Chapter Fifty-Nine: Murderous Intent Soars

"Qian Shanduo!"

Ming Tian's furious roar erupted, all his pent-up rage pouring forth.

Uncle Zhao Ke's hearty smile seemed still to linger before his eyes.

Ming Tian felt his reason slipping away. His trembling hand reached for the kitchen knife standing on the chopping block.

One last thread of sanity warned him: once the knife was in his grasp, he might never be able to restrain himself again.

But… but…

He looked back at Zhao Ke, now nothing but a corpse. How could Ming Tian possibly hold himself back? Leaving aside whether Zhao Ke had been kind to him or not—how could such an honest man deserve such an end?

A lifetime devoted to this kitchen, laboring here come what may, even when fame and fortune were stolen away from him, he poured everything into his craft. Ming Tian simply could not fathom how someone as good as Zhao Ke could end up like this!

And as for Qian Shanduo—this wretched, bloated man who had quaked in terror before the Emperor only yesterday—today, he dared perpetrate this crime.

Of course Ming Tian knew who had killed Zhao Ke.

It was Qian Shanduo, without a doubt!

The upcoming culinary competition was a team event. Zhao Ke had been Ming Tian's partner, and Qian Shanduo wanted to win by any means necessary.

Unforgivable. Intolerable.

Ming Tian's last shred of reason snapped.

To hell with this competition—I’ll butcher you right here and now!

But just then…

"Young man, don't be rash."

A familiar voice came, and at the same moment, Ming Tian's hand, reaching for the knife, was caught and held back by a rough, weathered hand.

Zhao Ke?!

He turned—but it was not Zhao Ke.

It was a deputy steward among the gathered chefs, a mere face in the crowd for Ming Tian.

And yet it was this very bystander whose eyes blazed with grief and anger.

Not just him—all the chefs who had turned around wore the same look in their eyes.

Their collective fury was fixed upon Qian Shanduo, who stood at the doorway.

"You all…"

Ming Tian understood at last.

On the first day he'd met Zhao Ke, the kindly uncle had told him: in this kitchen, who hadn't suffered at Qian Shanduo's hands? And yet everyone stayed, hoping for a chance, a day to rise above, to prove their worth as chefs.

But Qian Shanduo was too tyrannical. Over the years, he had ground down these hopeful chefs almost to despair.

Dreams? What dreams could survive under such oppression?

They had all endured for the sake of this, the highest kitchen in the whole realm. Anywhere else, there was no opportunity.

But Zhao Ke's death had become the catalyst for revolt.

"Master Zhao would never want you to do this," said the deputy steward who had stopped Ming Tian. Though he tried to counsel restraint, his eyes burned with the same grief and anger.

Ming Tian glanced at Zhao Ke. His reason slowly returned.

Yes, if Zhao Ke had known, he would not have wanted Ming Tian to act this way.

But this injustice must be avenged!

"Steward Qian, don't tell me you weren't the one who killed Master Zhao," a lowly kitchen hand, relegated to the lowest ranks, called out.

Qian Shanduo sneered, shrugging disdainfully. "And what business is it of yours, you little underling? What, tired of living?"

"You…" The kitchen hand flushed with fury.

"If he has no right to ask, surely I do," the deputy steward said, stepping forward. "You and Zhao Ke were the first to arrive this morning. What happened?"

"Yes, tell us the truth!"

"How did Master Zhao die?!"

As the deputy steward spoke up, the kitchen erupted in uproar, fists clenched, ready to surge forward at any moment.

Even Qian Shanduo, arrogant as ever, was rattled by the force of their anger.

He slammed his ladle onto the worktable. "Enough! Have you all gone mad? Fine, you want to make a scene? Come on then, all of you! But remember, I have Lord Xiao Yaoguang behind me. If any of you so much as lay a finger on me, I’ll see your entire family put to death!"

At these words, the chefs blanched, their uproar fading quickly to uneasy silence.

Ming Tian finally understood why Qian Shanduo could act with such impunity.

Xiao Yaoguang, formerly Prefect of Yangzhou, was a high-ranking official, and after aiding Emperor Qi Ming in purging the royal clan, his power soared—second only to the Emperor himself. With support like that, no wonder Qian Shanduo could terrorize the kitchen.

As the other chefs shrank back, Ming Tian—regaining his composure—looked at Zhao Ke's body, guilt welling up inside him.

Zhao Ke had died with his eyes open, as though unable to rest, so many wishes unfulfilled. A truly tragic end.

"Uncle… I'm sorry. It was me who got you killed." His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his skin, a harsh grinding sound escaping as Ming Tian's anger finally broke free.

He knew all too well why Qian Shanduo had murdered Zhao Ke.

Tomorrow's competition was not an individual contest, and Zhao Ke would undoubtedly have helped Ming Tian.

Qian Shanduo's gold medal had been won by stealing Zhao Ke's dishes. He never had the skill to earn it himself—the medal belonged to Zhao Ke.

Ming Tian had been working on "Buddha Jumps Over the Wall," keeping it secret from everyone. Qian Shanduo didn’t know what he was up to, but in his eyes, Zhao Ke was Ming Tian's strongest ally.

So he killed Zhao Ke!

Ming Tian had failed to foresee this, and his oversight had cost Zhao Ke his life.

Guilt, sympathy, regret, and fury—these emotions streamed down his face in hot tears.

"Gentlemen!"

He strode before the gathered chefs and, with all the grief and rage in his heart, cried out, "Yes, Qian Shanduo has powerful backing, a high position, even a gold medal—but are you truly willing to accept this?!"

"All of us have seen Master Zhao's devotion. Though I've only been here three days, he never once made things hard for me. Without his help, I could never have completed the Phoenix Crystal!"

"And yet—a man like him, honest and devoted, serving this kitchen for thirty years without complaint, not only denied recognition but robbed of all credit, and now, murdered in cold blood!"

"I’m sure each of you has suffered something similar. I won’t reopen old wounds, but I must ask—"

He drew a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength to roar his anguish to the heavens—

"Are you truly willing to accept this?!"

Ming Tian's shout was like a great bell, striking each chef to the core.

It was clear from their eyes—they were not resigned.

No one wants their hard work stolen, to toil like a beast and go unrecognized, to be bullied by the incompetent.

"Look at Master Zhao."

Ming Tian went to Zhao Ke's body, trying to close his staring eyes. No matter how he pressed the lids down, the moment he released them, they sprang open.

"Master Zhao died with his eyes open. Think—today it was him, but who will it be tomorrow? It could be you, or you, or any one of you! Is this just? Why must we, all chefs, endure oppression and abuse? Why?!"

At his words, the chefs lowered their heads, pondering the question.

Why indeed?

A spark of resolve was catching among the crowd.

"These past two days, Uncle Zhao was nothing but kind to me—a good man, an excellent chef. He did not deserve to die! Should we, too, continue living so wretchedly?"

Ming Tian strode to the front, pointing directly at the sneering Qian Shanduo.

"This is the man who has oppressed you all. If you have any pride as chefs, then help me tomorrow, as Master Zhao would have. The competition is your best chance to fight back! Show this scoundrel, with your own actions—"

"You will no longer be trampled underfoot, no longer oppressed, for this is a kitchen! This is the sanctum of a chef’s honor! There is no place here for a talentless tyrant like you!"

His impassioned speech struck like a spark in a barrel of gunpowder. In the crowd, anger and defiance blazed like wildfire.

The chefs looked at Zhao Ke’s body, at Ming Tian’s unwavering resolve, and finally at Qian Shanduo, who had mocked them all along.

"Those willing to stand with me tomorrow—raise your hands."

With a swish, every chef in the kitchen raised their hand.

The banner of rebellion was unfurled.

No one spoke, but in every heart, fury burned.

Today, Zhao Ke had died. If they did not revolt now, tomorrow it might be their turn.

Years of oppression and tyranny had finally pushed these chefs to stand together.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Well, well, you all have guts." Qian Shanduo’s applause was mocking, his manner unhurried. "Fine, help this brat all you want. My own team is already set. You lot can band together for all I care—I have the strongest team. I don’t need the help of you worthless garbage."

With that, he clapped his hands. Three chefs stepped out from the side kitchen.

All three, like Qian Shanduo, wore white uniforms trimmed with gold.

And all three bore gold medals at their waists—the Gold Medal of Gastronomy.

Qian Shanduo had recruited all three of the other gold medalists in the realm to his own team.

With his own medal, that made four in total.

To win a gold medal was a feat almost beyond reach; only four had ever been awarded in the entire history of the Qi Empire. The other three had earned theirs through genuine skill.

Whatever means Qian Shanduo had used, he now had the support of every gold medalist.

Among the twenty-seven chefs and Ming Tian, only Zhao Ke, now dead, had ever possessed such prowess. Now they would face all four gold medalists together.

Were they afraid?

No.

Ming Tian felt no fear at all.

He looked back—none of the twenty-seven chefs wavered. Their eyes spoke as one:

Victory or death.

This was no longer simply Ming Tian’s grudge against Qian Shanduo. It was the collective fury and strength of the entire kitchen, rising in revolt against their oppressor.

Turning back, Ming Tian knelt beside Zhao Ke’s body. Gazing into those eyes that would not close, he swore a silent, venomous oath.

Uncle Zhao, I will avenge you a hundredfold. Rest in peace.

He reached out and removed the red string and jade Buddha that Zhao Ke’s wife had made for him, which Zhao Ke had treasured all his life, and fastened it around his own wrist.

He resolved to carry on Zhao Ke’s legacy, to reclaim what was his—

The dignity of a chef!

As Ming Tian secured the jade Buddha, and glanced at Zhao Ke, he saw—whether by fate or illusion—that the eyes which could not close now gently drifted shut.

Even Zhao Ke’s expression seemed more peaceful than before.

"Thank you, little brother."

It was as if, in a dream, Ming Tian heard Zhao Ke’s voice—the last wish entrusted to him.

I will avenge you.

Wiping away his tears, Ming Tian turned to glare at Qian Shanduo and his three gold-medal allies.

The battle begins now, Qian Shanduo. The time has come to settle your blood debt!