"He's already made his move."
Those five quiet words fell like a boulder into deep water.
Qing Tian's heart slammed against her ribs.
She looked up at her master.
"After Consort Liu's brother failed to recruit me," Chef Zhang said calmly, "he sent word through an intermediary. He asked me to meet him at a teahouse outside the palace. I went."
Lin Fu—no longer the young apprentice, but now Eunuch Lin, dressed in fine silk and carrying the self-important air of a palace power broker—had greeted him with smiles and fake nostalgia.
Then he cut straight to the point.
"He said the Consort had heard rumors of Snowcloud Soup and wished to taste it," Chef Zhang said, his voice thin with restrained disgust.
"He suggested that since I could no longer make it, I should simply hand over the recipe. In return, all past grievances would be forgotten. He would speak well of me before the Consort. I'd be guaranteed a comfortable retirement… and my nephew serving at the border army would have a bright future."
Carrot first.
Then the stick.
"He reminded me how many 'accidents' could happen in the Imperial Kitchen. Procurement. Inspection. Storage. A single wrong item appearing in a delivery… or inferior goods passed off as tribute…"
Chef Zhang's eyes darkened.
"'Stealing imperial supplies' and 'fraud' are not small charges. They're enough to rot a man in the Punishment Office. And sometimes…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Qing Tian already understood.
Family.
Her blood turned to ice.
So that was it.
Wang Youcai's sabotage.
The warehouse rumors.
Matron Liu's probing eyes.
All of it was one net—
woven by Lin Fu and Matron Liu's family to strangle the Imperial Kitchen.
They didn't just want the Snowcloud Soup recipe.
They wanted to crush Chef Zhang.
"Master, you can't give it to them!" Qing Tian grabbed his sleeve.
"If you do, they'll never stop! And that recipe—Master Hu gave it to you—"
"I won't give it," Chef Zhang cut in, iron in his voice.
"That recipe is not just food. It is my master's trust. My line in the sand."
"I would take it to the grave before letting it fall into filthy hands."
His fingers tightened.
"If I hand it to him now, then the boiling oil I endured back then would have been meaningless. And Master Hu's faith in me… would become a joke."
He looked at her.
"Qing Tian, I didn't tell you this so you would suffer with me. I told you because this disaster cannot be avoided anymore. From the moment the Liu family reached in and Lin Fu bared his fangs, this path was set."
"They don't just want the recipe. They want me gone."
He lifted the now-cold almond tea and drank it like a farewell cup of wine.
"From today on, be careful. Speak less. Watch more. And stay away from anything tied to the Imperial Study."
"If the worst comes…"
His gaze drilled into her.
"Survive. That is all that matters. What I taught you—hold on to it. It may be the only thing you'll have left."
Qing Tian felt as though she were falling into freezing water.
Her master had seen everything coming—
and still chose to stand.
Chef Zhang picked up his old black-iron cleaver again and began wiping it slowly beneath the dim lamplight.
His bent yet unyielding shadow stretched across the wall like a solitary mountain facing a coming storm.
Outside, spring rain began to fall.
Soft. Endless.
Like the sound of something terrible quietly drawing closer.