As the year drew to a close, the entire Forbidden City was wrapped in an atmosphere that was both solemn and relentlessly tense.
The Grand Heaven-Worship Ceremony at the Temple of Heaven was the most sacred ritual of the dynasty, tied directly to the fate of the realm. There could be no mistakes—none at all. This year was especially sensitive. The fighting in the northwest had temporarily subsided, and several neighboring kingdoms and tribes had dispatched diplomatic envoys to attend the ceremony and offer congratulations, signaling a tentative peace.
Which meant one thing.
The state banquet following the rites would not merely be a meal—it would be a declaration.
A declaration of imperial dignity.A declaration of national strength.A declaration meant for every foreign eye watching closely, waiting for the smallest crack.
And wherever eyes gathered, danger followed.
The Imperial Kitchen—tasked with preparing the sacrificial offerings and the grand banquet—entered a state of full readiness an entire month in advance. The usual warmth of fire and food was gone, replaced by a suffocating pressure that hung in the air.
Ingredient lists.Utensil specifications.Staff rotations.Rehearsals, tastings, ceremonial protocols.
Every link in the chain was a potential point of collapse.
Qing Sweet—now Consort Chen of the third rank—bore the title Assistant Overseer of the Imperial Kitchen and had been placed squarely at the center of this operation. It was an immense show of imperial trust—and also a blade hanging over her head.
Success would cement her standing.Failure would destroy her utterly.
And every reform she had ever pushed would be dragged back out and torn apart.
The Liu faction, though checked in court after the failed impeachment, had not vanished. Liu Chenghan had gone quiet—but in the inner palace, in the grinding machinery of daily operations, they had endless opportunities to trip her.
"Your Highness," Wang Youcai reported with a carefully worried expression, "the top-grade crab roe tribute from Jiangnan has been delayed. The canal is frozen—it won't arrive for another three days. But the trial tasting for the Crab Roe Lion's Head is scheduled for the day after tomorrow…"
"Your Highness," Matron Liu added grimly, "Master Liu, who handles the ceremonial pastry carvings, fell violently ill last night—vomiting and diarrhea. The imperial physician says it was food poisoning. He won't be able to hold a knife for at least half a month…"
"And another matter," a clerk from the Ministry of Rites hurried in, sweating. "Two honored guests from the Northern Desert delegation follow dietary laws forbidding pork. All related dishes must be replaced immediately. But suitable substitute ingredients are currently…insufficient."
One problem after another.
Each issue was reasonable. Legitimate. Impossible to fault.
And yet—too perfectly timed.
Delayed ingredients.Key personnel suddenly incapacitated.Last-minute changes from above.
Every single complication struck at a critical junction. One misstep, and the entire operation would unravel.
But Qing Sweet had anticipated this.
She knew this was retaliation—quiet, calculated, relentless.
She did not panic.
Relying on Director Li's decades of experience and connections, on Chef Zhang's sharp eye and steady guidance despite his weakened body, and on an Imperial Kitchen that had, over months of reform, begun to move as a unified whole, she responded with calm precision.
Crab roe delayed?She immediately rearranged the tasting schedule, prioritizing other dishes, while dispatching riders with joint orders from the Imperial Kitchen and Internal Affairs Bureau to urge the shipment forward. At the same time, she prepared a second-tier backup supply.
Master Liu incapacitated?She promoted two young eunuchs from the Culinary Academy—both steady-handed and quick-minded—to step in, placing them directly under Chef Zhang's supervision to practice ceremonial carving day and night.
Sudden ingredient substitutions?She and Director Li audited the stores overnight, coordinated emergency purchases, and even drew from her own Listening Rain Pavilion reserves—forcing the puzzle pieces into place before the deadline.
One by one, the crises dissolved.
Watching the young Consort Chen navigate relentless pressure with clarity and authority, the Imperial Kitchen staff grew even more convinced of her ability. Even veteran chefs who had once watched from the sidelines were forced to admit it—
This consort was the real thing.
But Qing Sweet was not content with merely avoiding disaster.
She saw the state banquet as something more.
A stage.
A stage to show the emperor.To show the inner palace.To show the court.To show foreign envoys—
That the Imperial Kitchen had changed.
Within the strictest ceremonial boundaries, she subtly refined how certain dishes were presented, allowing the ingredients' natural flavors to take center stage. For the foreign delegations, she ordered menus that showcased the depth of imperial cuisine while quietly respecting their customs. She even adjusted the sweetness of the later desserts, ensuring they nourished rather than cloyed during the cold winter night.
Small changes.Invisible at first glance.Heavy with intent.
All of it reached Yangxin Hall.
The emperor read the intelligence reports delivered by his shadow guards—how she defused each "accident," how she worked within limits yet left her unmistakable mark. The corner of his mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly.
"She's starting to look the part," he said lightly, setting the report aside. "Tell Consort Chen—I'll be watching her Four Seas in Harmony Soup at the banquet."
Gao Dequan froze.
"Four Seas in Harmony Soup?" he echoed. He knew the banquet menu by heart. There was no such dish listed.
The emperor offered no explanation, merely waved his hand.
Gao Dequan understood at once.
This was not a mistake.It was a test—or perhaps, an expectation.
When the message reached Qing Sweet, she was momentarily stunned. Then warmth spread through her chest—followed immediately by the weight of responsibility.
The emperor remembered her proposal.Remembered her philosophy.
And he had left space for her to act.
That was trust.
And also a spotlight.
She studied the finalized banquet sequence carefully. At the very end was a symbolic closing dish—Five Grains Abundance Soup. Ceremonial, important…yet rarely memorable.
Qing Sweet's eyes slowly lit with resolve.
She had an idea.