Consort Zhang dances her way into the center of the court's admiration—claiming Yue's creations as her own. But as the main course is served and the guests begin to eat, will the truth reveal itself one bite at a time?
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It was the banquet day, and the palace had never appeared more magnificent.
As evening descended over the city, red lanterns hung from the beautifully carved eaves, glowing like suspended suns. Gold tassels danced gently in the breeze.
The main banquet hall, the Hall of Everlasting Splendor, became a vision of beauty and grandeur.
Silken banners in imperial red and soft gold flowed from the pillars like waterfalls. The tables were polished to a mirror shine and decorated with jade inlays and porcelain vessels painted with phoenixes, peonies, and cranes.
Each place setting shone brightly—gold chopsticks laid on silk napkins with intricate designs and small crystal dishes containing jewel-toned palate cleansers.
At the special long table, the Dowager Empress's seat was covered with silver-thread brocade, surrounded by folding screens painted with scenes of immortals among clouds.
In the hall, the kingdom's most influential people had gathered.
Noble families arrived in finely embroidered robes, their hair styled in perfect knots and adorned with sparkling jewels.
High-ranking officials sat straight, whispering among themselves as they watched who was engaging with whom.
Princesses and concubines of varying ranks occupied the side pavilions, their sharp eyes peering over delicate fans.
Emperor Li Zhao entered last, his robes adorned with dragon designs trailing silently. Under the golden headdress, his face showed no emotion.
He walked next to the Dowager Empress, who took her place at the top of the dais with imperial grace.
The guests stood to greet them, the room alive with murmurs of respect and admiration.
Standing at the center of all the attention was Consort Zhang.
She filled the hall with beautiful, scented petals from the southern provinces. The petals lined the edges of the banquet floor, making it look like a blooming garden.
At her request, musicians played, and dancers wearing flowing white dresses performed gracefully.
They moved like drifting snowflakes, their sleeves trailing behind them as they danced on the polished marble floor.
Behind them, shadow puppeteers brought to life age-old legends of dragons and phoenixes, their figures flickering in the candlelight against a golden screen.
The guests were enchanted and filled the air with whispers of praise and admiration.
Then, the music shifted. The drums became soft and rhythmic, like a steady heartbeat. A bamboo flute played gently, like the wind blowing over mountains.
The lighting turned dim, casting the banquet hall into a soft, golden glow.
The room became silent.
Consort Zhang entered the open floor, and every movement was carefully planned to create a mesmerizing effect.
She wore a stunning red gown that fit her like liquid silk. Slits on the sides revealed glimpses of her legs as she gracefully moved.
Her figure was full and captivating, drawing immediate attention.
Consort Zhang had always known how to use her beauty as a tool; tonight, she was at her most enchanting.
Tiny bells were tied to her wrists and ankles, chiming softly with every step.
She began her dance slowly, her hips swaying gently like the coils of incense smoke, her arms gliding like ribbons in water.
Her movements were soft and rhythmic, rising and falling with the music like a flame moving in the wind.
Then, the music reached its peak. Her pace quickened, and the bells jingled in a lively rhythm. She twirled sharply, her sleeves flaring out like fiery wings. Her gaze swept across the room but fixed on only one man.
The Emperor.
She danced solely for him. Every movement, turn, and subtle flick of her wrist was meant to dazzle him and capture his interest.
Others in the room watched, but her focus was singular. He was her ultimate prize. She felt confident that this time, he would take notice of her.
The guests leaned forward in their seats, mesmerized by her performance.
"Consort Zhang is divine," someone whispered.
"Such poise, such allure," another voice murmured.
As the music ended, she struck a final pose—kneeling gracefully, her arms extended in a silent offering, and her chin lifted with pride and elegance.
The applause was immediate and enthusiastic.
The Dowager Empress offered a polite clap.
Even the usually reserved ministers signaled their approval with nods.
But the Emperor remained still. He sat at the head of the long table, his hand gently resting on the arm of his ornately carved throne.
That silence—the absence of any compliment—was more painful than outright rejection.
Maintaining her serene smile, Consort Zhang rose, bowed with flawless grace, and returned to her seat.
Behind the grand banquet hall, shrouded in shadows and silence, Yue stood unmoving behind an intricately carved wooden screen.
The laughter of nobles, the clink of jade cups, and the music from stringed instruments seemed like echoes from another world.
In the service corridor, the air was cooler, scented with steam and spices, and only the soft footsteps of maids and eunuchs could be heard.
The workers moved like a well-rehearsed team—swift, silent, and disciplined—carrying trays from the kitchens through secret side doors, always unseen and unnoticed.
Yue stood apart from them, partially illuminated by an oil lamp.
Her expression remained calm, but inside, her heart felt heavy.
She had been denied entry into the hall.
Earlier that day, the Empress summoned her in private and greeted her with a pleasant smile and a courteous tone.
"Lady Yue," the Empress had said, "You've done wonderfully. But tonight, your presence is not needed in the banquet hall. Focus… on the kitchen."
It was not a suggestion but a command.
Yue bowed silently, swallowing her pride like bitter medicine, and withdrew without protest.
Now, she observed. Her hands clenched as she watched the bronze carts roll by.
The dishes she had crafted sat on each cart—each plated perfectly, garnished with care, and glowing under the candlelight.
The chilled jujube blossom jelly was pale and trembled like spring snow.
The lotus-root soup was served hot, steam curling gracefully from the carved bowls.
Every detail was hers. Each dish bore her personal touch.
Yet, her name was unacknowledged.
She stayed behind the screen, unseen, as her creations were paraded into the hall's golden light, presented under another woman's smile.
From his seat at the front of the banquet hall, the Emperor let the music and colors swirl around him like smoke.
Servants moved gracefully across the floor, pouring wine, serving dishes, and taking away empty bowls with well-practiced skill.
But Emperor Li Zhao's attention was elsewhere.
He searched beyond the dancers, beyond the guests, beyond the glittering gold and porcelain. He was searching...
For Yue.
Her absence was quickly noticeable to him, though he kept silent. It wasn't like Yue to disappear—especially not after she had been so involved in the banquet preparations.
He remembered that morning in his study when she brought him the menu, a little ink marking her sleeve. Her eyes had that special fire when she explained her reasons for each choice with all her careful thought and attention.
And now, she was nowhere to be found.
Consort Zhang introduced each new course with grace and the assurance of a performer who knew every line by heart.
Her voice drifted through the open screen.
"This next course," she announced smoothly, gesturing with her jeweled fingers toward a steaming plate placed before the guests, "is a personal favorite of mine."
"A wild duck slowly braised with red dates and yams. I oversaw its development from the very beginning."
The table buzzed with soft admiration.
"How fragrant," the Duchess remarked.
"So well-balanced," murmured the General.
Zhang's smile grew wider, and her eyes sparkled with joy.
Behind the screen, Yue's chest felt tight. It wasn't anger she felt, but the struggle to keep her feelings in check.
Yue had adjusted this recipe many times and even burned her hands twice while preparing it in the oven.
Now, the dish was called Zhang's "favorite."
The Emperor's face showed little emotion.
He didn't say anything when Zhang praised the dish.
He didn't acknowledge her or express any thanks.
Then the Empress leaned over and spoke softly to make her words audible.
"Consort Zhang has outdone herself this year."
The Emperor made a single, slow nod. That was all he did.
Zhang bowed her head humbly, hiding the triumph in her eyes.
With a smile, Zhang lifted her cup.
"To Her Majesty the Dowager. May she enjoy many more years filled with happiness."
Everyone joined in the toast, sending wishes to the Dowager Empress.
Guests gathered their chopsticks together and prepared to enjoy the richly glazed duck with quiet excitement.
The initial bites were taken in silence.
Then, a change subtly occurred.
A nobleman stopped mid-chew, a slight frown forming on his face.
A court lady paused, pressing her lips before quickly reaching for her tea.
Throughout the room, discomfort started to spread quietly, like a ripple through still water.
Even the Dowager Empress, always dignified, took a small, careful sip of tea right after setting down her chopsticks.
The hall remained calm. There was no audible surprise or gasps.
Yet, the atmosphere shifted— unease took hold beneath the gentle music and clinking porcelain.
In the center of it all, Consort Zhang's smile began to drop.
Her grip on her wine cup grew firmer, and her eyes scanned each face, hoping for a different, more positive reaction.