In the beginning there was a banquet, and the whole world was a cook. The way of heaven holds the cauldron, refining the stars and the moon as fuel; the void becomes a cauldron, cooking chaos as food. The reincarnation of the four seasons is the order of food; the birth and death of all things is the tide of offerings. Its rules are dense and dense, which is called "Yangshan"; its rules are brilliant, which is called "Dezhao".
Above the sky, there are various pavilions and vast mansions. The clouds and clouds weave the brocade curtain to hide the smell of the jade case; the thunder and drums play in the sky, and the knots and teeth are chewing. There are immortals sitting in a row, with majestic Dharma images: some holding cups to connect to the Milky Way, drinking all the luck of the lower world for a hundred years; The burning peach contains the elixir of regenerating the soul; the imperial wine gurgling contains the ointment of weeping blood. The fine wine and jade dew are all condensed by the blood of common people; the phoenix marrow and dragon liver are nothing but the withered foundation of heroes.
Looking down at the world of mortals, you can see a garden for nourishing food. Practitioners are busy gathering souls to make grains, but little do they know that when the grains of soul are ripe, it is the time to cut them; warriors are outstanding, forging their bodies to make materials, and knowing that the treasured body is ready to be used in the kitchen. The turmoil in the rivers and lakes is the beginning of the boiling soup in the cauldron; the planning in the temple is all about seasoning before meals. The flowers of spring and autumn will wither according to the weather, offering their essence; the tsunami and landslides will collapse in response to the calamity, offering their essence. Even monsters, monsters, plants, insects, and sand all follow their own paths and come into being, and when they die, they turn into a wisp of fragrance on the banquet and a half-filled smile in the cup.
Observe the strange phenomena of heaven and earth again: I often hear the chirping of thousands of ghosts on the first night of the lunar month, which is not the sound of the netherworld, but the resentment of uncooked souls; the occasional rain of blood in the clear sky is not the fault of the rain master, but the splash of soup overflowing the cauldron. The tides of the East China Sea slow and rise with the rise and fall of the banquet; the west mountains are dim and twilight because the deity is satiated. The avenue is like a string, the player caressing the rhythm; the universe is like a mill, the reincarnation is crushing the residue.
Give it to me first. It looks good.