Plans, however carefully laid, rarely survive reality.
By early evening the Imperial Kitchen was in chaos. Dinner preparations for the various palaces were underway, and nearly everyone was running on instinct and muscle memory alone.
Then a sudden order came down from above.
The Emperor would be holding a late-night council in the Imperial Study. A light supper was to be prepared and delivered at the beginning of the hai hour.
Under normal circumstances, this task fell to Fuhai—the senior eunuch in charge of imperial service. A seasoned veteran, Fuhai had already arranged everything: a delicate chicken-and-bamboo-fungus soup, a plate of crystal shrimp dumplings, and several seasonal side dishes. All that remained was to pack them and deliver them at the appointed time.
But fate intervened.
At three-quarters past the xu hour, Fuhai suddenly turned deathly pale. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he clutched his abdomen and collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself, unable to speak from the pain.
"This is bad—quick! Help him to the back!" Deputy Chef Wang shouted, panic rising in his voice. "Someone go inform Chief Steward Li!"
The Imperial Study could not be kept waiting. But Fuhai was clearly in no condition to go. Replacing him at the last minute was no simple matter—serving before the Emperor required flawless etiquette, steady hands, and a face that would not invite trouble.
Chief Steward Li arrived moments later, his expression dark as storm clouds. His gaze swept across the kitchen, stopping abruptly on Qing Tian, who was helping clean steaming baskets nearby.
He frowned—but there was no one else.
"You. C17 Step forward!"
Qing Tian froze, then quickly wiped her hands and hurried over.
"Fuhai can't go," Chief Steward Li said briskly. "You'll assist Deputy Chef Wang. Pack the night meal for the Imperial Study—check everything twice. Not a single item out of place. Then you'll follow Eunuch Chunxi to deliver it. Keep your head down. Do not look around. Set down the food and withdraw immediately. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Qing Tian replied at once, her heart tightening. She knew how serious this was. One mistake could ruin her.
She followed Deputy Chef Wang into the quiet room reserved exclusively for imperial meals. The dishes Fuhai had prepared were already laid out—immaculate in color, fragrance, and presentation—resting on fine porcelain. Nearby stood the vermilion-and-gold lacquered food box used only for serving before the Emperor, divided neatly into three tiers.
Under Deputy Chef Wang's instructions, Qing Tian carefully placed the soup tureen and dishes into their designated compartments. Her movements were light and precise, her focus absolute.
Just then, Eunuch Chunxi's sharp voice came from outside.
"Hurry up! The hour is nearly upon us!"
Deputy Chef Wang grew anxious. His eyes darted to a side table, where a plain white porcelain plate sat beneath a thin gauze cover. Through it, several modest-looking pastries could be faintly seen.
Assuming it was the final dish Fuhai had prepared—he sometimes added an extra specialty of his own—Deputy Chef Wang lifted the cover without a second glance.
"This too. Pack it," he said to Qing Tian. "Top tier, to the side."
Qing Tian didn't question it. She took the plate—and only then did a strange sense of familiarity stir. The plain white porcelain looked almost identical to the dishes she used for her own experiments.
Still, there was no time to hesitate.
She placed the plate carefully into the top tier, beside the crystal-clear shrimp dumplings.
The box was closed. The clasps snapped shut.
Eunuch Chunxi was already waiting at the door with a lantern. Deputy Chef Wang handed the food box to Qing Tian, repeating the rules one last time.
Qing Tian inhaled slowly, steadied her grip on the heavy box, and followed Chunxi into the long, shadowed corridor lit by palace lamps.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Not because she was heading toward the Emperor—
—but because only now did a horrifying realization strike her.
The plain pastries she had packed...
They didn't look like anything the Imperial Kitchen usually prepared.
Could they be—
Her own experimental cakes?
She wanted to stop. To turn back. To ask.
But Eunuch Chunxi never slowed, and the guards lining the corridor stood like statues, their gazes sharp and unyielding.
Qing Tian swallowed her fear, forced the doubt down into her chest, and fixed her eyes on the ground.
Step by step, she walked forward—
toward the Imperial Study,
toward the heart of supreme power,
and toward a fate she had never intended to touch.