Li Dehai almost crawled into the Imperial Garden.
The moment the message reached him—before the guards even finished speaking—his legs had gone weak.
The sky had fallen.
Not metaphorically. Not someday in the future.
It had fallen now.
His breath came in short, panicked bursts as he stumbled over stone tiles slick with spilled wine and fallen petals. The once-fragrant garden now felt like a battlefield after slaughter. No music. No laughter. Only silence thick enough to choke on.
Li Dehai dropped to his knees.
Hard.
His forehead smashed against the cold stone tiles with a dull, cracking sound.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
"This servant, Li Dehai—" his voice shook violently, "—Head of the Imperial Kitchen, greets the Empress Dowager and Consort Liu!"
His voice echoed weakly in the vast space.
No one told him to rise.
Consort Liu stood beneath the lantern light, her crimson robes immaculate, her expression calm—too calm.
"Li Dehai."
Her voice cut through the air like a drawn blade.
"Who was responsible for today's Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix Soup?"
Li Dehai's blood turned to ice.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Then opened again.
"It… it was Chef Zhang, Your Highness," he stammered. "He personally supervised the preparation. Every step was—"
"Chef Zhang?"
Consort Liu laughed.
Not loudly.
Not sharply.
It was a soft, amused sound—like someone admiring an insect already pinned beneath a needle.
"So it was him."
She slowly turned the jade ring on her finger, her gaze distant, thoughtful.
"I have long heard," she continued lightly, "that he has grown lazy in his old age. That he clings to past glory and forgets his place."
Her eyes snapped sharp.
"But I never imagined he would dare to serve filth to the royal table."
The word rang through the garden.
Filth.
Her lips curved.
"Such a crime," she said gently, "deserves death."
Li Dehai's body went limp.
"No—Your Highness—Chef Zhang would never—"
She did not let him finish.
"Guards."
Her voice hardened instantly.
"Go to the Imperial Kitchen."
"Arrest Chef Zhang."
"Throw him into the Internal Affairs Prison and interrogate him thoroughly."
She paused.
"Every single person involved in today's banquet is to be investigated."
Her gaze swept the garden like frost.
"I want to know—"
"Who gave them the courage to disgrace me."
"Yes!"
The captain of the guards answered sharply, fists clenched, and turned on his heel.
Steel boots thundered away.
The banquet ended in chaos.
The Empress Dowager rose without a word, her expression unreadable, and left beneath layers of attendants.
The concubines scattered like startled birds—some pale with fear, others hiding thin smiles behind lowered lashes.
A storm had been unleashed.
And it would not stop at one man.
The news reached the Imperial Kitchen before the guards did.
"It's over…" a young eunuch whispered, his knife clattering to the floor.
"We're finished…"
Someone collapsed to their knees, sobbing.
Fear spread like wildfire.
Hands froze above chopping boards. Firewood crackled unattended, flames licking too high. Pots boiled dry.
Everyone knew.
Everyone understood.
Chef Zhang was finished.
Qing Tian felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest and plunged into ice.
Her ears rang.
Her fingers trembled.
She turned instinctively toward Chef Zhang.
Chef Zhang stood by the washing basin, calmly drying his hands with a clean cloth.
The water dripped slowly from his fingers.
One drop.
Then another.
His movements were unhurried. Precise.
There was no panic in his posture.
No fear.
Only stillness.
Only resolve.
BANG!
The kitchen doors were thrown open.
Guards poured in like a black tide, armor clanking, blades flashing under torchlight.
"Chef Zhang," the captain said coldly. "By order of Consort Liu, you are under arrest."
Two soldiers stepped forward and seized him by the arms.
No one dared to breathe.
Chef Zhang did not resist.
He set down the cloth carefully.
Straightened his old—but spotless—chef's robe.
Then he lifted his head.
His gaze swept slowly across the room.
Across the cooks who had once laughed with him.
Across the helpers who had learned their first cuts under his watch.
Across faces twisted with terror, guilt, helplessness.
Until his eyes met Qing Tian's.
Just for a heartbeat.
In that single glance, she saw everything.
Acceptance.Regret.An unspoken farewell.
And beneath it all—
A burning, unbreakable will.
A message without words:
Stay alive.Endure.
His fingers tightened slightly.
The faintest shake of his head.
Do not act.Do not speak.
Then he turned away.
He walked with the guards, his back straight, his steps steady.
He did not look like a man being dragged to prison.
He looked like a warrior walking into battle.
Sunlight streamed through the open doorway, stretching his shadow long across the stone floor—
A dark, unyielding brand burned into Qing Tian's eyes.
Her master was gone.
And the sky above the Imperial Kitchen had truly collapsed.