Chapter 151: First Taste of the Culinary Immortal (Ten-Thousand-Word Update, Seeking Subscriptions)

The room was dim. The aging emperor disliked glaring light, always complaining that it hurt his eyes, so the heavy doors remained shut. Even when someone entered, the gap was quickly sealed.

The floor, originally polished to a mirror-like sheen, was now entirely covered with thick carpets. The emperor lived in constant fear of slipping and, even more so, of falling. From a very young age, people had drilled it into him that for an old man, a fall could be fatal.

Just days ago, a woman named Consort Ren had passed away within the palace walls.

Consort Ren had been a companion to the emperor in their younger years. Back then, she was radiant with a willow-waist, capturing the old emperor's affection for a time. But as her youth faded and beauty withered—compounded by the emperor’s fickle and novelty-loving nature—she had likely not set eyes on the sovereign for over a decade.

Ordinarily, this would have been of little consequence. However, she had died of melancholy at an age even younger than the emperor himself, which was deemed rather inauspicious. Not only did the emperor order the most minimalist of funerals, but the entire staff of her residence was banished from the imperial palace.

The reason was simple: bad luck.

Misfortune was thought to be contagious. While the emperor certainly never visited such places, there was no guarantee that the people from Consort Ren’s household hadn’t been running about, transferring the bad luck from person to person until it eventually landed on the emperor himself. Should that happen, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Such notions sounded utterly absurd, yet since the emperor declared it so, his subordinates had no choice but to obey.

That the master of the realm was ruthless, callous, and devoid of grace was an open secret within the palace, and ordinary mortals dared not utter a word of dissent.

Yet it was indeed rare for an emperor to display such utter exhaustion merely past the age of forty. For those who practiced even rudimentary spiritual arts, this age was the golden peak of physical vitality and spiritual energy. But the emperor’s aptitude for cultivation was severely limited.

Entering a state of meditative stillness required one to quiet the mind and perceive the world.

This was something he was utterly incapable of achieving.

In his youth, he had never felt physically inferior to immortal cultivators, and thus he lacked the inner drive to pursue the path. Combined with his unbridled indulgence in sensual pleasures, he had now crossed the threshold of forty only to find his complexion sallow, his hair sparse, and his teeth loose.

Not long ago, it was whispered that a palace maid, while combing the emperor's hair, offered a flattering remark: "May the emperor cherish his dragon body, for indeed His Majesty's hair is shedding far less."

Such words, intended as flattery, had missed their mark entirely, and for that blunder, she was executed.

Though Madam Ye had already entered the chambers, her mind was flooded with these grim tales concerning the reigning Son of Heaven.

Of course, this was not to say the man was entirely incompetent.

On the contrary, he was brilliant—far more intelligent than ordinary mortals.

He could lie amidst a harem of women while simultaneously maintaining an iron grip on the imperial court. Even the Third Princess, whose influence in Luyang was towering, dared not utter a single syllable that belittled him.

For decades of governance, he had consistently employed villainous prime ministers, yet he kept their misdeeds firmly under his own control. When their actions provoked public outrage, he would drag them out and have them executed.

Just before sending a corrupt minister to the executioner's block, he would invariably groom a talented young man and position him right behind the doomed official. Once that young man rose to prominence, another dissenting youth would be placed behind him.

The emperor himself forever remained in a position of absolute safety.

Regardless of who became the powerful minister, the emperor held the damning evidence, and behind them always lurked his watchful gaze. Their sole reliance could only be the emperor.

In reality, individuals occupying this precarious position served as the emperor's black gloves. All the filthy deeds that would invite the curses of the common folk were executed by others, only for those tools to be slaughtered when necessary to appease the public will.

Thus, he committed every evil imaginable yet bore no blame; he bedded countless women yet remained cloaked in ignorance.

There is a saying that supreme intelligence injures the bearer. He was too clever—so clever that he always found ways to neutralize the side effects of his hedonism. Without any restraints, however, he had ultimately reduced himself to this frail and sickly state.

Normally, he was merely weakened, but faced with a crisis as grave as the impending war of Luyang, even his extensive political experience could not bridge the physical deficit. High-intensity, prolonged state affairs were simply more than his broken body could sustain.

All of these factors combined to leave an emperor who had once commanded the finest delicacies of the realm entirely devoid of appetite.

Whispers had been circulating through Luyang City that the Third Princess was simply waiting for the emperor to draw his final breath. Since the emperor had no surviving sons and had never adopted an imperial scion, once he passed, the throne would undoubtedly fall to the Third Princess.

The only rival who could—and would—contend with her was the Fifth Princess. However, the Fifth Princess was somewhat crude and brash, lacking popular favor.

The emperor had once attempted to groom her as a counterbalance to the Third Princess, but their capabilities were leagues apart, and the Fifth Princess had suffered defeat after defeat in every confrontation.

Presently, she had been banished to the southern frontiers.

These rumors certainly had not been spread by the Third Princess, for they offered her no advantage. If the old emperor died a natural death, "that prize" would be hers regardless.

To fabricate such rumors risked provoking the emperor should his health miraculously recover. Given her understanding of her imperial father, he would certainly not let the matter rest.

Moreover, the emperor was inherently suspicious. Just how dark his heart truly was, outsiders could not fathom, but the Third Princess knew better than anyone.

A few days prior, the emperor had suddenly asked her, "My child, do you harbor any thoughts on the governance of the realm?"

An ordinary heir—one who believed themselves the rightful successor—would have seized this question as the ultimate opportunity to shine, desperate to display their competence to the sovereign. Upon reaching such a moment, they would undoubtedly have poured forth an endless stream of eloquence, emptying every drop of ink from their chest.

Was such a response correct?

Perhaps in a bureaucratic performance review, but universal truths have conditions of application. In Luyang City, within the mortal palace, standing before this very emperor, choosing to answer in such a manner meant death.

The emperor cared not whether you possessed the ability to govern. A man selfish to the extreme cared little for what state the country would be in after his demise. When the emperor asked this, he merely wished to probe whether your mind was consumed with plotting how to replace him and reshape the nation.

Therefore, a truly intelligent person hearing this question would not feel excited, but rather terror—fear so profound that cold sweat would drench their spine.

Such was the reaction of the Third Princess. She immediately dropped to her knees, declaring that she was dull-witted and, although she possessed some meager experience, she fell short of her imperial father by a myriad of fractions. She professed that she had never once entertained any grand strategy of governance, desiring only to follow closely in her father's footsteps to learn.

Ah.

That was the only kind of answer that could keep one alive in the presence of this sovereign.

Politics sometimes required far more brains than immortal cultivation.

Those who were clever and talented yet failed to comprehend the emperor died either quickly or slowly, but their common fate was death—and never a pretty one.

That had been an interrogation that decided her very survival.

Upon returning to her residence, the Third Princess had turned the matter over in her mind and remained terrified. At such a juncture, she had to devise a way to demonstrate her absolute loyalty, and the solution she hit upon was to enlist the aid of Madam Ye.

Pacing through the room, these were the thoughts occupying the Third Princess.

Thus, this was no ordinary meal. It was a calculated ritual designed to make the emperor believe that his third daughter genuinely did not wish for him to perish.

Behind a curtain of yellow gauze stood a bed, its four corners fitted with glowing luminous stones—charms the emperor used to ward off the winter chill. Lifting the gauze revealed an enveloping warmth.

Because the emperor perpetually suffered from freezing hands and feet, he held a deep fondness for these luminous stones.

"Your subject, Tianrong, pays respects to Imperial Father. Is Your Majesty's health somewhat better today?"

Madam Ye knelt alongside her, lowering her head. "This humble commoner, Yu Zhen Xuan proprietress Madam Ye, pays homage to Your Majesty."

"Cough..." The emperor labored heavily for breath, his wheezing distinctly audible. "Third one, why have you come?"

Pressing her forehead to the floor, the Third Princess wept bitterly, "Hearing that Imperial Father has been unable to eat, and always finds the imperial kitchens' fare unpalatable, this child's heart has been consumed with burning anxiety. I could find no rest, sitting in desolate stillness throughout yesterday without consuming a single grain of rice or a drop of water."

Madam Ye knew nothing of this, yet in truth, it was entirely real. The Third Princess was a woman of iron will; she had indeed endured an entire day without food or drink.

For she knew that her imperial father would subsequently send spies to verify whether her third daughter's claims matched reality.

Such details mattered intensely to the emperor.

Yet the emperor showed little outward sign of being moved, for verification had yet to be made.

"Later, this child thought of Yu Zhen Xuan's embroidered jade perch, and through the dish, I thought of Madam Ye. At the break of dawn, I visited Yu Zhen Xuan and finally begged a culinary creation for Imperial Father."

"Oh? Cough..." The reclining emperor turned his head slightly. "Yu Zhen Xuan... I know it. Embroidered jade perch... I know that too. Madam Ye... I know her as well. Yet for the longest time, I have heard whispers that Madam Ye contracted a strange illness, leaving her frail. Are you now fully recovered?"

Madam Ye hastily replied, "Reporting to Your Majesty, under Your Majesty's divine protection, this commoner's health has improved day by day, and now it is no longer a hindrance."

Hearing this, the emperor seemed unusually concerned. He stretched out a hand, and Senior Attendant Bei instantly stepped forward to gently raise him into a sitting position.

"Come... come, lift your head so I may look upon you." The emperor’s voice had grown somewhat hoarse.

Madam Ye had no choice but to comply.

Her face, once pale and devoid of vitality—white enough to be somewhat terrifying—now bloomed with a rosy flush beneath the fairness, tender and smooth. Her delicate features, already striking, had acquired an added air of bold vigor thanks to the Ten-Bend Sun over Clear Waters.

It lent her a distinct and extraordinary aura.

A spark of light flashed in the emperor’s eyes, and with immediate greed, he asked, "Good, good, good. Tell me, Madam Ye, while suffering from such a grievous illness... cough... by what means did you manage to restore your health?"

Madam Ye found the emperor uncommonly amiable, resembling an ordinary elder chatting pleasantly by the hearth.

Only those meeting him for the first time would be so deceived.

She dared not speak the true reason, fearing the emperor might demand the secret of the Ten-Bend Sun over Clear Waters, and subsequently inquire how she had acquired such a cultivation method.

While it was true that cultivation arts were common across the realm, Gu Yi had once mentioned that the Ten-Bend Sun over Clear Waters was entwined with the Twin Peaks.

For her to practice it in secret—what kind of implication was that?

To fabricate a casual lie about consuming some miraculous elixir was equally impossible; she had swallowed countless medicines in the past, none of which had worked.

And should the emperor attempt to take it and fail to heal, wouldn't that be a capital offense?

After turning the matter over and over in her mind, Madam Ye could only say, "Reporting to Your Majesty, it is perhaps related to the fact that I recently found my long-lost younger brother. Since being reunited with him, not only has my spirit grown light and unburdened by melancholy, but my will to live has also grown far stronger than ever before."

Naturally, such an explanation alone could not account for recovery from so severe an affliction; attributing it solely to sentiment would be treating the sovereign like a fool.

"Besides that, my younger brother, Gu Yi, also taught me some immortal cultivation techniques—how to purge the old and draw in the new, and perceive the heavens and earth. By practicing this daily without fail, my constitution finally began to mend, and indeed, it has only just recovered."

Hearing the latter half, the emperor felt a twinge of disappointment. "Others have also advised that I ought to pursue immortal cultivation. Yet the very first hurdle of cultivation is entering a meditative trance. With hundreds of millions of subjects across the realm, and accumulated state affairs beyond counting, my heart is heavy with anxiety for the people under heaven. Burdened by such ceaseless internal turmoil, how could I ever hope to enter a state of stillness?"

"Yet you, a mere female cook, undisturbed day after day, living a life of idle leisure, are able to quiet your mind. You are far more carefree than I."

The Third Princess understood her father's rhetoric intimately. He was a paragon of benevolence and righteousness; whenever he failed to accomplish something, it was never through any fault of his own, but rather because external burdens dragged him down.

In his own mind, he was infallible.

Madam Ye pressed her forehead to the floor. "Your Majesty speaks too gravely. The affairs of state rest upon Your Majesty's shoulders; you are the anchor of faith for us humble commoners. It is precisely because we possess such a pillar that we can find peace and stillness."

The emperor chuckled.

"I know," the emperor uttered a somewhat winding remark, "you mentioned Gu Yi just now on purpose. Did you pull all these strings and meticulously prepare this dish simply because you wish to beg me to rescue your younger brother?"

The Third Princess remained utterly silent.

She hoped her dear friend would answer correctly. Having lived under the shadow of this emperor, she knew his nature all too well.

"Of course not!"

The Third Princess smiled imperceptibly. A well-crafted answer.

Had she answered in the affirmative, the emperor's displeasure would flare anew. To him, helping someone only because they sought a favor versus helping out of genuine loyalty were two entirely different realms.

Madam Ye knew not where she found the courage. Though she possessed the timid mindset of an ordinary woman and had rarely encountered grand figures, her reply now rang clear, steady, and resolute.

"This humble maiden is an ordinary woman, unable to repay the nation or share Your Majesty's burdens. These hands of mine only know how to wield a ladle, not a sword. This inadequacy has perpetually weighed upon my heart, and in my dreams, I have yearned to cultivate physical strength so that I might repay the grace of the sovereign. When the Third Princess approached me with the request to prepare a dish for Your Majesty,"

"Her words were so sincere that I agreed without a moment's hesitation. To cook for Your Majesty is to fulfill my own deepest aspiration, for Your Majesty has bestowed grace upon me. Since Your Majesty has already shown me such favor, how could I dare make any impertinent demands of Your Majesty?"

Madam Ye’s response left even the Third Princess mentally applauding.

In the presence of supreme authority, survival required this dance. Year after year, the entire city of Luyang was filled with people adept at honeyed words—those who were not simply didn't survive long.

Hearing this, the emperor let out a hearty laugh, thoroughly delighted. "Madam Ye is a fascinating creature. You flatter me deliberately, though your words perhaps overshoot the mark."

They did overshoot the mark, and he knew it, but that realization in no way hindered his enjoyment.

"Tell me, what is this dish called?"

"Yes." Madam Ye hurriedly retrieved the contents from an exquisite, oversized box. "This dish is called hot pot."

"What is a hot pot?"

"Charcoal black as fire red like snow, valley yellow, rice white, and grains like frost. The poetry of old describes it precisely thus."

The emperor harbored a taste for novelty. "Good, good! There is even poetry; you truly put your heart into this. Yet where is the charcoal? And where is the ash?"

Madam Ye glanced toward the Third Princess, and immediately, attendants stepped forward to bring in the charcoal fire, rice, bowls, utensils, dipping sauces, along with an assortment of raw ingredients and platters of translucent, tender sliced meats.

Watching the bustle, the emperor felt a mixture of bewilderment and anticipation.

"Your Majesty fears the cold, and winter is now upon us. Hot pot is uniquely suited for the winter season, which is why this humble maiden devised this method. While dining, one experiences a warmth akin to spring; if eaten in summer, by contrast, one would undoubtedly drench themselves in sweat."

As the broth began to heat, the rich aroma of the simmering spices billowed out, and the moment the emperor caught the scent, he knew it was entirely unlike anything previously served in the palace.

"Would Your Majesty care to taste the broth?"

"I may taste it?"

Madam Ye replied, "Certainly. You may sip a spoonful first to test the flavor."

"Very well, this..." Finding the aroma appealing and the concept novel, the emperor grew quite intrigued and instructed Senior Attendant Bei to assist him in sampling it.

At this moment, both the Third Princess and Madam Ye held their breath. After staging such an elaborate presentation, it would spell disaster should he dislike it.

Yet no mortal on earth could resist the allure of hot pot.

If one could, it merely meant they were already too full to eat another bite.

No sooner had the emperor taken a sip than his expression shifted. "Mmm, not bad. It has quite a distinct flavor."

This was one of the lowest praises Madam Ye had ever received in her long culinary career, but at that moment, it marked the pinnacle of success for the Third Princess.

"As long as Your Majesty enjoys it. The broth has been meticulously simmered by this humble maiden. The specialty of this dish is that one eats as it boils. The Third Princess prepared numerous ingredients for Your Majesty; if Your Majesty fancies any, you need only have someone drop them into the boiling broth. A brief simmer is all it takes."

"Splendid, splendid. Thoughtful indeed."

"Thank you for your praise, Your Majesty."

The emperor had the apparatus brought closer to his couch, declaring that he wished to sample the vegetables first, having grown weary of heavy meats. Gazing at the bowl of rice, he praised, "Valley yellow, rice white, and grains like frost. So that is what the verse meant. Truly fitting for the scene."

Watching him take a bite, even Senior Attendant Bei beamed with genuine joy. "It is all thanks to the Third Princess’s filial piety, conceiving such a brilliant way to dine. The Third Princess has truly poured her heart into this."

Though Madam Ye had prepared it, attributing the credit to the Third Princess served as a mutual favor.

With the emperor's health seemingly failing, everyone was frantically securing their exits.

The emperor saw nothing amiss with this arrangement. When subordinates performed meritorious deeds, the primary honor naturally fell to the sovereign. "I have always witnessed the Third One's filial devotion. She never disturbs my peace and constantly frets over my health. Splendid, splendid. She shall be rewarded."

"Imperial Father, there is more," the Third Princess interjected smoothly. "Madam Ye heard that Your Majesty's health had been strained by state affairs, and so she put forth an extra measure of thought."

The emperor’s curiosity was piqued. "Oh? What further thought?"

Madam Ye spoke up, "Reporting to Your Majesty, this humble maiden was once bedridden for two full years. As the saying goes, prolonged illness makes one a physician, and I memorized the properties of numerous medicinal herbs. Hearing that Your Majesty was indisposed, I incorporated targeted medicinal ingredients into the hot pot. Consuming this will not only sate Your Majesty's appetite, but also mend your constitution."

*Mend your constitution.*

At that instant, even the chronically suspicious and callous emperor struggled to maintain his composure. This woman, Madam Ye, had gone to such extraordinary lengths.

The emperor set down his chopsticks and fell into deep, earnest contemplation.