The banquet had reached its most joyous hour.
Wine had already been poured three times. The crystal cups caught the lantern light, scattering it like stars across the tables. Laughter drifted freely through the Imperial Garden, light and unguarded, as though the palace itself had forgotten its own shadows.
Spring breeze brushed past silk sleeves and jeweled hairpins, carrying with it the scent of blooming peach blossoms and crabapple flowers. Petals fell lazily onto the stone paths, landing in wine cups and on embroidered hems.
For a moment, it truly looked like harmony.
Then—
The final dish arrived.
Silence followed it like a shadow.
"Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix Soup."
The name alone commanded reverence.
It was the crown jewel of the Imperial Kitchen. A dish served only at the most significant imperial banquets—never wasted on ordinary celebrations.
Pigeon.Quail.Silkie chicken.
Three birds, slow-simmered together for over six hours with Jinhua ham, dried scallops, abalone trimmings, and precious mountain and sea ingredients. Every trace of grease skimmed away by hand, again and again, until the broth became so clear it reflected light like glass.
Yet beneath that clarity lay layers of flavor—deep, warm, commanding.
At the center of each bowl floated a delicate phoenix head, sculpted from chicken paste and tofu. The beak proud, the crest lifted, its form so lifelike it seemed poised to rise from the broth at any moment.
A symbol of prosperity.Of submission.Of royal fate itself.
And today—
It had been prepared under Chef Zhang's personal supervision.
No one doubted its perfection.
One by one, identical soup bowls were placed before the nobles, their movements synchronized, flawless.
Consort Liu sat at the head of the banquet.
She wore brilliant crimson, her robes heavy with gold-thread embroidery. A phoenix crown rested atop her hair, jeweled pins catching the light as she moved. Her lips curved into a gentle smile as she accepted the bowl.
"Chef Zhang's Hundred Birds Soup has always been the finest in the palace," she said softly, her voice smooth as silk. "How fortunate that even Her Majesty the Empress Dowager may enjoy it today."
The words sounded like praise.
But the tone—
Several concubines lifted their eyes instinctively.
They all knew.
Consort Liu had been circling the Imperial Kitchen for months.
And Chef Zhang had never bowed.
Consort Liu lifted her jade spoon.
She stirred the broth once.
Twice.
The clear liquid rippled, the phoenix head swaying gently.
She scooped up a spoonful.
Just before it reached her lips—
She froze.
Her gaze dropped.
Slowly, deliberately, she leaned closer to the bowl and inhaled.
A faint crease appeared between her brows.
Then—
Clang!
The spoon was flung back into the bowl.
Broth splashed onto the embroidered tablecloth, soaking into gold thread like a spreading stain.
"The soup," Consort Liu said coldly, "is wrong."
The garden went deathly silent.
Music stopped mid-note.
Laughter vanished as if it had never existed.
Even the Empress Dowager lifted her head sharply, her aged eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean…?" someone whispered.
Consort Liu's gaze hardened, sharp as a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
"There is an unclean stench in it."
Four words.
Yet they struck harder than any slap.
A royal physician rushed forward, his face pale. He dipped a silver needle into the broth, holding his breath.
Moments passed.
"It is not poisoned," he reported, voice tight.
Consort Liu laughed softly.
"Poison?" Her eyes turned cruel. "Who said poison was necessary?"
She straightened, her sleeves sliding gracefully down her arms.
"To serve filth at a royal banquet," she said slowly, every word enunciated with care, "is an insult to the throne itself."
The Empress Dowager's expression darkened instantly.
"Investigate."
Servants moved at once.
The bowl was filtered. The broth strained. The bottom scraped carefully, inch by inch.
Suddenly—
"I found something!"
A eunuch cried out.
Between his fingers was a tiny dark fragment, barely the size of a grain of rice. It had been hidden deep in a small indentation at the bottom of the bowl.
The physician examined it closely.
His face changed.
"This…" His throat bobbed. "This appears to be dried impurity residue. It has been boiled, but not destroyed."
He swallowed.
"It does not belong in any dish."
The word impurity rippled through the banquet like a chill wind.
Concubines paled.Wine cups trembled.Several people instinctively pushed their bowls away.
The Empress Dowager's gaze turned glacial.
And Consort Liu—
Smiled.
"How interesting," she said softly as she rose to her feet.
Her sleeve brushed against a wine cup.
It tipped over.
Red liquid spilled across the table, spreading like blood through silk patterns.
"In front of Her Majesty," she continued, voice calm, "before the entire harem…"
She turned sharply toward the direction of the Imperial Kitchen.
"Someone dares to humiliate me with filth?"
Her eyes burned.
"Bring Li Dehai here."
"And bring Chef Zhang."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"I want to see—"
"Who dares to taint my soup."
Far away, inside the Imperial Kitchen…
Chef Zhang sat beneath a single oil lamp.
He slowly wiped his black iron blade, the cloth moving with steady, familiar rhythm.
He did not need anyone to tell him.
The air itself had changed.
The trap—
so carefully laid—
had finally been sprung.