After Liu Chenghan finished listing his accusations, Emperor Tang Yi's expression remained unchanged.Only his fingers—resting against the arm of the dragon throne—tapped once more, lightly.
"So," Tang Yi said slowly, his voice calm to the point of indifference,"having each palace clearly state what they wish to eat—so the Imperial Kitchen doesn't have to guess, cook blindly, get it wrong, send dishes back to be redone, delay meals, and waste ingredients and manpower…"
He paused, then continued evenly,
"That is what you call 'unnecessary trouble'? 'Pointless complication'?"
His gaze shifted from Liu Chenghan to the other officials who had stepped forward in support.
"Tell me, my ministers," the emperor asked, "when you dine in your own homes—do you inform your cooks of your preferences, or do you have them guess every day, remake dishes endlessly until they happen to please you?"
Silence.
The officials exchanged glances, none daring to answer.Who, in their own household, would tolerate eating blind guesses?
Tang Yi did not wait.
"Using the Imperial Kitchen's leftover ingredients—bones, vegetable trimmings that would otherwise be discarded," he continued, his voice still level yet carrying an invisible weight,"to boil hot soup for those on night duty, for guards and servants whose hands are numb from cold or who have labored all day with empty stomachs—so they might warm themselves and have something in their bellies."
He looked directly at Liu Chenghan.
"Minister Liu. You call this 'extra expenditure'? 'Encouraging laziness'?"
Liu Chenghan's face drained of color. His lips moved, but no words came out.Boiling soup from scraps for servants—when laid bare like this—it suddenly didn't sound like a grave crime at all.
"And during spare hours," Tang Yi went on, a faint trace of irony threading through his tone,"exchanging a few words with palace servants who wish to learn—how to cut vegetables evenly, how to tell whether ingredients are fresh."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Minister Liu, is this what you call 'teaching forbidden skills to lowly menials'?'Blurring ranks and status'?'Harboring dangerous intentions'?"
Each question landed softly—yet with growing force.
Tang Yi never raised his voice.But with every sentence, he peeled away the ornate accusations, stripping them down until only their plain, almost absurd core remained.
The grand hall was utterly silent.
Officials lowered their heads, not daring to meet the emperor's eyes.Cold sweat streamed down Liu Chenghan's temples, soaking into his collar.
Tang Yi no longer looked at him.
His gaze swept across the entire court, and suddenly his voice rose—deep, restrained, carrying a suppressed fury that shook the air itself.
"What I see," the emperor said,"is that because of these so-called 'changes,' the number of dishes sent back to the Imperial Kitchen has dropped by nearly thirty percent compared to previous years!"
"What I hear," he continued,"is that the Director of the Imperial Kitchen, Li Dehai, is summoned to the palaces to be scolded less than half as oftenas before!"
He stood.
Step by step, Tang Yi descended the imperial dais.The hem of his bright yellow robes brushed across the polished golden tiles, producing a faint, measured rustle that echoed through the hall.
"I hear," he said, walking forward, his presence pressing down upon the court,"that reports from the Internal Affairs Office show this autumn and winter, the number of consorts seeking physicians for 'pent-up anger' and 'loss of appetite' has dropped sharply compared to last year."
"I hear that night guards and eunuchs collapsing from cold and hunger—falling ill and delaying duties—have nearly vanished."
He stopped at the center of the hall.
His eyes were sharp as lightning as they swept across faces filled with fear, calculation, and stubborn resistance.
"She let my palace servants, in the dead of winter, feel that they had a bowl of hot soup in their stomachs, a bit of warmth in their bodies—so they might believe that in this vast palace, they are still people…"
"…not livestock to be worked until frozen or starved to death, unnoticed by anyone."
"She let my consorts shed some of their pointless irritability and rage, replacing it with calm. The resentment and weeping in the inner palace—compared to the early years of my reign—has dropped beyond measure!"
"She turned the Imperial Kitchen—the place that determines whether thousands eat well or starve each day—into an operation with order, efficiency, and most importantly…"
"…a trace of human warmth.A trace of human loyalty."
He turned sharply.
Once more, he faced Liu Chenghan directly.
His voice struck like metal against jade.
"Minister Liu," Tang Yi declared,"you—and all of you—tell me this."
"Is this the 'treasonous interference' you claim corrupts the palace?"
"Or is it—"
"A GREAT ACT OF GOOD?"
The final four words fell one by one, slow and thunderous.
They exploded through the Golden Hall like a peal of divine thunder, the echoes reverberating long after the sound faded.
Liu Chenghan staggered back half a step, his body trembling, barely able to stand. His mouth hung open, breath rasping uselessly—no defense left to give.
The emperor had not countered him with dense doctrine or obscure precedent.
He had crushed him with facts.
With reality.
With results.
And in doing so, Tang Yi made something unmistakably clear to the entire court:
To him, the stability of the inner palace, the survival and dignity of its people, and the resolution of real, human problems mattered far more than clinging blindly to rigid, ossified "ancestral rules."
Those officials who had been prepared to echo Liu Chenghan now stood frozen in place, sweat soaking their backs.
Only now did they truly understand—
The emperor's protection of the "Consort of the Imperial Kitchen" went far beyond favor.
It was deliberate.It was justified.And it was unassailable.