On the day of the palace banquet,the sky had not yet brightened.
Yet the Imperial Kitchen was already blazing with light.
Lanterns lined the long corridors. Flames leapt beneath the stoves. Copper pots clanged against iron ladles, sharp and urgent. Steam rolled upward in waves, carrying the scent of oil, bone broth, and rice.
Layer upon layer of heat and fragrance filled the air.
Familiar.
Yet tense.
This was the smell every cook in the Imperial Kitchen recognized—
the smell before a battle.
Today was not an ordinary day of cooking.
Today was an arena.
The officials from the Shangshi Bureau had arrived early.
The Shen family's representative—an elegant woman of noble bearing—stood quietly in a corner of the kitchen.
Her clothes were impeccable.Her expression calm.
She said nothing.
Yet the air seemed to grow heavier simply because she was there.
It was not supervision.
It was the quiet before judgment.
Every pair of eyes waited.
Waiting for the moment something would collapse.
"Director Qing."
She finally spoke.
Her voice was smooth, but the scrutiny in it was unmistakable.
"Today's main course… will be under your command."
Everyone in the kitchen stiffened.
A faint smile curved at the corner of her lips.
"Don't say the Shangshi Bureau didn't give you a chance."
The meaning was obvious.
Lose today—
and Qing Tian would fall from her position.
Win—
and they would bring out an even sharper knife next time.
All eyes turned toward Qing Tian.
She simply replied softly,
"Alright."
As if today were nothing more than an ordinary workday.
She rolled up her sleeves.
Washed her hands.
Lit the stove.
Every movement was clean and decisive.
Yet somehow it made everyone uneasy.
The First Dish
The bronze serving tag dropped.
The first dish Qing Tian prepared was not exotic game.Not rare seafood.
It was—
Clear Broth Noodles.
The kitchen froze for a heartbeat.
Then whispers erupted.
"Clear noodles… at a palace banquet?!"
"She's serving this?"
"Has she lost her mind?!"
Several veteran chefs from the Shangshi Bureau could hardly believe their eyes.
Simplicity was the greatest taboo at a palace banquet.
It was both common sense—
and rule.
The Shen representative let out a soft, cold laugh.
"She's digging her own grave."
But Qing Tian remained calm.
The wheat she used had been stored for three years.
Old grain.
Yet she ground it three times, sifting it until the flour was almost powder-fine.
The noodles slid into the pot.
Her control of the fire was astonishing.
No chaotic boiling.
Only a gentle, steady simmer.
The broth had been prepared the night before—
a slow chicken bone stock.
Clear as glass.
Not a single oil drop floated on the surface.
Yet the aroma was profound.
Not loud.
But deep.
The kind that slowly filled the lungs.
Qing Tian lifted her eyes.
"This dish," she said quietly,
"is called Relief Noodles."
Everyone froze.
"Relief?"
She explained calmly,
"Banquets are rich, noisy, competitive."
"The first bite should awaken the palate."
The Second Dish
Cold Braised Tofu.
A cold dish at a palace banquet?
That was almost unthinkable.
One elderly chef from the Shangshi Bureau laughed out loud.
"She truly doesn't understand the rules."
"Cold dishes harm the stomach—banned at banquets."
But when the first bite was tasted—
the laughter stopped.
The tofu was cold.
Yet not chilling.
It melted softly on the tongue.
At first, the flavor seemed extremely mild.
Then suddenly—
a delicate sweetness returned from the throat.
Not sugar-sweet.
A natural sweetness, lingering.
When swallowed, it felt as if the stomach itself had been gently supported.
The agitation in the body faded.
The tension eased.
"This…"
one chef murmured.
"It cuts the grease… calms the nerves…"
Another whispered in disbelief,
"I suddenly… don't feel irritated anymore."
Across the room, the Shen representative's fingers tightened.
Her gaze sharpened.
The Third Dish
Before serving it, Qing Tian paused.
She looked at the serving eunuch.
"This dish… deliver it to the Emperor."
The entire room froze.
"Are you certain?"
the eunuch asked cautiously.
"This is a palace banquet."
Qing Tian nodded.
"It was prepared for His Majesty."
The lid lifted.
Steam rose slowly.
Inside the bowl—
Warm Heart Soup.
The same soup shared nightly by the lowest palace workers.
The Shangshi Bureau chefs went pale.
What was she doing?
She was bringing something from the lowest level of the palace—
straight to the highest throne.
Yangxin Hall
The Emperor received the bowl.
Silence filled the hall.
He drank the first sip.
Paused.
Then the second.
Then the third.
He said nothing.
His face revealed nothing.
Yet he finished the entire bowl.
Slowly, he placed it down.
His voice was calm.
"Who prepared this soup?"
Gao Dequan bowed.
"Your Majesty."
"It was Director Qing Tian."
The Emperor fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke lightly.
"Send word."
"From today forward, this soup will be shared by all palace servants."
The air in the hall shook.
This wasn't a reward.
It was a verdict.
Imperial Kitchen
When the news returned—
the Shangshi Bureau instantly lost its footing.
The banquet had not even ended,
yet everyone already understood.
The Emperor had chosen a side.
In the corridor shadows,
the Shen representative stood silently.
For the first time, her face darkened.
"She isn't cooking," she murmured.
Her voice was cold.
"She's pulling the Emperor… to stand with the lowest people."
Night fell.
The kitchen fires gradually died down.
Qing Tian stood in the distance.
The fading flames illuminated her silhouette.
Quiet.
Yet unshakable.
She knew that after tonight,
everyone in the palace would be forced to consider one question:
Did they still want to fight her over this grain?
Because from now on—
this was no longer just about the Imperial Kitchen.
It was about where people's hearts belonged.