Xiao Yu’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it struck Lin Qianqian like a stone dropped into a deep, still pond, sending ripples across her heart.
She had never expected Prince Jing to appear personally in this tiny kitchen at this hour.
The moonlight outlined his sharp, angular profile.
Freed from the imposing authority of daylight, a faint weariness softened his brows, and even his usually hawk-like eyes seemed subdued by the night. Standing there, he looked less like a high-ranking prince and more like… an ordinary man, troubled by discomfort and seeking comfort instinctively.
“Your… Your Highness,” Lin Qianqian stammered, hastily setting down the small clay pot in her hands, kneeling in a deep bow, her heart hammering. She quickly glanced at the stove. Fortunately, to test the seasoning, she had just prepared a small bowl of the remaining ingredients for herself.
“Is there more soup?” Xiao Yu repeated, his gaze sweeping over her slightly trembling lashes and resting on the small clay pot still steaming gently.
“Your Highness… there is a little left, but it was prepared for my own use. I fear…” Lin Qianqian carefully chose her words, unwilling to offer such a crude dish.
“No matter,” Xiao Yu interrupted, his tone carrying an unmistakable command. “Bring it here.”
“Yes.” Lin Qianqian said nothing further, retrieving a clean white porcelain bowl. This soup, intended for herself, was even simpler than the one she had served him earlier. She carefully ladled the clear broth into the bowl, with a few slices of pristine lotus root floating on top, not a trace of oil.
Xiao Yu didn’t move toward the table. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, watching her work. His gaze was calm, evaluative, yet strangely lacking the usual oppressive force.
Lin Qianqian’s hands trembled slightly as she brought the bowl forward, her fingertips cool with nervousness.
Xiao Yu took it, their fingers brushing briefly. His were long and slender, knuckles defined, with the calloused strength of a martial practitioner.
He didn’t drink immediately. First, he lowered his head and gently inhaled the steam rising from the bowl. That familiar, soothing aroma—clean, comforting—seemed even more casual and homey than the one at dinner. Then, he blew lightly across the bowl and sipped a small amount.
The warm broth slid smoothly down his throat, comforting his uneasy stomach. The subtle bloating that had plagued him all night seemed eased by this perfectly tempered warmth. He drank slowly, gracefully, but with a near-greedy concentration, sip by sip.
Lin Qianqian stood with her head bowed, daring not to look directly, only observing from the corner of her eyes. She saw his usually tight lips relax imperceptibly as he drank, his Adam’s apple moving gently with each swallow. He finished every drop in the bowl, even eating the lotus slices carefully.
When the empty bowl was returned to her, it still carried the warmth of his hands.
“What is this soup called?” Xiao Yu asked suddenly, his voice slightly softer than before.
Lin Qianqian blinked, answering honestly, “Your Highness, it has no name. I simply used light, plain ingredients and cooked it casually.”
“Casually cooked…” he repeated softly, letting his gaze linger briefly on her bowed head. This girl was refreshingly straightforward. Unlike other chefs, who would invent endless stories to adorn a dish, she was honest.
“Did your family’s eatery often make soups like this?” he asked casually.
Lin Qianqian’s heart tightened. The test had come. She could not reveal too much, or risk exposing herself, but she also couldn’t appear ignorant.
“My family’s eatery is small, Your Highness,” she said carefully. “We mostly prepare simple, everyday dishes. My father often said that nourishment from food surpasses medicine, that the natural quality of ingredients is paramount, and following the seasons with light preparations is the best way to maintain health.” She had cleverly wrapped her modern nutrition knowledge in her father’s words, speaking as naturally as possible.
A faint glint appeared in his deep eyes. “Nourishment from food surpasses medicine… Your father is a wise man.”
He asked no further, instead saying, “Tomorrow’s soup—try some variation. Fubo will provide the ingredients.” With that, he rose, his dark robe glimmering faintly in the moonlight.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Lin Qianqian responded respectfully.
Xiao Yu didn’t linger, disappearing into the corridor’s shadows, his footsteps fading into the night.
Once his imposing presence had fully vanished, Lin Qianqian exhaled in relief, a thin sheen of sweat forming on her back. Even this brief private encounter with the prince had drained her mentally.
She looked at the empty bowl, remnants of the soup clinging to its sides.
Prince Jing, it seemed, was not as cold or heartless as the world claimed. At least regarding food, he displayed unusual persistence, and perhaps… a subtle vulnerability.
Yet, this special “attention”—would it bring fortune or disaster?
After tidying the kitchen, she returned to her slightly better but still modest quarters near the servants’ area. It was already late, and sleep eluded her.
Xiao Yu’s stomach condition was obviously chronic. Despite his status and access to top doctors and rare delicacies, this simple ailment had long resisted treatment. Was it incompetence on the part of the court physicians, or… something else entirely?
Why had he come personally tonight? Just for a bowl of soup, or to observe her—the sudden “variable” who had appeared in the kitchen?
Moonlight filtered through the torn paper of her window, casting mottled shadows on the floor. Lin Qianqian knew that from the moment she entered the small kitchen—or from the instant Prince Jing drank her soup—she had been swept into an invisible battlefield.
The next morning, as Lin Qianqian arrived at the small kitchen, she sensed an unusual atmosphere.
Master Zhang was absent, claiming illness. Only Chun Tao carefully cleaned the space. To Lin Qianqian’s surprise, Steward Fubo was personally waiting.
He wore a warm smile, his manner more courteous than yesterday. “Miss Lin, the prince has instructed that from now on, you shall draft the ingredient list for the small kitchen and submit it to me first. If there are special requests, do not hesitate to mention them.”
He handed her a small wooden waist token, carved with the character “Meal.” “With this, you may freely enter the storeroom and select the ingredients you need.”
Lin Qianqian’s heart leapt. This authority… was enormous! It effectively placed her above Master Zhang.
She took the token, feeling its weight as though it were a thousand pounds.
“Thank you for your grace, Your Highness. Thank you, Fubo,” she said, striving to keep her voice calm.
Fubo nodded with a knowing smile, adding meaningfully, “Prince’s appetite is what matters most here. Miss Lin, you will bear responsibility.”
After Fubo left, Chun Tao rushed over, eyeing the token with awe and worry. “Qianqian… this… is incredible! But what about Master Zhang?”
Lin Qianqian gripped the wooden token, the grain pressing into her palm.
She knew this was not merely honor. This token was a death warrant in disguise, thrusting her to the center of the storm. Master Zhang’s jealousy, other servants’ envy, and even hidden enmities within the mansion—all would surge toward her because of this small piece of wood.