It was truly too fragrant.
When San Mao carried the tray into the main hall, even Yi Ji and Two-Dog, who had been standing guard at the entrance, couldn’t help but glance over.
The rib-attached meat from the upper belly of the lamb had thin layers of fat interwoven with red meat. After cooking, it resembled mutton-fat jade embedded with rouge-colored jade—translucent yet shimmering with a glossy sheen, making one’s mouth water uncontrollably.
Because it contained dried tangerine peel and ginger juice, the noodles had a slightly yellowish hue, each strand distinct as they soaked in the rich, milky-white broth. When lifted with chopsticks, they were adorned with specks of green scallions and cilantro. Watching the steam rise thickly from the noodles, one could imagine how smooth, springy, and delightfully chewy they would feel in the mouth.
Yi Ji picked up some noodles with silver chopsticks, let them sit for a moment, and was about to put them in his mouth when a dog-like head suddenly popped up beside him: “Brother Ji, let me handle the task of tasting the food for His Majesty.”
Glaring at Two-Dog, Yi Ji added some broth to a small porcelain bowl with a silver spoon, then lifted the bowl and sampled both the noodles and the broth for poison.
Two-Dog, San Mao, and Four-Rat all stared at him, not really fearing any poison in the noodles.
With six eyes between the three of them, their gazes all conveyed the same question: “What does it taste like?”
Ignoring them, Yi Ji presented the noodles to the Zhaode Emperor: “Your Majesty, the noodles are just right, though they’re still a bit hot.”
After so many days without anything to her liking, Shen Shiqing was a bit impatient. After taking a bite of the noodles, she glanced at San Mao, who was watching eagerly.
This eunuch had a real talent for cooking. The noodles were lightly seasoned, while the broth was rich—he had seasoned it with just the right amount of salt.
Seeing how much His Majesty was enjoying the meal, San Mao clasped his cat-like paws together, lifting his head in a manner that truly resembled a cat stretching its neck to watch.
Noticing his expression, Shen Shiqing picked up two pieces of meat from the bowl and ate them, then took a sip of the broth. The fatty lamb slid over her tongue—rich but not greasy, the meat tender and springy without being tough. The deep aroma of the broth, infused with lamb bones and spices, rushed straight to her head as the liquid flowed down her throat.
For a moment, she felt her spirits lift, closing her eyes in blissful forgetfulness.
“Your Majesty, these noodles were made by your humble servant racking his brains according to the recipe you bestowed. I was so afraid of making a mistake and depriving Your Majesty of a satisfying meal…”
“Leisurely and carefree, yet full of faults.*” Putting down her bowl and chopsticks, Shen Shiqing sighed.
Yi Ji slightly raised his head and nudged San Mao with his foot: “His Majesty is praising you.”
San Mao quickly knelt and kowtowed to His Majesty.
“Enough. You’ve done your job well, so accept the praise when it’s given.” Shen Shiqing wiped her mouth, rinsed with tea, and then said: “Remember this recipe well. It not only satisfies cravings, but lamb and ginger-tangerine peel noodles also have warming and nourishing properties, making them suitable as a dietary supplement. If serving the elderly, add egg whites to the noodles to nourish the stomach and intestines.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
San Mao’s face beamed with joy, his eyes narrowing into slits: “Today, your humble servant has truly broadened his horizons. Who knew there could be such fragrant lamb noodle soup in the world? After years of cooking, I still can’t compare to a casual suggestion from Your Majesty. Perhaps Your Majesty could bestow a name upon this dish? Then, whenever I make this imperial lamb noodle soup again, it would truly be…”
Shen Shiqing stood up and tossed the silk handkerchief she had used to wipe her hands aside: “This recipe was merely something I picked up from books like Cloud Immortal Miscellany, Taiping Holy Benevolence Formulary, and Shengji General Record—nothing more than rehashing old wisdom. It doesn’t deserve such flattery. You must have prepared more than one portion. Gather the guards on duty outside, and all of you may take it to share.”
“Thank you for Your Majesty’s reward!” Several eunuchs kowtowed in unison. Yi Ji and Two-Dog withdrew, leaving only San Mao kneeling in place.
“Th-this humble servant thanks Your Majesty for the reward, but I dare not deceive the emperor. I can eat no more—I was tasting the meat while it stewed.” As he spoke, San Mao puffed out his stomach, pretending to be so full he might burp.
His antics made it clear that his “tasting” had involved more than a bite or two. This performance wasn’t truly an apology but another attempt to flatter the emperor by praising the recipe.
Shen Shiqing saw right through him but smiled faintly, giving him a light kick on the backside.
Clutching his round buttocks, San Mao grinned as if he had stumbled upon a treasure: “Your Majesty, you’ve finally kicked this servant’s rear again! This cat’s backside has missed Your Majesty’s dragon boots so much it’s grown thin!”
Such absurdity prompted Shen Shiqing to end the banter. She turned to gaze out the window.
The weather was gloomy, with rain imminent.
Each autumn rain brought deeper chill. After this shower, the Double Ninth Festival would be just around the corner.
Calculating silently, she realized she had been emperor for some time now.
“Once Yi Ji finishes his noodles, send him to the Grand Secretariat to relay the decree: court assembly will be held at Fengtian Hall early tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Since court convenes tomorrow, should the imperial procession return to the palace today?”
“Hmm.”
The emperor seemed somewhat impatient.
Only she knew the magnitude of resolve it had taken.
Facing the emperor’s personal eunuchs.
Summoning court officials.
Bathing in a man’s body.
Deploying the Jinyiwei and the Eastern Depot.
Deciding life and death for others.
Convening the Grand Secretariat.
Kicking San Mao’s backside.
Holding court before civil and military officials.
…
Step by step, she had persevered, embodying the role of a sovereign.
Turning around, Shen Shiqing surveyed the memorials piled high on the desk and the vast Dayong map covering an entire wall.
Behind her, silent clouds gathered, and a biting wind grew colder.
She glanced down at her sleeve, where an embroidered golden dragon stared back at her—as if scrutinizing the usurper concealed within the emperor’s guise.
Shen Shiqing merely smiled, a faint yet spirited curve that lifted her brows.
Whatever lay ahead on her path, she was ready to press forward.
The court bell tolled from the Five Phoenix Tower, and the side gates swung open in succession.
Bathed in the lingering glow of dawn, the court officials of the Great Yong Dynasty assembled in order before the Golden River Bridge. After the crack of whips, they crossed the bridge and proceeded to both sides of the imperial path below the Dan Chi at Fengtian Gate.
Above the Dan Chi, in the elevated corridor known as the “Golden Platform,” the imperial throne was set—a place where daily court sessions were often referred to as “Golden Platform Governance.”
The officials stood solemnly facing the Golden Platform, flanked by sword-bearing guards. A sharp, cool breeze swept across their napes, dispelling fatigue and drowsiness.
Rain had fallen the previous night, leaving traces of cloud in the sky. Beneath the eastern horizon, the nascent sun tinted the clouds with crimson morning hues.
Minister of War Yang Zhai was discussing the allocation of winter provisions for the army with Minister of Revenue Wan Sencai, while Minister of Personnel Li Congyuan watched with a stern expression as the officials who had arrived in the capital to report to the emperor prepared for their audience.
Suddenly, a red glow filled his vision. Li Congyuan looked up and saw everything in the world draped in a crimson hue.
“The sky today seems different from usual.”
Stroking his long beard, he felt a stirring in his heart.
“Woo—” The sound of reed pipes rose, accompanied by the chime of bells and drums. On the imperial path, bearers carrying parasols and round fans advanced slowly, followed by ushering eunuchs and others. After the elaborate procession, the Zhaode Emperor, wearing a golden crown and a Dragon Robe, was carried in a grand sedan chair under the crimson radiance of the heavens, moving from the imperial gate along the imperial path to the golden platform.
His Majesty took his seat.
The crack of a whip sounded again.
The official in charge of rituals from the Court of State Ceremonial chanted in a drawn-out tone: “Enter the ranks!”
Only then did the courtiers step onto the imperial path in unison, performing three kowtows toward the emperor seated high above.
Seated atop the golden platform at Fengtian Gate, Shen Shiqing watched countless courtiers bowing to her and sighed silently.
Sitting here truly gave one the illusion that “between heaven and earth, I alone am supreme.”
Initially, Zhao Su Rui thought the pain in his stomach was just his imagination, but the intermittent discomfort kept bothering him. Rubbing his belly, he guessed it might be from eating too many persimmons the day before, yet he felt no urge to relieve himself.
The pain alone was tolerable, but sitting in the wen chair, he also felt a soreness and weakness in his back, as if a tendon had been plucked from his body.
“Shen San Fei’s body is truly useless. Just riding a horse for a short while has left me feeling unwell even today.”
After cursing Shen Shiqing in his heart as usual, Zhao Su Rui stretched and stood up. The day before, he had ordered the stones in the corner of the yard to be broken into chunks, each weighing over twenty jin. Just as Tao Kan had strengthened his body by moving bricks, he could do the same by carrying these stones.
After a few days of training to build some strength, he planned to resume archery practice. Shen San Fei was a… useless person who could only make lamb noodle soup, but he couldn’t allow himself to languish in such an incapable shell.
With these thoughts, he stretched his arms and twisted his neck, but his expression suddenly stiffened.
Could it be… that Shen San Fei’s body was afflicted with some serious illness?
Another wave of warmth and dampness spread from below. Zhao Su Rui panicked.
This, this… could Shen San Fei’s body really be so frail? Had yesterday’s horseback riding jolted this body to the point of leaking?
Though he knew he couldn’t see, he still glanced behind him and suddenly noticed a dark stain on the cushion of the wen chair.
Bleeding!
He was really bleeding!
“One… Tu Nan! Quickly, ride to fetch a physician! I… my body…”
Zhao Su Rui was so shocked he could barely speak, one hand hovering in the air, unsure whether to press it against the bleeding spot on his backside.
In his shock and fury, he felt a dull pain in his lower abdomen and even broke out in a cold sweat.
Tu Nan and A Chi were both in the courtyard and rushed into the room upon hearing the commotion. They saw their young lady pale-faced, her eyes filled with terror.
The two maids tensed, but when they saw the blood on the cushion, they simultaneously let out a long sigh of relief.
“Young lady, you must have been overworked lately. Your monthly courses have arrived five or six days early.”
As she spoke, A Chi familiarly opened a cabinet, took out a strip of fine cotton cloth, and steamed it briefly over the heating basket. Then she retrieved a wooden box containing slightly smaller cotton strips stuffed with filling, making them appear plump.
Meanwhile, Tu Nan removed the sitting cushion and replaced it with a plain blue cloth one.
Zhao Su Rui stared wide-eyed at their actions, feeling his heart grow cold. These two maids usually seemed so attentive and considerate—how could they remain so unhurried while their mistress was bleeding so profusely?
Watching A Chi leisurely tuck the smaller cloth strip into the larger one, Zhao Su Rui took a deep breath, ready to scold them, when Tu Nan approached him.
“Miss, would you like to clean up first before changing into the menstrual belt?”
“Clean up? I’m not dead yet! What do you mean by cleaning up?!”
Tu Nan chuckled: “Miss seems even more panicked than before. Surely you haven’t forgotten about menstruation?”
A Chi approached with the menstrual belt: “It’s my fault. Since Miss has lost her memories, I should have reminded you.”
Zhao Su Rui had no idea what they were talking about. All he knew was that he was bleeding uncontrollably, his lower abdomen feeling as if it contained a block of ice—both cold and painful. What he needed was a doctor and medicine, not these maids’ idle chatter!
“What are you dawdling for? Why haven’t you called for a doctor?! Hey? Why are you pulling down my trousers?!”
Moments later, Zhao Su Rui—now cleaned up by Tu Nan and A Chi—sat wrapped in blankets on the bed, staring blankly.
The morning glow outside the window was breathtakingly beautiful, but the crimson light only made him feel as if heaven itself was mocking him for experiencing menstruation.
Menstruation?! Menstruation?!
How could Shen San Fei’s body possess something so painful and bloody?!
Just hours earlier, Zhao Su Rui had been craving mutton noodle soup. Now, all he wanted was to execute Shen Shiqing’s entire clan.
Then he remembered: Shen Shiqing’s husband was currently imprisoned by him.
A ready-made “clan” right there.
“Tu Nan! That scoundrel locked up in the prison—have him beaten three times a day!”