New Era, New Age.
Qian Yun sat cross-legged on his bed, holding the All-Worlds Communication Talisman in his hand, his full attention fixed on the live projection displayed on the opposite wall.
The “Cosmic Culinary God Competition,” hosted by the Moon Palace, was nearing its conclusion. At this very moment, the final two contestants were vying for the title of Culinary God before the “Lunar Fairy” Ruan Yushu. The winner would not only be granted the divine authority of a corresponding deity but would also receive a bottle of the Moon Palace’s famed “Osmanthus Wine,” capable of extending life by a full ninety thousand years and bestowing the effects of rebirth and transformation.
Within the Moon Palace, the silvery glow of moonlight draped everything like a delicate veil. The “Lunar Fairy” Ruan Yushu, bathed in this radiance, knelt gracefully behind the head table, her posture impeccable, her gaze focused, and her expression solemn.
Though her features seemed slightly blurred, the impact of her beauty remained striking, prompting Qian Yun to silently marvel—truly, she was the undisputed peerless beauty among celestial maidens.
At the center of the hall opposite Ruan Yushu stood a waist-high bronze cauldron, spewing flames of eerie green and dark black, thick with yin energy and a palpable sense of corruption that sent shivers down one’s spine.
Beside the cauldron stood a man clad in black robes, his hair disheveled, his features handsome in a sickly way. This was the first contestant to appear—the “Murderous Stove King” Dong Shuli. Rumored to be the descendant of a fallen former Culinary God, he had inherited his predecessor’s legacy but forged his own path, pushing eccentricity to the extreme. His journey to the finals had been marked by controversy over his cooking style, yet each dish he presented was undeniably more delicious than the last, earning recognition from both allies and rivals alike.
With a slight bow as his greeting, Dong Shuli spoke in a cold, measured tone:
“The way of nature dictates that the more dangerous something is, the more beautiful and dazzling it becomes—food is no exception. Hence the mortal saying, ‘Risk death to eat pufferfish.’ Today, I shall use the ‘Tentacles of the Ghost-Faced Jellyfish,’ ‘Sap of the Seven-Step Red Tree,’ ‘Fangs of the Netherworld Demon Centipede,’ ‘Gallbladder of the Jealous Fire Python,’ and ‘Stomach of the Gold-Eating Raven’—five mutually enhancing, supremely toxic ingredients—as my materials. These will be tempered by the ‘Nine Yin Demon Fire’ and manipulated with the ‘Heaven and Earth Poison King Art,’ then brought to completion at the most yin and sinister hour. The result shall be a dish I call ‘Soup of Nine Deaths Without Regret.’ So toxic it is peerless, yet so delicious it is peerless. For immortals, one bowl would make them forsake their cultivation for a taste. For mortals, one sip would leave them savoring the aftertaste even in the underworld!”
“Of course, as a legendary figure, the Fairy need only enjoy the flavor without concern for the toxicity affecting her.”
As he spoke, the acupoints around Dong Shuli’s body lit up one by one, emitting strange lights that coalesced into a dazzling, multicolored ribbon. A sizzling sound filled the air, as if the void itself were being corroded by poison. From his mustard seed ring, he drew out ingredients that were vibrant and beautiful yet concealed terror and dread, introducing them into the cauldron in precise quantities and according to an arcane rhythm, where they were seared by the “Nine Yin Demon Fire.”
Gradually, the demonic flames weakened, flickering only at the base of the cauldron, shifting under the control of the “Heaven and Earth Poison King Art” as the hour changed.
As the “Soup of Nine Deaths Without Regret” entered its final and most prolonged stage of preparation, Qian Yun and the other spectators watched as a woman of plain appearance stepped into the hall. Clad in deep blue robes, she exuded a subdued aura—this was the day’s other contender for the title of Culinary God, “Little Du” Du Yuanzhi.
The title “Sir” signified mastery, transcending gender, and in the culinary world, Du Yuanzhi was truly worthy of it. Another renowned contestant in the “Cosmic Culinary God Competition” was “Old Du” Du Danggui, which earned her the nickname “Little Du.” Her cooking style was balanced and harmonious, embodying simplicity—the more ordinary the dish, the more unforgettable her interpretation. She was adored by the vast majority of viewers, including Qian Yun.
Du Yuanzhi bowed solemnly, her expression composed as she spoke: “This time, I shall make a bowl of congee.”
A bowl of congee? How could a mere bowl of congee showcase culinary artistry? How could it compare to something as complex, rare, dangerous, and irresistibly alluring as the “Soup of Nine Deaths Without Regret”? Qian Yun clutched his pillow tighter, biting its edge as his heartbeat quickened.
“This bowl of congee will be made with ‘Dragon Tooth Rice,’ guided by thirty-seven years of my own restlessness—sweetness, longing, pain, and solitude. It will be simmered with the ‘Seven Emotions and Six Fires Art,’ infused with Buddhist sutras and other supplementary ingredients.” Du Yuanzhi’s brows and eyes softened, as if lost in memory. “I have named this congee ‘Unattainable.’ To seek yet never obtain—bitter with a tinge of astringency, yet unable to mask the initial sweetness and flutter of the heart. It is the most beautiful, most unforgettable, and most irretrievable past. Drink this bowl, remember its taste, for there will never be a second. All my emotions of this kind have been poured into it, just as that person could only be watched from afar, sought yet never obtained.”
Her words were somewhat disjointed, yet her low, resonant voice seeped into the hearts of listeners, leaving Qian Yun and others inexplicably moved yet strangely serene. Then, they watched as she employed the “Seven Emotions and Six Fires Art” to begin simmering that bowl of “Unattainable” congee.
Time passed, and the “Soup of Nine Deaths Without Regret” was completed first. The cauldron opened, releasing droplets of liquid that resembled an inverted galaxy, landing in a jade bowl to fill it halfway. The translucent liquid shimmered with shifting hues depending on the angle, breathtakingly beautiful—and its aroma was even more astonishing, causing the Moon Palace maidservants nearby to involuntarily swallow, their throats twitching with a hunger they had never before imagined.
Ruan Yushu’s expression was solemn and reverent, as if facing the most sacred thing in all the cosmos. She lifted the small bowl, closed her eyes, and took a delicate sip.
After a moment of quiet savoring, she—uncharacteristically—began drinking it one sip after another, until not a drop of the “Soup of Nine Deaths Without Regret” remained. Her face flushed and paled in turns, but each change quickly reverted.
“Upon drinking, it feels as if the flavors are fireworks bursting in the mouth—stimulating to the extreme, dazzling to the extreme, and delicious to the extreme,” Ruan Yushu summarized succinctly. She then picked up another small bowl, sipping divine nectar to cleanse her palate and prevent it from influencing her next judgment.
Dong Shuli allowed a faint, irrepressible smile to surface before stepping aside to await Du Yuanzhi’s completion of the “Unattainable” congee.
After some time, Du Yuanzhi opened her own cauldron, pouring out a bowl of what appeared to be plain white congee. Yet the Moon Palace maidservants first sniffed, then closed their eyes one after another, their faces blooming with sweet, blissful satisfaction—as if the aroma alone had allowed them to taste the essence of the dish.
The white congee was placed on the table before Ruan Yushu, and the maidservants soon wore expressions of loss, melancholy, longing, pain—and yet yearning. It was as if this were no mere bowl of congee but the “white moonlight” they carried in their hearts, ever sought yet never obtained.
Ruan Yushu closed her eyes once more, lifted the jade bowl, stirred the spoon, and took a small bite.
She seemed to freeze in that moment, lost in thought for what felt like an eternity. The corners of her lips occasionally curled, occasionally trembled, but joy outweighed sorrow.
After an unknowable length of time, her luminous eyes—clear as the moon—opened, and she spoke softly:
“In pure deliciousness, it does not surpass the ‘Soup of Nine Deaths Without Regret.’ Yet for every taster, it resonates deeply—this is the flavor of the heart, the flavor of memory. I shall savor it slowly.”
“The winner of this ‘Cosmic Culinary God Competition’ is Du Yuanzhi.”
Without glancing at the reactions of the two contestants or the discussions unfolding in the All-Worlds Communication Network, Ruan Yushu produced a small vial of mutton-fat jade and floated it toward Du Yuanzhi, offering a faint, elegant smile:
“This is a fine wine brewed from the thousand-year blossoms of the Moon Palace’s osmanthus tree, blended with aged peaches of immortality. It extends life by ninety thousand years, aids in rebirth and transformation, and carries a tranquil elegance.”
Du Yuanzhi, caught between elation and the lingering emotions of earlier, wore a complex smile as she accepted the “Osmanthus Wine.” Unable to resist, she took a sip—not for the promise of longevity or transformation, but simply to experience a flavor she had never before tasted.
Sweet and crisp on the tongue, cool and clear in the heart, Du Yuanzhi suddenly felt as if she were already drunk. The whirlwind of emotions—longing, sweetness, joy, pain, reluctance, loss, and melancholy—settled one by one, leaving only contentment and peace.
Before her blurred vision, the cold moon hung high, its silvery radiance pure and bright—just like the depths of her heart, so serene, so tranquil.
It was not forgetting the past, but freeing herself from its shackles. Her life had its own myriad forms and experiences, all unrelated to him. Her affections, her sweetness, her pain—none of it had anything to do with him.
Gazing at that luminous moon, at that coldly beautiful and noble Lunar Fairy, a line of poetry flowed gently through Du Yuanzhi’s heart:
“The moon that night remains,
Once shining on colorful clouds returning.”
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