Tang Yi began to watch.
Not openly. Not clumsily.
But with the kind of quiet, surgical attention that only a ruler who had survived years of court intrigue could possess.
He no longer simply accepted the night meals. Sometimes, as if by chance, he would ask the eunuch who delivered them a few light questions.
"This soup today—chicken broth base?"
He lifted a spoonful of the clear Jade and Snow Soup, its surface gleaming.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the eunuch replied with his head lowered. "The Imperial Kitchen says it was simmered for six hours from an old hen."
"Mm. They were thorough."
Tang Yi's voice was indifferent—but his eyes lingered on the eunuch's faintly trembling fingers.
Not this one.
This man knew nothing about the heart behind the food.
Another time, he gestured to the Golden Petal Harmony Cake.
"What is this called? Who came up with it?"
The eunuch's forehead broke into sweat. "This servant… does not know the name. The chefs said it was made with lily bulbs and osmanthus, meant to calm the spirit. Perhaps Chef Zhang or Chief Steward Li approved it."
Chef Zhang?
Chief Steward Li?
Tang Yi did not show his doubt, but it took root.
Those two were masters of refinement—luxury, perfection, spectacle. Their food dazzled.
This did not.
This food was humble. Gentle. Thoughtful.
So he stopped asking directly and began observing.
The same eunuchs delivered the food, but the way it was arranged kept changing. A fresh herb leaf placed beside the bowl. A tiny dish of pickled plum to cut through richness. A warm cup placed slightly closer to where his hand would naturally reach.
These were not the habits of bureaucrats.
They were the instincts of someone who cared.
Tang Yi ordered Gao Dequan to bring him the recent duty rosters from the Imperial Kitchen.
His eyes scanned down the names.
Fu Hai.
Various senior chefs.
All of them unchanged.
Then—
One name kept appearing in the margins.
Assisted with plating.
Temporary substitute.
C17.
A low-ranking kitchen maid.
Tang Yi remembered now. The girl dragged in on the night Fu Hai collapsed.
And the rumors the secret guards had reported—about warmth spreading through the lower servants, about a young kitchen girl with kind hands.
Could it be her?
Without alerting anyone, Tang Yi began to look.
From the upper windows of the Imperial Study, he watched the corridors below.
On the way to the Empress Dowager's palace, his eyes drifted over kneeling maids and passing servants.
Then one evening, he saw her.
She walked behind a supervising eunuch, carrying a food box—likely an extra meal for guards or staff. Her steps were light but steady. Her robes were plain gray-blue. Her head was lowered, her face hidden.
She was unremarkable.
Until she adjusted her grip on the box and lifted her head for a single heartbeat.
Tang Yi saw her eyes.
Not servile.
Not greedy.
But clear. Focused. Careful.
As though what she carried was not food, but something fragile and precious.
Then she lowered her gaze again and disappeared around the palace wall.
Tang Yi did not move.
The spring wind brushed against the sleeve of his dragon robe.
So it was her.
The hands that soothed his sleepless nights.
The heart that quietly warmed the lowest servants.
They belonged to this ordinary, invisible little kitchen maid.
And in that moment, curiosity became something far more dangerous.
Interest.
Desire to know.
To understand what kind of soul could exist so gently inside a place as cold as the palace.
Tang Yi turned back toward the Imperial Study as the lanterns lit one by one.
Tonight's night meal would arrive soon.
And for the first time, he was no longer only waiting for the food—
He was waiting for her.
The quiet game of seeing and being seen had begun.