Chapter Forty-Two: Reporting for Duty at the Kitchens

Early the next morning.

Although Yin Chan had said that he would need at least seven days of rest before he could return to the kitchen, otherwise his body would not be able to bear it, Ming Tian could wait no longer.

At the break of dawn, while the roosters outside were still listless in the dim light, Ming Tian was already dressed in the royal chef’s attire that Wang Jingze had prepared for him.

As for the complete annihilation of the League of Transmigrators, Ming Tian had already put it out of his mind. It had nothing to do with him, and dwelling on it was pointless. Right now, his most important goal was to save Xiao Xinzhu, kill the emperor and the crown prince—he had to focus all his attention on this.

According to the plan, the assassination of Emperor Qi Ming and Xiao Baojuan would use Yu Nizi as cover. After all, the emperor was used to the finest delicacies, his palate far more exacting than that of the three dignitaries Ming Tian had once impressed at the Lanling Prefecture. There would only be one chance to poison them; if it failed, and the emperor’s leftovers were consumed by the eunuchs, the whole plot would be exposed. If, during the attempt, the emperor and crown prince happened not to eat, Yu Nizi could step in to persuade them to taste the dishes—an added layer of insurance.

Moreover, if the emperor and crown prince died from poison, Yu Nizi, as crown princess, would wield some degree of power, which would make seizing the throne easier.

Ming Tian could not afford to wait. If Emperor Qi Ming suddenly recovered, Xiao Xinzhu would become the crown princess, and all would be lost.

He had to win over the emperor’s and crown prince’s palates before Yu Nizi became crown princess.

“Ming Tian, I’m sorry.”

Beside him, An Luo, who was helping him dress, looked at him with admiration.

“What is it?” Ming Tian finished dressing and adjusted his appearance in the bronze mirror.

An Luo said, “I always thought, though you’re smart and loyal, you were a bit effeminate. But last night you were truly imposing. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have thought you were effeminate.”

...

What the hell? Effeminate? So all this time, in your eyes, I was just some sissy?

“An Luo.” Ming Tian turned, patted An Luo on the shoulder, and flashed an innocently harmless smile.

That smile made An Luo shiver. “Wh-what is it, Brother Ming Tian?”

“Oh, nothing, just wanted to ask you something...” Ming Tian smiled, pulling a kitchen knife from behind his back. “Are you looking for a beating? No worries—if you’re feeling itchy, just tell your brother. My knife skills are excellent. A couple of chops and you won’t itch anymore.”

Gulp.

An Luo stared at the kitchen knife, swallowing hard, his eyes wide with terror like a startled quail.

Poor An Luo had always been straightforward; he probably still didn’t know what he’d done to offend Ming Tian.

Just then, with a creak, the door was pushed open and Yin Chan walked in at a measured pace.

Now attired once more in her standard male disguise, she wore the imperial physician’s uniform that Wang Jingze had prepared.

One had to admit, though Yin Chan had been a man in her previous life, she was lucky in reincarnation—her features were quite androgynous, and when she dressed as a man, especially cleaned up, her looks were no less striking than Ming Tian’s.

Upon entering and seeing Ming Tian holding a kitchen knife to An Luo, Yin Chan was momentarily bewildered.

“What… are you two doing?” she asked.

Her arrival was a timely rescue for An Luo, who promptly retreated to a safe distance, out of Ming Tian’s reach.

Ming Tian, who had only been joking, put away the knife and gave Yin Chan a once-over. “Not bad. An Luo, take a look—this is what a proper sissy looks like.”

The banter ended there.

Wang Jingze had already arranged everything for Ming Tian and was now focused on Yu Nizi’s affairs and would not be present for some time; from here on, it was up to Ming Tian and Yin Chan.

Ming Tian was assigned to the Imperial Kitchen—more specifically, the Department of Imperial Meals—as a cook. Although Wang Jingze could have placed him directly as a deputy or chief chef, for safety’s sake, it was better to keep a low profile.

With Emperor Qi Ming gravely ill, the crown prince Xiao Baojuan needed to dine with the emperor, which provided a convenient opportunity for their plan.

Normally, the emperor’s meals were handled by cooks and chief chefs, while the crown prince’s were attended by master cooks and their assistants.

Yin Chan was assigned to the Imperial Medical Office. To keep a low profile and to more easily adjust prescriptions to worsen the emperor’s illness, she was made a seventh-rank official—a physician. Outside the palace, that would be a position of some authority, but within the palace, it was little more than a herbalist, which made it easier to alter prescriptions.

The two of them, ready in their respective roles, boarded a carriage and set off for their posts.

An Luo was of little help in this operation; all he could do was wait back in the room for news.

This mission was of great importance. Beyond the fate of the country, Ming Tian was no saint—he just wanted a good life. But this was about his woman, so whatever happened, he had to succeed.

The difficulty, however, was immense!

The Imperial Kitchen as we know it from the Qing Dynasty was, in earlier times, called the Department of Imperial Meals. Throughout history, emperors and high ministers placed the utmost importance on their meals. The Department of Imperial Meals represented the pinnacle of culinary arts in every era of China.

While Ming Tian’s dishes had amazed three top officials of the highest rank, he did not believe that the roast meat and bamboo rice from that day would be enough to impress the emperor or the crown prince.

Even though those dignitaries were second only to the prime minister, as Yin Chan had said, their diets and the emperor’s were worlds apart.

And the gap was not the sort of fanciful difference that could be easily bridged, as in some fantasy novel.

If commoners’ cuisine was at the level of a single-story house, then the fare of the influential in Qi was as high as Everest, while the emperor’s meals…

Might as well be on the moon.

The Department of Imperial Meals gathered the finest ingredients under heaven, the ultimate expression of Chinese culinary mastery. Not only was every ingredient a rare delicacy, the chefs themselves were the best in the land, handpicked from across all of Qi.

Many chefs of the department rarely served more than eight years—not because the emperor was harsh, but because it took so long to hone their skills that, by the time they were qualified, they soon had to retire.

As for the position Ming Tian was assigned, an ordinary cook had to be trained from childhood; even the most talented would need thirty years of dedicated practice to qualify. The deputy and chief chefs were on another level entirely.

It was now the hour of the Rabbit. Ming Tian wasn’t sure exactly what time that was—he was just an ordinary guy, not versed in ancient timekeeping. It must have been about six o’clock. It was late winter, early spring, so the sun was just beginning to rise.

Yet already, the Department of Imperial Meals was bustling with activity!

This building, painted entirely in red, was a rarity with two stories—such homes were usually reserved for the wealthy, and now even the palace kitchen was two stories? The ancient royals truly had a passion for red and gold! For a kitchen, the exterior looked more like a museum.

Upon entering, Ming Tian was stunned even before he could report for duty.

Cleanliness!

Heavens! At last, a clean kitchen!

There were twenty or thirty people working in harmony, but there was not a speck of filth or disorder. There were even staff assigned solely to cleaning, ensuring everything was spotless at all times.

This was the kitchen that prepared food for the emperor. Next door, the kitchen for the royal family was ten times larger, with two or three hundred people working, and it was just as immaculately clean, no matter how busy they were.

Ming Tian felt like crying.

Ah! Heaven at last! Finally, he wouldn’t have to cook in a filthy privy!

Just then, an unpleasant voice broke his rapture.

“Hey, you—new guy in the cook’s uniform! What are you standing around for? Bring me some tea!”

...

PS: This is the author, and on behalf of Ming Tian, I have a word for all my readers: So, you’ve seen me showing off, have you? Very well, but I bet you’ve never seen my family’s ancestral technique for showing off in rapid succession. What? The basic rules of showing off? Who cares about those?