Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Showing Off

The Second Steward was still weighing the risk when a shout came from inside.

He turned, irritated. “I’m coming. What are you yelling for?”

A servant rushed up, breathless. “Second Steward, the chief steward says the honored guest is a true food connoisseur—very picky. He wants us to bring in the best head chef in the entire city.”

The Second Steward’s brows shot up. “Isn’t the best head chef already ours? We paid a fortune to hire him. Has the chief steward gone senile?”

The servant glanced around and lowered his voice. “Second Steward… the chief steward has always wanted his brother-in-law in your position. If anything goes wrong today, he’ll use it to trip you up. He’ll make you lose the master’s trust.”

The Second Steward’s face hardened. He leaned closer to his aide and they murmured together, too quiet for most people to catch.

But Qin Hui Yin had sharp ears and a lifetime of listening for keywords. Food connoisseur. Best chef. Trip you up. Brother-in-law. In her mind, the manor’s polite surface cracked open, revealing a familiar drama of factions and knives hidden in sleeves.

She’d already smelled opportunity the moment she saw that brocade-robed guest. Now she was certain. If she handled this well, they could sell the wild ox for a high price and perhaps gain more than silver. If she failed… well, at least she would fail trying. In her old life as an internet celebrity, she hadn’t become famous overnight, either.

She stepped forward again, smile unchanged. “Second Steward, would you let me try?”

The Second Steward looked at her like she was a sparrow volunteering to fight a hawk.

“My ancestors truly were imperial chefs,” Qin Hui Yin said easily. “I’m not bad myself, and I run a food business in town. Think of it as one more option. If you don’t like my cooking, you don’t have to serve it. You lose nothing.”

She tilted her head toward Song Rui Ze. “Even if you don’t trust me, you can trust my brother, right?”

The Second Steward studied Song Rui Ze. “Young Man Song—are you telling me your sister is really descended from imperial chefs?”

Song Rui Ze hesitated. His gaze flicked to Qin Hui Yin.

Qin Hui Yin hooked her arm through his and gave it a gentle shake, half pleading, half playful. “Brother. Hurry. Tell the Second Steward.”

For a heartbeat Song Rui Ze looked like he’d rather bite off his own tongue. Then he gave a stiff nod.

“Mm.”

The Second Steward let out a breath, decision made. “All right. I’ll trust you, Young Man Song.” He waved a hand. “I’ll have Ying Hai take you to the kitchen. If you need anything, ask him.”

A young attendant hurried up at the name. “Second Steward… you’re really going to let her try? She’s so young. What cooking skill could she possibly have?”

The Second Steward drew him aside, voice low. “We don’t have better options. We’ll treat it as filling a slot. If it fails, we drop it before it reaches the table.” His eyes narrowed. “And besides, a young man from the Song Family once helped me. Consider this repayment.”

He didn’t say the other part aloud: he owed Song Rui Ze a favor, and favors were the hardest debts. Repay it cleanly today, and his heart would be lighter.

Ying Hai caught the meaning at once. He swallowed his worry and nodded. “Understood.”

He led them through the back corridors to the servants’ kitchens. Third Master Tang, aching from the ride and content to be out of the way, found a spot in the courtyard outside and sank down with a groan. Only Qin Hui Yin, Song Rui Ze, and Tang Lu Wu went inside.

The moment they stepped over the threshold, a dozen pairs of eyes snapped toward them.

“Brother Hai,” someone demanded, “who are these people?”

“Guests the Second Steward invited,” Ying Hai said briskly. “They’re helping with a few dishes. Clear a stove and a wok. And bring two people—one to wash, one to chop.”

He chose two obedient workers and sent them over, then leaned closer to Qin Hui Yin. His tone stayed polite, but the caution underneath was clear. “Sister, don’t take offense. Some people here work for the chief steward. Keep things quiet. Don’t stir trouble.”

Qin Hui Yin nodded as if she’d been born in servant quarters instead of dragged in from the village. “Of course.”

The first obstacle was the wild ox. Butchering it properly wasn’t something she could do alone.

Fortunately, Song Rui Ze was there.

She only had to tell him what she needed—ribs, shank, offal, bones—and he moved with a frightening, efficient understanding. The pieces he cut were so neat they looked measured, as if he’d been carving meat on a ruler.

While Song Rui Ze worked, Qin Hui Yin pulled Tang Lu Wu and the helpers into motion. “Wash those vegetables. Separate the greens. Knead the dough—don’t make it too soft. And keep the fire steady. Not too fierce.”

The Ou Yang household lived up to its reputation as a great clan. Their kitchen held far more than Qin Hui Yin expected: sacks of rice and wheat, crocks of oil, jars of spices, even baskets of vegetables she hadn’t seen in town. She picked up a cucumber and turned it in her hand, surprised. It wasn’t like the neat, glossy ones from her old world—this one was crooked, its skin uneven, clearly untouched by chemical breeding—but it smelled the same, clean and watery.

White radish. Red carrot. Potatoes. Chinese yam. Spinach. Eggplant.

Some of these should have belonged to a much later era, at least according to the history she knew. Yet here they were, piled in baskets like common things.

The more she saw, the more certain she became: this world didn’t match any dynasty in her memory. Some resources were richer, some poorer. Certain things she expected were missing, while others appeared without explanation. Even medicine was crude, and women suffered simply because no one bothered to treat them.

She shoved the thought aside. Philosophy wouldn’t cook dinner.

“How much time?” she asked.

“One hour before the banquet,” Ying Hai said, glancing toward the front courtyard with a grimace.

One hour.

Qin Hui Yin rolled up her sleeves. “Then we don’t waste a breath.”

They moved like a small army, racing the clock. In the kitchens around them, everyone else was rushing too; an honored guest meant a chance to show skill, to earn the master’s favor, to climb one step higher.

No one had time to watch anyone else—until the smell reached them.

It started as a warm richness in the air, then deepened into something that made stomachs tighten. Heads began to turn. Feet slowed. A worker halfway through chopping hesitated, nostrils flaring.

Song Rui Ze watched from the edge of the stove as Qin Hui Yin worked. It was his first time seeing her this close, hands quick and sure, commanding the kitchen as if it were her own. They weren’t even familiar—yet he’d agreed to her lie without thinking, as if bewitched.

Fine.

Since she had helped him get this wild ox, he would play along to the end. After today, he and she would still be two people with nothing to do with each other.

Ying Hai had only come because the Second Steward ordered him to. He didn’t expect much. After settling them in, he hurried back to his own work.

When the aroma grew too strong to ignore, his younger brother came running, eyes wide. Ying Hai swore under his breath and rushed back.

One look at the stove stopped him cold.

A pot of beef soup simmered, the broth thick and glossy, the scent rich enough to make his mouth water. In another pot, beef was braising, darker and deeper, the fragrance layered with spices. Qin Hui Yin was pounding a piece of meat that she’d sliced beautifully, mixing it with seasonings that perfumed the air, then sealing it up with practiced hands.

Ying Hai stared at her as if she’d sprouted wings. “Sister… you weren’t bragging at all.”

He snapped at the workers. “You two—come help. And you, and you. All of you. Move. If Sister Qin needs anything, you do it. They’re my people,” he told Qin Hui Yin quickly. “They might not be good for much, but they’ll hold the place down.”

Qin Hui Yin didn’t even look up from her work. “Brother Hai, please take care of the sir who came with us. He’s old—find him somewhere to rest. We’ll go to him once we’re done.”

“Already arranged,” Ying Hai said at once, eager now. He barked at a boy passing by. “Little Li, bring food to that sir. Whatever he wants, give it to him.”

“Got it, Brother Hai.”

Qin Hui Yin kept moving, steady as a metronome. The clock kept ticking.