The uproar surrounding the elevation of Shan Meiren had yet to fade.
The servants of Tingyu Pavilion were still cautiously learning their new mistress's temperament—when Qing Tian quietly removed the silk robes that symbolized her status as a consort.
She retrieved a set of coarse cloth garments.
They were old, but freshly washed and neatly pressed.
The clothes she had once worn in the Imperial Kitchen.
Spring Peach gasped softly when she saw them."M-Meiren… what are you doing?"
Qing Tian stood before the bronze mirror, tucking the last loose strands of hair into a simple bun and fastening it with a plain silver hairpin.
The reflection showed a pale face, faint shadows beneath her eyes from days of tension—but her gaze was calm. Steady. Unyielding.
"I'm going to the Imperial Kitchen," she said.
Summer He couldn't help blurting out, anxiety written all over her face."But Meiren, your status is different now. The Imperial Kitchen is no place for—"
"Exactly because my status is different," Qing Tian replied gently, turning to them with a small smile, "I must go."
"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
She paused, then added, "Spring Peach, come with me. Summer He, stay and watch the pavilion."
Moments later, Qing Tian stepped once more through the gates of the Imperial Kitchen.
It was early—prime time for preparing the morning meals. Steam billowed through the courtyard. Voices called out. Knives chopped. Woks clanged.
And then—
The moment her figure appeared at the entrance, it was as if an invisible hand seized the entire courtyard by the throat.
Chopping slowed. Stirring paused. Even the flames in the stoves seemed to hesitate.
Dozens of gazes snapped toward her—shock, confusion, fear, disbelief intertwining as they focused on Qing Tian and the nervous Spring Peach behind her.
Qing Tian walked forward as if she felt nothing.
Her steps were steady. Her expression calm.
Director Li was speaking to a master chef by the stove. When he turned and saw her, surprise flashed briefly in his eyes before composure returned. He stepped forward and bowed.
"This humble servant greets Shan Meiren."
The spell broke.
Nearby workers hurriedly set down their tools and knelt."Greetings to Shan Meiren!"
The voices were uneven, strained with tension.
From the storeroom, Wang Youcai and Matron Liu rushed over, smiles stiff and unnatural, bowing deeply.
"Greetings, Meiren."
Qing Tian raised a hand slightly."Rise. No need for such formality."
Her gaze lingered briefly on Director Li, Wang Youcai, and Matron Liu.
"I did not come today as a consort conducting an inspection," she said evenly. "I came as someone who once worked here—with His Majesty's special permission—to discuss a few matters."
The courtyard fell silent again.
"To see if we can improve how the Imperial Kitchen operates," she continued. "So the masters are satisfied—and so we ourselves may breathe a little easier."
The words stirred unease.
Discuss?Improve?Breathe easier?
Director Li's mind raced. He had a feeling—this visit was anything but trivial.
"Please speak freely, Meiren," he said.
Qing Tian nodded.
"First," she said, "regarding the dietary needs of the palace masters."
"Many returned dishes and complaints are not due to poor cooking, but unclear instructions. Preferences are miscommunicated. Requirements are distorted. In the end, the kitchen bears the blame."
She met their eyes calmly.
"I propose that each palace submit written records of their masters' dietary restrictions and preferences—taboos, nourishment needs, favored flavors—clearly and simply. These will be filed in the Imperial Kitchen."
"So every chef knows exactly what to prepare. No guessing. No shifting blame."
Director Li's eyes lit up instantly.
This… was brilliant.
Written records meant proof. Clarity. Protection.
Efficiency increased. Risk reduced.
Wang Youcai's heart sank.
Written records? Filed requirements?
Then how would he inflate procurement prices? Manipulate loss reports?
This woman was cutting off his income at the root.
Matron Liu frowned as well. With everything written down, how would she exploit "conveying the masters' intentions" to extort favors?
Qing Tian continued, unfazed.
"Second—regarding our own people."
Her gaze swept over the fire-tenders and helpers, thinly clothed, exhaustion etched into their faces.
"There are nearly two hundred of us here. We rise before dawn and work until deep night. Heavy labor. Long hours."
"Our meals," she said quietly, "are far too meager."
The effect was immediate.
Heads lifted. Eyes flickered with light.
She remembered.
Director Li frowned slightly."Meiren's compassion is admirable. But palace allocations are fixed. Extra expense—"
"I am not proposing changes to official funds," Qing Tian said gently.
"Every day, the kitchen discards trimmings—bones, vegetable ends, soybean pulp. Items too ugly or inconvenient to use."
"What if we used them?"
"Each day, an extra large pot of hot soup. Or hearty coarse-grain cakes. Nothing extravagant."
"Just something warm for those on night duty. For those doing the heaviest work."
"It violates no regulations. It uses what would otherwise be thrown away."
"But it warms people's hearts."
Warm-heart soup.
Waste reused.No rules broken.
Director Li's tightly knit brow slowly loosened.
…It could work.
Among the low-ranking servants, hope sparked openly now.
In winter nights, one bowl of hot soup meant more than food.
It meant being seen.
It meant being remembered.
But Matron Liu couldn't hold back."And the firewood? The labor? Who cooks it? What if people slack off or waste ingredients?"
Qing Tian turned to her calmly.
"That," she said softly, "is why I came back."
Her eyes were clear.
"And why this kitchen—will change."
The silence that followed was not disbelief.
It was the sound of something old beginning to crack.