The transfer order to the prep division arrived early in the morning—three days after Qing Tian had finished shredding that basket of radishes.
Matron Liu didn't look pleased.
But since the order came directly from Chef Zhang himself, she had no choice but to swallow her dissatisfaction. During the handover, her narrow eyes raked over Qing Tian several times before she finally squeezed out a warning through clenched teeth.
"Once you're there, be smart. Don't cause trouble for me."
The prep division was located in the east wing of the Imperial Kitchen. Compared to the damp, grimy washing area, it was brighter and far more orderly. Over a dozen kitchen workers bent over their stations, the steady thud-thud of knives striking chopping boards echoing through the room. The air was filled with the crisp scent of freshly cut vegetables, mixed with a faint trace of raw poultry.
The man in charge was Deputy Chef Wang—a fair-skinned, sharp-eyed man with an unmistakably calculating gaze.
"C17?" He looked Qing Tian up and down, his tone lukewarm. "Chef Zhang recommended you. Said your knife skills are decent. This place has strict rules—anything that goes into the nobles' mouths must be flawless. Since you're new, follow Zhao Sanniang and handle the vegetarian prep."
Zhao Sanniang was a woman in her early forties, with a round face and fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her expression was gentle, but she carried herself with quiet authority. She said little—only handed Qing Tian a knife and gestured toward a mountain of cabbages stacked against the wall.
"Today we're preparing the base for Clear Broth Cabbage," she said. "Remove the outer leaves. Keep only the tender hearts. Slice them thin—uniform thickness."
Clear Broth Cabbage.
The name sounded simple, but the dish itself was notoriously demanding. Only the innermost cabbage hearts were used, blanched repeatedly in rich stock until they absorbed every ounce of flavor. The final dish was crystal-clear, the cabbage blooming like white jade lotus petals.
And the very first step—preparing the cabbage—had to be perfect.
Qing Tian picked one up.
The instant her fingers touched it, a sensation surged through her—plump, fresh, alive. She peeled away the tough outer leaves, revealing the pale-yellow heart inside. When she raised her knife to slice—
That strange feeling returned.
She could sense the direction of the fibers inside the cabbage. She knew exactly where to place the blade to produce slices that were even, intact, and maximally tender.
It wasn't conscious thought.
It was instinct. Like being guided by flowing water.
She steadied her breath. The blade entered at a precise angle, her wrist gliding smoothly forward.
A slice as thin as cicada wings drifted onto the chopping board—nearly transparent. Under the sunlight filtering through the window lattice, its delicate veins were clearly visible.
Zhao Sanniang had only glanced over at first.
Then her eyes froze.
She walked closer, picked up the cabbage slice, and held it to the light. After inspecting it carefully, she gently pinched it between her fingers—flexible, unbroken, impossibly even.
"You…" Zhao Sanniang stared at her. "You've really never learned this before?"
Qing Tian shook her head. "No. I just… felt this was how the knife should fall."
Zhao Sanniang fell silent for a moment, then pointed at the remaining cabbages.
"Continue."
Qing Tian lowered her head and worked.
At first, her movements were slightly stiff—this body still needed time to adapt. But as she continued, the strange resonance between herself and the ingredients grew clearer.
Faster.
Steadier.
Soon, she barely needed to look. Her fingers and that mysterious intuition guided every cut.
It wasn't just cabbage.
When she was assigned to slice ginger, mince scallions, or debone chicken, she always found the perfect point to cut. Ginger radiated a fiery sharpness. Scallions carried a clean, refreshing note. Chicken meat felt different depending on the part—the breast was tight and firm, the thigh rich and supple.
She could even tell whether a chicken had been free-range or caged. How long ago it had been slaughtered.
A piece of pork stored too long carried a faint sense of fatigue.
A freshly delivered live fish shimmered with unmistakable vitality, even its scales seeming to glow.
She couldn't explain this ability.
But it was real.
Unconsciously, she began using it.
While sorting vegetables, she would quietly set aside those with minor blemishes—ugly on the outside, but still crisp and fresh within. When handling meat, she separated the tougher scraps and irregular cuts.
She was discreet.
But the prep room was small.
Zhao Sanniang noticed.
One evening after work, Zhao Sanniang stopped her and pointed at the pile Qing Tian had separated.
"And what do you plan to do with these?"
Qing Tian's heart clenched. She lowered her head.
"They're still edible," she said softly."Throwing them away feels wasteful. I… I was wondering if I might be allowed to take them—"
In the Imperial Kitchen, removing ingredients without permission was a serious offense.
Zhao Sanniang studied her for a long moment, then sighed.
"You've got a kind heart. But rules are rules."
She paused, then lowered her voice.
"Still… after the hour of You, behind the kitchen's rear corner gate—there are often guards and eunuchs on night patrol who go hungry. If you truly want to help… think of another way."
Qing Tian's eyes lit up.
At that moment, she understood—
This blade.
This kitchen.
This so-called 'rebirth'—
It was only just beginning.