Liu Qiaoqiao lifted her eyes at her. “Qian, didn’t you already give it to me? You hid it under my pillow.”
“Ah, you didn’t let me bring anything. I just wanted to show it to you. Helping you like this is nothing—why would I charge you?” Yan Zigu laughed and sat at the table. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I was afraid I’d forget if I waited too long.”
“I didn’t grow up in the capital, so I don’t know these dishes or tastes,” Liu Qiaoqiao said, quietly working with her hands. Her attitude was basically: “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“I went to the busiest restaurant in town and ordered their newest dishes. I don’t know if fish is cheap lately, but five dishes—four were fish: steamed, fried, stir-fried, and soup. The flavors weren’t anything special.”
“One was a meatball soup. It smelled like meat, but inside it was just flour dumplings.”
“I guess these common dishes won’t help you much. In the palace, food is always refined and delicate.”
Liu Qiaoqiao didn’t respond, but asked, “You don’t like fish?”
“When I was little, a fish bone got stuck in my throat. I don’t know how to eat fish, so I just don’t,” Yan Zigu said awkwardly with a smile.
“A young lady like you, no one helped remove the bones?” Liu Qiaoqiao asked, surprised.
“I ate with my grandparents. The maids stood far away,” Yan Zigu shrugged. “My grandmother said: if your body is weak and you don’t know the basics, you’ll become useless. Some things can be done for you, but you also need to know how. If one day no one helps, what will you do?”
“Like now, in the palace, I have to do things myself.”
“Your grandmother cared about you,” Liu Qiaoqiao agreed.
Since they were talking, Yan Zigu felt they could be friends. She asked about Liu Qiaoqiao. She learned Liu Qiaoqiao started as an apprentice for a neighboring lady who entered the palace to cook. Her father paid five taels of silver. Seven or eight years later, the lady left the palace, but Liu Qiaoqiao’s skills impressed the supervisors, so she stayed.
Quiet and unassuming, she had become a sixth-rank official in charge of meals, preparing menus even for palace consorts.
Yan Zigu joked, “No wonder you two can share a four-person room—you’re enjoying her credit.”
Liu Qiaoqiao didn’t respond. She spent all her time studying recipes and in the kitchen, not caring for relationships. The previous roommates didn’t like the smell of food on her, so she moved out. New people didn’t know and lived there happily.
“Do you manage the Eastern Palace meals too?” Yan Zigu asked.
“The Crown Prince and officials’ main meals are prepared by the Ministry of Rites. At Zichen Hall, there’s an internal kitchen for extra meals,” Liu Qiaoqiao said.
“Female officers, maids, and attendants have another kitchen nearby. When not on duty, they eat there; on duty, they just grab something quick.”
“I eat refined meals in the Eastern Palace, not quick food,” Yan Zigu said, then looked at Liu Qiaoqiao seriously. Slowly, her smile disappeared. “You’re not going to tell me… the meals I’ve been eating there are the Crown Prince’s leftovers, are they?!”
“If you weren’t ranked, you wouldn’t even get the leftovers,” Liu Qiaoqiao said. She didn’t understand why Yan Zigu looked so shocked. Leftovers are still clean, and palace eunuchs distribute the food.
“What kind of relationship do we have? How can I eat his leftovers?” Yan Zigu held her head. “Besides, how can a woman eat a man’s leftovers? Only men eat leftovers.”
In her memory, only her grandfather would cheerfully eat her grandmother’s leftovers—but they were husband and wife.
Liu Qiaoqiao said, “Eating the Crown Prince’s leftovers isn’t about gender. It’s the master-servant relationship.”
“You’re right,” Yan Zigu calmed down. But she still didn’t want other people’s leftovers. “Where is the maids’ kitchen?”
“That’s easy. I’ll have meals delivered to you later. You can eat in your room, or have a maid bring it to you.”
“You’re not picky, right?”
“You’re so kind,” Yan Zigu said, excited, jumping on her. “I’m not picky. I eat everything. I don’t like leafy vegetables, or very bitter food. I don’t like sour stuff much, don’t like mush, like meat but not too fatty, and like meat with bones.”
“You really aren’t picky,” Liu Qiaoqiao said, pushing her. “You eat what you’re given—no complaining.”
“Okay, okay, you’re amazing,” Yan Zigu said. “How can I thank you? Money? Or should I go out to check on your parents? I have a jade token; I can go out anytime.”
“You don’t need to do any of that,” Liu Qiaoqiao said. “I’ll ask if I need anything later.”
Yan Zigu didn’t eat in the Eastern Palace, giving her portions to others. Cui Yun said it was enough for them.
“I have somewhere else to eat. Don’t worry. Eat more good food—you don’t get good stuff on duty anyway.”
She had seen the main kitchen: big pots of food, nothing fancy—just cooked to eat.
Zhang Ying’er spread rumors that people had died in Yan Zigu’s room and anyone who stayed there would get sick.
Yan Zigu laughed and put some herbal powder in Zhang Ying’er’s teapot, then ran to the restroom repeatedly. She pretended to be shocked. “Maybe it’s you who’s sick. Go see the imperial doctor. If you’re sick, you can’t serve in the palace.”
“Just a bad stomach,” Qian Ming said to her.
“Can you guarantee that?” Yan Zigu asked. “If something happens, can you take responsibility?”
Qian Ming stayed silent.
“I think you should observe your residence for a couple of days and make sure you’re healthy before returning to the Eastern Palace,” Yan Zigu said to Zhang Ying’er. “Also reflect: maybe your gossip caught up with you.”
Zhang Ying’er dared not argue; she really had diarrhea. If Zhang Cheng found out, she might be expelled from the palace.
Yan Zigu had bought medicine in advance for such emergencies, grinding it into powder in her pouch.
She wasn’t someone to passively accept abuse.
After Zhang Ying’er, Qian Ming completely lost the upper hand. But Yan Zigu didn’t abuse her position, acting normally.
Spring was beautiful. During free moments at duty, Yan Zigu explored every place in the palace. The Eastern Palace was square and plain, with only artificial Taihu rocks.
From Zichen Hall to the consorts’ palaces, there were small gardens. She only glanced while walking; even beautiful spots didn’t feel like a view.
The Imperial Rear Garden was different: a large water area with willow trees and colorful flowers. She didn’t need to look elsewhere—just sitting by the water was enough. She had never seen such a large body of water before.
Even when returning by boat, her maid got seasick, so she couldn’t enjoy the scenery.
Cui Yun told her this was Taiqing Pond. During the Dragon Boat Festival, the Jin Pond is even larger.
During the Crown Prince’s free time, Yan Zigu asked, “Your Highness, do you know Jin Pond is bigger than Taiqing Pond?”
Zhou Hui looked at her strangely. “Why would you think I don’t know?”
“Because Your Highness never goes to the Imperial Rear Garden, I thought you didn’t know what it looked like.”
“You don’t need to see everything to know it,” Zhou Hui said, flipping a book. “I went there as a child.”
“How young? When was the last time you went?” Yan Zigu asked.
“Why do you care?”
“I just thought, spring is beautiful. You study all day—you should see the scenery outside.”
Zhou Hui didn’t answer immediately.
The small eunuch nearby lifted his head, surprised.
Yan Zigu wondered if she said something strange to get that reaction.
“I heard a saying: seedlings need wind and sun to grow. People are the same. When the weather is nice, people should spend time outdoors—it’s good for the body and mind.”