The news of Chef Zhang's return hit the palace like ice water poured into boiling oil.
Ripples spread instantly—through the Imperial Kitchen, through the Inner Court, and even beyond the vermilion walls, into the murmur-filled halls of the Outer Court.
Inside the Imperial Kitchen, the effect was immediate and unmistakable.
Veteran chefs came one after another, ostensibly to "check on his health," but in truth to confirm with their own eyes that the man who had once anchored the kitchen with discipline and fairness had truly returned. Servants who had once benefited from his quiet protection felt their hearts lift. Even those who had long kept their heads bowed under the pressure of Deputy Wang and Matron Liu found themselves standing a little straighter, speaking a little more firmly.
Chief Steward Li, in particular, seemed ten years younger overnight.
With Chef Zhang seated behind the scenes—frail in body but unbroken in spirit—many plans that had once been delayed by hesitation and fear suddenly had weight behind them. There was finally a pillar.
In the Inner Court, however, reactions were far more complicated.
Consort De heard the news and merely said to her attendant, "So Chef Zhang has returned? Good. The Imperial Kitchen should always have someone who understands right from wrong." Nothing more.
Consort Xian grew thoughtful. "With Chef Zhang back," she murmured, "Qing Tian's footing grows firmer by the day."
Several lower-ranking consorts quietly exhaled in relief. Regardless of politics, a kitchen overseen by a famously strict and fair chef meant one thing: the food on their tables was less likely to hide danger.
Only Changchun Palace reacted violently.
When Noble Consort Liu received the report, she was seated before her mirror, carefully drawing her brows. At the words Chef Zhang has been released, her hand clenched.
Crack.
The precious snail-shell eyebrow pencil snapped in two.
Her reflection—once flawless—twisted with fury.
"He's back?" she hissed. "The Emperor actually let him walk out whole? Good. Very good. This is a slap—clean and loud—across my face. He's telling the entire palace that he believes that kitchen wench, believes that useless old man… and not me."
Her chest heaved.
Beside her, Eunuch Lin Fu lowered his gaze. "Your Grace, calm yourself. Chef Zhang's return may not be entirely unfavorable. His health is ruined, his authority diminished. He's little more than an empty shell."
He paused, then continued softly, "The real concern is Qing Tian. Riding this momentum, she's grown increasingly bold in the Imperial Kitchen. Her 'new policies' are running smoothly—so smoothly that word has begun to drift outward."
"Outward?" Noble Consort Liu's eyes sharpened.
"Yes," Lin Fu said carefully. "Some censorial officials in the Outer Court have taken notice. They are displeased that a concubine—especially one of such humble origins—is intervening so deeply in palace administration. They say it blurs the line between Inner and Outer Courts… violates ancestral precedent."
For a moment, Noble Consort Liu was silent.
Then she smiled.
A cold, calculating smile.
"Oh?" she said softly. "If that's the case… then perhaps this concubine should help her reputation spread a little further."
Meanwhile, rumors of Qing Tian's actions—the request forms, the rotating hot meals, the cooking instruction sessions—filtered into the ears of conservative officials outside the palace.
To some, it was nothing short of scandalous.
A former kitchen servant, now a concubine, daring to reorganize palace logistics? Teaching eunuchs and maids practical skills? In their eyes, it was chaos. Impropriety. A woman overstepping her place.
No memorials had yet reached the throne.
But the whispers had begun.
Qing Tian was not blind to them.
Through Gao Dequan's subtle hints, through fragments overheard by Little Li among other eunuchs, she sensed the shift in the air. A tightening. A watchfulness.
She had no time to dwell on it.
The Winter Sacrificial Rites were approaching.
It was the most demanding season of the year.
As the primary body responsible for ritual offerings and ceremonial banquets, the Imperial Kitchen was under unprecedented pressure. Rare ingredients had to be sourced, verified, and guarded. Ritual pastries had to meet exact specifications. Banquet menus required layers of approval and endless trial runs.
A single mistake would be unforgivable.
Qing Tian, as Consort of Provision and acting coordinator, was nearly living in the kitchen.
She cross-checked ritual ingredient lists against ceremonial codes. Mediated sudden dietary requests from various palaces. Ensured the rotating hot meals for servants continued uninterrupted despite the chaos. And in stolen moments late at night, she refined the reform proposal she had been drafting—polishing every word, knowing that timing would determine everything.
Chef Zhang, though weakened, became an anchor.
His experience cut through confusion like a blade. Processes that once seemed labyrinthine suddenly made sense under his guidance. Under the combined leadership of Qing Tian, Chef Zhang, and Steward Li, the Imperial Kitchen operated with an efficiency unseen in years.
Even visiting officials from the Internal Affairs Office were quietly astonished.
"Busy," they muttered, "but orderly."
That night, exhausted beyond measure, Qing Tian finally returned to Tingyu Pavilion.
In the small kitchen, a pot of red-date and longan soup simmered—Spring Peach had prepared it at her instruction. Qing Tian drank slowly, warmth spreading through her limbs.
Earlier that day, Gao Dequan had delivered a small box of premium donkey-hide gelatin.
A reward for your hard work, the Emperor had said.
Not extravagant. Just… thoughtful.
The knowledge that he remembered—amid rituals, border reports, and court debates—left a quiet warmth in her chest.
Then—
Footsteps.
Rushing. Chaotic.
A voice broke the night.
"My lady! My lady—something terrible has happened!"
Little Li stumbled into the courtyard, face white as ash, collapsing to his knees.
"My lady," he cried, shaking. "The Outer Court—disaster! Several censorial officials have jointly submitted a memorial! They accuse you of governing through food, of disrupting palace order—of corrupting servants with your so-called 'academy'! They demand the stripping of your title, your expulsion from the palace—and an investigation of the Imperial Kitchen!"
He choked.
"They want to punish Steward Li… and Chef Zhang."
The world seemed to explode.
Qing Tian stood frozen.
Then she straightened.
The tide had surfaced.
And this time—
It was coming for her throat.