As Song Yuerong approached the kitchen, accompanied by the butler, a rich and tantalizing aroma greeted her. The moment it reached her senses, much of her earlier apprehension dissolved. The fragrance was not only alluring, it was exquisite.
Stepping inside, she was momentarily taken aback. The kitchen was bustling with activity, filled with maids and aides from the Feng household. Yet, her eyes were instinctively drawn to the two women standing at the center of it all. For a second, she wondered if she was hallucinating. Are they even real? she thought.
Dressed simply in aprons and casual clothing, the two women radiated a calm yet magnetic presence. Their beauty was delicate and celestial, but not carefully curated type common in the Beijing elite—it was natural, commanding, and breathtaking. Their bearing, too, spoke volumes. Not timid like commoners, nor arrogant like pampered heiresses—just... centered. Like women who were utterly comfortable in their own skin.
A sudden, almost ridiculous thought crossed her mind. If these two celestial fairies ever set foot in Beijing's high society, wouldn't that throw the entire elite circle into chaos? After all, in that world, beauty was currency, and many women clung to it with desperation. There, appearance was an obsession, chased through surgical perfection, high-end cosmetics, and desperate competition. If these two ever stood before them in their unfiltered splendor—what a scene that would be.
She nearly laughed aloud. But that's impossible, she reminded herself. Beijing's upper crust is a world sealed behind a hundred doors.
Little did she know, that very scene was not only possible—it was inevitable. And when it happened, chaos would not be a strong enough word.
Pushing aside her thoughts, Song Yuerong quickly masked her astonishment and entered the kitchen with the practiced grace of a noblewoman. The moment she stepped in, all the maids halted their work and bowed respectfully.
"Madam," they greeted in unison.
She nodded with a faint smile, then turned toward the two women. Her voice was polite, but measured, "You must be the exceptionally skilled chefs my husband requested for this occasion—Miss Li Ziqing and Miss Li Jianfang?"
Hearing their names, both women calmly removed their aprons and stepped forward from behind the preparation counter. They didn't bow deeply nor offer unnecessary flattery. They simply stood upright, poised and respectful without being servile—like equals, not subordinates. That alone made Song Yuerong's brows lift in mild intrigue.
How curious, she thought. So few people in the upper circle carry themselves like that anymore. And didn't the butler say they were from the northern district?
Their poise and elegance were completely at odds with what she expected from that part of the city. She felt a flicker of interest begin to stir within her.
Li Ziqing, meanwhile, had already formed a favorable impression of the lady in front of her. There was a scholarly refinement in the way she spoke—specifically, in her choice of words. She hadn't said "hired" by her husband, but rather "requested." A subtle distinction, but one that revealed a cultivated upbringing and a certain grace of character.
With a faint smile, Li Ziqing replied, "Madam Feng, you flatter me. I'm far from exceptional. I merely carry the legacy of my master's craft. I hope what we prepare today will meet your expectations."
There was a warmth—genuine this time—in Song Yuerong's smile. She found herself increasingly drawn to this woman's aura.
"May I ask," she said, "what delicacies will be gracing the table today?"
Before Li Ziqing could respond, Li Jianfang stepped forward, her voice crisp and clear. "Ms. Feng, we were expecting your visit. Allow us to show you the details personally."
But before she could continue, Song Yuerong interrupted, her tone light but sincere. "Please, just call me Ms. Song. I find both of you very likable—let's not treat each other as strangers."
Li Jianfang nodded with a hint of amusement. "Then you must call me Jianfang. It would be my honor to be considered a friend by such a refined lady."
Li Ziqing then stepped forward again and calmly added, "Ms. Song, today's feast is inspired by the Royal Banquet of the Qing Dynasty."
Song Yuerong froze for a moment.
The Royal Banquet of the Qing Dynasty? Those weren't just dishes—they were legends. While the recipes were not legally protected, the skills required to recreate them were nearly lost to time. The techniques were intricate, the balance of flavors unforgiving. One misstep—just a few seconds of overheating or a mismeasured seasoning—could destroy a dish.
She had once dined at the famed Beijing restaurant run by the descendants of imperial chefs, and even there, the menu featured only a fraction of those legendary dishes.
But Li Ziqing, unfazed by her silence, continued with quiet confidence:
"After the formal toasts and pleasantries, we will begin with appetizers—Drunken Phoenix Chicken, Jade Sea Cucumber with Vinegar Jelly, Imperial Duck Tongue Terrine, and Peony Flower Tofu. Then, for the soup course, we will serve Eight Treasure Imperial Bird's Nest Soup and Ginseng and Black Chicken Broth.
"The highlight of the meal will be five main dishes: Dragon and Phoenix Platter, Braised Deer Tendon in Abalone Sauce, Stuffed Lotus Root with Glutinous Rice, Mandarin Fish with Pine Nut Sauce, and Imperial Roasted Duck with Osmanthus Glaze.
"For the vegetarian mains, we've chosen Braised Wild Mushrooms in Bamboo Pot, Stir-Fried Lily Bulbs and Asparagus with Gingko Nuts, and Golden Egg Tofu with Truffle Sauce.
"As for starches, there will be Longevity Noodles in Chicken Bone Broth, and Lotus Leaf-Wrapped Glutinous Rice.
"For dessert, we've prepared Tremella and Lotus Seed Sweet Soup, Crystal Lychee Jelly with Osmanthus, Steamed Longevity Peach Buns, and Gold-Foil Almond Tofu.
"We will close the meal with Dragon Well (Longjing) Green Tea—fragrant, clean, and perfect for digestion."
By the end of the list, Song Yuerong could no longer maintain her composure.
"You… You've been to that restaurant in Beijing, haven't you?" she blurted out—not because she doubted Li Ziqing's experience, but because the menu she just heard, some of the listed dishes she'd never seen in even the most exclusive establishments. Some of them she hadn't even heard of.
Li Ziqing just smiled but didn't answer. Because there were many things she couldn't say outright, otherwise if someone investigated it, it's going be a hassle.
---
Song Yuerong was still in a daze as she reached the door of her bedroom. The moment she pushed it open, her eyes fell on her husband, Feng Zhaotian, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, reading a stack of documents.
Hearing the sound of the door, Feng Zhaotian turned around. His gaze softened instantly, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"You just came back from the kitchen?" he asked gently.
The question seemed to ignite the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. She quickly crossed the room and stopped in front of him, her expression unusually serious.
"Tian, who exactly are those women?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with urgency. "Do you know they're preparing a full feast from the Royal Banquet of the Qing Dynasty? Even though the dishes aren't fully plated yet, just the aroma alone is overwhelming. The presentation, the techniques—they're far beyond anything I've seen or tasted even in Beijing. Do you really believe they're from the Northern District? From Wuhan?"
Feng Zhaotian studied her for a moment, amused by her astonishment. He could detect the rare trace of disbelief in her voice—something that didn't come easily to the ever-composed Song Yuerong.
A knowing smile appeared on his face. "Anyone who meets Li Ziqing and Li Jianfang ends up like this," he said lightly. "You're not the first to be shocked."
He walked toward his desk and placed the documents down before continuing, "According to what Ms. Li Jianfang told me, her daughter—Li Ziqing—just recently completed her apprenticeship. But she's not interested is venturing in any business yet, but has instead been teaching her mother the skills she inherited. I did a bit of digging into their background—nothing too deep, as I didn't want to intrude into their personal lives—but from what I've learned, they live a very modest life."
He paused, letting the weight of the information settle. "They earn just a few hundred yuan a day from a small breakfast stall. A few years ago, Ms. Li Jianfang bought a small courtyard home on an installment plan. She only finished paying it off earlier this year, which means most of their income went toward that for a long time."
Yuerong's brows furrowed slightly. She didn't interrupt—just listened.
"But given their skill," Feng Zhaotian went on, "they won't stay in Wuhan much longer. People like them are destined to rise. I saw it in their eyes—the kind of focus, humility, and quiet determination that only comes from hardship and discipline. Honey, I truly hope you can build a connection with them. I have a feeling… they won't just be chefs. They'll be someone important."
Song Yuerong nodded thoughtfully. "I already have a favorable impression of them. They don't grovel, and they're not arrogant. There's something very grounded yet extraordinary about them. I'll definitely make an effort to get to know them."
Then, casting a glance at the antique clock on the wall, she added, "It's almost time for the banquet. Let's get ready."
Feng Zhaotian moved closer and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "This banquet is crucial, Yuerong. It's our rare opportunity to break into the Shanghai market. If we succeed, we'll be one step closer to taking our business international. And I'm truly counting on Li Ziqing tonight."
As he spoke, a flash of that afternoon's memory passed through his mind—when he had tasted the "Snow Phoenix Cuisine" at her humble home. It had been exquisite beyond words, unlike anything he had ever eaten.
He didn't say it out loud, but deep inside, Feng Zhaotian had already made his prediction.
This banquet would be legendary.
And indeed, something extraordinary happened that evening.
The grand banquet, held within the refined halls of Feng Zhaotian's villa, did not just mark a personal success—it became a night to remember for every single attendee.
From early evening, the estate began to fill with guests of impressive stature. High-ranking provincial officials arrived in sleek, black sedans, greeted by discreetly positioned butler and uniformed attendants. Business magnates from Shanghai—elegant men and women dressed in designer evening wear—stepped out of imported cars, their expressions polite, restrained, and reserved. Local tycoons and entrepreneurs from Wuhan mingled carefully at the entrance, exchanging measured nods and guarded smiles.
It was a room filled with ambition, influence, and pride.
The evening began like any other elite gathering—polite toasts, social niceties, practiced laughter. But beneath the surface, there was an undeniable chill. People conversed cautiously, holding their wine glasses with elegant detachment.
But everything began to change the moment everyone took their seats and the first course was served. As uniformed waiters glided across the room with polished trays, the scent that followed them brought a noticeable shift. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Eyes widened with curiosity. And when the dishes were finally placed before the guests, silence took over.