Chapter 64

The kitchen still had its lights on, but the storeroom was silent, likely because the evening meal’s cleanup was already finished. Though leaving footprints in the snow was a nuisance, I couldn’t let that deter me. Even if caught later and held accountable, I broke into the storeroom. The door was locked, so I climbed up the garden tree and slipped in through a window.

With the upcoming banquet, the pantry shelves were stocked with luxurious and rare ingredients: arrowhead bulbs, dried sea cucumbers, swallow’s nests, coconuts imported from afar, and snow lotus roots—an impressive array of delicacies.

I searched for the ingredient in the darkness.

(Not this one… not that one…)

If I were to seek the Empress’s permission, I could search openly. But it would involve using intermediaries and waiting until morning, which would take another six hours—far too late. Moreover, the suspicion that this might be one of the Empress’s plots prevented me from relying on her.

Stretching up, I pulled down a heavy wooden box from the upper shelf and rummaged through it.

(…There it is!)

Just as I was about to cry out in relief, the storeroom’s lock clicked open. A maid entered, holding a lantern. I couldn’t move with the wooden box in my arms and was inevitably caught.

“…You’re the food physician, aren’t you?”

The maid, initially on the verge of screaming, sighed as she recognized my silver hair. On closer inspection, she was a maid from the Imperial Food Bureau who had assisted me during the summer medicinal preparations.

“Um, well…”

“I understand. You’re trying to save a patient again, aren’t you? I won’t tell anyone, so just take what you need.”

The maid waved her hemp sleeve.

“Good luck. There are people rooting for you, you know.”

“…Thank you.”

I bowed my head and borrowed the fruit from the box.

At last, I had everything I needed, though it had taken longer than expected. Now, I had to borrow the Spring Palace’s kitchen to prepare the medicine.

Snowflakes struck my cheeks as I relied on the line of crimson lanterns hanging along the eaves to guide me back to the Spring Palace. Even under the cover of the white darkness, the bright red lanterns reminded me of Consort Xue Mei’s resolute figure. She was a strong woman. Her child would be the same.

Surely, they would hold on until the medicine was ready.

Praying silently, I hurried back to the Spring Palace.

The fruit was elongated, with a rough, slimy shell in hues of reddish-purple, brownish-red, green, and yellow—resembling a slender squash. I sliced it lengthwise with a kitchen knife, revealing seeds wrapped in a fluffy, white, mold-like substance.

“Wow, you’re making something mysterious again! Incredible! Where did you even find this?” exclaimed Lan Xin, her voice brimming with anticipation, though it was unclear if she was praising me.

“Just some effort. Now, remove these seeds.”

I extracted the bean-like seeds and roasted them gently over low heat. As I slowly and carefully roasted them, a pleasant aroma began to fill the air. Once roasted, I ground them coarsely in a millstone, removed the seed coats, and separated the endosperm.

This meticulous step ensured no seed coats remained, as they would compromise the flavor.

“All done separating them!”

“Now, let’s grind them even finer using the medicinal grinder.”

“Again? …Making medicine is a lot of manual labor, isn’t it?”

Soothing the grumbling Lan Xin, I ground the endosperm into a smooth paste.

“It’s turning all gooey!” she exclaimed.

“It’s called jungle butter for a reason,” I replied, adding sugar as it thickened. While heating it in a water bath, I poured in condensed milk I had prepared earlier by simmering milk. The result was a dark brown syrup, rich and creamy, with a sweet aroma that filled the kitchen. Lan Xin swallowed nervously, her appetite stirred.

“This is chocolate. It’s not finished yet, though.”

“Amazing! To think a fruit that even birds wouldn’t peck at could turn into this! Can I taste it? Just one lick! This smells way too good to resist!”

“Go ahead, but… aren’t you unable to handle alcohol?”

Before I could finish, Lan Xin dipped a wooden spoon into the syrup and licked it.

“Delicious! What is this? This alone is worthy of being presented to the Emperor!”

Lan Xin cheered gleefully, unaware that chocolate was once considered an elixir of immortality in distant lands, a divine food reserved for emperors. While it wouldn’t grant immortality, chocolate did contain over a hundred medicinal properties, and in some empires, specialized cacao pharmacists were employed.

However, chocolate had another historical use—as an aphrodisiac.

“Just one more taste!” Lan Xin begged.

“Lan Xin, I understand how you feel, but too much will… oh no.”

Predictably, her excitement led to more than a single taste. She scooped spoonfuls into her mouth until she began to sway, her cheeks flushed, her gaze unfocused, and her eyes hazy with warmth. Soon, she smiled blissfully and collapsed like a curled-up dormouse, falling asleep on the spot.

“I knew this would happen…”

Chocolate, with its intoxicating properties, was once used as an aphrodisiac. Fortunately, Lan Xin simply fell asleep without any odd side effects. I covered her with an outer robe before continuing with the medicine preparation.

Mixing eggs, sugar, and flour with the melted chocolate, I poured the mixture into ceramic cups that wouldn’t crack in the oven. Then, I layered chunks of solidified chocolate—chilled beforehand—so they rested at the bottom, hidden within. In the deepest layer of the chocolate lay a secret poison.

(How many times have Mother’s medicinal teachings saved me?)

Baking the mixture in the oven, I finished with a pinch of powdered sugar.

The medicine was finally ready.

The bell in the distance chimed the eighth watch—2 a.m. I had unknowingly worked past midnight.

(Consort Xue Mei, please, stay safe.)

Untying my sash, I carried the freshly prepared medicine to her chambers.