Eldest Young Miss herself is someone who can hold a sword in a pile of corpses without changing her expression. With subordinates as cowardly as that, it would be strange if she could stand it.

Having Dongmei drill him, the meaning is very clear: next time you encounter trouble, you are not allowed to embarrass her again.

This reward and punishment were arranged clearly.

Zhou Ming chewed on this "favor" in his heart, feeling somewhat dumbfounded for a moment.

The Kitchen steward position and Dongmei's special training, combined, look like Eldest Young Miss is saying: I reward you for merit, but don't get cocky; you won't escape a single beating you deserve.

However, for Zhou Ming, the job of Kitchen steward came at just the right time.

Zhuzi's matter just exploded this morning; the estate will inevitably be in chaos for the next few days, and everyone's attention will be fixed on the Kitchen.

He has now been promoted to the position of Kitchen steward, which is equivalent to Eldest Young Miss personally stamping him as "one of my own." Even if others investigate, it won't be easy for them to trace it to him.

For this arrangement by Eldest Young Miss, he must accept the favor.

"Steward Zhou," Dongmei's voice suddenly rang in his ear; he didn't know when she had quietly walked behind Zhou Ming.

"Eldest Young Miss has already walked far away, what are you still dazed for?"

Zhou Ming came back to his senses and indeed saw the back of Empress Su Mingyue, already surrounded by maids and older women, passing through the hanging flower gate toward the main courtyard.

He turned his head and met Dongmei's face, which wore a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Sister Dongmei," Zhou Ming hurriedly cupped his hands, "please go easy on me in the future..."

"Go easy on you?" Dongmei sized him up, her gaze lingering on his thin, stick-like frame for two seconds.

"Eldest Young Miss said to drill you well. I'll go to the Martial Arts Training Ground and wait for you. After you finish at the Kitchen, come find me at the Martial Arts Training Ground. Don't dawdle; if you dare to dawdle, hmph hmph..." After speaking, she clenched her fist at Zhou Ming, then turned and left.

Zhou Ming stood in place, watching Dongmei's back, and took a deep breath.

He didn't know what Dongmei's "drilling" specifically referred to, but he had a bad premonition.

Among the four head maids, he had witnessed Dongmei's martial prowess.

Zhou Ming mused that after today, he probably wouldn't be able to find an unbruised spot on his entire body.

He strode toward the Kitchen; it was his first day on the job, he couldn't be late.

Zhou Ming stepped into the Kitchen.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a heatwave mixed with the smell of grease, firewood smoke, and raw meat rushed to his face.

The fire in the stove was burning fiercely, and three large pots were steaming at the same time.

The clanging sound of spatulas hitting iron pots and the thudding sound of Kitchen knives chopping on cutting boards intertwined, making one's eardrums buzz.

The people in the Kitchen had already received the news. Seeing him walk in, whether it was the head chef or the menial laborers squatting in the corner picking vegetables, they all put down their work, turned around in unison, and bowed.

"Steward Zhou."

The voices of twenty or so people mixed together; it wasn't very neat, but the sense of respect was palpable.

Zhou Ming glanced over; the ten cooks stood closer to the front, mostly sturdy men in their thirties or forties, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, their aprons stained with oil, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, revealing arms spotted with hot oil splashes.

The one leading them was the oldest, about fifty, with graying hair.

He wore a sparse goatee of three tufts, and a faded blue cloth apron tied around his waist, appearing exceptionally clean among the greasy cooks.

The ten menial third-class servants stood behind the cooks, mostly young boys in their teens or twenties, with two slightly older ones.

Their bowing posture was lower than that of the cooks; a few almost buried their heads in their chests.

Zhou Ming took in the scene, keeping his expression calm.

In his past life, he had seen such scenes before; those with seniority stood in front, those with less seniority shrank to the back; one could tell who was in what position with a single glance.

Zhou Ming paused for a moment, suppressed the fleeting feeling of "rising to the top in one step," and spoke his first words.

"Everyone get up. Introduce yourselves." He turned to the old cook with the goatee, "Start with you."

"This old man's surname is Liu; everyone calls me Liu Sandao. I've been cooking in the Kitchen for thirty years."

The old cook with the goatee straightened his back, his voice neither high nor low, but exuding stability.

"As for Kitchen matters—frying, stir-frying, cooking, deep-frying, steaming, boiling, braising, and stewing—this old man knows a thing or two."

"Eldest Young Miss's meals have been made by my own hands since she was small; if someone else changes it, she won't be used to it."

When he said this, his expression was calm, neither displaying the arrogance of relying on his seniority nor the servility of trying to curry favor with the new Steward Zhou; he was simply stating a fact.

Zhou Ming nodded, mentally labeling this Liu Sandao: the true pillar of the Kitchen, Eldest Young Miss's personal cook; one must not touch him.

Next, the nine cooks reported their names one by one; some specialized in pastries, some were responsible for soups, some managed the large-pot meals for the servants—each had their own duties, with a clear division of labor.

The ten menial servants also reported their names, and Zhou Ming noted them down one by one without saying much.

"Alright, continue with your work." Zhou Ming waved his hand, and the crowd dispersed, each returning to their own post.

The Kitchen returned to its bustling noise, but everyone's gaze drifted toward him from time to time.

Clearly, they were all waiting to see where this new steward would light his "three fires."

Zhou Ming was not in a hurry to light the fires.

He strolled slowly around the Kitchen, examining the stoves, cutting boards, water vats, spice racks, and ingredient cabinets.

While looking, he noted things down in his mind; at every place, he casually asked a question or two: Which cabinet is the rice and flour in? Where are the oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar kept? How often is the firewood replenished? Who is responsible for fetching water?

He didn't ask much, but they were exactly the core links of the Kitchen's operation.

Liu Sandao kept following half an arm's length behind him; whatever Zhou Ming asked, he answered, his tone always neither servile nor overbearing.

After finishing the tour, Zhou Ming had a general grasp of the operation of the Begonia Court Kitchen.

The things these twenty people had to do every day were far more complicated than he had originally thought.

The first major matter was Eldest Young Miss's three meals.

Eldest Young Miss's diet was personally managed by Liu Sandao, with at least eight dishes and two soups for the three daily meals.

The dishes did not repeat within three days; the ingredients were refined, and the heat control was particular.

This was the Kitchen's highest priority; everything else had to give way to it.

If Eldest Young Miss had a poor appetite one day and ate a few bites less, Liu Sandao would frown and ponder for an entire afternoon, trying to think of ways to change a few dishes.

Next was the meals for the head maids and stewards.

There were four head maids, six stewardesses, and six steward manservants in Begonia Court.

Plus the Guard Commander and some special personnel, totaling about twenty people.

Their meals were made jointly by the pastry chef and the soup chef; each meal had three dishes and one soup. The dishes were simple and had little oil, but fortunately, they were prepared separately on a small stove, so the food was fresh and the portions were sufficient.

Further down were the meals for ordinary guards and second-class servants.

There were about seventy people in this group, and their meals were uniformly made by the cook responsible for the large-pot meals for the servants.

One dish per meal; the staple food was coarse flour buns or mixed grain cakes, occasionally supplemented with a stew or large-pot dish.

The dishes were also simple: water sprinkled with a handful of salt and some vegetable leaves, barely having a salty taste.

At the very bottom were the third-class servants; what they ate was different from the second-class servants and guards: coarse grain buns paired with a dish of pickled vegetables and a bowl of thin soup with a few vegetable leaves floating in it.

Being able to eat something hot was already not bad; don't even think about oil or fat.