Chapter 9
Edward Quan ·
14
I changed into the elegant lake-blue palace dress Noble Consort Ning had sent, pinned my long hair with a white jade hairpin, and looked fresh and neat.
A discreetly luxurious carriage waited outside the Cold Palace. Xiao Che was already inside, also in ordinary clothes. His dark brocade robe made him look especially handsome and composed.
“Come up.”
He offered his hand.
I hesitated, then placed mine in it. His hand was broad and warm, with a thin layer of calluses—a hand that had wielded both a sword and a vermilion brush.
The carriage set off slowly.
I lifted a corner of the curtain. This wasn’t the way out of the palace. We were heading deeper into the harem.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll know when we arrive.”
He leaned against the cushions with his eyes closed, apparently resting. I knew better than to ask again.
At last we stopped before a quiet, imposing palace.
The sign above it read: Palace of Compassionate Peace.
My heart sank.
The residence of the reigning empress dowager, Xiao Che’s mother.
Why had he brought me here?
To meet his mother?
I rejected the thought as soon as it appeared. Absurd.
“Step out.”
His voice broke into my thoughts. He descended first, then naturally turned to help me down. The maids and eunuchs at the gate stared in surprise.
Wang Dequan was waiting. He hurried forward, all smiles.
“My lady, you’re here. Her Majesty has been waiting for you.”
My uneasiness grew. The empress dowager had been waiting for me? What was going on?
I followed Xiao Che inside. Sandalwood incense curled through the hall. An elderly woman sat in the place of honor, wearing a pale-purple phoenix robe. Her hair was graying, her face kind, but her keen gaze carried the authority of someone long accustomed to power.
The empress dowager.
“My son.”
She smiled warmly at Xiao Che. When her gaze moved to me, the smile faded slightly, becoming more appraising.
“This must be the young lady Jiang with the extraordinary cooking skills.”
Her voice was gentle, but the pressure beneath it permitted no evasion.
“Jiang Shu pays her respects to Your Majesty.”
I knelt. Before her, I wouldn’t presume on my talent.
“Rise.” She lifted a hand. “I’ve invited you here to make a dish I haven’t tasted in many years.”
She looked at me and said slowly, “Kaishui baicai. Cabbage in clear broth.”
I was taken aback.
The name sounded simple, but this was among the most accomplished soups in Sichuan cooking. Its essence wasn’t the cabbage. It was the “boiling water”—broth that looked as clear as plain water but held extraordinary savory depth.
An old hen, an old duck, ham, dried scallops, pork trotters, and other fine ingredients went into it. Repeated clarification and straining removed every impurity and trace of fat, leaving a supremely pure broth.
It demanded enormous skill and patience. Even an imperial cook might not make it well.
The empress dowager was plainly testing me.
“Can’t you do it?” she asked coolly when I remained silent.
“I can, Your Majesty.” I raised my head and met her eyes. “But I need time. A good stock takes at least twelve hours. And I need a kitchen that’s mine alone.”
My conditions.
She studied me, seemingly surprised I dared set any. Then she turned to her son.
“What do you think?”
“Mother,” Xiao Che said, “we’ve already decreed that Jiang Shu’s courtyard in the Cold Palace is her private imperial kitchen. No one may interfere with anything she does there. Not even us. Not even you.”
Everyone was shaken.
He was openly opposing his mother for my sake.
Her expression changed slightly. She looked at him with mixed feelings, then sighed.
“Very well. If that is your wish, what can I say? Young lady Jiang, you have three days. In three days, I want your cabbage in clear broth. If I’m dissatisfied…”
She left it unfinished.
The threat was quite clear.
When we left, my back was soaked with cold sweat. Xiao Che walked beside me in silence. Only as we neared the Cold Palace gate did he speak abruptly.
“Are you confident?”
I stopped and looked at him. In sunlight, his profile was sharply defined.
“Afraid I’ll fail and embarrass you?”
He turned.
“Afraid you’ll lose your life.”
His eyes were serious. My heart missed a beat, but I quickly recovered.
“Don’t worry. A little cabbage soup isn’t beyond me. But I need an assistant. Someone to taste the food. Not someone from inside the palace. I don’t trust them.”
He seemed to understand something.
“Who do you want?”
“Zhang Meng. Have him bring his men. I want their palates to tell me whether my soup is good enough.”
15
Calling in a squad of Imperial Guards to taste the empress dowager’s meal would, if word got out, surely be considered an affront to imperial authority.
Xiao Che merely glanced at me.
“Granted.”
Decisive. Simple. As though it were a trivial matter.
I felt a little stirred. This man might be domineering and autocratic, but he held nothing back in his trust and support of me.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
I meant it.
He waved a hand.
“We’ll be waiting for your soup.”
Then he left.
For the next three days, I moved into the new kitchen. I ate and slept there.
Li Mao brought the finest ingredients in the world: century-old hens, Jinhua ham, dried scallops piled like mountains. Xiaoyun became my assistant, taking care of the odd jobs. Zhang Meng and his dozen or so men became my personal tasting squad.
Making stock was tedious, and it demanded tremendous care.
On the first day, I simmered chicken, duck, and pork trotters into a rich broth, white as milk and wonderfully fragrant.
I ladled out a bowl for Zhang Meng.
His eyes shone after one mouthful.
“Wonderful! Madam Jiang, this is the best chicken soup I’ve ever had!”
His men chimed in.
“So savory! You could sell this for more than Dongpo pork!”
But I shook my head.
“No. It’s too cloudy. Too fatty, too brash. It has savory depth, but not purity. Pour it out. We start again.”
Xiaoyun and the guards were speechless.
Throw away soup this good?
My expression was serious. They didn’t dare ask, only watched helplessly as that priceless pot of broth went down the drain.