The afternoon sunlight was warm and unhurried, spilling through the open doors of the Imperial Kitchen and scattering soft patches of gold across the blue-brick floor. The air was thick with the scent of cooked food—oil, steam, grain, and firewood—mixed with the damp chill of rising water vapor.
Qing Tian was crouched in the rear courtyard, beside the basin reserved for washing the most precious tableware.
The water was icy enough to sting. Her hands were red from the cold, fingertips pale and numb. Before her lay a stack of dishes just returned from various palaces—paper-thin white jade bowls, ebony chopsticks inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and one especially dangerous item:
An antique celadon plate with ice-crackle glaze, passed down from a previous dynasty. Priceless. Fragile. And marked with a hairline fracture so faint it could only be seen at a certain angle.
She held it like a living thing.
Using the softest cotton cloth, dipped in a specially prepared, grit-free cleansing solution, Qing Tian traced the crack with painstaking care. Her breathing slowed. Her fingers barely moved.
One careless motion, one slip—
And the plate would shatter.
A crime she could not pay for even with her life.
Then—
Footsteps.
Not the usual chaotic shuffling of the kitchen.
These were fast. Controlled. Purposefully light.
Qing Tian's heart lurched. She looked up.
The Imperial Chief Eunuch, Gao Dequan, had entered the courtyard.
His expression revealed nothing. In his hands, he carried a roll of brilliant imperial-yellow silk. Two young eunuchs followed behind him, faces solemn.
The steaming haze of the front kitchens parted around them as they walked straight toward the rear courtyard.
The effect was suffocating.
Every motion in the Imperial Kitchen froze.
Chefs mid-stir. Assistants mid-chop. Servants mid-step.
Dozens of eyes locked onto the yellow decree.
Then, following Gao Dequan's gaze—
They all turned toward Qing Tian.
Time seemed to stretch thin.
Only the crackle of burning firewood broke the silence.
Gao Dequan stopped a few steps away from the basin. His sharp voice cut cleanly through the stillness.
"Imperial decree has arrived—"
"Kitchen servant Qing Tian is to receive the decree!"
BOOM.
It felt as if something exploded inside Qing Tian's mind.
The sounds vanished. The courtyard blurred.
All that remained was the blinding yellow of the decree—
And Gao Dequan's unreadable face.
Receive… a decree?
For her?
Was this it?
Was this the reckoning for her audacity before the Emperor? For daring to speak, to plead, to challenge the truth laid before the throne?
Was she to be punished alongside Chef Zhang?
Terror surged like ice water through her veins.
Her knees gave way.
She set down the plate and cloth, then dropped to the cold, damp stone floor, bowing deeply until her forehead struck the bricks.
The chill shocked her—painful, grounding.
Don't panic.Don't disgrace yourself.
She heard hurried footsteps as Chief Steward Li rushed out and knelt nearby. She sensed Wang Youcai and Matron Liu forcing their way forward, kneeling not far away. Their breathing had grown heavy—tight with fear, or anticipation, or both.
The entire courtyard knelt.
No one dared to breathe.
Qing Tian closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the panic had been forcibly crushed into something numb and steady.
She spoke.
Her voice was dry—but clear.
"This servant, Qing Tian, receives the decree."
Gao Dequan unrolled the imperial edict. The silk whispered softly as it unfurled.
He cleared his throat and began to read, his voice sharp and precise.
"By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees:
Within the inner palace, nourishment is of utmost importance. Kitchen servant Qing of the Imperial Kitchen is keen of mind and kind of heart, diligent in duty, and gifted with insight into the art of food. Her creations are simple yet fitting, sincere and nourishing. She once presented the 'Bowl of Truth' before Us, revealing her honest intent."
"Though her previous words were direct, her heart is pitiable, and her resolve commendable."
"Therefore, We hereby confer upon Qing the rank of Meiren, bestowing upon her the title 'Shan'."
"She is to reside in Tingyu Pavilion."
"She is granted permission to retain authority over a private kitchen and is allowed continued access to the Imperial Kitchen for culinary study, that her talent may be honored and her heart appeased."
"Let it be so."
Each word struck Qing Tian like falling hail.
Conferred… Meiren?
Granted a title?
"Shan"—Food?
Retain a kitchen?Continue entering the Imperial Kitchen?
Her mind went blank.
This wasn't punishment.
This wasn't interrogation.
This was—
Elevation.
A rise so sudden, so absurd, it bordered on madness.
She, an orphan with no backing.A nameless kitchen girl—C17.A servant who had scrubbed pots and washed dishes in ice water.
Because of one bowl of noodles—
She had leapt straight into the Inner Palace as a Sixth-Rank Consort.
Personally named by the Emperor.
"Shan Meiren."
It felt unreal.
Like a poorly written play.
And in the stunned silence of the Imperial Kitchen—
The world had just tilted beyond recognition.