Early April dawned cold and heavy.
Qing Tian was summoned to the quiet corridor behind the Imperial Kitchen. Far from the clatter of woks and shouting cooks, only old crabapple trees bloomed there, their pale pink petals drifting through the still air.
Chef Zhang stood beneath the eaves, not looking at the flowers.
He was watching the sky.
Dark clouds pressed low over the palace rooftops, thick and swollen with rain. In the gray light, the lines on his face looked deeper, the white in his hair more glaring than ever.
"Girl," he said softly, "you've been here almost a year now, haven't you?"
"Yes, Master," Qing Tian replied. Something in his tone made her chest tighten.
"You've done well." He turned to her, eyes filled with pride—and worry. "Your skills grow fast. Your heart is steady. More importantly, you've kept your kindness. In this place… that's rare."
"It's because of you," she said, voice trembling.
Chef Zhang shook his head. "It's your fate." Then his expression darkened. "But remember this—this palace doesn't run on kindness. It runs on power. On利益. On people using people."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"The tree wishes for peace, but the wind will not stop. The Imperial Kitchen is no longer safe. You've felt it, haven't you?"
Qing Tian nodded. "Is it… because of Minister Liu?"
"There are people who want me gone," Chef Zhang said quietly. "And they want this kitchen obedient. They want every ingredient and every soul to belong to them."
His eyes sharpened as they locked onto hers.
"And you… your night meals, your helping others—you've been noticed. Matron Liu's targeting of you is no coincidence."
Cold sweat soaked Qing Tian's palms. "Master… what should I do?"
"Be careful." His words were heavy as iron. "Say less. Watch more. Don't stand out. And especially—His Majesty's night meals…" He paused. "Avoid them if you can. If you can't, make only the safest, plainest food. No more heart. No more warmth."
He looked at her with a mix of sternness and sorrow.
"Whatever happens, protect yourself first. Some storms… you cannot survive yet. What I taught you—those skills—may one day become your only way out."
Her blood ran cold.
This wasn't advice.
It sounded like farewell.
"Master!" she blurted. "Are they going to hurt you? We can tell Chief Li—maybe even—"
The Emperor's face flashed in her mind. But even thinking it felt foolish.
Chef Zhang shook his head. "Some things cannot be stopped. Don't drag yourself into this."
He lifted his hand, as if to pat her head like always—then hesitated. Instead, he gently brushed a fallen petal from her shoulder.
"Go. Remember what I said."
He turned away.
His back was straight. But unbearably lonely.
Qing Tian stood frozen as he disappeared down the corridor. The spring wind brushed her face, yet it felt cold to the bone.
She looked up at the sky.
Dark clouds pressed down on the palace tiles. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
The storm was coming.
Inside the kitchen, knives still chopped. Woks still sizzled. Life went on.
But beneath it all, a freezing current was moving.
She thought of Xiaoman's returning hope. Xiangfu's fading cough. The nameless hands that accepted her food with whispered thanks. The Emperor's furrowed brow easing after a single bite.
All the warmth she had built so carefully… was it about to be crushed?
Protect yourself, Chef Zhang had said.
But if the tree fell, how could the leaf survive?
Qing Tian clenched her fists until her nails bit into her skin.
Fear rose like a tide—but beneath it burned something else.
A stubborn flame.
The storm was coming.
And this small kitchen maid, C17, would not be swept away without a fight.