A dim light still burned inside Chief Steward Li's room.
It spilled through the crack beneath the door, stretching across the stone floor like a hesitant wound that refused to close.
Qing Tian stood outside, listening.
Heavy footsteps paced back and forth. A long, restrained sigh followed.
A man on the verge of collapse.
Only then did she knock.
"Who is it?" Li barked sharply.
"It's me. Kitchen Servant C17. Qing Tian."
The door flew open.
Li stood there like a ghost of himself—sunken eyes, unshaven jaw, his usually immaculate robes hanging loose around his body.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "Isn't the chaos bad enough? Did Matron Liu not humiliate you enough? Or did Wang Youcai forget to crush you?"
His words were harsh, but Qing Tian heard the truth beneath them.
Fear.
She stepped forward—and knelt.
The sound of her knees hitting the stone floor echoed like a blade striking steel.
With both hands, she lifted a worn, oil-wrapped notebook above her head.
"Chief Steward," she said calmly, "I have a way to save Chef Zhang… and to save the Imperial Kitchen."
Li froze.
Qing Tian slowly raised her head. Her eyes were steady, deep as still water.
"The Liu family was never after just Chef Zhang," she said softly.
"They want the Imperial Kitchen."
"And you," she added, "are simply the first obstacle they plan to erase."
Li's face turned pale.
"But I," Qing Tian continued, lowering her voice, "can offer you a shield they do not dare touch."
She paused.
"The Emperor."
The air inside the room seemed to stop breathing.
"You've gone mad," Li whispered.
"Yes," Qing Tian replied. "Because only the mad survive in this palace."
She lifted the notebook slightly higher.
"These are my recipes and records," she said.
"the late-night meals sent to the imperial study were not random."
"Every dish was crafted according to His Majesty's body, his mood, and his exhaustion."
"He may not remember my name," she said softly,
"but he remembers those flavors."
Li's pupils contracted violently.
"Give me one chance," Qing Tian said.
"Let me prepare one meal and personally deliver it before the Emperor."
"That is our only door."
Li exploded.
"You? Before the Emperor? With this ridiculous little book? Do you know where the imperial presence is? One mistake and not only you—everyone in this kitchen will die!"
Qing Tian did not lower her hands.
"Chef Zhang was framed," she said fiercely.
"The Liu family is already swallowing this place whole. Wang Youcai and Matron Liu are just the beginning. When they're done, there will be nothing left for you to stand on."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
"Petitions will never be heard. Explanations will never be believed."
"But if the Emperor tastes something only we can give him…"
"…then he will ask why."
She slammed her head to the floor.
"I know this is treasonous madness," she said hoarsely.
"But it is the only path left."
"If it fails, I will take all responsibility. I will die alone. No one else will be dragged down with me."
"But if it succeeds…"
"…Chef Zhang lives."
Silence swallowed the room.
Li stared at the small girl kneeling on the cold stone, her body trembling, her hands still holding that fragile book like a blade.
Despair crushed his chest.
And yet…
This reckless girl had handed him something no one else could.
Hope.
Finally, Li reached out—not to help her up, but to take the notebook from her hands.
"…Get up," he said hoarsely.
"I'll bet on you."
"But remember this, Qing Tian."
"If you fail…"
"You won't be the only one who falls into hell."