Chapter 10

On the second day, I began clarifying the stock.

I minced fresh chicken breast into a paste and repeatedly added it to the bubbling pot. As the meat absorbed impurities, the cloudiness and fat gradually disappeared.

It required immense patience and precise control of the heat. An entire afternoon and dozens of catties of chicken breast later, the milky broth had become clear.

I gave Zhang Meng another bowl.

He tasted it cautiously, then looked confused.

“This… doesn’t seem to taste of much anymore. Just slightly salty.”

His men nodded.

“Yes. Not as fragrant as yesterday.”

“That’s right,” I explained. “Clarifying removes some of the savory flavor along with the impurities. Tomorrow is the final step. We bring this clear broth back to life.”

On the third day, I rose before dawn.

I cut a white radish into fine shreds, washed a few goji berries, and took a pinch of the finest saffron, tribute from the Western Regions. I wrapped them in a loose muslin bag, lowered it into the crystal-clear broth, and simmered it over the gentlest flame.

No extra seasoning. Only these simple ingredients and their natural flavors, awakening the deepest soul of the soup.

Two hours later, I put out the fire.

I ladled the broth into a white porcelain bowl.

Clear as boiling water. Not a trace of fat, not a speck of impurity. Only a few golden saffron threads and bright red goji berries drifted at the bottom.

A delicate but profound fragrance spread slowly. Not meat, not spices—something clean and pure, food returned to its most essential self.

Zhang Meng and his men stared. They couldn’t believe this bowl of water was the soup they’d guarded for two days and nights.

“Taste it.”

He hesitated, then took a small spoonful.

The next second, his eyes flew wide.

An indescribable depth of flavor burst across his tongue. Clear, sweet, savory, mellow. Every element in perfect balance.

Warmth seemed to flow from his tongue straight into his heart, washing his soul clean.

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

His eyes slowly reddened.

This hardened soldier had been moved almost to tears by a bowl of soup.

His men wore equally rapt expressions.

I’d done it.

That afternoon, I brought the cabbage in clear broth to the Palace of Compassionate Peace.

The empress dowager looked at the transparent soup and tender cabbage hearts blanched just right. Without a word, she lifted a spoonful slowly to her mouth.

Then she went still.

She closed her eyes and said nothing for a long time. When she opened them, those sharp eyes were misted with tears.

“This taste…” she murmured. “It’s… what I used to have at my maternal grandparents’ home as a child. Exactly the same.”

She looked at me, astonished and bewildered.

“How did you manage this?”

I answered calmly.

“Your Majesty has tasted every rare delicacy. I thought what you missed most might not be something elaborate, but the simplest, purest flavor of all. The taste of home.”

She fell silent again. At last, she gave a long sigh.

“Well said. The taste of home.”

Her gaze had softened considerably.

“You’ve won. From today onward, you may come and go here as you please. My kitchen is open to you. I want to learn to cook from you.”

Every attendant gasped.

The empress dowager taking a disgraced consort as her teacher? Unheard of.

But I knew I’d won more than her stomach.

I’d won her heart.

In the depths of this palace, I now had another immensely powerful ally.

16

My appointment as head chef for her birthday banquet caused an even greater uproar.

Some were jealous. Some watched. Most waited to see me make a fool of myself.

This was a state banquet. Besides imperial relatives and civil and military officials, there would be envoys from the tributary states.

The food represented the empire’s dignity. One mistake would disgrace not just me, but the whole dynasty of Great Xiao.

Consort Xian’s faction had fallen quiet. The poisoned-needle investigation had reached a dead end when the eunuch responsible for procurement was murdered to silence him.

Xiao Che pursued it no further.

But I knew he hadn’t forgiven them. He was waiting for a chance to uproot them completely.

This banquet was the perfect stage.

Success would give me a legitimate foothold. Failure would let my enemies tear me apart without mercy and put the emperor on the defensive.

I had no retreat.

For seven days and nights, I shut myself in the kitchen to work on the menu.

Not merely a feast. A game of chess.

Each dish was a piece, and I would stake everything on this board.

Xiao Che came every day. He said nothing, only sat on the kitchen threshold and watched me work for an entire afternoon.

The Palace Guards sealed my courtyard so tightly that even Noble Consort Ning couldn’t enter. She could only send rare ingredients and earnest letters of encouragement.

In her crooked handwriting, she wrote: “Jiang Shu, you have to win. If you lose, I won’t get to eat your cooking anymore.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

This glutton was terribly honest.

On the seventh day, I emerged with my menu and went straight to the imperial study.

My first visit to the heart of the empire’s power.

Xiao Che was reviewing memorials. When he saw me, he put down his vermilion brush.

“Made up your mind?”

“Yes.”

I presented the menu. One glance, and he frowned.

“Too plain.”

No dragon’s liver, no phoenix marrow, no rare treasures of mountain and sea. Only ordinary, humble food.

“Blessings Vast as the Eastern Sea”: mixed vegetables.

“Longevity Like the Southern Mountains”: Emerald and White Jade Soup.

“A Hall Full of Gold and Jade”: tofu with crab roe.

And the main dish, “A Peaceful Nation, a Contented People.”

Pork, glass noodles, and pickled greens.

“Jiang Shu,” he said, his voice lowering, “do you understand this is a state banquet? Isn’t it rather shabby to serve foreign envoys these dishes?”

I met his gaze without arrogance or submission.

“A great nation shows its stature through generosity of spirit, not extravagance. They’ve eaten rare delicacies before. They may not have experienced the true warmth of a family meal, of ordinary life.

“I don’t want to show them how wealthy Great Xiao is. I want to show them how securely and contentedly its people live. A peaceful nation lets its people live in peace. That’s the foundation of prosperity.”

He was silent for a long time.

He looked at me with a light I’d never seen, as though discovering me for the first time.

“We’ll do it your way. We’re wagering the fate of all Great Xiao on your humble meals.”

“You’ll win, Your Majesty.”

On the day of the banquet, I stood in the great imperial kitchen, with hundreds of cooks behind me. Their expressions held contempt, curiosity, envy.

I paid no attention.

I saw only the stove.

My battlefield.

The opening bell rang, and maids carried out the mixed vegetables.

Murmurs spread through the hall. No one had expected such a simple first course at a state banquet.

At the envoys’ table, a robust prince from the Northern Frontier sneered.

“We’ve heard so much of the southern court’s wealth. And now you serve us dried grass and roots.”

His voice dripped mockery.

The hall grew awkward. Xiao Che remained expressionless on his throne. The empress dowager frowned slightly.

Behind the curtain, I watched through a gap, calm as still water.

“Bring the broth,” I whispered to the eunuch serving the dishes.

Dozens of maids came gracefully forward, carrying delicate white jade pitchers. They poured a ladleful of hot, water-clear stock over each guest’s vegetables.

It was the superior broth I’d simmered for three days and nights, using the method for cabbage in clear broth.

The moment it touched the vegetables, an indescribably savory aroma erupted across the hall.

Everyone was struck speechless.

The prince’s mocking smile froze.

Disbelieving, he picked up a mouthful.

His eyes widened like great bronze bells.