TFRLTOP Chapter 69 Part 2

“Ugh, it’s swollen…” she muttered after a quick self-check.

Too much. Just too much.

Still, despite loathing him, she went to make the flatbread. Not for the Emperor, really—but to redeem herself.

Because there was a story behind this.

People often wondered—how could an orphan like Ming Ming not know how to cook? Most orphans had to fend for themselves, after all. Cooking was the most basic survival skill.

The orphanage director thought so too. The orphanage couldn’t take care of them forever—once they left, they’d have to rely on themselves. So under his instruction, every child who was mentally sound and disciplined enough had to learn to cook.

But the director had severely underestimated Ming Ming’s ability to blow up a kitchen.

She was so young at the time that he worried she might actually lose a limb if he let her near a stove, so he postponed her lessons until she was older.

He waited until after her college entrance exams. She came back from her summer job to collect her admission letter—and the director decided it was time.

Let’s just say… the kitchen got a full renovation that year.

That day, the director stood under a tree holding a stick, shouting up, “Come down. I won’t hit you.”

Clinging to the branch, Ming Ming wailed, “You’re lying! I told you I couldn’t do it and you made me try anyway!”

Coincidentally, a TV news crew had arrived to film her receiving her college acceptance letter. They caught the entire scene. The broadcast inspired a flood of donations that paid to rebuild the orphanage kitchen.

Ming Ming was interviewed several times afterward. People remembered her as the orphan who’d gotten into a prestigious university—but mostly as “the girl who blew up the kitchen the day she got her acceptance letter.”

The world is heartless, she often thought bitterly. Even if I die, no one will remember me fondly—just my embarrassing moments.

Ming Ming could be slow at times, but when she was sensitive, she felt things deeply. She still remembered how everyone had laughed about it for months—reporters, staff, even the other kids. Maybe they hadn’t meant harm, but after years of real cruelty, every laugh felt like another sting.

She couldn’t help but wonder—was she just too stupid? Too useless? If only she could cook, maybe the director would have liked her a little more.

So yes, this flatbread meant everything to her.

If she made it back alive, she’d show the director and the orphanage cook just how far she’d come.

…Even if it was just a flatbread.

That evening, Emperor Wan Qian finally received his beloved consort’s homemade flatbread.

He’d been busy since dawn—dealing with the resurgence of old rebels across the empire. Several high-ranking officials had died in the north while suppressing uprisings. Whispers of discontent filled the court, worsened by his unexplained two-week absence.

From his perspective, the clues pointed to traitors within the court itself. He scanned the ministers one by one, wondering which of them, like Jiang Wenyuan before, had secretly aligned with the enemy.

By dusk, ten noble houses had already been raided. Troops were dispatched across the provinces.

And then came another report—Jiang Ruotian was still alive, leading a fierce counterattack that was driving the imperial army to the brink.

Exhausted and irritated, the Emperor finally relaxed only when he saw his consort waiting with a smile.

“This is the flatbread you made yourself?” he asked.

Ming Ming’s eyes sparkled as she nodded eagerly, waiting for his praise.

Dinner was served; everything was ready. The Emperor sat, eyeing the neatly cut pieces of flatbread. Since it was made personally for him, he planned to eat it himself—no one else would touch it. Yet thoughts of Jiang Ruotian crept in again.

Had Ming Ming really gone out just to play? He knew she didn’t love him; that much was clear. But if Jiang Ruotian had manipulated her into turning against him, would she have said yes? She was so naive—too easily deceived.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the taster already picking up a piece to try.

“Ugh—hkkk!”

The Emperor snapped back to attention just in time to see the taster clutching his throat, face twisted in pain.

“What’s happening?” Gao Fu shouted. “Poison! The bread is poisoned!”

Panic rippled through the room.

The Emperor’s gaze darkened as he looked at the untouched plate. His chest ached. So it’s true… she really doesn’t care for me. All of this… was to poison me.

Suddenly, Ming Ming rushed forward, stepped behind the choking servant, and wrapped her arms around him.

“What are you doing?” the Emperor demanded sharply.

Ming Ming whispered to the system, “Was it like this in the Heimlich tutorial?”

The system replied, “Yes, yes! Squeeze hard! Keep going—do it a few times!”

Following its directions, Ming Ming gave a few strong thrusts until the servant coughed up the piece of bread.

Releasing him, she awkwardly pointed and muttered, “He… he was choking.”

The servant immediately dropped to his knees. “Mercy, Your Majesty! I was choking, not poisoned!”

“…Choking?”

The Emperor looked at Ming Ming—her face guileless, watching him nervously—then down at the plate.

He picked up one piece and tapped it against the table.

The pearwood surface is dented.

Silence filled the room.