Chapter 679: Banquet (5000 words, one chapter owed)

Since leaving Huanggang Village, Yang Jian had been troubled.

It wasn’t because he carried two ghosts that might revive, nor because his mother had called a few days ago saying she’d dreamed of his father.

On the contrary, once his personal safety was secured, his temper had improved considerably.

For instance, Wu Yue from the company—Yang Jian, in a good mood, hadn’t killed him, nor had he clashed with Wang Xiaoming over the file deletion issue; he’d simply completed the transaction with a straightforward exchange of money for goods.

The two collaborated smoothly, and Wang Xiaoming didn’t even know Yang Jian planned to secretly kill his younger brother, Wang Xiaoqiang.

What would be a good gift for Meng Tianzun’s wedding?

Fang Zheng said to send local specialties, but I can’t exactly send a ghost over.

Yang Jian was seriously pondering while eating ice cream when suddenly he heard a clamor and cries of anguish; he looked up at the emergency exit sign, which read “15th Floor.”

Almost missed it.

He pulled his foot off the stairs and turned into the 15th floor of the office building; the entire level was dark as if power had been cut, shrouded in a murky, bluish-black haze like a fire had broken out—but there was no acrid, choking smoke.

The environment was being influenced, but it wasn’t yet a ghost domain—only a prototype.

Crackling.

The windows shattered into fragments.

Don’t move if you don’t want to die—stand right there.

Yang Jian’s voice rang out loudly, yet the chaos continued; he took another bite of his ice cream and didn’t repeat himself.

There were traces of blood on the floor; through the haze, he could barely make out a group of employees huddled near the glass curtain wall of the open floor, some retreating further, hesitating whether to jump.

Except for one.

A young man, enveloped in thicker gloom, stood numbly before the office workers; when he sensed Yang Jian’s approach, he turned his head, revealing two pitch-black, hollow eyes.

His skin was bluish-black, radiating an inexplicable dread and chill, staring fixedly at Yang Jian.

It was the ghost infant that had emerged from Zhou Zheng’s belly, still incomplete.

I searched for you all night and couldn’t find you—ended up having to stake out this area.

Under incomplete information and without confidence, he wouldn’t meddle by hunting ghosts.

But having foreseen the future and analyzed the event from a third-person perspective, Yang Jian understood that today was the optimal moment to seal the source ghost infant—once missed, letting it grow would only bring him trouble.

What are you staring at?

Yang Jian chewed and swallowed the ice cream cone; the golden seal on his forehead cracked open, revealing a crimson ghost eye, and the shadow beneath his feet instantly swelled, opening several more ghost eyes.

In an instant, red light flooded the entire floor.

The gloom dispersed; Yang Jian drew a three-pronged, double-edged blade and a golden coffin, facing the ghost infant: Try staring again?

A flash of red light—the ghost infant was pinned to the wall, dissolving into black mist under the ghost shadow’s invasion.

Having done this, Yang Jian confirmed the source ghost had no other derivative ghost infants in the city; a path of red light stretched straight through the streets to the sealed Seventh Middle School.

Moments later.

Yang Jian dragged a golden coffin weighing several tons out.

He thought for a moment, pulled out a neatly folded dark-brown human skin parchment, on which black, twisted characters floated:

My name is Yang Jian.

What exactly is going on with you?

Should I send this as a gift? After all, the skin parchment was of little use to him now.

Same material—human skin, same school—look at Fang Zheng’s Skin Scripture, which could autonomously hunt ghosts and monsters, then upgrade its techniques and turn falsehood into truth.

Maybe ask the boss to enhance it?

The characters on the parchment blurred, then twisted into chaotic symbols; after a moment, they fell silent, then a new string of text appeared at lightning speed:

My name is Yang Jian. When you read this, I am still alive. I learned the future through strange means, but I cannot reach certain places yet—I still need the skin parchment’s help.

The condition is that I must fully trust the skin parchment, avoid modifying it arbitrarily, and refrain from unnecessary actions.

Quite clever, Yang Jian shook the parchment: You know what I want right now.

Immediately, the characters vanished and reappeared:

My name is Yang Jian. I plan to go to the Ghost Post Office, located at... Though the Ghost Dream and Ghost Post Office are not things I should yet touch, with the skin parchment’s aid, I’m confident I can obtain what I want—like that dog.

Of course, Yang Jian didn’t fully trust the parchment’s information.

To rapidly strengthen himself, he needed to collect ghost puzzles to master powerful rules in a short time.

Besides, the Heavenly Court doesn’t assign dogs—he’d have to bring his own into the roster.

He didn’t want to swallow the whole elephant at once—just enough to survive in other worlds and accumulate resources, creating a virtuous cycle of ghost control and cultivation.

To do this, he needed a way to handle the dangers of the Ghost Post Office.

The ghost that cultivates ghost children is already in hand; the rest—

Yang Jian? Why are you—

You?!

The newcomer was Zhao Kaiming, head of the International Police in Dachang City; seeing Yang Jian emerge from the security booth with a golden coffin behind him, his expression darkened.

I’m a citizen of Dachang City—I have the duty to handle these threats. No need to thank me; just send me a banner in a couple days.

Yang Jian played the role of a concerned citizen.

He knew Zhao Kaiming carried the Wish Ghost, but its mechanism was too powerful—if possible, Yang Jian didn’t want to clash with Zhao Kaiming now.

With the Hungry Ghost incident resolved early, Zhao Kaiming couldn’t stir up trouble anytime soon.

Goodbye, Officer Zhao. Yang Jian waved his hand—the golden coffin vanished instantly.

Seeing this, Zhao Kaiming’s eyes darkened with fury and madness: I’m the head of Dachang City—you must hand over the sealed ghosts to me for safekeeping.

He had no time to wonder how Yang Jian had done this or where he’d gotten so much gold; he had only one thought.

Must keep the source ghost!

Zhao Kaiming reached to block Yang Jian—but his chest was suddenly struck, and he flew backward.

Excellent! You dare attack International Police! Zhao Kaiming stared at the hole in his chest, not angry but delighted, shouting:

Wang Yue, Wang Xiaoqiang—you can come now! Help me apprehend this dangerous element!

Oh? You’re all hanging out together—are you plotting against me? Yang Jian glanced at the eight men stepping out of luxury cars beyond the road blockade, unfazed.

Yang Jian openly resisted law enforcement, attempted to remove a monitored ghost, and attacked me—you all saw it. Zhao Kaiming’s wound was healing.

He had fused with the Wish Ghost—he was now immune to death by external means.

We saw it, Wang Xiaoqiang said with mockery. I’ll assist you in the case.

Wang Yue warned cautiously: This has nothing to do with me.

I’ll give you a reason—you killed Yan Li’s family. I’m killing you to avenge them.

Yang Jian scanned the group: More people means more power?

He drew three paper dolls, ignited them; flames erupted, and three phantom figures stepped out.

Hurry up—I still have to find my dog.

Yang Jian looked at the stunned men, then pulled out several more golden coffins: Let me introduce you—this is my big cousin Yang Jian, second cousin Yang Erlang, third cousin Yang Yan.

Banquets are an indispensable signature experience in the Fantasy Realm.

It was early winter morning; the Culinary Immortal, Emiya Master, immersed himself in focused busyness, crafting festive flavors using mountains, rivers, sun, moon, heaven, and earth.

Um... could you please not explain while you’re cooking?

Emiya Shirou paused kneading dough, staring blankly to the side: I thought these TV shows were dubbed later.

Su Lin pressed pause on the recording: I’m afraid I’ll forget after filming—don’t you know how many fans the show “Taste of Dongmu” has?

Isn’t it just Emiya family’s home cooking? Emiya Shirou muttered.

He’d been puzzled why his cooking tutorial videos kept appearing on the Universal Knowledge Tablet—and as paid courses.

He sighed, set the dough aside to ferment, then used Shi Hao’s medicinal cauldron to pour in fresh cream made from the milk of a savage beast, added a shard of profound Ziguang, sealed the cauldron with protective measures.

Finally, he shattered and evenly blended it with the Breaker Sword capable of tearing apart the universe, whipping it to a yogurt-like consistency.

What are you doing with my Breaker Sword?!

That’s part of the universe—without using a Noble Phantasm, I can’t mix it with the ingredients.

Emiya Shirou strained to control the whipping frequency of the sword capable of shattering spacetime, struggling to reply: Besides, this isn’t yours—it’s my projection.

You’ve been scheming for so long, and you’re struggling to make this dish—has your power not even recovered to one ten-thousandth of your former strength?! Gilgamesh crossed his arms, disappointed:

I wanted to see you unleash the sword technique that can suppress the time rivers of all worlds at full power.

I still want to see you unleash a sword technique capable of suppressing the entire timeline of all realms at your full power.

Illya covered her mouth with both hands, her body trembling slightly as she fought back laughter.

Emiya Shirou’s face flushed crimson; he turned and shouted: Please stop saying things like that—it’s so embarrassing! Just sit over there and wait for dinner!

Emiya Shirou’s face turned instantly red; he turned away and shouted, “Please stop saying stuff like that! It’s so embarrassing! Just go sit over there and wait for dinner!”

But soon, without external interference, the ingredients underwent astonishing transformations in Emiya Shirou’s hands—phenomena like oceans, skies, dragons, and phoenixes appeared as his utensils touched the food.

When the cake base baked, it felt as if he were standing in a wheat field; when meat fat reacted with flame, it resembled a volcano erupting; even when slicing raw fish, schools of fish swirled in vortices.

Even before the food was fully cooked, merely smelling it and watching the process brought a sense of fulfillment.

And when layers of cream were spread atop the cake, stars shimmered, colors intertwined, frosty mist drifted, and finally, real structures emerged from the mirror’s surface—forming pillars of interstellar gas and dust.

They were the cradles of star formation, a magnificent spectacle of the universe.

The Creation Pillar Cake is complete. Emiya Shirou’s hands dimmed; the Food System notified him that this transcendent dish would yield no rewards.

Outside the shrine’s torii gate, Lu Mingfei, having returned, was taking excited photos with Hui Liyi, dressed in a shrine maiden’s outfit.

Outside the shrine’s torii, Lu Mingfei, having returned, was excitedly taking photos with Himegari, who wore a shrine maiden’s attire.

Reimu's hands suddenly dropped to her sides. She paid no attention to the broomstick lying on the ground, nor to the fact that Gensokyo now had another "miko"—her gaze drifted outward, fixed on the "food" as if lost in another realm.

Somehow, the snow on the cliffside Hakurei Shrine had melted, and the cherry trees had sprouted new buds, though winter had barely begun.

"Incredible," Iwamori murmured, gazing up at the ever-expanding, rising "cake." He gently scooped a bit with his finger and placed it in his mouth; his eyes sparkled.

After fumbling in his sleeve for a moment, he ran to Emiya Shirou and placed a ball of white light before him:

I created this multiverse recently. Since Su Dao doesn't need it, I used it for cooking.

Emiya Shirou opened his mouth, staring blankly at Iwamori, who looked at him with eager anticipation.

"Lord Iwamori, I cannot achieve a dish of this caliber."

"What a pity."

The anticipation in Iwamori’s eyes faded.

I simply don’t understand this man—take responsibility for the world you created!

There’s no place to cut this thing; even the Breaker Blade couldn’t shred it.

"In cultivation terms, eating this would cause your body to explode," Song Shu muttered from the side: "I still remember that multiverse was once stuffed inside Su Lin’s body."

The moment he finished speaking,

"Can’t you phrase it differently?" Su Lin’s eyelid twitched as he glanced at Song Shu: "Where did that squirrel on your shoulder come from?"

"I found it at the Hakurei Shrine—it’s fate. I plan to take it back as a spiritual pet and let this little one inherit one of my Dao titles," Song Shu chuckled, patting the squirrel’s head.

"Look, Senior Su Lin, it’s not afraid of people at all—doesn’t it seem especially spirited?"

"It just looks dumb," Su Lin poked the squirrel’s head with his index finger: "Call it Sandy. That’s a smart name—maybe it’ll become a scientist in the Empire someday."

"Hi there~ Sandy, wanna go catch jellyfish and blow Yogurt bubbles?"

This isn’t Bikini Bottom, Senior Su Lin—and this squirrel is male.

Wait, why Yogurt bubbles?

"That ties into how Patrick Star eats."

"Telepathy?"

"I don’t want to hear the next line—you’ve got a bit of Hercules in your mind."

"."

If it weren’t for the exorbitant cost of repairing the broken resurrection artifact and the large debt he owed Senior Bai in Spirit Stones, Song Shu would’ve immediately ordered a potion.

"I’m giving you this witch’s potion."

Because of the cooking,

the brief spring had slightly warmed the climate, but Song Shu still stood bewildered in the wind.

The banquet preparations were nearly complete—only a single cauldron remained on the ground, filled with clear water and a special hotpot base crafted by Yao Lao, with Xiao Yan stoking the fire beneath it.

Raw meat, vegetables, spirit fruits—all arranged. The onlookers nearby had already swallowed hard countless times.

"Something’s still missing," Ye Fan murmured, deep in thought.

"You’re right—I hadn’t noticed until you said it," Xiao Yan frowned, chin in hand: "Is it crucial?"

"Crucial."

The group suddenly understood and turned their gazes toward Su Lin.

"I’ve quit drinking."

"Then why not quit lust?"

"Stop pretending—get the wine out!"

Su Lin sighed helplessly.

These alcohol fiends should get checked for alcoholism. At my age, drinking is purely a loss—wastes money, harms the body. Tea’s better.

"What nonsense?!" Gilgamesh slammed his fist on the table: "Such a feast demands wine worthy of it!"

The King’s Treasury opened its gates; from golden ripples, flasks of divine wine from the Silver Heaven of the Ages landed on the table—alongside legendary alcoholic treasures from across cosmic history.

"Truly worthy of the Hero-King!"

"So generous!"

"I’ve changed my mind about you! Come, let’s drink!"

Clearly, the Hero-King loved this—especially when the "World-Eater" praised him sincerely—so even wines brewed by gods of wine from various mythologies appeared.

"Lord Iwamori, please lend your attention later. They have restraint, but once drunk, they may overstep."

"Naturally," Iwamori smiled and nodded.

Not long after the food and drink arrived, a few more people came to the Hakurei Shrine: the Su Lin Medical Team invited from Eientei, along with Jizo-ya’s Shirozawa Keiin and Fujiwara no Mokou—but also an uninvited oni girl.

"I thought I’d only come when spring arrived—why didn’t you invite me to your party?" Suika looked around: "Wait—what’s with all this wine?!"

"Hakurei’s people are using the shrine for a wedding," Reimu had no interest in explaining; she was lost in a hallucination of clothes bursting and sea bream falling from the sky.

"Since you’re here, join us," Kaguya smiled warmly.

The open-air kitchen bustled; ingredients were plentiful—just one more set of chopsticks and bowls for each new guest. The familiar oni quickly blended into the banquet’s atmosphere.

But Emiya Shirou felt he must be overworked—his portioning system kept

miscounting, mysteriously missing one or two servings.

[Irina: "No time! Annoying! It’s all your fault!"]

"My fault?" Su Lin glanced at Irina’s reply, closed the chat group, and turned to Keiin approaching beside him—she held a stack of books.

"Thank you for your invitation. These are historical records concerning mythic eras and legends," Keiin handed the books to Meng Qi.

Opening them, the ink was still fresh—written by hand in the past two days.

"I’ll deliver more in a few days."

"Thank you."

Meng Qi didn’t offer empty formalities—he needed these now.

"Legends?" Kaguya placed a turkey leg on Mokou’s plate and leaned over curiously: "Why are you collecting these?"

"He’s gained another asset," Su Lin flipped a page, reading the entry on [Tianxiangxiang, the Male Deity / Tianjinwuxing / Lucifer]:

"Classified by authority and origin."

"That’s true—but you could’ve asked me too," Kaguya mused, pointing at Eirin with a hint of pride: "Eirin appears in mythic tales too—as Shinigami, the deity of wisdom and medicine."

"And you? The girl from the bamboo?"

"That’s merely the Japanese version of the truth," Kaguya gazed up at the sky, thinking a moment: "Before that, I was born on the Moon—but because of the Sun. Calling me a Moon deity isn’t quite right... Let me think—how would you describe it in Eastern mythology?"

“That’s just the true story on this side of Japan,” Kaguya said, looking up at the sky and pondering for a moment.

“Before this, I was born on the Moon because of the Sun—it’s not quite right to call me a Moon Goddess. Let me think… in your Eastern mythology, perhaps I’d be described as”

Su Lin: "?"

Meng Qi: "?"

Su Lin: "?"