Qing Sweet almost flew out of Taihe Hall.
She crossed the long palace corridors at a near run, heading straight for the Imperial Kitchen. The deep winter wind cut across her face like knives, yet it did nothing to cool the blazing fire in her chest or slow the frantic calculations racing through her mind.
There was no such thing as Four Seas in Harmony Soup.
She had made it up on the spot.
Which meant she now had to create it—out of nothing—within the narrow window of time bought by her composure.
Ingredients.Concept.Manpower.Time.
The moment she burst into the Imperial Kitchen, she found it brightly lit but thick with unease. News from the front hall had already reached them. Director Li stood pale-faced by the door, while Chef Zhang leaned on his cane, his cloudy eyes filled with worry.
"Your Highness!" Director Li rushed forward.
"Girl!" Chef Zhang called hoarsely.
"No time to explain!" Qing Sweet said sharply, her words fast but razor-clear. "Director Li—gather every chef and assistant currently on duty. Only the best hands. Meet in the largest kitchen. Now!"
Her calm decisiveness snapped everyone into motion. Within moments, over a dozen of the Imperial Kitchen's core staff assembled in the main stove room, faces tense, eyes fixed on her.
"Everyone," Qing Sweet said, sweeping her gaze across them, "the foreign envoy has issued a direct challenge. His Majesty has accepted. We must produce a dish—right now—called Four Seas in Harmony Soup."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"This soup," she continued firmly, "must embody the vastness of our empire and the spirit of inclusiveness."
She began dictating without pause, her thoughts flowing at astonishing speed:
"From the northeastern forests—premium hazel mushrooms and black fungus, soaked and cleaned, to bring depth and earthiness.From the northwestern grasslands—the tenderest lamb loin, trimmed clean, treated to remove gaminess and preserve bold sweetness.From the Jiangnan waterways—translucent silverfish and Taihu cress, for clarity and elegance.From Lingnan—fresh lychee flesh and dried longan, for gentle sweetness and warmth.As the base, use millet from the Central Plains, slow-simmered into rich millet oil—symbolizing the foundation of the realm.Season only with well salt and a whisper of finely ground Sichuan pepper, to awaken the palate and represent connection.Finish with shredded seaweed and dried shrimp from the eastern coast—bringing a breath of the sea, a sign of tranquil borders."
She finished in one breath.
Silence.
Everyone stood frozen, stunned by the audacity of the concept.
Ingredients from all corners of the land.Wild delicacies and humble dried shrimp side by side.All to be unified—in less than half an hour.
Impossible.
"This soup is not about luxury," Qing Sweet said, her voice steady and forceful. "It is about harmony. Every element must remain itself, yet belong together. Not a pile of ingredients—but the blending of the four directions. This is about vision."
She turned to Chef Zhang. "Master. Is it feasible?"
Chef Zhang closed his eyes, thinking hard. Then he opened them—light flashing within.
'Harmonizing the four directions…'" he said slowly. "Girl, this idea surpasses cooking—it carries intent. It can be done. But the order, heat, and balance must be perfect. A single misstep, and it fails."
"That's why I need everyone," Qing Sweet said, meeting the eyes around her. "We have less than half an hour. This isn't just a dish—it's the honor of the Imperial Kitchen. Our moment to prove ourselves to His Majesty, the court, and the world. Are you with me?"
A heartbeat of silence—
Then a young chef, face flushed, shouted, "Yes! We'll follow Consort Chen!"
"Count me in!""Let's do it—show them what we're worth!""To hell with fear—let's win this!"
The room erupted with resolve. Doubt vanished, replaced by fierce unity forged over months of shared struggle.
"Good!" Qing Sweet said, energized. "Director Li—fetch every ingredient immediately, fastest routes only. Master Zhang—you oversee the millet oil and lamb. Zhao Sanniang—handle the forest and river ingredients. Fugui—prepare the lychee, longan, seaweed, and shrimp. Everyone else—stations now. Follow my commands!"
The Imperial Kitchen roared to life like a finely tuned war engine.
No shouting.Only swift footsteps.Knives striking boards.Flames roaring beneath cauldrons.And Qing Sweet's crisp, unwavering instructions.
She took her place at the main stove.
Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, focusing completely. As each prepared ingredient reached her hands, it felt as though she could sense them—the steadiness of the forest, the fire of the grasslands, the liveliness of the rivers, the gentle sweetness of fruit, the grounding warmth of millet, the clean salt of the sea.
Order was everything.
Once the millet broth boiled, she added the forest ingredients and lamb first, allowing depth and richness to bloom. Then came the silverfish and cress—seconds only, preserving their delicacy. Salt, then a mere pinch of pepper. Finally, lychee and longan—barely a roll before removing from heat, letting residual warmth coax out their sweetness.
Sweat beaded at her temples. Spring Peach wiped her brow again and again.
Time crawled by, every second sharp as a blade.
When the seaweed and shrimp were finally sprinkled in, a quiet fragrance rose from the massive porcelain tureen—not overpowering, but deep, warm, layered. Like mountains, rivers, plains, and oceans breathing together.
"It's done," Qing Sweet whispered, her voice trembling—not with fear, but awe.
Strong eunuchs lifted the heavy tureen at once. Qing Sweet followed, moving quickly back toward Taihe Hall.
Barely half an hour had passed.
Inside the hall, impatience and anticipation mingled. Some wore faint smiles of expectation—waiting for failure.
The tureen was placed at the center.
All eyes locked onto it.
Qing Sweet stepped forward and lifted the lid.
No explosive aroma burst forth—only a restrained, comforting scent that seemed to sink straight into the heart. The soup was a clear, pale gold. Within it floated brown forest delicacies, tender pink lamb, shimmering fish, emerald greens, translucent fruit, and flecks of seaweed and shrimp—like a miniature map of the realm itself.
She served a small bowl to the Emperor first. Then one to Prince Harbala.
The Emperor tasted slowly.
A flicker of surprise crossed his deep eyes—then something far deeper. He said nothing, finishing the bowl in silence.
Harbala, by contrast, took a huge spoonful. After two chews, he froze.
His eyes flew open.
He took another mouthful. Then another.
The hall was silent enough to hear breathing.
At last, Harbala set the bowl down and stood. Gone was all arrogance. He bowed deeply—first to the Emperor, then to Qing Sweet—performing the most solemn salute of the grasslands.
"Your Majesty. Consort Chen," he declared loudly, emotion ringing clear, "this Four Seas in Harmony Soup—I concede."
He gestured excitedly. "This flavor… it reminds me of the great plains after rain. Grass, earth, wind, beasts, distance—all of it together. Every taste stands apart, yet they form something greater. Nothing dominates. Everything completes the other."
"This," he said fervently, "is true inclusiveness. This is what Four Seas in Harmony should taste like. The Celestial Empire truly deserves its name. Today, I have learned."
The tension shattered.
Soft exclamations filled the hall. Ministers stared at Qing Sweet with new eyes. Consort Liu's smile finally cracked, her fingers digging into her palm.
The Emperor smiled—openly, at last—and inclined his head toward Qing Sweet.
Only then did her strength finally ebb. Her back was soaked with cold sweat, her legs weak—but she stood straight, bowed, and returned quietly to her seat.
She knew this moment had changed everything.
Consort Chen Qing Sweet.The Imperial Kitchen.They had not only survived—but triumphed.
And the bowl born from desperation that night would become legend.
From the smoke and fire of the kitchen, a light had finally risen—bright enough to illuminate the realm.