At the first light of dawn, Lin Qianqian was abruptly awakened by a series of urgent knocks on the door.
Outside stood the steward matron of the servants’ quarters, Granny Wang, her face wearing an odd smile that was part curiosity, part obsequiousness—completely different from her cold demeanor yesterday.
“Miss Lin, quickly get up! Madam Zhao has instructed you to get ready and immediately report to the small kitchen!” Granny Wang’s voice was deliberately gentle, laced with caution.
The title “Miss Lin” made Lin Qianqian pause slightly. She quickly realized: the cold-faced guard from last night’s encounter had reported what happened to Madam Zhao. News traveled faster in Prince Jing’s mansion than she had imagined.
She had nothing to pack—only a set of equally tattered clothes. She carefully wrapped the small piece of black bread she hadn’t eaten last night, tucking it into her bosom; it was her entire worldly possession.
Following Granny Wang through layers of courtyards, the surroundings became increasingly elegant and serene. Pavilions, terraces, curved eaves—everything in the inner court was a world apart from the dilapidated servants’ quarters. The maids and servants they passed hurried along, their attire far more refined, and they cast curious or appraising glances at Lin Qianqian as Granny Wang led her past.
The small kitchen was located in a separate courtyard along the main residence, apart from the large kitchen that supplied food for the entire mansion. Its sole purpose was preparing Prince Xiao Yu’s daily meals. The windows were bright and clean; the stove and utensils were complete. Though smaller than the main kitchen, it exuded refinement and meticulousness.
Madam Zhao was already waiting in the courtyard, her expression still serious, though her gaze at Lin Qianqian was less harsh than yesterday, tinged with an inscrutable scrutiny.
“Since the prince has given his word, you will remain here,” Madam Zhao said steadily, her authority unchallenged. “The rules in this small kitchen are stricter; the prince’s meals must be perfect. You are new here, so start with the basics: tending the stove and cleaning utensils. Do not touch the cutting boards or ingredients without instructions, and absolutely do not handle the prince’s meals on your own. Understand?”
“Yes, mistress. Thank you for the guidance,” Lin Qianqian bowed her head, lowering her posture as far as possible. She knew all too well that a single misstep here could be disastrous.
Madam Zhao seemed satisfied with her compliance and nodded. She turned to a round-faced girl, around sixteen or seventeen, who was cleaning the stove. “Chun Tao, this is Lin Qianqian, the new stove assistant. Show her the ropes and explain the rules.”
“Yes, mistress,” Chun Tao replied, glancing at Lin Qianqian with a mixture of curiosity and innocent naivety.
After a few more instructions, Madam Zhao turned and left.
The moment she was gone, Chun Tao became lively, sidling up to Lin Qianqian and lowering her voice, full of envy and curiosity: “You’re the one from last night… the girl who made the soup for the prince? Tell me, what’s he like? Is he really as imposing as they say? Did he really drink the soup you made?”
Lin Qianqian, slightly overwhelmed by the rapid-fire questions, answered vaguely: “The prince’s temper is unpredictable. I was too frightened to lift my head. That soup… perhaps it simply suited his stomach by luck.”
“You’re amazing!” Chun Tao’s eyes sparkled. “Everyone in the mansion knows the prince has a delicate stomach. The main kitchen has tried several chefs, but he barely touched their dishes. And you… with a single bowl of soup, got him to eat? Incredible!”
Lin Qianqian’s heart stirred. So that was why Xiao Yu had regarded her humble soup differently—he had long suffered from stomach troubles.
Chun Tao was excitable and quickly showed Lin Qianqian around the small kitchen: the placement of utensils, stove management techniques, and which areas were off-limits.
“See, that over there is Master Zhang’s domain,” Chun Tao whispered, pointing at a middle-aged man in a clean chef’s uniform, carefully inspecting ingredients. “Master Zhang is the head chef of the prince’s small kitchen. He’s extremely skilled, but… has a bad temper. He hates people touching his things or using his stove. Stay out of his way and follow instructions.”
Lin Qianqian glanced over. Master Zhang’s expression was stern, his eyes carrying the focus and… subtle pride of a seasoned artisan.
He noticed her gaze, glanced sharply at her, then returned to his work as if she didn’t exist.
Lin Qianqian understood. As a sudden, inexperienced “stove assistant,” she was probably seen as an unnecessary nuisance or even a potential threat by a professional like him.
She didn’t mind. Escaping the hardships of the servant quarters was already a blessing. Quietly, she moved to the corner assigned to her, stacked with dirty dishes and cookware.
The water was cold, the grease hard to scrub off. But she worked meticulously, washing each bowl and pan until they gleamed, arranging them neatly. She observed Master Zhang’s techniques: precise knife work, careful seasoning. Truly a master. But his dishes were mostly rich, oily, and luxurious. While exquisite, they seemed to lack… warmth and the heartiness of simple, comforting food.
Master Zhang occasionally instructed her on fire control, his tone harsh and critical. Lin Qianqian said nothing, silently adjusting the flames perfectly—high heat strong and even, low heat gentle and steady. Her precise control, born of modern scientific knowledge and countless practical experiments, was nearly instinctual. It made the normally critical Master Zhang hesitate several times, unsure, his eyes reflecting a hint of suspicion and surprise.
At noon, the prince’s meal was taken away by designated servants, and the small kitchen temporarily became quiet.
Chun Tao leaned over as Lin Qianqian wiped the stove. Whispering: “Master Zhang’s jade shrimp dumplings, eight-treasure gourd duck, and his signature braised beef brisket… the prince barely touched them. Just a bite.”
Lin Qianqian continued her work but felt a stir of understanding. A man with a sensitive stomach avoided rich, heavy foods. Master Zhang’s skill was impeccable, but perhaps misdirected.
At that moment, Madam Zhao returned, her expression more solemn than that morning. Her gaze swept the kitchen, finally resting on Lin Qianqian.
“Lin Qianqian.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“The prince has sent word,” Madam Zhao’s voice carried a subtle tension, “for tonight’s dinner… he desires a light, clear soup.”
The small kitchen fell silent, every movement frozen.
Master Zhang’s face darkened instantly. The prince requesting soup was a direct affront—and specifying this unknown, new girl to prepare it?
Chun Tao nervously covered her mouth, glancing between Madam Zhao and Lin Qianqian, then worriedly at Master Zhang.
Lin Qianqian’s heart leapt. This wasn’t a simple task—it was a test over fire. Do it well, and she would earn the head chef’s envy. Do it poorly, and she would have deceived the prince, facing severe consequences.
Madam Zhao’s eyes, sharp as knives, fixed on her: “You know the prince’s stomach. All the ingredients are here in the small kitchen… can you… manage?”