Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Whole-Ox Banquet

Ying Hai hovered by the stove like a starving man at a feast, eyes shining. Qin Hui Yin didn’t mind. Even if he watched every move, he couldn’t steal techniques he’d never practiced—and he wasn’t the only set of eyes in the kitchen.

Tang Lu Wu took charge of the beef soup, spooning off foam as it rose.

Song Rui Ze watched the braised beef, adjusting the lid with the same careful patience he used when waiting for prey.

The helpers Ying Hai assigned tended the fire, chopped vegetables, and kneaded dough. A few other workers tried to drift closer, curiosity pulling them like a hook, but Ying Hai snapped at them and chased them away every time. The kitchens were divided into factions; at the very least, the ones Ying Hai feared belonged to the chief steward, and the Second Steward couldn’t afford to let them catch a whiff of anything useful.

Ying Hai couldn’t keep quiet. “What’s this?”

“Potato and beef stew,” Qin Hui Yin said, hands busy.

“And this one?”

“Beef stuffed buns.”

“And that pot—what’s in that pot?”

With the hour bleeding away, Qin Hui Yin stopped guarding her words and began listing dishes as she moved, voice brisk, almost cheerful.

“Boiled beef in chili oil. Cumin beef. Mixed offal soup. Braised beef head. Roasted beef bones. Grilled beef skewers.” She lifted a pan and set it aside. “And the most important—this.”

Ying Hai leaned in, practically drooling. “What is it?”

“Pan-seared steak.” Qin Hui Yin wiped her hands on her apron. “It has to be eaten hot, the moment it leaves the pan. I’ll wait for the signal to serve, then sear it.”

She nodded at the steaming baskets. “Those are the beef stuffed buns. I mixed in a few vegetables of my own. You won’t find them anywhere else.”

Ying Hai drew a long breath, awed. Then, with sudden sincerity, he bowed slightly. “Sister Qin, I was wrong. I can’t dismiss you just because you’re young. Either your ancestors truly were something—or you’re a genius.”

He practically bounced on his feet. “I’ll go get the Second Steward. Keep working. I’ll come back when it’s time to serve.”

He ran off.

Song Rui Ze watched Qin Hui Yin with a complicated expression he couldn’t name.

It was the same face.

So why did her eyes feel different now?

Before, her gaze had held the same disgust everyone else showed him. Now it was gone. She even took the initiative to be friendly, as if she didn’t remember that hatred at all.

What did someone have to go through to become a different person?

He glanced at Tang Lu Wu, who was nervously tending the soup. “Did she… did something happen to her recently?”

Tang Lu Wu flinched as if he’d shouted. “N-no… not really.”

She was afraid of him. Most people in the village were. He’d bitten off a boy’s ear once—a bully who’d cornered him—and he’d done it while the boy was still screaming. No one forgot a thing like that.

Song Rui Ze’s voice stayed low, controlled. “You see her every day. Don’t you think she’s changed?”

Tang Lu Wu swallowed. “She hit her head a while back. After she woke up, she stopped losing her temper. I heard her telling Auntie Li to live properly with my father. Maybe… maybe she figured things out. She wants a home.”

Song Rui Ze gave a short, humorless snort.

Now she remembered how to live properly? Where was that attitude before?

In his mind flashed the Song household, the year Qin Hui Yin and her mother had spent there, eating and wearing and never lifting a finger. Parasites, taking everything men gave. Only the old fool Song Yi had been blinded by beauty.

And the moment those mother and daughter left, they sold off the only property they had, squeezing it dry.

Song Rui Ze pushed the thought away, jaw tight.

What was the point of digging up old history? As long as they didn’t provoke him again, he’d let the past stay buried. For the sake of the few times she’d helped him lately, he wouldn’t collect those old debts.

Footsteps thudded down the corridor. The Second Steward arrived, cheeks flushed from hurried walking.

The moment he saw the long table packed with dishes, the wrinkles on his face opened into a blooming smile. “Good. Good!” he breathed, eyes darting over the spread as if counting silver.

He turned sharply. “Ying Hai, go tell Master Zhong. Tell him to put in a few good words with the master. We’ll present this whole-ox banquet.”

Ying Hai shot off like an arrow.

Not long after, a well-dressed young man came in, his clothes fine but his posture that of a servant who carried authority. He inspected every dish with a practiced eye, then pointed at the entire spread Qin Hui Yin had made.

“Our master wants something fresh,” he said. “He hasn’t seen these before. Send all of them.”

Qin Hui Yin didn’t let relief slow her. She set the pan over the fire and began searing the steak.

Fat hissed. Meat sizzled. The aroma surged through the kitchen in a wave, rich enough to make even the seasoned cooks swallow.

The young man who’d delivered the order lingered, curiosity pulling him closer. He watched Qin Hui Yin’s hands—quick, practiced, steady.

“Did you cook all these?” he asked, doubt creeping into his tone despite himself.

“I’m the main chef,” Qin Hui Yin said without false modesty. “Everyone else helped as assistants.”

His brows lifted. “You’re young, but your skill is… impressive.” He nodded once, approval granted. “Our master loves food like this. He’s traveled, tasted everything. Ordinary dishes don’t interest him anymore. But I know what he likes. With this, he’ll be pleased. Don’t rush off—wait. You’ll be rewarded.”

“Thank you, Elder Brother,” Qin Hui Yin said.

She picked up a few grilled beef skewers, sniffed, then offered one. “These might be a little light. Taste it for me—does it need more salt?”

The young man took it, bit down, and his expression changed instantly. Pleasure brightened his eyes. “Delicious,” he said around the mouthful. He swallowed and laughed. “Little miss, if you opened a shop, you’d make a fortune.”

“I’ll take that as good luck from you,” Qin Hui Yin said, smiling.

She plated the steak quickly, then set a small bowl beside it. “Please remind your master: the steak must be eaten hot. This is sauce. Use as much or as little as he likes. Slice it into bite-size pieces—it’s easier to taste that way.”

When the last pan came off the fire, Qin Hui Yin finally untied her apron.

Tang Lu Wu handed her a bamboo cup of clean water and dabbed the sweat from her face with a handkerchief. “You worked so hard, Yin Yin.”

“We made it,” Qin Hui Yin said, and only then did the tension in her shoulders loosen. She glanced around. “Why are those people still hanging around?”

Tang Lu Wu leaned in, voice lowered. “They’ve been watching you the whole time. They want to steal your methods.”

Qin Hui Yin met a few bitter stares—eyes sharp and vicious, as if she’d stolen their livelihoods.

As a woman she wasn’t stealing anyone’s wife. What they feared was that she’d steal their jobs.

A young servant appeared, bowing. “Miss Qin, the Second Steward asked me to bring you to rest. This way, please.”

“Thank you,” Qin Hui Yin said, smooth as ever.

They followed him through quiet corridors to a guest room area. Inside, Third Master Tang sat hugging a wine jar, drinking straight from the mouth.

He’d had plenty. His face was flushed, his eyes unfocused.

“Third Grandpa,” Qin Hui Yin said, reaching for the jar, “why did you drink so much?”

Third Master Tang let her take it without a fight. His words slurred. “The Second Steward said we’d rest here tonight. If we’re staying… I let myself go. Had a few extra cups.”

“Tonight?” Qin Hui Yin blinked. “We’re staying here?”

“Mm-hm.” Third Master Tang waved a hand. “He sent someone to tell me. Said it’s late and inconvenient to find lodging outside, so we can stay. He can make that call.”

Qin Hui Yin exchanged a look with Tang Lu Wu.

Their wild ox had opened a door, but her cooking had kicked it wide.