Inside the Imperial Study, the gilded crane-shaped candle stands burned bright—
yet their light could not dispel the heavy, oppressive air that hung unseen in the room.
Emperor Tang Yi sat behind a broad rosewood desk, its surface buried beneath towering stacks of memorials. Even after hours of review, the pile had diminished only slightly.
A deficit in military funds along the northwest frontier.Flood relief mismanaged in the southeast.Court factions locked in bitter dispute over who would preside over next spring's imperial examinations.
Each matter alone was enough to exhaust a man. Together, they wound around him like invisible threads, tightening with every passing breath.
A familiar, dull pain throbbed at his temples.
Tang Yi set down his vermilion brush and pressed two fingers against his brow. The effort was futile. Days of fractured sleep had stretched his nerves taut—like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Even the smallest disturbance threatened to snap it.
Head Eunuch Gao Dequan approached in silence and lowered his voice.
"Your Majesty, the Imperial Kitchen has delivered the night meal."
"Take it away," Tang Yi replied without opening his eyes. "I have no appetite."
Gao Dequan hesitated. "Your Majesty barely touched dinner. Your health—"
"I said, take it away."
The dismissal was sharp.
Gao Dequan dared not argue further. He motioned for the junior eunuchs to bring the lacquered food box forward and open it quietly. One by one, they arranged the dishes on the heated side table: a clear chicken-and-bamboo-fungus soup, delicate dumplings, seasonal accompaniments.
Steam rose gently. Fragrance bloomed.
On any other night, it might have tempted hunger.
Tonight, it only deepened Tang Yi's irritation.
He opened his eyes, gaze sweeping over the exquisitely plated food with thinly veiled distaste—ready to order it all removed—
when something caught his attention.
In the corner of the top tier sat a plate so plain it almost disappeared.
A simple white porcelain dish.Several light-brown cakes, uneven in shape, unadorned by gold or carving.
They looked utterly out of place amid the surrounding luxury.
And yet—
A faint, clean sweetness reached his nose.
Not rich. Not cloying.Just… calm.
It reminded him of mountain grain warmed by morning sun. Of pine frost after fresh snowfall. A scent so gentle it barely announced itself—yet stubbornly lingered, carrying with it an inexplicable sense of peace.
Before he realized it, Tang Yi lifted his hand.
"What is that?"
Gao Dequan followed his gaze—and froze.
That dish had not appeared on the official list.
Nor did it resemble any dessert he recognized.
Cold sweat prickled his spine. How could the Imperial Kitchen allow an unverified item before the Emperor?
"Your Majesty," he said carefully, "this… appears to be a newly prepared pastry from the Imperial Kitchen. I will have it removed and investigated at once—"
"Bring it here."
The words were calm.
Absolute.
Gao Dequan dared not delay. He personally lifted one cake with silver chopsticks, tested it with a silver needle, then—according to protocol—took the smallest possible bite himself.
No reaction.
Only then did he place the remainder onto a clean dish and present it.
Tang Yi studied the unremarkable cake beneath the candlelight. Its texture looked fine, its edges smooth. He took the silver spoon beside him, scooped off a corner, and brought it to his lips.
The cake melted almost instantly upon his tongue.
Soft. Moist. Unexpectedly refined.
There was no heavy sweetness—only a clean, measured warmth. The natural taste of grain surfaced first, followed by the faint clarity of poria and lily bulb, then finally the gentle depth of red date paste, lingering like an echo.
It was not dazzling.
Not indulgent.
Yet—
Something inside him loosened.
The pounding at his temples did not vanish, but its sharp edge dulled. The restless agitation coiled in his chest eased—just a little—under the quiet comfort of that single bite.
Tang Yi took another spoonful.
This time, he tasted something deeper.
Not flavor—but intent.
The cake did not seek to impress.Did not demand attention.
It simply existed—steady, honest, offering nourishment and solace without asking for anything in return.
Before he realized it, the cake was gone.
Gao Dequan stood rigid, prepared at any moment to kneel and beg forgiveness.
Instead—
The Emperor's brows, long drawn tight, seemed to ease.
Just slightly.
"What is this called?" Tang Yi asked, setting down the spoon.
"I… this servant does not know," Gao Dequan replied quickly. "I will inquire with the Imperial Kitchen at once."
"No need."
Tang Yi's gaze rested on the now-empty white plate, thoughtful.
"Tonight, this will suffice. Remove the rest."
"Yes!" Gao Dequan obeyed at once, his heart pounding.
The Emperor—had chosen a nameless, unrecorded cake over all else?
Tang Yi picked up his brush again, though he did not immediately write. The warmth from the cake lingered faintly within him. His fatigue remained, and the ache had not vanished entirely—
but the sense of imminent collapse was gone.
He recalled, unexpectedly, a report from the shadow guards days earlier.
Something about unrest in the Imperial Kitchen.
About a young kitchen maid whose improvised stew had stabilized morale among the lowest servants.
Her designation was…
"Bing Seventeen," was it not?
"Gao Dequan."
"This servant is here."
"Tomorrow, bring me the records of all night meals delivered recently."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Gao Dequan's heart skipped—but his expression remained perfectly composed.
The night deepened. Candle wax burned low.
At last, Tang Yi finished the final urgent memorial and lay upon the dragon bed. Normally, even at this hour, sleep would elude him—his mind trapped in endless calculation and unrest.
But tonight—
A heavy calm settled over him.
There were no nightmares.No sudden waking.
He slept—deeply, soundlessly—until dawn painted the eastern sky pale gold.
It was the first time in three years that the Emperor slept through the night without a single dream.
Meanwhile—
In a cramped servants' room within the Imperial Kitchen, Qing Tian lay staring at the ceiling, wide awake.
Her heart was full of dread.
Had the Emperor noticed the calming spirit cake?If he had—would it bring fortune… or disaster?
And her master—
How would she explain it?
Outside the window, snow began to fall again, silently covering the palace roofs in white.