Qing Tian nearly dragged herself back to the Imperial Kitchen.
Her legs felt as heavy as if they were filled with molten lead. Every step sent a dull ache through her knees, and the spot on her forehead where it had struck the stone slabs burned fiercely. Compared to the physical pain, what truly exhausted her was the ordeal she had just endured before the Emperor—a razor-thin game of balance where one misstep meant death.
Her underclothes were soaked through with sweat. When the wind brushed against her, a chill crept into her bones.
At first glance, the courtyard looked no different from any other day. Fires roared beneath the stoves, steam hung thick in the air, and the rhythmic chopping of knives echoed endlessly. Yet the moment Qing Tian stepped through the gate, she felt it unmistakably—
Countless gazes, sharp as needles, silently piercing her from every direction.
They withdrew just as quickly as they appeared, vanishing before she could turn her head. Beneath the familiar bustle lay a strange stillness, as if everyone was holding their breath, watching.
Chief Steward Li had returned before her.
He stood in the shadows beneath the kitchen eaves, hands clasped behind his back. His face was still frighteningly pale, but deep within his bloodshot eyes—worn raw by days of torment—flickered a tiny, stubborn spark.
Hope.
When he saw Qing Tian, he tilted his head ever so slightly.
She understood at once and quietly moved to a secluded corner, her exhausted body nearly leaning against the cold stone wall.
"His Majesty…" Chief Steward Li's voice was pressed so low it seemed forced through clenched teeth, trembling with disbelief and the weakness of someone who had narrowly survived disaster. "He really… said 'take another look'?"
Qing Tian nodded. Her throat was dry and tight, her voice hoarse.
"Yes, Chief Steward. I heard it clearly. His Majesty said, 'Chef Zhang's case—let it be reviewed again.'"
Even though he had braced himself, hearing the words confirmed made Chief Steward Li shut his eyes abruptly. His chest rose and fell sharply before he released a long, shuddering breath—as if expelling days of despair in one exhale.
When he opened his eyes again, the look he gave Qing Tian was impossibly complex.
Fear. Awe. Gratitude. And something deeper still.
This small kitchen maid had truly dared to gamble her life in the heart of the dragon's lair—and won a sliver of survival.
"You, girl…" His throat bobbed. In the end, he only shook his head and said nothing more.
Some things did not need to be spoken.
They both knew—this step had been won by that single bowl of noodles, by her all-or-nothing courage, and by the unpredictable curiosity of the man seated on the dragon throne.
That curiosity was a ray of light.
It could just as easily become a spark that burned her alive.
There were no airtight walls in this world—least of all within palace walls.
What had happened in the garden pavilion, the Emperor's seemingly casual "take another look," was like a stone dropped into calm water. It stirred no immediate storm, yet transformed into countless subtle ripples.
Through whispered conversations between maids and eunuchs.
Through the knowing glances of stewardesses and managers.
Through silence that spoke louder than words.
"Did you hear? That nobody from the Imperial Kitchen—C17—met the Emperor today!"
"She did? Why her?"
"They say she made a bowl of noodles. His Majesty ate it—and even praised it."
"A bowl of noodles? That's it?"
"The strange part is, she used it to plead for Chef Zhang! Said the filth in the soup wasn't his doing!"
"Are you serious?! Wasn't the Consort there?"
"And yet His Majesty didn't punish her. He said the case would be 'reviewed again.'"
"Reviewed again… does that mean the Emperor has doubts?"
"Who knows. But Consort Liu must be furious…"
The murmurs spread like wind, slipping into every corner.
Within the Imperial Kitchen, the atmosphere turned sharply delicate.
Wang Youcai still strutted about the courtyard, belly protruding as he barked orders. Yet when his eyes landed on Qing Tian, the usual contempt was no longer pure—threaded now with unease and scrutiny.
Matron Liu's sharp scoldings still rang out each day on schedule. But when her gaze fell upon Qing Tian, there was more than bitterness within it—a cold, calculating wariness.
As for the ordinary palace servants, their looks toward Qing Tian grew increasingly complicated.
Amazement at her reckless courage.
Curiosity about that mysterious bowl of noodles.
Envy—wondering if she might leap from obscurity overnight.
But above all, distance.
Instinctive caution.
The kitchen maid who once struggled beside them at the very bottom now seemed to have stepped into a dangerous whirlpool of power and attention. Drawing close to her might invite trouble—or disaster.
Only one place was different.
Within the small, hidden circle of their mutual-aid group, something fragile yet bright quietly bloomedXiao Man clutched Qing Tian's hand tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks—this time from joy.
"Qing Tian… His Majesty said 'take another look'! Does that mean… does that mean Chef Zhang still has hope? He does, right?"
Fu Gui clenched his fists, knuckles white, and nodded hard.
"You were incredible, Qing Tian"
Xiao Anzi and Xiao Luzi nodded again and again, eyes that had long been dim now glowing with a faint but unmistakable light.
Yet Qing Tian herself felt no true joy.
Once the brief comfort of those three words faded, what remained was something heavier—sharper.
Vigilance.
Take another look.
It was a crack of hope—and a warning of greater storms to come.
It meant the Emperor's gaze had turned toward a case that was meant to be sealed shut, buried quickly as an unquestionable verdict. It meant a tear had been cut into the web Consort Liu had so carefully woven.
But it also meant this—
Consort Liu, and the forces behind her, would never allow that tear to widen.
They would move more quietly.
More ruthlessly.
Either to mend the web… or to use the opening as a trap.
The true battle had not ended.
It had only just begun.