao Guang".

Nezha put down the wooden spoon and pushed the remaining bowl in front of Ao Guang.

"You eat too."

Ao Guang stared at the bowl of dark paste, his Adam's apple bobbing.

The Three Dragon Kings stared at him. The scattered immortals watching stared at him. The Turtle Prime Minister, kneeling on the ground, also raised his head. In his cloudy old eyes was not pleading, but a kind of indescribable waiting.

Ao Guang picked up the spoon and ate it in large bites.

The moment it entered his mouth, his expression changed. Not the kind of change one gets from poisoning, but the kind that makes one feel like they've been turned inside out.

The slightly bitter aftertaste of the turtle jelly felt like a fine comb, gently combing through his internal organs.

Those deliberately hidden thoughts of shirking responsibility, selfishness, and passing the buck were laid bare and exposed to the light of day, leaving them nowhere to hide.

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 and eat them, what you're making isn't a paste, but a mirror that reveals your true nature.

His cheeks were burning. His back was itchy.

The itch wasn't a skin itch, but an itch that seemed to be pushing out from between his bones. It felt like something was pushing out from his spine.

He subconsciously reached out to touch his back, and the moment his fingers touched the fabric of the dragon robe, he froze.

He touched something hard. Something that didn't belong to his body, something that slowly bulged outwards from both sides of his spine, growing heavier and wider.

Among the onlookers, some of the wandering immortals gasped in surprise.

A pot is growing on Ao Guang's back.

It's not a real iron pot.

But everyone saw that the shape, curvature, and color of that thing were exactly the same as the "pot" he had just tried to throw at the Turtle Prime Minister.

Dark and heavy, it spread along his spine to both sides, stretching the dragon robe taut.

The tortoise prime minister, kneeling on the ground, stared wide-eyed. His shell was still on his back, but no one was looking at him now.

Everyone was watching the increasingly clear black pot on Ao Guang's back.

Ao Guang panicked.

He has lived for tens of thousands of years and has never encountered anything like this before.

He reached out to grab the edge of the pot, trying to break it off, but as soon as his fingers touched the edge, a sharp pain exploded from the bottom of his spine.

That pot wasn't growing out of his clothes. It grew from his very bones and blood. The rim of the pot was firmly wedged at the base of the scale on the back of his neck.

Then the pot started to slide down. As if being pressed down by an invisible hand, scraping down the spine inch by inch.

The rim of the pot scraped against the dragon scales, producing a series of piercing metallic scraping sounds. The scales were scraped off one by one, curling, falling off, and clattering to the ground.

Ao Guang was in so much pain that his whole body convulsed, and his dragon robe was soaked with cold sweat.

But he gritted his teeth and didn't utter a single word. It wasn't that he didn't want to shout, but he couldn't bear the humiliation of losing face in front of Sihai.

Finally, the edge of the pot scraped against that scale.

The reverse scale is the hardest part of a dragon's body, and the only one that grows upside down. The rim of the pot got stuck at the base of the reverse scale, pausing for a moment.

In that half-breath, Ao Guang turned around and glanced at the Turtle Prime Minister.

The old tortoise kneeling on the ground was also looking at him. On its aged face, streaked with tears, was not gloating, but something heavier than anger.

The reverse scale has fallen off.

Like a pried-open seashell, it flew out from the back of his neck, tumbled twice in the air, and landed on the stone table, right next to Nezha's half-eaten bowl of turtle jelly.

Ao Guang's body began to shrink. His dragon robe collapsed, like an empty shell with its inner layers removed.

His limbs shortened, his skin became smooth, his beard and hair blended into his flesh, and his spine shortened into a soft ridge.

In less than three breaths, the one sitting on the dragon throne was no longer the majestic Dragon King of the East Sea, but a grayish, palm-sized mudfish wriggling inside the empty dragon robe.

The onlookers, mostly wandering immortals, erupted in a frenzy. Celestial children screamed, and heavenly soldiers pushed forward to get a closer look.

Xi Hai Ao Run leaned back, his expression not one of shock, but rather the kind of expression that comes from having settled scores for hundreds of years and finally seeing this day, yet feeling a little embarrassed to laugh.

Nezha glanced down at the loach. There was no mockery, no pity.

He gently used the end of his magic ribbon to pull the loach out of his dragon robe and onto the empty space on the stone table. His tone was as calm as if he were describing how to cook a dish.

"Ao Guang, the Dragon King of the East Sea, has disrupted the order of the clouds and rain, privately offered up spiritual veins, allowed his sons to fight amongst themselves, and shirked responsibility for the duties of his senior ministers. Today, before the public opinion of the four seas, he bears the blame for his crimes. Now that his scales have fallen, he has lost all his magical powers and must shed his dragon form to cultivate anew."

He turned to the Three Dragon Kings of the Seas.

"What are your thoughts, the three of you?"

Ao Qin spoke first, his voice as deep as a rock on the seabed: "That's only right."

Ao Shun nodded, ice crystals flaked off his sleeve with a soft rustling sound: "No objection from Beihai."

Ao Run paused. He stared at the loach on the table for a couple of moments, as if confirming something, before speaking. His tone was as gentle as if he were reading a report to the Emperor during a formal audience at the Jade Pool.

"The West Sea seconded the motion. The East Sea cannot be without a ruler for even a day. Since His Highness Nezha has proposed this, I already have someone in mind."

His gaze shifted to the kneeling Turtle Prime Minister.

The Turtle Prime Minister had been kneeling for too long, and his knees were numb.

Before he could recover from the shock of Ao Guang turning into a mudfish, he saw four pairs of eyes fall on him at the same time: Nezha's calmness, Ao Qin's scrutiny, Ao Shun's tacit approval, and Ao Run's smile.

He couldn't read anything from Ao Run's smile, but the solid tortoise shell on his back inexplicably felt lighter.

Nezha stood up and put the Hun Tian Ling back on his arm. He said a sentence shorter than anything he had said all day.

"The position of Dragon King of the East Sea will be temporarily held by Prime Minister Turtle, who will oversee the affairs of the East Sea. Baxia is confined to the Dragon Palace and may not leave without the joint decision of the four seas."

The Turtle Prime Minister's lips trembled violently.

When he knelt before Ao Guang yesterday begging for his life, he thought the luckiest thing in his life was not being turned into a dish.

He never imagined that one day he would stand up. He never imagined that after standing up, he would sit on the dragon throne.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say, "This old minister dares not." But those four words circled twice in his throat and finally turned into another sentence.

He was old and trembling, but more composed than any word he had uttered in the Dragon Palace.

"This old minister...accepts the order."

I cleared away the dishes, picked up the fallen scale from the table, and examined it in my palm. The scale still retained Ao Guang's body heat, and there was a neat scratch on its edge.

I tucked the Reverse Scale into my bosom, placing it alongside the Dragon Scale Transmission Talisman and Nezha's jade slip. The three items, separated by my clothing, were different – ​​one hot, one cool, and one neither hot nor cold – like three footnotes to this grudge.

The crowd of immortals gradually dispersed. Some looked back as they left, their gazes no longer filled with disdain and contempt, but with curiosity and apprehension.

No one expected that a disgraced disciple expelled from the master chef's school could stir up the world's order with two unremarkable dishes, turning the Dragon King into a mudfish and making the Prime Minister sit on the dragon throne.

Ao Run was the last to leave.

Before leaving, he glanced at me, then at the half-eaten bowl of herbal jelly left on my stall. He smiled, said nothing, and rode away on a cloud. That smile made me uncomfortable; it wasn't malicious, but the kind of smile that understood something but didn't say anything.

The grayish loach on the table was still wriggling. I found the smallest bowl with the smallest rim, scooped up some water, and put it in.

The loach spun around at the bottom of the bowl and then stopped moving.

I looked down at it and remembered how Ao Guang sat on this stone bench yesterday, framing his personal grudges as a KPI assessment. Suddenly, I felt a little uneasy.

It's not about sympathy, but about feeling that this burden is truly heavy—the burden on his back, the burden in his mouth, the burden in his heart, crushing a man who has been a dragon king his whole life.

But that pot wasn't put on him by someone else. He ate it himself, spoonful by spoonful.

I placed the bowl of loach next to the stove and said something to the bowl.

"It's good to start cultivating again, not to cultivate magic power, but to cultivate conscience."

The loach twitched its tail, but it was unclear whether it understood or not.

The area in front of the stall was finally quiet. The morning mist had dissipated, and sunlight streamed through a crack in the tarpaulin, falling directly onto my stove.

I put the bowls and chopsticks away and picked up the half-bowl of herbal jelly. The jelly had cooled completely, turning a glossy black, like a solidified mirror.

From now on, who will dare to eat my fish for free under the South Heavenly Gate?

I wiped the stove clean, but the fire was still burning. The food stall's menu had added a new item: "Dragon Palace Stir-Fried Turtle Jelly." The dragon scales, jade slip, and reverse scale in my arms still emitted their own warmth through the fabric.

The stove is burning brightly, waiting for the next table of guests.