When he opened his eyes again, it was almost dawn.

Zhou Ming sat up on the bed and stretched his shoulders and waist.

There wasn't the slightest bit of soreness in his entire body, and the two strands of Qi in his Dantian were coiled up quietly, as docile as two dozing cats.

If he wanted to, he could jump off the bed right now, turn two somersaults, and perform a set of Monkey Fist without even catching his breath.

But he couldn't.

Zhou Ming sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and suppressed all the mana in his Dantian into its deepest recess.

He confirmed that not a single shred of aura was leaking from his body.

Then, he stretched his legs forward and tried to stand up.

His movement involved first sliding his legs straight out past the edge of the bed, touching the tips of his toes to the ground, and then bracing himself against the bed frame with both hands.

He gritted his teeth and pushed his upper body up, pausing intentionally halfway through to put on a show of his muscles being too sore to support him.

In the end, he stood up, but his legs were deliberately kept straight; his knees felt as if they had been filled with cement, unable to bend or lift.

He had experienced this sensation in his previous life.

Back then, in high school, during the school sports meet, Zhou Ming had been cajoled and tricked by the class monitor into signing up for the 3,000-meter long-distance run.

He had been filled with adrenaline while running, gritting his teeth to finish the entire race.

As a result, his legs were useless the next day; the muscles in his thighs and calves felt as if someone had torn them off his bones and pasted them back on.

Never mind bending his knees; just standing caused his calves to tremble, and he had to hold onto the railing to shuffle up the stairs one step at a time.

This was the exact state he was faking now.

It wasn't an intentional exaggeration; it was a faithful recreation of that post-exercise muscle soreness gait.

This gait had a natural persuasiveness because it was a genuine human physiological reaction; even under close observation, it was very difficult to spot the flaw.

Zhou Ming pushed open the door, his legs straight and knees unbending, shuffling step by step along the alleyway toward the Kitchen.

The first person he encountered on the road was a chore boy sweeping the courtyard, who was bent over with a broom.

Hearing footsteps, the boy looked up and opened his mouth to greet him, but upon seeing Zhou Ming's appearance, the words "Steward Zhou" got stuck in his throat. His mouth twitched violently toward his back teeth, and he quickly lowered his head.

Next were several night-patrol guards; seeing him shuffling forward with his straight legs from afar, they all stopped in their tracks simultaneously.

Then, they all turned their heads away as if nothing had happened, though Zhou Ming saw the muscles in their cheeks twitching.

He ran into several more groups of people later, all reacting the same way—seeing Zhou Ming's walking posture, they all looked like they wanted to laugh but didn't dare.

Zhou Ming didn't blame them; he had experienced embarrassment too many times in his previous life, and his skin was already thick enough to plaster a wall.

He just glared fiercely at these people without saying a word, just staring.

The servants and guards he glared at immediately backed down, either lowering their heads or averting their gazes, not daring to mock him openly.

However, Zhou Ming also knew that once he walked past, these guys would definitely be snickering behind his back.

Let them laugh; if you laugh, it means you believe it, and as long as you believe it, that's all that matters.

Zhou Ming continued to shuffle forward, maintaining this half-dead gait.

This posture wasn't tiring, just agonizing to maintain.

He felt perfectly normal walking, his leg muscles strong enough to kick over a stone roller with one foot.

Yet he had to force himself to act as if bending a knee required gritting his teeth for ages.

When he arrived at the entrance of the Kitchen, before he even stepped inside, that familiar mixed aroma wafted out.

Zhou Ming pushed open the small wooden door, which had been polished shiny by oily smoke, and shuffled inside slowly.

The people in the Kitchen had already arrived.

The cooking area was steaming with heat, the fire in the stove burning fiercely, the rhythmic thud-thud of Kitchen knives chopping on cutting boards, the clanging of spatulas, and the footsteps of servants carrying ingredients.

Everything was the same as he had seen yesterday, orderly and organized.

Ten cooks were each guarding their own stove, and ten third-class servant boys were shuttling back and forth between the cooks.

Liu Sandao was standing in front of the innermost stove, where something was stewing; the steam was making the pot lid rattle and dance.

Seeing Zhou Ming enter, the noise in the Kitchen quieted down simultaneously.

Several servants squatting and picking vegetables all looked up.

Upon seeing him shuffling forward with his straight legs, the expressions on their faces stiffened for a moment.

Then, they all tacitly lowered their heads, pretending they hadn't seen anything.

The chore boy who had brought Zhou Ming his meal yesterday was also there, and his mouth tightened again.

Liu Sandao put down his spatula, wiped his hands, picked up a ledger from the stove, and walked over to greet him.

Seeing Zhou Ming in this state, his eyelids twitched, but he immediately regained his usual composure.

He didn't ask the rhetorical nonsense of "Steward Zhou, what happened to your legs?" but simply handed the ledger to Zhou Ming and said calmly:

"Steward Zhou, you are a bit late today. I heard a little about what happened to you yesterday, and I figured you might not be able to get up this morning, so I took the liberty of going to the storeroom early to collect today's ingredients. Please take a look."

Zhou Ming opened the ledger and glanced at it; rice, flour, oil, salt, vegetables, and meat—all kinds of ingredients were listed clearly.

Liu Sandao kept his accounts meticulously, clearer even than the Excel spreadsheets from his previous life.

Zhou Ming nodded inwardly; with an old hand like Liu Sandao holding down the Kitchen, he could certainly save himself a lot of worry.

He closed the ledger and gave Liu Sandao a solemn nod.

"Thank you for your trouble, Uncle Liu."

Liu Sandao bowed slightly, turned back to the stove, and continued preparing breakfast for the Empress Su Mingyue.

Cooking for Empress Su Mingyue was always his exclusive task at his exclusive stove; he didn't allow anyone else to touch it.

This morning, he was stewing a pot of lily bulb porridge on the stove, stirring it slowly with a long-handled wooden spoon, while a few small dishes were being kept warm in a small clay pot on another stove.

Several servant boys were assisting him on the side, washing vegetables, chopping green onions, and handing over plates, all in an orderly manner.

The others weren't idle either, each performing their duties and doing their own work.

Zhou Ming gritted his teeth, putting on an act as if "every movement pulled at pain points all over his body," and slowly sat down on a stool while holding onto the edge of a table. He just watched them work like that.

Not long after, Liu Sandao took the lily bulb porridge off the stove, ladled it into a celadon bowl, and arranged the small dishes neatly in a food box.

He took a small bowl and a pair of silver chopsticks from a bamboo basket nearby and placed them inside as well.

Then he stepped back half a pace and nodded to a third-class servant waiting nearby.

The servant stepped forward, picked up another small bowl of porridge that had been prepared in advance on the table, and drank it in a few gulps.

This was food testing; anything that Empress Su Mingyue consumed had to be tasted by a designated person first to ensure it was non-toxic before it could be sent out.

After the food-tasting servant finished eating, he stepped aside and waited for a moment. When there was no reaction, Liu Sandao finally covered the celadon bowl and handed the food box to the maid waiting at the door.

The maid took it, turned around, and walked quickly toward the inner courtyard.