The rules set by Uncle Fu were like an invisible boundary, dividing the small kitchen into two territories.
Chef Zhang still managed the prince’s regular meals and pastries, while Lin Qianshan focused on the small soup stove. On the surface, they coexisted in fragile peace, each minding their own domain.
But the air seemed thick with invisible gunpowder.
Chef Zhang no longer openly antagonized her; at times, he even asked, in his typically stiff tone, for her opinion on matters of heat and timing—an enormous concession for him. Yet Lin Qianshan could feel the undercurrent beneath the calm surface. When he inspected the ingredients she brought, his gaze was unusually sharp. When she cooked, though he didn’t approach, his tense posture exuded a subtle but constant scrutiny.
That day, Lin Qianshan prepared a soup of poria, hyacinth bean, and quail, intended to strengthen the spleen and dispel dampness—perfect for the increasingly humid weather. She carefully examined the quail: firm meat, cleanly plucked feathers, no abnormalities. The poria and hyacinth beans were also top-quality.
As usual, she blanched the quail and placed it with the herbs into a clay pot, adding fresh water and setting it over a gentle flame. Soon, a faint, rich aroma of herbs and poultry began to fill the kitchen.
Everything seemed to proceed smoothly.
After about half an hour, she habitually lifted the lid to skim off the last bit of foam. But her movement froze.
Her keen sense of smell detected an almost imperceptible, off-note buried in the aroma of the soup. It was faint, mingled with the fragrance of the herbs and meat—almost impossible to notice—but it carried the subtle tingle of something like rotting plant root.
Her heart tightened. In the modern era, she had received the strictest training in ingredient inspection; no subtle abnormality could escape her senses. This was definitely wrong.
Without showing panic, she gently stirred the soup with her ladle and took a small taste to sniff carefully. Yes! That faint, unpleasant tingling was indeed present.
Poria? Hyacinth beans? Or… the quail?
She forced herself to stay calm. Raising an alarm now, without evidence, would only alert the culprit—and she could even be blamed in return. She had to dispose of the soup immediately without arousing suspicion.
“Chuntao,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “I just remembered, Madam Zhao previously instructed that the prince’s soups in recent days should not include poria. Please keep an eye on the fire while I make a new pot quickly.”
Chuntao, unsuspecting, hurriedly nodded. “Okay, you go ahead. I’ll watch here.”
Lin Qianshan carried the scalding soup steadily to the waste bucket, and without hesitation, poured the entire pot in. The hot liquid mixed with the refuse, instantly erasing all traces.
Her heart bled. These ingredients were not the most precious, but they had been carefully selected. More importantly… the thought of what could have happened made her shiver.
She quickly returned to the stove, her mind racing for an alternative. There was no time to re-cook quail or meat. Her gaze swept the ingredient shelf, settling on a few fresh chicken eggs and a small bundle of tender chicken greens.
Got it!
She quickly lit the stove, cleaned the pot, and filled it with fresh water. Before it boiled, she cracked the eggs into a bowl and beat them evenly.
As the water approached a simmer, she poured the egg mixture in a thin stream, forming large, tender yellow egg ribbons.
She then added the cleaned chicken greens, blanched them just until tender, and removed the pot from the heat, adding only a pinch of salt and a few drops of sesame oil.
In an extremely short time, a simple yet fresh and tender chicken greens egg drop soup was complete.
The broth was clear, yellow and green intertwined, with a refreshing aroma—less rich than a herbal broth, but carrying its own clean vitality.
As she finished ladling the soup into a bowl, Leng Feng appeared at the doorway right on schedule.
As usual, he silently picked up the food box. His eyes flicked over the soup, clearly different from the usual clear broth, lingered for a moment, but he asked nothing and turned to leave.
Lin Qianshan watched his retreating figure, and her taut nerves relaxed slightly, though her back was already soaked with cold sweat. She walked to the kitchen waste bucket, staring at the now-mixed remnants of the previous soup, her eyes gradually hardening.
That faint off-note had not been accidental. She had carefully checked the poria and hyacinth beans—nothing wrong there. The quail was the most likely culprit. Someone had tampered with the ingredients she had brought, and the method had been extremely subtle. Without her superhumanly acute sense of taste, she would have never noticed.
Who could it be? Chef Zhang? He had motive and access to the ingredients. Or someone on Consort Liu’s side? Or… was there yet another hidden enemy in this vast manor she had not yet discovered?
She had escaped this time, but what about next time? Whoever it was, their methods would only become harder to guard against.
After dinner, Lin Qianshan went to the storeroom under the pretext of checking ingredients for the next day. She casually engaged the storekeeper in conversation.
“The quail delivered today is very fresh,” she said. “Were they purchased by the manor or sent from an outside estate?”
The storekeeper smiled. “From our estate outside the city. Slaughtered and prepared fresh every morning—couldn’t be fresher.”
“I see,” Lin Qianshan nodded, then added, “The prince’s stomach has been weak lately. The imperial doctor has instructed that every aspect of his diet, even the preparation of medicinal herbs, be carefully controlled. From now on, any herbs or poultry that go into his soup must be specially set aside for me to check. Otherwise, if something goes wrong, neither of us can explain it properly.”
Her tone was polite, yet by invoking “the prince” and “imperial doctor,” she left no room for delay. The storekeeper complied immediately. “Of course, of course! Miss, rest assured—I will set aside the best portion for you tomorrow.”
Only then did Lin Qianshan feel slightly at ease. But it was still far from enough.
Late at night, she lay in bed, wide awake. Moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating her bright yet serious eyes.
This manor was truly a bottomless well. She had only touched the surface, yet the currents beneath were already eager to swallow her whole.
She had to establish her footing faster, acquire more means of self-protection. And for now, her only reliance seemed to be the unpredictable Prince Xiao Yu—and his fastidious palate.