Chapter 6

I knew who he was.

Only one man in the entire palace could make Wang Dequan bow and scrape like that.

Emperor Xiao Che.

What was he doing here?

Thoughts flashed through my head: fear, tension, but more than either, the excitement of seeing my plans fall into place.

All that scheming. First the noble consort, then the Imperial Guards. Hadn’t it all been for this?

To catch the biggest fish.

I drew a deep breath, tidied my appearance, and opened the gate.

It creaked. The man turned at the sound, and at last I saw his face: sharp brows, bright eyes, a straight nose, very thin lips.

He didn’t need anger to command respect. It was an emperor’s face—cold, handsome, surveying the world with detached scrutiny.

His gaze fell on me like a pair of blades, ready to cut me open and examine everything inside.

I didn’t look away. I met it calmly.

Then I noticed what he was holding.

An… empty bowl.

Fine white porcelain painted with blue-green lotus vines. Imperial tableware.

There he stood outside my gate, holding an empty bowl.

Like… a neighbor waiting to be fed?

This was decidedly strange.

Xiao Che was studying me too. The woman before him wore an old palace dress washed almost colorless. No rouge, no powder, her hair simply pinned up with wood. But she was clean, with a faint scent of soap-pod wash.

She did resemble Empress Xiaoxian. Her eyes, however, were entirely different.

The late empress’s had been gentle and serene. These were still and deep as an ancient well.

None of a discarded consort’s bitterness, inferiority, or madness. Only… composure.

As though he weren’t the exalted emperor at all, merely an ordinary customer at her door.

“You’re Lady Jiang?”

His voice was deeper and warmer than I’d imagined, with a compelling resonance.

I neither bowed nor knelt, only nodded lightly.

“Jiang Shu greets her… honored guest.”

I didn’t expose his identity. If he’d secretly come in ordinary clothes, he presumably wanted to remain unrecognized.

I could play along.

Surprise flickered in his eyes. He hadn’t expected this response: neither arrogant nor flattering, even a little distant.

Behind him, Wang Dequan was nearly hopping with anxiety, frantically signaling for me to kneel.

I pretended not to see.

A faint smile touched Xiao Che’s lips. This was getting interesting.

He raised his empty bowl.

“We hear…”

He paused, apparently realizing he’d slipped. But he didn’t correct himself. He went on using that imperial “we,” the very declaration of supreme authority.

“We hear your food is quite good.”

His eyes burned like torches, like a lion discovering interesting prey.

“You’ve come at the wrong time. Yesterday’s Dongpo pork is sold out, and I haven’t started breakfast.”

The air froze.

Wang Dequan went white as paper. I must be mad. Telling the emperor there was no food? Was I trying to get myself dragged out and beheaded?

Xiao Che was taken aback too.

He’d imagined any number of meetings. She might prostrate herself, plead for forgiveness, protest her innocence. She might assume a dignified pose to attract his attention.

He hadn’t imagined being refused so directly and matter-of-factly.

In his twenty-five years, no one had ever dared speak to him like this.

Yet he wasn’t angry. Only more intrigued.

“Then we’ll wait,” he said slowly. “Until you light the stove.”

And, still holding his empty bowl, he actually sat down on a slab of blue stone outside my gate.

Wang Dequan stared.

So did I.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The emperor, bowl in hand, blocking the Cold Palace gate and announcing he’d wait for me to cook?

If word got out, the whole palace would explode.

I looked at his handsome, expressionless face and suddenly thought His Majesty might be… a little adorable.

And… a little difficult.

I sighed.

“What would you like? Everything I cook here costs money.”

10

I’d said it perfectly calmly.

Wang Dequan’s legs gave way. He dropped to his knees.

“Your Maj—sir! Please don’t be angry! Lady Jiang didn’t mean it that way. She…”

Xiao Che raised a hand to stop him. He didn’t even look back. His gaze stayed on my face, without anger, only the interest of someone who’d found a worthy opponent.

“Oh? Tell us, then. How do you charge for your food?”

I looked at the lotus-patterned bowl in his hands and made up my mind.

“I have three kinds of prices. Friends pay according to my mood. Customers get clearly marked prices and a fair deal. And… passersby pay the most. Whether I cook for them at all is up to me.”

I watched him, waiting for him to place himself.

His smile deepened.

“And which category do we belong to?”

Again, that imperial “we.”

This time it wasn’t a slip. It was an open test. A declaration of who he was and what power he held.

“You’re in the third category, of course.”

Wang Dequan’s eyes rolled back. He almost fainted on the spot.

Finished. Completely finished.

Xiao Che’s smile slowly stiffened. He hadn’t expected such bluntness.

“Why?”

His voice dropped. The air seemed several degrees colder.

I felt the pressure of imperial authority, but I couldn’t retreat. The moment I did, I’d become another Consort An, entirely at someone else’s mercy.

“Because you came to my door of your own accord.” I looked straight into his eyes. “I opened an eatery to survive, not to serve someone. My rule is simple: payment first, food afterward. You turn up with an empty bowl. How am I supposed to know you can afford the meal?”

Every word challenged him. Every word also made sense—the sense of someone doing business.

He fell silent.

He studied me for so long that Wang Dequan thought the next moment would bring an order to drag me away.

Then he… laughed.

Not that cold, appraising smile, but an open laugh from the heart.

“Ha! ‘Payment first, food afterward.’ Excellent! In twenty-five years, no one has ever dared settle accounts with us like that!”