Chapter 7

He stood and casually handed his empty bowl to Wang Dequan. Then he unfastened something from his belt and tossed it to me.

A dragon-carved jade pendant. Smooth jade, exquisite workmanship. Clearly no ordinary trinket.

“Will that cover your meal?” he asked, raising a brow.

I weighed it in my hand. Heavy. Forget a meal—it could probably buy the entire Cold Palace.

But I couldn’t accept it. If I did, this would stop being a business transaction.

“I only take silver here.”

I tossed it back.

“Besides, I haven’t decided what to cook this morning. So we’re closed today.”

Then, right in his face—

Bang!

I slammed the gate.

Outside, utter silence.

I leaned against the wood, my heart pounding. This was an enormous gamble. What would the man outside do? Fly into an imperial rage and force his way in? Or…

“Open the gate.”

His low voice held a trace of helplessness, and a trace of… compromise.

“We’ll pay you in silver.”

I didn’t move.

He spoke again.

“We’re hungry.”

He even sounded a little aggrieved.

I froze. Was this the decisive emperor who held life and death in his hands? He sounded like a child who couldn’t get any sweets.

After a moment’s hesitation, I opened the gate.

He looked rather displeased. He took a gold ingot from Wang Dequan and pressed it into my hand.

“Can you cook now?” he asked through gritted teeth.

I smiled at the gold.

“Certainly. One bowl of Yangchun noodles. A hundred taels, thank you. The rest will count as your… voluntary tip.”

Wang Dequan’s jaw almost hit the ground. A hundred taels for a bowl of noodles? More expensive than pure gold!

Xiao Che only gave me a long look.

“Very well. We’ll wait.”

He sat on the stone slab again, this time with every appearance of having a perfect right to be there.

I carried the gold into my kitchen. From this moment on, there would be no more quiet days in my little Cold Palace.

Like the stove fire I’d lit with my own hands, my life was about to blaze in the depths of the harem.

11

The simplest dishes were often the greatest test of skill.

The noodles had to be rolled by hand. Only salt and eggs went into the dough, not a drop of water. That was how you achieved the right spring and smoothness.

The broth had to be crystal clear: an old hen and fine ham simmered for twelve hours, all the floating fat skimmed away, leaving only pure, concentrated flavor.

Finally, a spoonful of lard infused with scallion and onion.

The soul of the bowl.

When the boiling clear broth poured over the lard and scallions at the bottom, an indescribable fragrance rose at once.

The noodles came alive.

I carried the bowl out. Xiao Che still sat on the stone slab, straight-backed as a silent statue. At the smell, he stirred almost imperceptibly.

“Your Yangchun noodles.”

I set them on the little stone table before him: loose strands nestled in clear broth, bright green scallions scattered on top.

Simple. Clean. Irresistible.

He said nothing, only lifted a strand with his chopsticks and tasted it. He chewed slowly and attentively.

Then his eyes lit up with the shock of discovering something truly exquisite.

He’d never had noodles like these: springy, with a pleasing bite and the fragrance of grain. Nor broth like this: clear, savory-sweet, endlessly mellow.

Every flavor was exactly right. A little more would have been cloying; a little less, bland.

This wasn’t just a bowl of noodles. It was taste perfected through a return to simplicity.

He ate quickly, drinking every last drop of broth. When he set down the bowl and chopsticks, his eyes held mixed emotions.

“The best noodles we’ve ever eaten.”

“Thank you for your custom.”

I reached to clear the table.

“From today onward,” he said abruptly, “you’ll provide all three of our meals.”

My hand stopped in midair. I frowned.

“This is a small business. I don’t offer monthly meal plans. Besides, I cook whatever I feel like each day. If you expect to come every day, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

Beside him, Wang Dequan stamped his feet in anxiety. Good heavens! His Majesty was honoring me, and I was trying to turn him away?

Xiao Che didn’t mind. He watched me like an interesting opponent.

“No matter. We’ll eat whatever you cook. As for the price…”

He paused, a wicked smile touching his lips.

“Today’s rate. A hundred taels per meal. We aren’t short of money.”

I had no answer.

You couldn’t reason with an emperor, I realized. He didn’t bother being reasonable. He used the weapons he knew best to block every retreat: money and power.

“What? Unwilling?” He raised a brow. “Cooking for us is an honor.”

I drew a deep breath. I had no choice.

“Willing,” I forced out through my teeth. “Deeply honored.”

He smiled in satisfaction, stood, and brushed the dust from his robe.

“For lunch, four dishes and a soup. A balance of meat and vegetables, properly nourishing. We’ll come on time, once state business is done.”

Then he swaggered away with Wang Dequan, as though this were his own Imperial Garden rather than the Cold Palace.

I watched him go, a headache forming.

Now I was in trouble.

News of his meals at my place sprouted wings. Within an hour, the entire harem knew.

Noble Consort Ning was the first at my gate. She stormed in, alarm beneath her anger.

“Jiang Shu! I heard His Majesty…”

“It’s true.”

She went white. She thought I meant to compete with her for the emperor.

I smiled.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. He only comes for the food. He’s quite satisfied with me as a cook. I’m afraid you’ll have to go through him for anything you want to eat now.”

She stared, her expression shifting. Finally, she seemed to decide.

“As long as it keeps you in the palace, by His Majesty’s side, I’ll help you! Whatever you need, just ask. We’re on the same side.”

I smiled at her.

She really was clever.

Zhang Meng came next with his guards, every face miserable.

“Madam Jiang… We hear His Majesty has taken a fancy to your place. Does that mean there’ll be no more food for us?”

These hardened men looked like abandoned puppies. I wanted to laugh.

“Relax. Even if His Majesty takes the meat, there should be some broth left for you. I’ll make an extra portion of whatever I cook. Same time, same place.”

They were overjoyed and thanked me over and over.

I’d just seen both groups off and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Xiaoyun rushed in, panicked.

“My lady! Something terrible! Consort Xian’s maid just came. She secretly put this into the belly of the fresh fish delivered today!”

She opened her palm.

A slender silver needle lay there, blackened, its tip gleaming a sinister blue.

12

A poison that killed the moment it met blood.

My gaze cooled.

Consort Xian. Consort Shu’s younger sister, the legitimate daughter of the grand commandant. In the harem, her position was second only to Ning’s, and she was Ning’s greatest rival.

She’d been patient. All Ning’s fuss, all Zhang Meng’s visits, and only now had she moved.

But when she struck, she struck to kill.

Her target wasn’t me.

It was the emperor.

If something happened to him while he ate here, a hundred lives wouldn’t be enough to pay for my guilt. Ning would be implicated for recommending an unsuitable person. Zhang Meng would be punished for failing to detect the danger.

The whole palace’s balance of power would be reset.

And Consort Xian would gain the most.

Three birds with one arrow.

“My lady, what do we do?” Xiaoyun was white with fear. “Are we still cooking this fish?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t we? And we’re going to make quite a show of it.”

I took the tampered-with bass. It was fresh, just caught by Li Mao in the Imperial River.

I sent Xiaoyun for my sharpest boning knives, then began preparing it before her.

My hands moved so fast the blades were a blur. Soon a complete, boneless fillet lay on the board.

Beside the skeleton rested the poisoned silver needle.

“Put these fish bones away,” I told her. “We’ll need them later.”

She nodded, only half understanding.