Chapter 5

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Xiyun hurriedly steadied their hands, preventing any mishap. After sending them off, she said, “The lady is just such a temper; you’ll get used to it eventually. Don’t make a fuss over it.” The two maids exchanged glances, nodded, and left, though whether they believed her or not remained uncertain.

At noon, six maids arrived carrying dishes, each holding a plate, accompanied by someone bearing rice. Yuli already felt uneasy. After she finished eating, they swarmed around, leaving her no chance to serve herself. Once they had all left, another maid brought over some clear tea and stood quietly by the side, her smile warm and flawless, without the slightest fault.

Xiyun recalled those two maids who had been punished harshly for negligence and understood their cautiousness. Seeing Yuli’s slight disappointment, however, she felt a pang of sympathy. Smiling, she said, “They’re truly attentive, far better than me, a maid from the county.”

Yuli, also a laborer, recognized their carefulness—much like how she behaved around Xie Yao. To them, she was the mistress, someone in a higher position, like a superior. They were so wary that they barely dared approach her; no one sought closeness.

Fortunately, Yuli’s disappointment was brief. She was grateful for free food and lodging and didn’t dare expect any goodwill beyond that. Setting aside her overly sensitive unease, she reminded herself that time reveals true hearts. No matter what they thought of her, she need only do her part well.

In the afternoon, after a brief nap, Yuli found herself with nothing to do and took a tour of the small courtyard where she lived. The gate was a hanging flower gate, leading into a corridor flanked by east and west wings, opening directly to the main house. At the corner of the east wing stood a delicate pavilion.

Though spacious, the courtyard lacked greenery—not because it was early spring, but simply because there were no plants at all. The ground was entirely stone slabs, offering no foothold for plants to root or sprout.

The yard was fully visible at once, somewhat desolate, with the stone slabs pristine, freshly laid. The small pavilion was exquisite, its dougong brackets and flying eaves lively and elegant.

The east wing was tastefully arranged, seemingly used as a study, containing only a long desk and a sparsely decorated curio shelf. The west wing had several rooms; one belonged to Xiyun, while the others were simply furnished, as if hastily occupied without clear purpose.

The main house had three rooms: a flower hall where meals and tea were taken, a bedroom on the west side connected to a small adjoining room for bathing and washing, and another room housing three wardrobes, five dressing boxes, and some fine ornaments—an apparent dressing and makeup room.

Yuli had only twice selected clothes from there before bathing. The contents were valuable, and she dared not touch them. Today, with leisure, she took a closer look.

The wardrobes were filled with garments—style aside, they all felt soft to the touch. Some were white with golden hues, others green with a shimmering glow, extremely beautiful. But all featured wide sleeves and loose robes, elegant but impractical.

She opened the five dressing boxes for the first time. Two contained jade jewelry and hairpins, complete with pearls and precious stones, lustrous and smooth. She considered touching them but refrained; after all, she wouldn’t wear them, and they were heavy.

She looked at them repeatedly, reluctant to close the boxes. Two others held gold ornaments, dazzlingly exquisite, with filigree and inlaid gems—time-consuming traditional craftsmanship. Yuli dared not touch these.

The last box contained various colored bead flowers, bright and eye-catching, with pearls, kingfisher feathers, silk, and fabric flowers—all stunning to behold.

Xiyun urged her to try them on. “My hairstyling skills aren’t bad. Lady, why not give it a try?”

Yuli declined, “No, they’re burdensome to wear.”

But Xiyun saw her fondness for the items and assumed it was because Yuli disliked Xie Gongzi and didn’t want to use his things. Yuli thought simply that these were uniforms—wearing them meant going to work. If she could avoid it, she would.

At dusk, the sun set quickly, and darkness fell. At dinner time, no messenger came; it seemed Xie Yao wouldn’t be visiting tonight. Yuli was pleased but knew better than to show it openly; still, her joy was hard to conceal.

Xiyun noticed Yuli's happiness and breathed a sigh of relief—no need to persuade her to receive Xie Gongzi this evening.

The meal arrived punctually, with seven or eight maids entering in single file. Unaccustomed, Yuli hid inside her room, emerging only after they had all left.

She had been here four days, and every meal presented numerous dishes without repetition. Curious about who prepared such exquisite fare, she recalled her past life in the modern world, where she loved good food. In university, she and roommates traversed half the city for delicacies, and after graduation, she often cooked when time allowed. But later, work consumed her time. The meals near the office were repetitive chain store pre-packaged dishes—eating was merely survival, devoid of pleasure.

In the days before her accident, she might have skipped meals entirely if hunger didn’t threaten her life. Now, having arrived here, though the Song family’s food was made by Song’s mother, their poverty meant coarse meals, worse than modern fare.

But these past days, Yuli seemed to rediscover taste. Even the morning pastries were freshly kneaded dough, timed and cooked just right, arriving soft and fragrant.

Eating delicious food made her feel that life was truly good.

Since Xie Yao was absent and time was hers alone, Yuli decided to visit the kitchen.

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Leaving the courtyard posed a problem. Xie Yao had not expressly forbidden her to go out, but Yuli wasn’t sure if stepping beyond the courtyard would displease him.

Then she thought: unlike the original Song Yi, she had never provoked his anger. No matter how wild his character, basic logic applied; he had no reason to mistreat her.

Moreover, she was just going to peek into the kitchen. If it wasn’t allowed, someone would surely stop her, and she could return then.

At dawn, Yuli awoke early, lingered in bed for a while, then dressed. Xiyun entered, smiling brightly. They had agreed the night before to visit the kitchen together today.

Yuli wore a simple narrow-sleeved dress. It was still chilly, so she donned a water-green embroidered bamboo silk jacket. She wore no makeup, her jet-black hair simply pinned up with a single black jade hairpin—the simplest among the dressing boxes.

Yet her crimson lips, white teeth, and snow-like complexion made her look ethereal and stunning in this attire.

At the courtyard gate, Yuli felt a moment’s nervousness. Upon stepping out, no one called after her, so she exhaled and looked back.

The courtyard was tranquil, shimmering in sunlight. A wooden plaque hung above the gate, white characters on wood: “Bright Moon Residence.”

She realized the courtyard had a name; on her arrival, it had been dark, so she hadn’t noticed.

Led by Xiyun, she followed a path around the lakeside garden, passed through a gate, walked along another corridor, and reached another courtyard gate.

Inside was a bustling kitchen, full of voices. Seeing her, the maids who knew her stood quickly, calling out in a moderate voice, “The lady has arrived.”

Though it was still before noon, the kitchen was already busy—sorting and washing vegetables, chopping and plating. The entire kitchen was crowded yet orderly. Yuli’s sudden entrance caused momentary chaos before order was restored.

They stood respectfully, silent, leaving Yuli unsure where to put her hands.

“I was just wandering around, sorry to disturb. Please continue,” she said, turning to leave.

Shortly after, someone came chasing after her—a maid dressed differently in pink, looking like a supervisor. Behind her followed a rotund middle-aged man, both smiling and bowing.

Yuli waved off their formalities; they ignored her.

The pink-clad maid said, “I am Jingyu, this is Head Chef Hu. Lady, please command us.”

Old Hu added, “Is there anything you wish to eat? Whatever you ask, even if unknown, if you describe it, I can make it.”

Yuli hadn’t intended to speak, but his words piqued her curiosity. The recent dishes were exquisite but too refined and light; she craved heavy, flavorful junk food.

She shyly asked, “Have you heard of hot pot?”

Old Hu replied, “A kind of boiling pot?”

Yuli answered, “Sort of, but different. The broth is made by stir-frying lots of chili, spices, and beef tallow, then adding bone broth to boil. Ingredients include sliced beef and lamb, tripe, chicken gizzards, duck blood…”

She hadn’t expected to describe hot pot so precisely, her mouth watering as she spoke.

Old Hu carefully noted every word but grew uneasy as she mentioned offal—these were humble foods.

He had been transferred from the palace, knew the household was not ordinary, and was surprised the lady came from a poor background. Yet her demeanor lacked any trace of poverty’s timidity, instead shining bright and open, approachable and charming.

Old Hu agreed to investigate and took the liberty of substituting higher-quality ingredients for tripe and duck blood.

At noon, Yuli tasted it. The ingredients were fresh and high-grade, but the spices and chili were too few—it lacked the bold flavor she craved.

After eating the bland hot pot, she couldn’t nap. She found Old Hu and asked, “Uncle Hu, could I borrow the kitchen for a while?”

Old Hu was startled and honored, quickly consenting.

Without hesitation, Yuli rushed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was cleared except for four chefs assisting her. When Yuli added a deadly amount of chili and spices to the stir-fry base, three were driven out by the smoke, leaving only Old Hu and Xiyun to help.

Once the broth was ready in a copper pot over a small stove, Yuli picked up a thinly sliced piece of beef, dipping it back and forth eight times before blowing on it and eating.

The familiar spicy, fragrant flavor spread in her mouth. At that moment, Yuli felt like the happiest person on earth.

—

Imperial Palace, Zichen Hall Study.

A towering stack of memorials stood on the desk. Xie Yao bent over, pen in hand, drafting a roster.

Names corresponded to positions; some were vacant, awaiting suitable candidates, though few remained empty.

Upon finishing, he set down his brush. An attendant brought tea, but Xie Yao refused. Only after the court physician Songhe tested it with a silver needle did he drink.

Xie Yao dismissed all attendants and closed his eyes to rest, asking Songhe, “What did she do today?”

Songhe replied, “The princess went to the kitchen. It seemed she wanted something to eat but left when she saw it crowded. Fortunately, Jingyu and Hu Wenjun followed her. The princess described what she wanted, and Hu Wenjun tried to make it, but she was not satisfied…”

Hearing this, Xie Yao opened his eyes. “Did Hu Wenjun not try hard?”

“No,” Songhe said. “No one had seen what the princess wanted before. It sounded odd. Hu Wenjun lacked the skill, so the princess cooked herself. She was very happy and wanted to share, but only Xiyun joined; the others declined politely.”

“What was this delicacy?” Xie Yao asked.

“Made with lots of chili, beef tallow, and more than a dozen spices, stir-fried and simmered into a hot pot, with beef and other ingredients for dipping,” Songhe reported plainly.

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Xie Yao was silent.

Not exactly appetizing.

“As long as she’s happy. Tell Hu Wenjun to try harder,” he said.

Songhe nodded. After a brief rest, Xie Yao picked up the roster again, a cold smile flickering at the corner of his lips.

Late at night.

Zichen Hall was brightly lit. Seven aged ministers were brought into the study.

Xie Yao wore a black robe embroidered with a python pattern, cinched with a white hemp belt—mourning attire for the recently deceased late emperor.

The seven elders wore grayish-white hemp garments—not mourning clothes but prison uniforms.

Two months prior, Xie Yao had stormed the capital from the western border. At that time, the Crown Prince and Prince Xin vied for succession; it was unclear who summoned him.

Soon after arriving, the Crown Prince and Prince Xin died one after another. His Divine Martial Army seized control of the city and palace.

When the emperor fell ill, Xie Yao declared himself regent. After the emperor’s death about ten days ago, he enthroned a five-year-old child.

People pursued power. With ruthless methods, Xie Yao eliminated many Crown Prince and Prince Xin supporters, even members of the Xie family who had been core to the Crown Prince’s faction.

Most court officials, eager to survive, pledged loyalty to the young emperor and Xie Yao, quickly gaining promotion, signaling the rise of the compliant and the fall of the rebellious.

Only these seven upright ministers remained unyielding, denouncing him as a traitor.

They were patriarchs of century-old families, esteemed scholars of the Imperial Academy, prime ministers, and tutors—men who had held court power for years and whose mere cough could shake the political landscape.

Only because of their stature did they dare unite to force Xie Yao to replace the emperor.

Currently, the young emperor’s mother was of low birth, a common woman the late emperor met in the south, with no foundation or connections, entirely under Xie Yao’s control.

They sought a successor with blood ties to themselves—to contest power with Xie Yao.

Having worked in the court for years with their followers, they looked down on the twenty-two-year-old regent, a military man.

Since the late emperor’s death, they had been imprisoned. Xie Yao had tried to persuade them in jail, but they remained unmoved. Now, bringing them late at night suggested he was yielding to court pressure.

The seven stood proud and unyielding like white cranes in the wind.

Xie Yao raised his eyelids, eyeing them indifferently.

Their noble, righteous demeanor bored him.

He coldly uttered, “Disloyal to the new sovereign, deserving death. I grant you the right to hang yourselves.”

Attendants immediately brought out lengths of white silk. The men’s expressions changed drastically, still refusing to believe Xie Yao dared kill them.

Seeing no movement, Xie Yao glanced at Songhe, “They lack experience. Find someone to help them.”

Songhe gave a signal. The Divine Martial Army guarding outside entered with the white silk.

Perhaps deliberately, there were only three ropes—enough to strangle three at a time.

The soldiers wrapped the silk around three men’s necks, their arms like iron, tightening inch by inch. The men gasped, eyes bulging, quickly losing breath. The soldiers held on until no chance of revival remained, then released them as they collapsed stiffly.

Three died instantly. The remaining four realized Xie Yao meant business.

The once-dismissed young man now seemed a fierce warrior intent on claiming their souls.

Two knelt, submitting and begging for mercy.

Xie Yao sneered coldly, “I gave you a chance.”

The white silk tightened again, and three more elder ministers perished.

The last, soulless, begged in vain. The silk was more terrifying than barbed iron chains. He tried to dash into a post but was grabbed and pinned down.

As the silk tightened to its limit, he stared fearfully at Xie Yao, raising a withered hand to point but failed, eyes bulging wildly and never closing until death.

Xie Yao didn’t even frown, ordering their bodies sent overnight to their families, then decreed a grand court meeting at Hanyuan Hall. All officials must attend before dawn; latecomers would bear the consequences.

The deaths of the seven ministers caused no great stir, as Xie Yao had already subdued officials after their imprisonment. Those to be executed, executed; those to be exiled, exiled. The current court pledged loyalty to the new sovereign.

Their deaths symbolized the purging of the old guard.

Recently, he had ministers of sixth and fifth rank submit memorials directly to him, scrutinizing every detail. He found capable officials previously blocked by entrenched interests.

He selected fifty worthy for new appointments, announced at the next day’s grand court session.

This was what truly shook the political scene.

Furthermore, he ordered the Ministry of Rites to hold a special imperial examination in the new emperor’s name, selecting 300 successful candidates regardless of noble or humble origin, as long as they pledged loyalty to the new regime.

After a long, busy day finally winding down, he first inquired about Yuli.

Learning she had spent the day in the kitchen, creating strange dishes for Hu Wenjun and others, the corners of his lips twitched.

“Tell her in advance—I will return tonight,” Xie Yao said.