Disguised by chance and driven by instinct, Yue finds herself cooking a royal meal for the most feared woman in the palace. But when the truth begins to unravel, will her skills be enough to save her—or seal her fate?
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The kitchen door creaked open, cutting through the silence.
"Why are you just standing there? The Dowager Empress is waiting for her meal!" shouted a sharp voice, clear and demanding.
Yue quickly turned around, her heart pounding with surprise like a bird escaping a cage.
A eunuch stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the light behind him.
He was extremely thin, and his face was all sharp angles, filled with judgment. His eyebrows were so tightly knit they could cut glass, and his lips pressed together in an irritated line.
His cold eyes looked at Yue, noticing her dirt-streaked cheeks, tangled hair, and stained sleeves, but he didn't ask any questions.
"You're the new maid, aren't you?" he snapped, already beginning to turn away.
"Well? Don't just stand there! Move quickly before the Dowager loses her temper!"
Yue felt panic but no words came out.
Then, it clicked. He didn't recognize her. No suspicion, no questions—only irritation.
She looked disheveled enough to be mistaken for a kitchen maid. This could be her opportunity to escape.
"Yes, Sir," she said quickly, lowering her head in a respectful bow, trying to keep her voice calm.
"It'll be ready soon."
He made a dismissive noise, as if she had already spoiled his night.
"It better be," he muttered. "The Dowager's in a foul mood tonight—complaining that her bones hurt and the food's tasteless. Don't give her another reason to be angry."
With that, he walked away down the hallway, his soft shoes gently scraping across the stone floor.
Yue stood still for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Then, she slowly exhaled and turned back to the pot on the stove. The heavy smell of burnt rice lingered in the air.
She had been mistaken for a kitchen maid. And now, she had to prepare dinner for the most feared woman in the palace.
Yue wanted to make a run for it, but after a brief moment of hesitation she turned back to the bubbling pot of congee.
She exhaled deeply, pressing her lips together.
It was no surprise the Dowager Empress was upset. This meal wasn't just poorly prepared—it showed a lack of care and thought.
In the palace, food held more significance; it was comfort, power, medicine, and ritual. How could someone serve this?
Determined, she rolled up her sleeves and surveyed the kitchen.
It was small, meant for private meals, but it was clean and well-stocked.
The counters were polished wood, smooth from years of use. Baskets filled with dried herbs and fragrant roots lined the shelves. Near the wall, fresh ingredients awaited the next meal—crisp bok choy, bundles of spring onions, fresh rice wrapped in cloth.
Then, she noticed it. Hidden in one basket was a long, pale root with faint speckles—Chinese yam.
An idea sprouted in her mind, clear and instant like spring flowers.
Lotus seeds and Chinese yam. A gentle, nourishing porridge.
It would soothe the spleen, settle the stomach, and calm the spirit. It was the perfect dish—simple yet thoughtful, warm yet light. Ideal for someone older, tired, or struggling to sleep.
Her hands moved with quiet skill, guided by memory.
She measured some glutinous rice into a bowl and rinsed it in cold water until it ran clear.
Next, she added the pre-soaked lotus seeds—pale and round, like tiny pearls.
Swiftly, she removed the bitter green centers, her fingers moving fast and sure.
Carefully, she peeled the Chinese yam, steady despite its slipperiness. A faint, earthy scent rose from the root, clean and calming.
She sliced it into thin, even pieces, then placed them on a wooden board.
Next was ginger—just a few paper-thin slices to add warmth without overpowering the other flavors.
A small handful of goji berries and red dates were rinsed and pitted, their bright red like rubies against her palm.
While she worked, steam rose from the pot. The sound of the knife, the clinking bowls, and the rustling herbs created a familiar, silent rhythm.
This was more than cooking. It was care, memory, and intention in every stir.
Soon, a new pot was simmering on the fire.
The room transformed—not filled with the smell of burnt porridge, but with the inviting aroma of ginger and rice. The sweetness of dates and the faint herbal note of lotus embraced her like a warm shawl.
Yue lifted the lid and leaned in. Steam touched her face.
She stirred the porridge, watching it thicken to a smooth, silky consistency, with the lotus seeds softened and the yam slightly translucent.
She tasted a spoonful. Her eyes widened.
It was perfect. Smooth but not heavy, sweet but not overwhelming.
The flavors danced on her tongue—earthy and gentle, with a warmth spreading in her chest.
Most importantly, it was worthy of the Dowager Empress.
The eunuch broke the silence, asking, "Is it ready yet?"
He stood at the door, arms crossed, looking impatient and tapping his foot.
"Yes," Yue replied, trying to keep her voice steady, even though she felt nervous inside.
With care, she spooned the warm congee into a fine porcelain bowl. The congee looked smooth and pale, with the red of goji berries and dates peeking through.
Her hands trembled slightly as she placed the bowl on a black tray, adding an ornate spoon beside it.
Breathing deeply to calm herself, she followed the eunuch down the hallway, her footsteps quiet and hesitant.
The walk was brief, but each step felt filled with tension.
The corridor was dimly lit, with tall lanterns casting shifting shadows on the crimson walls.
Yue kept her eyes downcast, gripping the tray tightly as her heart pounded in her ears.
Eventually, they reached their destination. Ahead were the Dowager Empress's chambers, heavy sandalwood doors slightly open to let them in.
A mix of warmth and incense enveloped Yue as she entered, the air thick with the scents of sandalwood and chrysanthemum oil.
Inside, there was a heavy silence. The room was beautifully adorned, with dragon-patterned tapestries shimmering in the firelight and jade ornaments shining on every surface.
A large phoenix-shaped incense burner released slow, curling trails of smoke.
And there was the Dowager Empress. She reclined on an elegant couch, surrounded by luxurious robes that swirled like clouds. Her silver hair was adorned with gold and jewels, and although her body seemed frail, her eyes were sharp and piercing.
"You're late," she said coldly, her voice soft but cutting.
The eunuch bowed deeply, nearly bending over double.
"Forgive us, Your Grace. The maid struggled with the fire."
A young maid stepped forward, her face neutral. She tested the congee with a silver needle, tasted a small amount, and nodded before stepping back.
Gently, the bowl was placed before the Dowager.
Yue scarcely breathed. She watched as the Dowager Empress took the spoon with graceful, deliberate movements and took a sip.
The room was tense with anticipation.
The Dowager Empress paused, her lips pressed together in thought. She remained silent at first, then took another sip, slower this time, savoring the taste.
Her expression softened slightly, her eyes narrowing with interest. "What is this?" she finally asked, setting the spoon down gently.
Her voice now held curiosity rather than sharpness.
The eunuch was briefly taken aback. "It's lotus seed congee, Your Grace."
The Dowager gazed at the bowl again. "No, this isn't the usual. It's different. Brighter. It has warmth."
She tapped her fingers lightly on the bowl's rim. "There's something extra. What did you add?"
Her gaze turned to the eunuch, as if pinning him in place. "Bring the kitchen maid forward."
Yue felt her heart sink deeply into her stomach. Her face turned pale, losing all its color, but she moved instinctively, even before knowing what she was doing.
She stepped forward and dropped to her knees, the cold, hard marble pressing sharply through her thin clothes. She placed her hands flat on the floor and bowed her head low, touching her forehead to the ground.
"Please forgive me, Your Grace!" her voice full of fear.
"What did you put in this congee?" the Dowager Empress asked. Her tone was neither angry nor kind, making it difficult to interpret her thoughts—it balanced between judgment and curiosity.
Yue swallowed hard, her mouth dry. "Chinese yam, red dates, goji berries, and ginger," she replied carefully.
"They....they aid digestion, especially at night. They are gentle on the stomach and good for the spleen."
Another silence followed, stretching seconds into an eternity.
"You made this yourself?" she inquired.
"Yes, Your Grace." Another pause ensued.
The Dowager Empress then spoke in a soft but commanding voice. "Stand up."
Yue hesitated briefly, then slowly lifted her head. Her eyes met the Empress's gaze, which was sharp and unreadable.
"You cook well," she finally said. "And your reasoning is thoughtful." She tilted her head slightly, a flicker of interest in her eyes.
"What is your name?"
Before Yue could answer, someone interrupted them.
"Your Grace!" a voice suddenly rang out loudly in the room. A maid hurried in, looking shocked and pale, holding onto her skirt. "
"This girl here is an imposter! I am the one that was stationed in the, I just left to fetch more ingredients, then I was told that the supper was done by someone else.
The servants gasped collectively, a wave of shock sweeping through the room like a gust of wind.
The Empress Dowager's face turned very serious and hard. She looked back at Yue, no longer curious—her gaze was now sharp, suspicious, and cold.
"You," the Empress said, her voice sharp like a blade.
"Who are you truly?"