The Heaven-Worship Ceremony concluded with solemn grandeur. As lanterns were lit one by one, the state banquet officially began inside Taihe Hall.
Silk strings and flutes filled the air. Golden light bathed the hall. The Emperor sat high upon the throne, ministers and foreign envoys arranged on either side. Fragrant robes brushed past jeweled hairpins; cups clinked, laughter rose and fell—an image of imperial splendor at its peak.
As a consort tasked with assisting the Imperial Kitchen, Qing Sweet was seated among the banquet guests. Her position wasn't near the front, yet it afforded her a clear view of the entire proceedings. Dish after exquisite dish flowed out like a river—perfect in color, aroma, flavor, and form—drawing murmurs of admiration from every corner. Months of toil in the Imperial Kitchen were being vindicated in this very moment.
Consort Liu sat near the Emperor, her makeup flawless, her smile impeccable. From time to time she leaned in to exchange a few soft words with the Emperor or the Empress Dowager, radiating the effortless grace of a favored consort. Yet whenever her gaze swept across the orderly attendants—or paused briefly on Qing Sweet—there was a flicker of icy malice deep in her eyes.
Midway through the banquet, a renowned Jiangnan dish—Crab Roe Lion's Head—was served to the honored guests.
The meatballs were plump yet tender, the crab roe rich and fragrant, the broth thick and golden. It was a signature dish of the Imperial Kitchen, executed flawlessly.
After tasting it, however, a burly envoy from the northern grasslands—the prince of the Wuluolan tribe, Harbala—suddenly set down his silver chopsticks.
He spoke in accented but resounding court language, his voice cutting sharply through the growing hush.
"Your Majesty!"
All eyes snapped toward him. The Emperor set down his wine cup and looked over calmly. "Prince Harbala. What is it?"
Harbala stood, placed a hand to his chest, and bowed before speaking loudly, "Your Majesty, the cuisine of your great empire truly lives up to its reputation—delicate as works of art. The warriors of the grasslands admire this greatly!"
Then—his tone shifted.
"However," he continued, "on the plains, we eat meat in great chunks and drink wine in deep draughts. Food should carry the raw strength of heaven and earth—meant to fill the belly and fortify the body. This dish of yours is beautiful, delicious… but perhaps too refined."
His eyes gleamed sharply."It feels as though all the grandeur of the world has been compressed into this small sphere—losing the true essence of food itself. Forgive my bluntness, but… doesn't it feel somewhat small in spirit?"
The hall fell deathly still.
This was no casual comment—it was a provocation.
He had elevated a culinary critique into a judgment of cultural scale, implying that the Celestial Empire prized refinement over greatness of spirit. Several ministers stiffened in anger; officials from the Ministry of Rites turned pale. Nearby, Liu Chenghan lowered his gaze, concealing a flash of satisfaction.
The Emperor's expression remained unreadable. "Oh?" he said lightly. "Prince Harbala has such insights into the philosophy of food? Pray, enlighten us."
Clearly prepared, Harbala replied boldly, "In your land, there is a saying: 'The people take food as their heaven,' and another—'To govern a great state is like cooking a small fish.' Today's banquet is abundant beyond compare—north and south, mountains and seas, everything present. It shows the richness of your realm."
His gaze swept across the hall like a hawk's."Yet each dish remains separate—Jiangnan retains its softness, the north its ruggedness. Noble ingredients and humble ones never meet. So I ask Your Majesty—does your empire have a single dish that truly unites the flavors of the four directions, blending noble and humble alike? Let us see what Four Seas in Harmony truly means—what it means for a great empire to be inclusive."
An uproar rippled through the hall.
This was no longer about food.
It was a challenge to imperial vision itself.
The banquet menu followed strict ritual codes; altering it on the spot was unthinkable. To create a dish embodying "Four Seas in Harmony" would require not only masterful technique, but profound cultural insight—an impossible demand made in public.
Countless gazes—anxious, gleeful, expectant—turned toward one person.
Consort Chen.Qing Sweet.
The Emperor looked at her as well, his eyes calm, unreadable, quietly asking.
The pressure descended like a mountain.
Qing Sweet felt Consort Liu's chilling stare pierce her back. She sensed the Imperial Kitchen's collective dread through Director Li, standing stiffly at the hall's edge. She knew—this was no spontaneous provocation. The timing was too perfect. Someone wanted her to fall. Publicly. Completely.
Her heart thundered—then stilled.
She closed her eyes briefly, inhaled once, and opened them again. The fear burned away, leaving only clarity and resolve.
She rose from her seat.
With steady steps, Qing Sweet walked into the center of the hall. She bowed first to the Emperor, then to Prince Harbala. Her posture was composed, her voice clear and calm.
"Your Majesty. Prince Harbala. For this state banquet, the Imperial Kitchen did, in fact, prepare a soup meant to embody the spirit of harmony and inclusiveness—one that reflects the unity of the four seas."
A faint collective intake of breath swept the hall.
"Its name," she continued evenly, "is Four Seas in Harmony Soup."
Even the Emperor's eyes flickered—just once.
No one had seen such a dish on the menu.
Unperturbed, Qing Sweet went on, "This soup requires time and patience—five flavors balanced, heat carefully layered. It was originally scheduled for later in the banquet. However, since Prince Harbala wishes to sample it now, I will have it expedited."
She inclined her head slightly."Still, true harmony cannot be rushed. I ask Your Majesty and Prince Harbala to allow a brief wait, so it may reach perfection."
Her composure was absolute—so convincing it seemed the dish had always existed.
The hall exhaled, tension loosening by a hair.
The Emperor studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Approved."
Prince Harbala hesitated, then laughed. "Very well! I will wait to see this Four Seas in Harmony Soup."
Qing Sweet bowed again and turned to leave.
Her steps remained measured—but inside her sleeves, her hands were clenched tight, nails biting into her palms.
Because only she knew the truth.
There was no such dish.
And she had only moments to create one.